HIGH HOOK AT AVALON 233 
Garibaldi fish, arrayed in sumptuous 
orange, comprised the genus Joci. 
F From the dry, hot air above, where 
dancing heat waves swam in the low hori- 
zon, the limpid depths opened beneath in 
cool, green vales where— 
“Far below 
The sea blooms with the oozy woods, 
The sapless foliage of the ocean.” 
Through this transparent element, the 
anglers beheld every move in the war 
below. A terrified swarm of electric-green 
and silver sardines surged by in bewilder- 
ment. Perchance, a lusty pair of yellowtail 
or a band of bass coursed in their wake 
like hounds. Pressing the fleeing host 
sorely, they snapped up the stragglers 
while the main army of innumerable units 
rose like a living blanket and sprang out 
into the air. For the affrighted baitfish, 
there was no refuge. Hotly assailed from 
below, they faced the instant attack of 
ravenous sea-gulls when they approached 
the surface. These agile birds dove boldly 
into the compact schools, aided by a quar- 
tette of great brown pelicans. 
The latter soared heavily, 
choosing an auspicious mo- 
ment to hurl themselves beak 
first into the little fishes with a 
noisy splash. So great was 
their velocity that the water 
closed over them entirely for 
a moment. Instantly they re- 
appeared, to float quietly with 
a lackadaisical expression of 
nonchalance, pressing the 
huge bill against the breast, 
the captured sardines plainly 
seen struggling in the bag. 
The bird then looked down 
its nose in a_ half-apologetic 
manner. This air of innocence 
was solely to persuade the 
hovering gulls that the plunge 
had been fruitless, for, in the 
pelican’s tossing the head and 
clacking the beaks to juggle 
the fish down its throat, the 
gulls frequently dart in and 
seize the prize from his jaws. 
His pained expression of dis- 
A MENACE TO 
comfiture is then real and most ludicrous. 
The microbe of merriment had spread a 
virulent epidemic of fun among all the 
anglers, old and young. History was in the 
making, not the repetition; the oldest in- 
habitant sought in vain to recollect such a 
former ‘“‘picnic.” 
““Tsee, tsee, ee ee!”? crooned Lyte’s reel, 
as it chuckled over a fresh contestant. 
Off sped the desperate fish. Gracefully 
curved the lithe rod, bowing, curtsying, 
nodding. Ah, the exquisite joy of it! 
“Zinn, zinn, neee’’—Ted’s more metallic- 
throated songster joined in a right merry 
roundelay. Business was booming again. 
“Cap” was in ecstasy! 
Wildly he flung his chain of snags off to 
leeward, a sweep of the rod, a flash and a 
bait was impaled. Hurriedly he rushed the 
prospective meal boatwards, when suddenly 
the ancient reel gave tongue with rejuve- 
nated vim—a bass had taken the struggling 
sardine and was fast upon the snags. 
Three rods at work in an instant, rare 
moments, indeed! But the strain proved 
too great, the line parted and ‘‘Cap” was 
minus his bait-gaining paraphernalia in 
consequence. Lyte’s fish, a brawny, burly 
7 

ANGLERS’ BOATS AT AVALON WHEN THERE IS A 
BIT OF SEA RUNNING 
