BIG TUNA 



possessed me and I began to work harder. At this 

 juncture Shorty's boat appeared close to us. Shorty 

 and Adams waved me congratulations, and then 

 made motions to Dan to get the direction of the 

 school of tuna. That night both Shorty and Adams 

 told me that I was working very hard on the fish, 

 too hard to save any strength for a long battle. 



Captain Dan watched the slow, steady bends of 

 my rod as the tuna plugged, and at last he said, 

 "Doc, it's a big fish!" 



Strange to relate, this did not electrify me. I did 

 not believe it. But at the end of that half-hour the 

 tuna came clear to the surface, about one hundred 

 feet from us, and there he rode the swells. Doubt 

 folded his sable wings! Bronze and blue and green 

 and silver flashes illumined the swells. I plainly 

 saw that not only was the tuna big, but he was one 

 of the long, slim, hard-fighting species. 



Presently he sounded, and I began to work. I 

 was fresh, eager, strong, and I meant to whip him 

 quickly. Working on a big tuna is no joke. It is 

 a man's job. A tuna fights on his side, with head 

 down, and he never stops. If the angler rests the 

 tuna will not only rest, too, but he will take more and 

 more line. The method is a long, slow lift or pump 

 of rod — then lower the rod quickly and wind the 

 reel. When the tuna is raised so high he will refuse 

 to come any higher, and then there is a deadlock. 

 There lives no fisherman but what there lives a tuna 

 that can take the conceit and the fight out of him. 



For an hour I worked. I sweat and panted and 

 burned in the hot sun; and I enjoyed it. The sea 

 was beautiful. A strong, salty fragrance, wet and 



245 



