Off the Sierra Santa Cruz 



another big salmon was lifted in. At this precise 

 moment I fell from grace. " Doc " baited my line 

 and I unreeled my fine tackle again, and getting the 

 butt of my rod under my leg held it in my left hand. 

 The handline was temptingly near; it required but a 

 reach of an inch or two, and in some way my fingers 

 closed over it. 



" Doc " recognized the diminished strain, and re- 

 marked that now " I was getting down to business," 

 and at that moment on that combination battering 

 ram and juggernaut-like tackle, I had a strike. 

 " Doc " seized my rod, while I bent to the work of 

 landing my first salmon. I had fished for red 

 grouper, red snapper, cod and halibut with a hand- 

 line, but these were deep-sea fish and could, as a rule, 

 be caught in no other way, and the game was legiti- 

 mate, but here was a splendid fish which was liable to 

 be caught anywhere on the surface or in the deeps, 

 and I confess that I felt the culprit in murdering the 

 game in so base a fashion. Still I played it, and 

 admit that the salmon gave a splendid fight, despite 

 the fact that it had no chance. It tore the heavy line 

 through my fingers with a rush and hiss that told of a 

 big fish, and could easily have broken the line; then 

 it came rushing upward with tremulous bounds, broke 

 water fifty feet away, came in at me with a dash 

 that ought to have been cheered, swept about the 

 boat in a circle, always coming in, as I gave no slack 

 even where it was making the heaviest rushes, a game 



