82 Big Game Fishes 
are forced out of the water, often to the beach, 
and the wind, catching their wings, will take 
them twenty or more feet into the air, where 
they soar away like a flock of gigantic insects, 
gleaming in the sunlight like silver. In this 
pastime the tunas are fearless. They dash into 
the kelp, high in air, or occasionally out upon 
the rocks; in the case of a friend one leaped 
over the stern of his boat. One evening at dusk 
a school of tunas drove the flying-fishes inshore, 
and as they passed over and struck our boat, 
one coming at full speed hit me behind the ear, 
nearly knocking me out of my seat. Such are 
some of the incidents, more or less amusing, 
in this strenuous sport among the Californian 
islands. 
Of all fishes the tuna is the acrobat of the sea, 
though I doubt if the horizontal leap of thirty 
feet, accredited to a Texan tarpon, has been 
equalled by it; but as a high and lofty tumbler, 
a figure of grace, the tuna equals the tarpon. 
The leap of the latter is a wild bound into the 
air, accompanied by a vigorous shaking of its 
bony jaws, the object being to send the hook fly- 
ing through the air; and the leap, though sensa- 
tional, is not particularly graceful. That of the 
