Big Game at Sea 



might say, yet one hundred feet above it, and not 

 beyond the music of its voice, the ranch house 

 facing the splendid range and seemingly a score 

 of miles from any sea. Yet, in just thirty minutes I 

 could reach the wharf at the seashore and find my 

 boatman waiting to take me out after the salmon 

 of the Bay of Monterey. 



Country and ocean are rarely so charmingly com- 

 bined, so completely in contradiction. Quail run be- 

 fore the team ; the roadrunner crosses the road, and I 

 catch sight of an eagle soaring high above the giant 

 redwoods, see the rainbow trout dashing aside as 

 we rumble over the little bridge, and presto ! I am 

 unreeling and " Doc Hamilton," my boatman, is 

 telling me of the ten salmon averaging thirty-two and 

 a half pounds apiece, or three hundred and twenty 

 pounds in all, which Mr. Someone of Somewhere, not 

 of Viverols or Soquel I swear, took with him yester- 

 day and which, had I been there I might have caught. 

 I feel guilty and am afraid that " Doc " will perceive 

 it, and I wonder what he would say if he knew that 

 I had spent the whole day on the Soquel looking at the 

 mountains and dreaming. I am relieved when he 

 does not press the matter. He has an abundance of 

 bait gleaming anchovies caught by the light of the 

 moon, and taking the oars he stands, facing the bow, 

 and with powerful strokes sends the double ender out 

 into the bay. 



Perhaps you have never fished for salmon in Mon- 

 326 



