TALES OF FISHES 



That experience was but a forerunner to others 

 just like it. Every day we sighted one or more 

 swordfish. But we could not get one to take hold. 

 Captain Dan said there was more chance of getting 

 a strike from a swordfish that was not visible roll- 

 ing on the surface. Now a flying-fish bait makes 

 a rather heavy bait to troll; and as it is impera- 

 tive to have the reel free running and held lightly 

 with the thumb, after a few hours such trolling be- 

 comes hard work. Hard as it was, it did not wear on 

 me like the strain of being always ready for a strike. 

 I doubt if any fisherman could stand this strata. 



In twenty-one days I had seen nineteen sword- 

 fish, several of which had leaped playfully, or to 

 shake off the remoras — ^parasite, blood-sucking little 

 fish — and the sight of every one had only served to 

 increase my fascination. By this time I had 

 realized something of the difficult nature of the 

 game, and I had begun to have an inkling of what 

 sport it might be. During those twenty-one days 

 we had trolled fifteen hundred miles, altogether, up 

 and down that twenty-five-mile coast of rugged 

 Clemente. And we had trolled round these fish in 

 every conceivable way. I cannot begin to describe 

 my sensations when we circled round a swordfish, 

 and they grew more intense and acute as the strain 

 and suspense dragged. Captain Dan, of course, 

 was mostly dominated by my feeling. All the same, 

 I think the strain affected him on his own account. 



Then one day Boschen came over to Clemente 

 with Farnsworth — and let me explain, by the way, 

 that Boschen is probably the greatest heavy-tackle 

 fisherman living. Boschen would not fish for any- 



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