Off the Sierra Santa Cruz 



well-sustained bound. I stop it, as it reaches the 

 surface, where it whirls about, beating the water into 

 foam and for a moment blazes on the side of a big 

 roller, then is off, surging down, bending the stout 

 rod to the buckling point, stretching the line until 

 it twangs like a guitar string. 



Then I had it all my way, and again stop for the 

 grand rush which makes even the stolid " Doc " say 

 " Gee whiz ! " then have it on the flank and watch its 

 splendid play, breathless, as it is work, this pumping, 

 holding, playing, slacking, reeling, all at just the right 

 time ; work that makes the veins stand out, the heart 

 pump and the boatman smile, as he is paid not to do 

 it, for that day at least. In it comes, perhaps a sal- 

 mon. " Doc " thinks it a thirty-six-pounder, but I am 

 a skeptic; I know those splendid runs, those strong 

 leaps up from depths to the surface, those splendid 

 sweeps around, and I wager with myself, taking heavy 

 odds, that it is a white sea bass. 



As I bring it to the quarter and for a moment 

 catch a glimpse of the fish I see that I am right. It 

 is a cousin of the great bass of the south, more slen- 

 der, and what the southern fishermen call a sea trout ; 

 a splendid fellow, full of fight from start to finish, 

 and as he comes in, bearing off heavily, he has me 

 breathing hard, and just to show that he can do it, 

 despite all my strength, breaks away and is off one 

 hundred feet to be slowly reeled in again. So comes 

 this fighter to the net, and when I turn him in and the 



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