The Salmon of Monterey 205 



the boat after a fish that tore about two hun- 

 dred feet from the reel so quickly that it made 

 Bill nervous ; he breathed like a porpoise, though 

 merely looking on. I was doing the work and 

 he was being paid for letting me. I rounded 

 up the game and for a moment held him; one 

 of those delirious moments that an angler knows 

 when rod is bending to the breaking point, line 

 being tested to the point of breaking, when a 

 peculiar vibrating thrill comes coursing up the 

 line. I had the tip well up and Bill was taking 

 big odds to himself that it would all go I knew 

 that, but he was handicapped by my luck and 

 I won. I made up my mind I had hooked a 

 sea-bass, but Bill thought it a salmon, and there 

 I had him again as the fish surfaced away off 

 and we saw it; then it came running in at me 

 to stop and sheer off, roll over and lash the air, 

 then plunge down into the deep blue waters, 

 rounding up in a splendid burst of speed. Then 

 it came, fighting, in and dashed about the boat 

 in full view a picture of virility and beauty. 

 Bill guessed him at thirty pounds, but I was 

 sure forty was nearer the truth ; the bass tipped 

 the scales at fifty-two pounds three hours later. 

 . In playing this fish we drifted down toward 

 the shore and evidently got into the range of 

 the white sea-bass and out of the tribe of sal- 

 mon, as the moment the bait readied the water 

 it was seized. The sport was on, as between 



