72 Fish Stories 



whizzing on ahead and astern, followed, doubtless, by the 

 yellowtails, that were watching them from below. 



Two of the latter had struck the rods, and while I was 

 aiming at a bombardier with the butt of my rod, my com- 

 panions were endeavoring to stem the loss of line and 

 screaming reels before the hardest fighter of all the game 

 fishes. How far the flying fishes soared, it would be diffi- 

 ult to determine ; even the naturalist of the party who had 

 been " tutored in the rudiments of many desperate studies," 

 gave it up ; but some of the fliers went out of the line of 

 vision, on the wing, by repeated requisition to the whirling 

 tail, which, as in the case of the gar, is the motive power. 



I have a wholesome respect for these big staring-eyed 

 projectiles. I once took a teacher rowing in Avalon Bay; 

 she wished to see some of the fishes at first hand. I prom- 

 ised her a glimpse of a live flying fish, but I did not antici- 

 pate the sequel. Suddenly a school of white sea bass 

 charged a school of flying fishes, and my boat being in the 

 line of fire, several of these went over it; one struck the 

 teacher in the back as she turned, while another passed near 

 my face; in fact, it was not easy for me to dodge it. I 

 watched the fish to see if it could, or would, attempt to avoid 

 me. But its wings were " locked " ; there was not a quiver 

 or a beat; the four wings were spread and held firmly as 

 the fish soared on. 



On another occasion I saw a flying fish pass over the cabin 

 of a launch. This time we were shooting flying fishes for bait, 

 and I waited until the flier had reached a fair distance, when 

 I brought it down, exactly as I have shot a quail under sim- 

 ilar circumstances. Still again, I was fishing for tunas with 

 a friend one evening in the lee of the lofty cliffs of Santa 

 Catalina. The sun had gone down and a splendid vermilion 

 vestment was draping sea and shore, while the canons were 

 filling with deep purple shades. Darker it grew, and as our 

 boatman rowed along the kelp bed that fringes all the island, 

 the tunas charged us cap-a-pie, and before them came the 



