The High Leapers 



and my boatman at Santa Cruz, California, told me 

 that once in drifting over a black school of anchovies, 

 similar to the one I was then watching, a big whale 

 came shooting up beneath them, probably engulfing 

 half a ton and demoralizing the school to such an 

 extent that the anchovies nearly filled his boat by 

 pouring into it the whale just missing it. 



Comparatively few anglers have taken the tarpon, 

 the very prince of leapers. Its splendid bounds into 

 the air are always made when hooked, and often in 

 play or in pursuit of its prey. Tarpons differ much 

 in their leaping power; in my own experience, it is 

 the long slender fish which excels. Who can calmly 

 and stolidly analyze such a jump, such a stupendous 

 exhibition of lofty tumbling? I confess that I can- 

 not; and would not if I could. When the Silver 

 King is in the air showing its deep red gills, I am 

 there too, drinking in the excitement of it, and 

 frankly, what I record is what I think I saw, and I 

 believe it to be as near the actual facts as one can make 

 them. 



There is no hard and fast rule for the tarpon. 

 The moment it is hooked its stupendous tail sweeps 

 the waters and forces it up into the air. If the fish 

 is pointed upward it may shoot ahead, rising gradu- 

 ally four, five, six, eight, ten, or even more feet, and 

 cover from ten to thirty feet in a horizontal direction. 

 Such a leap I observed at Aransas, when fishing with 

 a short line. My fish rose directly before me and so 



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