The Halibut 367 
up a stray white sea-bass; hence, was ready for 
the sport, and while I reeled in, the boatman 
backed into the surf as far as safety permitted, 
and held the boat head on to the not high seas, 
shooting ahead when they threatened to break, to 
drop back when they passed, allowing me to drop 
my small bait directly in the storm centre along- 
shore. On the instant came the strike, and as 
the light boat went careening over a breaking 
sea, I hooked the fish and presently was playing 
it from a fairly smooth vantage ground. My 
boatman suggested large rock-bass, but I was 
positive I had seen a flat tail waved in the air, 
and my inference was correct as a halibut came 
fluttering along the surface with a curious undu- 
lating movement for a moment, as though led 
by a line; then realizing that it was hooked, it 
plunged down and ran away with my line while 
the reel made wild music, ran away so effectually 
that I thought it would be exhausted, dashing by 
the kelp bed, disdaining this refuge which the 
black sea-bass always affects, and swimming for 
open water to make a splendid play, surging on 
the line that hissed like a knife as it cut the 
surface — now deep in the heart of the waters, 
rising with a singular bounding motion to encircle 
