TALES OF FISHES 



It. was great to be out there on a lonely sea with 

 that splendid fish. I was tiring, but did not fail 

 to see the shimmering beauty of the sea, the playing 

 of albacore near at hand, the flight of frightened 

 flying-fish, the swooping down of gulls, the dim 

 shapes of boats far off, and away above the cloud- 

 bank of fog the mountains of California. 



About two o'clock our indefatigable quarry be- 

 gan to belabor the leader again. He appeared even 

 more vicious and stronger. That jerk, with its rag- 

 ged, rough loosening of the line, making me feel the 

 hook was tearing out, was the most trying action 

 any fish ever worked on me. The physical effort 

 necessary to hold him was enough, without that on- 

 slaught on my leader. Again there came a roar of 

 water, a splash, and his huge dark-blue and copper- 

 colored body surged on the surface. He wagged his 

 head aiid the long black sword made a half-circle. 

 The line was taut from boat to fish in spite of all I 

 could do in lowering my rod, I had to hold it up 

 far enough to get the spring. There was absolutely 

 no way to keep him from getting slack. The danger- 

 ous time in fighting heavy, powerful fish is when they 

 head toward the angler. Then the hook will pull out 

 more easily than at any other time. He gave me a 

 second long siege of these tactics until I was afraid 

 I would give out. When he got through and sounded 

 I had to have the back-rest replaced in the seat to 

 rest my aching back. 



Three o'clock came and passed. We dragged him 

 awhile, and found him slower, steadier, easier to 

 pull. That constant long strain must have been 

 telling upon him. It was also telling upon me. As 



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