BIG TUNA 



we ran close to the neighborhood of a school of 

 whales, evidently feeding. They would come up 

 and blow, and then sound. To see a whale sound 

 and then raise his great, broad, shining flukes in the 

 air, high above the water, is in my opinion the most 

 beautiful spectacle to be encountered upon the 

 ocean. Up to this day, during five seasons, I had 

 seen three whales sound with tails in the air. And 

 upon this occasion I had the exceeding good fortune 

 to see seven. I tried to photograph one. We fol- 

 lowed a big bull. When he came up to blow we saw 

 a yellow moving space on the water, then a round, 

 gray, glistening surface, then a rugged snout. Puff! 

 His blow was a roar. He rolled on, downward a 

 little; the water slugged white and green. When 

 he came up to sound he humped his huge back. It 

 was shiny, leathery, wonderfully supple. It bent 

 higher and higher in an arch. Then this great curve 

 seemed to slide swiftly out of sight and his wonder- 

 ful tail, flat as a floor and wide as a house, emerged 

 to swing aloft. The water ran off it in sheets. Then 

 it waved higher, and with slow, graiceful, ponderous 

 motion sank into the sea. That sight more than 

 anything impressed me with the immensity of the 

 ocean, with its mystery of life, with the unattainable 

 secrets of the deep. 



The tuna appeared to be scattered, and none were 

 on the surface. I had one strike that plowed up 

 the sea, showing the difference between the strike 

 of a big tuna and that of a little one. He broke my 

 line on the first rush. Then I hooked another and 

 managed to stop him. I had a grueling battle with 

 him, and at the end of two hours and fifty minutes 



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