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BIG GAME AT SEA

Playing a Swordfish.
Santa Catalina Islands.
(See Chapter VI)

BIG GAME AT SEA
BY
CHARLES FREDERICK HOLDER
S
Author of “The Log of a Sea Angler,”
“Life of Charles Darwin,” etc.
WITH MANY ILLUSTRATIONS
NEW YORK
- THE OUTING PUBLISHING COMPANY

MCMVIII
Copyright, 1908, by
THE OUTING PUBLISHING COMPANY
Entered at Stationers' Hall, London, England
All Rights Reserved
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PREFACE
THESE stories are mainly the author's experiences
with big game at sea in many waters. Fifty years
ago graining the big ray or devil-fish was the sport
of sports along the Carolinas, and it is being revived
by men who like a dash of spice with their pastimes.
The big ray is now taken nearly every season on the
gulf coast of Florida, and at Aransas Pass, where an
extraordinary contest took place in 1906: a ray swim-
ming off with fourteen boats before it was killed.
Yet the “Giant Ray Club,” suggested last year, to
be composed of men who have taken the huge fish,
produced less than a dozen men who had accom-
plished the feat, though doubtless a more extended
canvass would develop others. The various rod
catches herein described illustrate the work accom-
plished by the Tuna and other clubs for a higher
standard of sport, as on the Pacific slope. At Santa
Catalina especially, game fishes up to one hundred
pounds are now taken with what is known as a num-
ber nine-thread line; the tip of the rod not less than
five feet long, and weighing not over six ounces, while
the members of the Tuna Club have for years taken
all their great record fishes on twenty-one-thread lines;
the idea being to give all large fishes the advantage
and reduce the catch to the limit of actual size. In the
vii.
Preface
nine years' history of the Tuna Club but sixty-five men
have landed, single-handed, with a sixteen-ounce rod
and not over twenty-four-thread line, leaping tunas of
one hundred pounds weight. In that time, with a big
handline, it would have been possible to kill thousands
of these fishes. These chapters, then, may be con-
sidered in a sense a plea for light tackle for all the
big game of the sea, as illustrated by the methods of
the Tuna and other clubs of Southern California,
where the nine-thread line and six-ounce tip for all
game up to one hundred pounds is now the slogan.
The chapter, “The Biography of the Man-eater,”
is of course imaginary as a whole, but is based on the
author's observations and capture of scores of sharks
of various kinds, and all the individual incidents in
the recital are based on actual happenings. In other
words, the story is a composite, and the not impossible
life history of one of the huge white sharks, which
attain a length of twenty or thirty feet, and roam the
warm waters of tropical and subtropical seas. I might
add that I have taken not once, but many times, nearly
every shark in American waters, in the Atlantic, Gulf
of Mexico, and Pacific; have watched them in all ages
and conditions, and the article is the result of many
observations; hence is not what really happens to one
shark, but what might happen to any lusty man-eater.
The swordfish has been admitted to the ranks of
game fishes in Southern California, and several more
or less desperate bouts with these fishes have occurred.
viii
Preface
The Tuna Club record is 165 pounds, with rod and
reel. Certain boatmen last season felt it incumbent to
cut away from this uncertain game, and this season
the Tuna Club offers a loving cup for the largest
catch and for the angler who does not retreat before
the supposed charge of the swordsman of the sea. In
imagination we see future anglers for the game going
out in armor.
In the chapter on a new game fish is described
what Dr. Jordan said to the author, “was a new link
between America and Japan.” This splendid game
fish—the yellow-fin tuna—appeared suddenly and for
the first time in American waters in 1905, and has
afforded marvelous sport at the channel island during
August and September ever since, over five hundred
being taken with rod and reel. But a few years ago
all large fishes were taken with handlines. Now the
rod is in evidence, and at Santa Catalina during the
present month a 250-pound black sea bass was taken
on a number-nine line and a nine-ounce rod, typifying
the fact that fair play for all game is the motto among
gentlemen anglers everywhere. The following chap-
ters have appeared in various magazines in this coun-
try and in England—in The Outing Magazine, Rec-
reation, Metropolitan, Outlook, Badminton, Forest
and Stream, McClure’s, The London Field, Cosmo-
politan, etc.
C. F. H.
ix
CHAPTER
II
III
IV
VI
VII
VIII
IX
X
XI
XII
XIII
XIV
XV
XVI
XVII
XVIII
XIX
XX
XXI
XXII
XXIII
CONTENTS
PREFACE
TRAILING THE SEA-BAT
DIVING FOR TURTLES
TEN-ARMED GAME
THE AMBER J Acks .
THE BIOGRAPHY OF A MAN-EATER
AN OCEAN SWASHBUCKLER
THE TAKING OF BIG GAME FISHEs .
A TIGER OF THE SEA
BIG SHARKS AS GAME
THE HIGH LEAPERs.
FISHING IN SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA
WING SHOTS AT SEA
A LEAPER OF THE KUROSHIwo
THE MAN BEHIND THE ANGLER
THE DUEL
ADVENTURES WITH THE BIGGEST BAss
THE SILVER KING
THE MADNESS OF FISHES
BARRACUDA
A SEA-GOING CROCODILE .
QUEER GAME .
OFF THE SIERRA SANTA CRUZ .
A New GAME FISH
PAGE
36
49
76
95
. I O5
. 136
. 148
. 160
. I 74
. 188
. I 97
. 2 I 2
. 234
. 247
. 264
. 275
. 282
. 293
. 3OI
. 322
. 340
;
-
..
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Playing a Swordfish. Santa Catalina Islands . Frontispiece
FA CING
PAGE
Hauling the Sea Bat to the Dock
Large Squid Caught at Avalon by C. F. Holder
A Giant California Octopus
Giant Octopus, Fifteen Feet Across, Caught at Santa Cata-
lina Islands
Author Fishing for Yellowtail (Amber Fish) at Santa Cata-
lina
Skip Jacker Bonito, Southern California .
The Walking Fish
Catalina Rock Bass
The Puff Shark of California and Its Eggs
The Rose of Paradise Fish
A Catalina Sculpin -
Home of the Sea Urchin
Bonito Shark, Taken with Rod and Reel at Santa Catalina
Big Hammerhead Shark
Ground Shark
Mr. Holder Fishing for Sheepshead .
Avalon, Santa Catalina Islands. Home of the Tuna Club
24
50
56
.62
7o
74
. I OO
. I OO
148
. I 54
. 158
. I 74
178
List of Illustrations
FA CING
PA GE
Crowd at Avalon Bay Watching the Landing of a Big Tuna 182
The Coast Line of Santa Cruz Islands . g g . 186
Shooting Flying Fishes. Santa Catalina Islands º . I 92
The Author Playing a Leaping Tuna e e © . 204
Bringing the Fish to Gaff e & C e d . 204
The Morning's Catch . e e © © gº . 204
A Good Catch of Yellowtail . e ſº e tº . 22O
A Well Earned Prize . & tº tº e tº . 22O
A Leaping Tuna . e * º g º e . 22O
Mammoth Sea Bass Caught at Santa Catalina Islands with
Rod and Reel e g & * iº tº . 248
Gaffing the Black Sea Bass . e tº º tº . 254
Trophies of the Tuna Club . * g g * . 258
Typical Santa Catalina Fishing Boat Coming into Avalon
with Sea Bass, and Bass Flag Flying . tº © . 262
Author Catching “The Silver King” • º . . 268
The California Barracuda . º e e © . 286
Giant Sun Fish Caught at Avalon . g º © . 302
Angel Fish Taken with Rod and Reel . g e . 3 IO
Bottle-nosed Dolphin Taken with Rod and Reel . . 318
Dolphin Taken with Rod and Reel at Santa Catalina Islands 318
Spiny Lobster © e • e ſº * * . 324
Blue-eyed Perch . © e e tº • • . 324
. xiv.
List of Illustrations
|
t- -
Giant Star Fish
Sea Anemones
The Blacksmith Fish
A Meteor of the Sea (light giver)
A New Game Fish. The Yellow-finned Tuna .
L. P. Streeter, with a Catch of Yellow-finned Tuna .
FACING
PAGE
. 336
. 336
. 336
. 336
. 342
. 342

XV
i








BIG GAME AT SEA
CHAPTER I
TRAILING THE SEA-BAT
P | \ HE outer Florida reef, where the army of
coral polyps has made its last stand against
the Gulf Stream, was lying on the surface
of what seemed a sea of molten steel. The wind was
dead, and the blue expanse of the gulf had that
strange oily appearance so often a characteristic of a
dead calm in the tropics. In the west vermilion-
tipped clouds—mountains of the air—rose high in
the heavens, casting deep shadows over the green-
topped creations of the wind, hurricane, or the pre-
vailing tides. The keys appeared to be formed
without rhyme or reason, but in reality Nature could
not have ordered better, as with their outlying banks
and reefs they constitute a perfect harbor, a deep blue
channel winding clear and distinct against the coral-
covered lagoon, completely encircling Garden Key.
Some wit has described fishing in Florida in the
summer as sitting in a Turkish bath holding a string,
I
Big Game at Sea
and I think the author of this mot found his inspira-
tion on the reef on a warm day while trailing the
sea-bat.
The heat was appalling, pouring down with such
intensity that the shallows were too hot for comfort,
and nebulous clouds wavered upward from the bleach-
ing coral sand, distorting every object along shore.
For days the dead calm had continued; the long sleepy
summer was at its height, and one had to pick his
time for sport and diversion. There was an hour or
two at sunrise for barracuda spearing, or for the
beating jacks; a long siesta at midday, then a while
toward evening perhaps when one could lure the
dainty gray snapper or test conclusions with the big
sharks which swam the blue channel at all times.
Then came the night, often cool, to be spent on the
water listening to the melody of negro rowers, the
weird tales of Chief, a Seminole, who preferred
the heat of the outer reef to the mosquitos of the
CO2 St.
On such a night, when the only sound to break the
stillness was the distant roar of the surf, there came
out of the darkness, near at hand, a rushing, swishing
noise; then a clap as of thunder, which seemed to go
roaring and reverberating away over the reef, like
the discharge of cannon. So startling was the sound,
So peculiar, that the negroes stopped rowing, and one
or two dropped their oars in consternation.
“Vampa fish, sah,” said Paublo, the stroke oar, in
2
Trailing the Sea Bal
a hushed tone, “an' he mighty uncomfortable near,
sah, jes over yander.”
I thought so myself as the eight-oared barge now
rocked in the sea made by the fish. In a few moments
another jumped some distance away, and we could
hear a splashing sound, which Paublo said was caused
by the fins as the fish rushed through the water.
The darkness was of that quality that could be
felt, yet it was that described by Milton as
“Dark with expressive bright"
as the lagoon scintillated with phosphorescent light;
every oar set the sea ablaze with silver radiance, and
ahead of the boat waves of fire seemed to go rippling
away. Now another seething, hissing sound was
heard, and a blaze of triangular light above some
huge, dim firebody below, glided swiftly along; then
a volcano seemed to rend the very sea, and out of a
blaze of phosphorescent light, that sent its radiations
in every direction, rose a dim shape, cleaving the air
to drop into another volcano, which opened to receive
it with loud intonation. -
“Sea vampa, sure,” Paublo whispered, as though
he feared that the unknown would hear him. “Dey
jes wheelin' an’ wheelin', leapin', an' I reckon we's
in a bad place.” -
“Sea-bat,” grunted Chief, as the ladies expressed
alarm. “ They jump five, yes, eight feet high.”
3
Big Game at Sea
“How heavy are they?” I asked, thinking of
possibilities.
“Three or four tons,” replied Chief sententiously.
This answer was unsatisfactory to some of the
party, so we hauled close in shore near Long Key,
where we listened to the explosions, as they seemed
to be nothing else, caused by the crash of the return
of the leaping fish. A school of sea-vampires, sea-
bats, or devil-fish, as men call them, had wandered
into the lagoon. I knew them by reputation and
hearsay, but never had seen one alive; and when I
announced that I was going to take one on the follow-
ing day, if they were still there, the boys, as the
negroes were called, all protested.
“Why, marster, one of dem vampas yander is
twenty feet wide, 'deed he is. Five years ago a
schooner, seventy-ton burden, was layin' jes offen de
pint yander; de capten had dun gone ashore an’ all
de crew 'ceptin’ de cook was a-pickin' micramocs out
on de reef, jes ober yander wha yo' see de ole wrack
a-layin'; yes, sah, jes yander under de Sudden cross.
All at once dey hear de cook a-hailin' an' screamin'
jes lak he crazy, an' lookin' up, dere was de Schooner,
sails furled, anchor down, a-sailin' Outen de channel.
De cook he ran 'bout lak he crazy; he don' want to
jump overboard cause he ’fraid of de sharks, so he
jes natchally yelled; an' de schooner sail on fo' half
a mile, den stop, an’ de men what had been fol-
lerin' clim' board. What done it? Why, de vampa
4. *
Trailing the Sea-Bat
fish. Yes, sah, he jes pick up de anchor an' tote
it off.”
Each boy had some particular story to relate as to
the dangerous character of the fish and its gigantic
size and strength, intended to convince the listener
that its capture was impossible. I found that some
of these stories were true. A sea-bat had towed a
schooner up the channel, and while several attempts
had been made to take one of these fish, it had never
been accomplished in this locality. When I asked for
a volunteer, after announcing my intention of trying
this sport, the men were strangely silent. There was
a superstition among them that the fish had some
demoniac power; that it could seize a man in its clasp-
ers and hold him beneath its cloak-like body and
smother him. I finally secured the services of Chief
and Paublo, and by daylight the following morning
we were on the water, the men pulling across the
channel to the long lagoon which formed the break-
water of the group to the east.
My boat was a light cedar yawl, built in Boston,
thoroughly seaworthy and prepared for the rough
weather that is often experienced among the keys, by
having under her forward and side decks rows of
air-tight cans, which more than once had proved to
be of good service.
For weapons of offense I had the grains of the
reef with which I had often taken large fishes. This
harpoon consisted of a two-pronged spear attached
5
Big Game at Sea
to a steel cap which fitted closely upon a long, pliable
yellow pine handle. The barbs of the points were
movable; when they entered a fish they closed, but
when the slightest strain came they opened and pre-
vented the harpoon from tearing out. A stout line
or rope was made fast to the grains and led up the
pole, and three hundred feet of it coiled forward in
a large half barrel. Beside this I had a sharp coral
chisel to use as a lance in case of necessity. Thus
equipped, we were ready for almost any game, at
least of the sea.
The early mornings were usually ushered in by
transformation scenes of splendid possibilities—
staged in the heavens—and this was no exception.
Long before the sun appeared the east was a mass
of crimson clouds; first deep, dark and ominous, grad-
ually increasing in brilliancy, color and tint, until the
sun burst forth in all his splendor.
We soon reached the spot where we had heard the
thundering of the sea-bat the preceding night, but
the lagoon was apparently deserted. Chief suggest-
ing that the fish did not come so far up until full
flood tide, we turned and rowed to the south, parallel
to the great fringing reef against whose sunken coral
rocks the surf broke sullenly. Long Key—a sandy.
spit since destroyed by a hurricane—Bush Key and
the long fringing reef two or three miles in length,
formed three sides of the lagoon, which at high water
was from four to twenty feet in depth and through a
6
Trailing the Sea-Bat
part of which ran a deep blue channel. Acres were
covered with branch coral, while the rest of the bot-
tom was either white sand or had a scant growth of
algae—the home of crawfish, crabs and various shell
fish upon which I believe the big rays fed.
The men rowed slowly down the reef by an old
ship blown in by a hurricane years before, now lying
ghostly and still, with a corporal's guard of pelicans,
frigate birds and gulls; down by Bird Key, whose
population of terns rose high in the air with bewilder-
ing cries. I had begun to think that the morning was
a poor time for vampire fishing, when Chief stopped
rowing and pointed to the east. I turned in time to
see a black triangular object waved above the surface;
it might have been the dorsal fin of a shark, yet no
shark had so black a topgallant sail, or, indeed, so
large a one. Paublo was gazing at it with protruding
eyes and parted lips; it was a rude awakening for him,
as I believe he had considered it a forlorn hope, and
secretly prayed that we might not see the dreaded
fish. I turned the boat in the direction of the fin and
bade the men give way. The trim cutter shot
through the still water like a gull. Where I had
sighted the fish the lagoon began to dip into the deep
channel of the Gulf Stream as it flows between Cuba
and the keys, and until nearly one hundred feet is
reached every object on the bottom can be seen, so
clear is the water.
We had almost reached the spot when not one, but
7
Big Game at Sea
****
five or six fins appeared, my exclamation causing the
men to look around. I gave the tiller to Paublo,
Chief taking the oars, and crept forward. As I
picked up the grains I noticed that I could see the
bottom distinctly thirty-five feet below. We had hap-
pened upon a school of the monsters which were
indulging in some game of the sea. There were,
perhaps, ten or twelve in all, moving in a circle one
hundred and fifty feet in diameter, and churning the
water into a veritable maelstrom. Chief was slowly
and noiselessly propelling the boat ahead, and we
drifted about thirty feet from the circumference of
the circle.
Surely these fleeting, glistening figures were the
witches of the world of fishes, as no more diabolical
creature could be imagined. They resembled enor-
mous bats, and in following one another around the
circle, raised the outer tip of the long wing-like fin
high out of the water in a graceful curve, the other
being deeply submerged. Imagine a fish shaped
something like a bat, the wings ending in graceful
points, a vivid black on the upper surface and white
beneath, a long whip-like tail, while from near the
large and prominent eyes extend forward a pair of
writhing, clasping finger-like tentacles three feet in
length. Endow such a creature with marvelous
activity and a constant desire to change its position
and assume some extraordinary attitude, and possibly
a faint conception of the actual appearance and per-
8
Trailing the Sea-Bat
Sonality of these strange creatures circling before me
may be obtained.
As we slowly drifted nearer I could see them deep
in the water, apparently going through a series of
fantastic figures; now gliding down with flying
motion of the wings; sweeping, gyrating upward with
a twisting vertical motion marvelous in its perfect
grace; now they flashed white, again black, so that
one would have said they were rolling over and over,
turning somersaults, were it possible for so large a
fish to accomplish the feat. Since then I have been
informed by one who had opportunity to watch them
on many occasions, that this is what they were doing,
and is really a common practice of the big rays. As
I recall this strange performance, the huge creatures
would suddenly turn over and shoot along upon their
backs, thus displaying the pure white of the ventral
surface, then again turning at the surface, move
along with the remarkable, undulatory, bird-like
motion. All this passed in rapid review, and fear-
ing that they would become alarmed I gave the word,
and Chief moved ahead.
I wished to select my game and make the throw as
the fish turned, and to accomplish this I waited until
several had passed. Finally we drifted directly in
the path of the remarkable procession, the fishes pay-
ing no attention to the boat. One dived beneath
her, another came careening up from below, standing
directly on edge, as nearly as I could determine, and
$ -
9
Big Game at Sea
fairly exposed its broad back, not ten feet away; and
as it glistened in the sun I hurled the grains into it
with all my strength. The pine handle seemed to
shoot into the air as it rebounded, then we became wit-
nesses to the extraordinary agility of this monster
ray. It appeared to fly into the air, rising, an appal-
ing mass of flesh, out of the seething waters, its side
wings beating the heated air as it rose, then falling
with a crash and the reverberating sound we had
listened to the night before; fell as a square twelve by
ten feet and weighing a possible ton might fall.
As the heavy waves from the impact struck the
boat, I stumbled into the bottom, rolling out of the
way of the jumping line that was now hissing from
the coil. The fish, after its first leap, had headed
directly to the south, or out to sea, and the line was
rising upward in coils. The Indian oarsmen rowed
the boat ahead to lessen the strain when it should
come, but so furious was the rush that I decided to
check the fish before the rope was exhausted, and tak-
ing a piece of sail-cloth as a glove I grasped a coil
and held on.
The boat was well under way, but the shock was
terrific. Arms and muscles snapped, and for a mo-
ment the rope smoked through the cloth; then Chief
dropped his oars and took it, and we were under way
driving the fish by a single rein. I had used the boat
to capture man-eater sharks, and as a precautionary
measure to prevent the line from getting over the
-- I O
Trailing the Sea-Bat
side, had a deep notch cut in the bow, in which it
rested. With no little difficulty we succeeded in lift-
ing it in place, the bow of the boat at the water's edge
riding a heavy sea, which rushed ahead of us as an
advance guard. In a short time the fish towed us
into deep water, and then surged downward, keeping
near the bottom, and we were forced as far astern
as possible to keep the bow from going under. I
noticed that Chief had taken out a big sheath knife,
which he habitually carried in a leather scabbard, and
held it in his teeth—a significant movement that was
not lost on Paublo, whose terrified glance shot from
the fast-disappearing keys to the hissing line ahead
and back again.
We were headed far out into the gulf, and for two
miles or more the ray towed us at rapid pace. It
was evident that if something was not done the line
would have to be cut away or we would follow our
wild steed indefinitely. I therefore directed the men
to ship the oars and pull against it while I took a turn
with the rope around the forward seat; but this
powerful brake had no effect upon the fish. Then I
determined to haul in and try to lance it. We were
now a mile and a half, perhaps more, to the south of
Bird Key in the open gulf and began to feel the long
swell that ever rolled in from the west, while an
ominous squall cloud as black as night, to the south
dead ahead, did not add to the pleasures of the situa-
tion. The line was passed astern and we all “boused
I I
Big Game at Sea
on,” as Paublo expressed it; now gaining a foot, again
slipping back, hauling, straining every muscle, slowly
but surely forcing the light boat upon the fish to the
accompanying shouts of Paublo and Chief—“ah ho
ah,” “ah he ho,” “all together now,” “ah ho!”
Then would come a rush; the line would smoke
through our fingers for ten or twenty feet, and we
would lie back until the flurry seemed to die away to
haul again.
For some time we worked in this way, until I esti-
mated that the fish was not more than twenty feet
away, and had crawled out on to the little deck to
peer down into the water, when the line rapidly rose,
then turned so sharply to the left that I was nearly
thrown overboard. The Seminole, who was in the
stern, grasped an oar and aided in hauling the boat
around; but she yawed and careened so that the
water poured in; then the fish appeared at the sur-
face forty feet away, its wing waving in the air like
the black piratical flag it was, perhaps in derision,
perhaps in defiance, then disappeared. The fish
had turned the keeled boat in little more than its
length and was now towing us directly back to the
lagoon—a proceeding more than satisfactory, as a
storm was rapidly coming, and if caught we would
have to cut away; so we sat with a turn of the line
about the thwart on the alert for any move. Steam
could hardly have towed us faster; we flew through
the water throwing clouds of spray over the deck,
I 2
Trailing the Sea-Bat
racing with flocks of gulls that eyed us curiously,
plunging among schools of Portuguese men of war
and velellas, and in a short time without incident
entered the lagoon, where I decided to bring matters
to a finish and cut away rather than go to sea a second
time. -
Whether the great fish was accustomed to go to a
certain feeding ground and now returned in its terror
from mere force of habit, I do not know, but the fact
remains that it was rushing up the lagoon between
Long Key and the outer fringing reef, into an almost
perfect cul de sac, the water shallowing at every flap
of its wonderful wings. I stood on the little deck
and could see every movement of the strange fish, that
in swimming over the white sandy bottom in water
not over four feet in depth, displayed its outline
perfectly.
Chief had the oar, steering the boat after the fish,
which, it was expected, would turn at any moment,
while Paublo stood amidships holding the rope, which
had a turn about the seat. The lagoon narrowed
rapidly, and at high tide a small boat-channel was
formed; at other times being too shallow and easily
waded. Perchance the fish having passed this at
flood tide, was again making for it, hoping to reach
deep water, which was but a stone's throw away.
The graceful, bird-like movements of its fins was a
fascinating spectacle; a waving, undulatory motion
which sent the ray along at a remarkable speed, and
I3
Big Game at Sea
the slightest increase of which forced it over the
white sand like the shadow of a dark cloud.
We were running parallel to the beach, and some
negroes stopped and waved their hats as we shot by.
Suddenly, without the slightest warning, the fish
turned. I saw the pointed fin leap into the air until
it stood upright, as the fish seemed to breast the
water in the turn. I stepped back and shouted a
warning to Chief. But it was too late. The bow of
the boat was jerked, shivering and trembling, almost
completely around, throwing Paublo over the rail
into the lagoon, and was away almost before he
recovered his feet and stood in water nearly up to
his armpits looking at the retreating boat, doubtless
with amazement seasoned with relief, as he could
easily wade to Long Key. #
The fish headed for the outer reef, on which a
heavy sea was breaking; drawing little or no water
it could doubtless plunge over while the boat would
either ground, or if it succeeded in making the reef,
would doubtless be swamped in the surf. We took
the line as Paublo dropped it, and surged upon it with
all our strength, and were encouraged by finding that
the fish was weakening. But we were rapidly ap-
proaching the reef; another haul and we were nearly
on top of our quarry, whose long tail was under
the boat, the mighty wings pulsating just ahead. A
patch of coral now loomed up, and this fortunate
obstacle turned the fish and in the whirl the fin
I4.
Trailing the Sea-Bat
seemed to rise almost over the boat, hurling the spray
over us, and once more we were off up the lagoon
headed for the cul de sac. -
I gave Chief the rope, and taking the big square-
edged lance sent it into the black mass. A cloud of
blood followed, while the speed of the fish was
increased so that the bow was well under water,
flush with the deck. Again and again I lanced the
fish, but the blade was a chisel-like affair, and did not
penetrate more than five or six inches. There was
a duplicate pair of grains in the boat, and this weapon
was also hurled into the ray's back, but still it rushed
on, seemingly as vigorous as ever. I fully expected
to see it turn again, but it held its course, heading
directly for the narrow tide channel between Long
and Bush Keys toward which Paublo was running
along the beach of the former key. It was an excit-
ing moment. The fish was alongside, yet we were
going, as near as I could judge, at full speed.
Nearer we came, flying over the roots of man-
groves, over patches of coral and sea-grass, into a
narrow channel hardly four feet deep and not thirty
feet wide, with a flat on each side partly bare. Not
a tenth of a mile away the sea was beating on the
reef, which meant liberty, if not life, to the fish.
But fishermen's luck was ours. The tide was so low
that it left but two feet in the upper head of the
channel into which we ran. The fish discovered its
error too late, but made a clever attempt to rectify
I 5
Big Game at Sea
it, turning and lifting itself partly out of water, roll-
ing the boat over, throwing oars, grains, and fisher-
men into the shallow lagoon.
The turn cost the fish its life, as it ran high on
to the narrow mud flat, where it beat the shallow
water with its powerful wings, every movement
urging it further out of its native element. Paublo,
who had waded across the little channel, in his exu-
berance, bounded onto the flat back of the monster
and waved his hands aloft, while Chief ran in shore
with the rope and presently had the devil fish securely
fastened to a mangrove tree not fifty feet away.
We had earned our game and were well exhausted.
At high water the ray could have escaped by way of
the channel through which, doubtless, it often passed.
Stretched upon the hot sands beneath the strag-
gling mangroves, Paublo humming a low barcarole
of his own invention, Chief silent, but with a long
smile fixed upon his countenance, we could not believe
but that the writhing black mass was a monstrous
bird, one of the uncanny pterodactyls which geologists
dream about; yet it was a noble quarry,
“The struck eagle stretched upon the phain,
No more through rolling clouds to soar again.”
The weight of the ray we could only conjecture,
but it was doubtless over a ton; and had this light and
airy swimmer sprung upon the boat it would have
crushed it like paper.
I6
Trailing the Sea-Bat
When the tide was at the ebb the black vampire,
as the men called it, was high and dry, and was paced
off. It was thirteen feet from tip to tip, ten feet
long from its mouth to the base of its tail, which
was about seven feet in length. It is impossible to
convey any adequate idea of the appearance of this
devil-fish, sea-vampire, this Manta brevirostra of
science, which is so difficult to take that it more often
runs away with boats than is captured, and of whose
habits very little is known. Indeed, vampire fishing
will never be a popular sport except among those
who delight in an element of danger with their
pastimes.
Mr. G. E. Northrop, of Chicago, captured a very
large sea-bat in the Gulf of Mexico in the summer of
1898, and in a letter to the writer described it as
remarkable sport. The fish gave a hard fight, towing
the heavy boat a long distance. Unfortunately the
photographs of this fish turned out unsatisfactorily,
though they gave some idea of the monster.
The big ray was almost jet black upon its upper
surface, the back being rough; the under surface was
white, with gray cloud effects here and there, giving it
a marbled appearance. Popular fancy has given the
fish a sting above the base of the tail, but this is a
misnomer; it is without the serrated lance which
marks many of the tribe which I took in these waters,
one of which wounded a companion by striking its
lances across his foot. -
17
Big Game at Sea
The mouth of the ray was of ominous dimensions,
and afforded room for a man to lie very snugly coiled
up within. The teeth were very small, but the extraor-
dinary feature of this fish—the one which has given
rise to many tales, true and legendary—is its two
tentacles or claspers, fleshy objects about four or five
inches wide and three feet long, which extend out-
ward from each side of the mouth. Their office is
undoubtedly to aid in securing food. When the fish
is moving they are in constant motion, being whirled
about like the tentacles of a squid, and that they are
muscular and powerful has been demonstrated on
many occasions. The natural movement of the clasp-
ers is inward, and when any object strikes between
them it is instinctively held—a proceeding which
explains the undoubted fact that these fishes can run
away with vessels.
At least five instances of this were heard of on the
reef occurring from Tampa Bay to Garden Key, and
the Hon. Wm. Elliott, formerly of Beaufort, S. C.,
a famous hunter of this game, reports two instances
from that State. In every case the vessels, always
at anchor, suddenly moved off in a mysterious man-
ner and were towed greater or less distances. The
ray had collided with the chain, and, true to its
instincts, threw its two tentacular feelers or claspers
around it and rushed ahead, thus lifting the anchor.
That the claspers are very powerful is well shown by
the experience of Mr. Elliott, who, in endeavoring
-
I 8
Trailing the Sea-Bat
to kill a large fish, which he had harpooned and run
down, with a knife, felt his arm seized and held so
securely that it became numb. He called to the men
to hold the fish at all hazards; but it is obvious that
if the animal which they had just hauled to the boat
had made a rush and broken the harpoon or rope
the sportsman would have been carried off in its
embrace.
That so enormous an animal can leap so easily and
so high is remarkable, and I believe that this is a
common pastime, as in later attempts to follow the
fishes at night, I frequently heard the resounding
crash that told of the return. The ray which I
struck seemed to clear the water three feet, but Chief
said that he had seen them jump five feet, while
Mr. Elliott, already quoted, states that he has seen
them bound ten feet into the air.
On the outer reef this fish was considered a dan-
gerous animal, and was never followed. Some years
previous an attempt had been made to catch one
which fouled a vessel's cable. The fish became
impaled on the anchor, and when brought up broke
away. It was then harpooned, but escaped after
leaping partly on the boat, breaking the oars on
one side, and seriously injuring the crew, who were
crushed into the sinking craft. So the sea-vampire,
which was supposed to suffocate its victims with its
cloak-like wings, was dreaded, and that any one
should consider it sport to follow such a creature
I9
Big Game at Sea
and hunt it down was more than the ordinary reef
negro could understand.
The negroes of upper Florida, Georgia, and the
Carolinas, where the fish is also found, are equally
afraid of it; yet, in 1845, to take one of these mon-
sters was considered in these States the highest phase
of sport, and the visitor to any of the hospitable
plantations near Hilton Head would be sure to be
invited to a sea-vampire or devil-fish hunt. The
sport was followed with great abandon, and one gen-
tleman had a record of sixteen sea-vampires taken
with the harpoon in one season, the fish towing him
from ten to twenty miles, and fighting from one to
five hours.
The waters of Port Royal Sound were the breed-
ing grounds of the fish, and it is a singular fact that
the wild excitement embodied in the sport was dis-
covered in an attempt at retaliation on the part of
the planters whose property had been destroyed by
the rays. Those whose property abutted the Sound
had water fences which marked the limits of their
plantations seaward, and some had piers extending
out into the water. The heavy posts, which would
be in deep water at flood tide, were mysteriously
hauled up, and I am informed by a gentleman from
this section that the piles of wharves were occasion-
ally similarly treated. For a long time the cause was
unexplained, but finally a school of large rays was
seen to sweep along and collide with the piles. The
2O
Trailing the Sea-Bat
fish evidently threw their claspers about them and in
the violent struggles which ensued wrenched them
loose.
The sportsmen made the attack in eight-oared
barges propelled by negroes, and when the strike was
made the barge rushed away toward the ocean, several
other boats being caught as they passed until the
fish was towing a procession of craft. The initial
fish measured twenty feet across, and from that time
on the exciting pastime became the sport above all
others of the Sound region. The catches were
marked by many sensational features. On one occa-
sion Mr. T. R. S. Elliott was the harpooner, and
when the fish was struck it cleared the water, strik-
ing the boat in the bow, sweeping away all the oars
on one side, and sending her astern so violently that
every man in the barge was thrown from his seat
and one or two severely crushed. The man at the
helm, James Cuthbert, was pitched headlong on to
the deck, while Mr. Elliott took a flying leap into
the air, landing upon the back of the struggling fish.
He was fortunately hauled aboard before the ray got
under way, and stood on the little deck, drenched,
and raised a cheer as the boat moved off behind the
wild steed. •
The legend heard in the Pacific that this fish envel-
ops its prey with its cloak-like wings may be traced to
the ancient authors, among whom Oppian writes, “It
is the broadest among fishes '' (Eurotatos pantessin
2 I -
Big Game at Sea
metichthusin); and he further describes its habit of
seizing mariners, sinking with them and smothering
the victim beneath its wings. This belief is still held
by the pearl divers off the southern Gulf Coast. The
truth is that while the fish makes a remarkable fight
for its liberty, it is timid and never attacks; the foul-
ing of anchors, the leaping upon boats being mere
accidents attendant upon the movement of a large
fish in agony and fear.
In following this sport in Port Royal Sound the
sharks were often a factor to be dealt with, attacking
the wounded sea-vampire in such numbers that while
being towed by a fish Mr. Elliott took with a line
as many as six hammerheads which were following
the trail of blood; vicious monsters ranging up to
nine feet in length.
In its peculiar somersaults the bat is not unique,
as I have repeatedly observed the California banded
sheepshead roll over and over; yet in so large a fish
it is a remarkable act. Merely venturing an opinion
I am inclined to think that this may be a feature of
courtship, and nowhere have the strange gambols
been so often observed as in Port Royal Sound.
Here the fishes were repeatedly seen by Mr. Elliott,
as I saw them once in the Gulf of Mexico, and my
father, the late Dr. J. B. Holder, saw them at
Tampa, swimming in a circle, black and white flash-
ing at intervals as they somersaulted; now swimming
upon their backs; now vaulting into the air and while
2 2.
Trailing the Sea-Bat
in this position falling upon the back. Sometimes
the act would be performed in deep water, the flash
of the white ventral side alone telling the story of
the turn; again the water would boil at the surface,
the horns appear and the huge fish would roll com-
pletely over until its tail lashed the air in its descent.
So commonly was this trick performed that more
than one of the fishes taken by Mr. Elliott was
harpooned in the belly.
It is believed that specimens measuring nearly
thirty feet across have been seen. Mitchell refers to
one caught in the West Indies which required six
oxen to drag it up the beach; but the average ray
taken on American shores, which the sportsmen
may expect to find in the summer months from
Port Royal Sound to Garden Key and up the west
coast of Florida, and in Lower California, will
rarely exceed eighteen or twenty feet in width—large
enough to afford some of the most exciting experi-
ences in the annals of sport with the spear at sea.
So rare is this great game, so difficult to take, that
every catch is an incident worthy of being placed
on record. While this chapter was being written,
a devil-fish was taken off Aransas Pass, Texas, which
so well illustrates the remarkable staying qualities
of the animal that I take the liberty of copying an
article by Mr. W. G. Sterett, which appeared in the
Dallas (Texas) News, describing the sport, or rather
battle between the devil-fish, which for its size made
23
Big Game at Sea
an extraordinary exhibition of strength. I had visited
Aransas Pass the season previous, and hoped to find
a devil-fish and renew the acquaintance of years before
on the opposite side of the Gulf, but none were seen.
Mr. Sterett is a wise man in his generation, as he
determined not to tell his story until he could reinforce
it by photographs of the catch, feeling confident that
no one would believe it, and not knowing that Mr.
Tomlinson, of St. Petersburg, Fla., had taken a num-
ber in his specially prepared boat, and that devil-fish
spearing was the manly sport sixty years ago in South
Carolina. Mr. Sterett says:
For two days before it occurred, four or five of
these creatures were seen near the end of the jetties
extending from St. Joseph's Island. They were on
the surface, moving around something like cattle
feeding in a pasture. Our party, which it may be
well to mention was composed of the following gen-
tlemen, since some of them may be worthy of belief,
consisted of John W. Robbins, Austin; Eugene
Cherry, Sherman; E. P. Gregg, Sherman; P. R.
Markham, Sherman; O. C. Ahlers, Sherman; T. T.
Fuller, Wichita Falls; Brig. Gen. Cleary, San Fran-
cisco; J. W. Maxwell, Austin; Walter Crow, Waxa-
hachie; Eugene Carley, Terrell; Capt. Walters,
Houston; N. L. Buckner, Dallas; Dr. G. H.
Wooten, Austin; R. C. Roberdeau, Austin; Butz
Metzler, Dallas; Dr. E. V. Dickey, Dallas; L. A.
Pires, Dallas; C. C. Cobb, Dallas, and myself. Nat-
24
(1) Hauling the Sea Bat to the Dock. (2) Side View. (3) Showing
Lower Side of Fish. (4) Showing Back of Fish.

Trailing the Sea-Bal
urally the presence of these fish excited considerable
comment and provoked suggestions as to how they
could be taken. On the day before the capture
nearly all of the party were at the end of the jet-
ties engaged in tarpon, mackerel and sheepshead fish-
ing. One of the creatures came near a boat with its
mouth open as natural, since it is unable to shut it,
and Mr. Cherry, of Sherman, threw his hook into
it. In pulling it out it caught on the upper part of
the mouth. There was a swish, a whirr of the reel,
a convulsive grab for a firmer hold on the rod, a
great deal of consternation, a surge of the prow of
the boat bottomward and the snap of the line, which
was musical to Mr. Cherry and his attendant.
Butz Metzler, of Dallas, brimful of luck, pulled
his line over the back of another with the result of
imbedding his tarpon hook in some part of its body.
A wail, a sort of wraith wail, went up from the boat
which sounded, “I can't stop him.” Metzler's boat
went skimming for nearly half a mile, when his boat-
man, with rare presence of mind, bethought him of
his knife and thus relieved Mr. Metzler and himself
from an embarrassing position by severing the line.
General Cleary threw his bait and hook over another
one of them, with the result of catching a fish, new
to these waters. It was said that this fish was riding
on the back of the devil-fish, but this story proved to
be untrue. Now, when this experience was discussed
in the evening it was determined that an effort should
25
Big Game at Sea
be made to capture one of the monsters. Edward
Cotter, the proprietor of Tarpon Inn, volunteered to
make the effort if properly assisted by others, the
Sherman, or Athenian, contingent of the party being
especially anxious to attempt the feat.
Among the visitors to this resort this year was one
Mr. Mayer, of New York, an ardent fisherman, who
comes to the place every year. On this occasion
he brought and left a new harpoon. It consisted
simply of a bolt of steel about six inches long
and was a half inch in diameter. The weapon was
made so that when the blow was struck the handle
would come out, leaving the harpoon proper attached
to the rope in the flesh of the victim.
Early next morning the attempt was made, and a
monstrous specimen was soon found, and when two
of the party who were in a launch had reached within
a few feet of the fish, which evinced not the least fear,
one of them, named Kline, got up on his seat—he is a
man of six feet and over, and of powerful build—and
hurled the harpoon with all his strength. With a
bolt of steel about the length of a railroad spike, with
the weight of eight feet of half-inch iron rod behind
it and with a man of marvelous strength impelling
it, the harpoon sank into the mass of meat several
inches. There was a boiling of water. The boat
started as a flushed quail. The bow sank deep and
away went the boat for the gulf. The two men,
accustomed to the sea and things out of the ordinary,
26
Trailing the Sea-Bat
settled in their seats in a moment. Each held the rope
and, I think, had it around some sort of snubbin post
at the bow. The sudden rush and speed might have
broken the rope or the barbs of the harpoon in less
skillful hands, but the craft was well managed. Rope
was let out in the rushes. Rope was drawn in on
curves or the least cessation of extreme effort on the
part of the wounded monster, which soon demon-
strated that its wounds or the restraint placed on it
had rendered it unable to maintain a straightaway
course. The rest of the party sat in their boats,
heard the thud as the harpoon was thrown, saw the
two men in their boat fairly fly toward the ocean,
but no one knew what to do to aid those who had
made the attack. General Cleary and his boat were
closer to the fish than any other person at the time
the harpoon was thrown. His boatman started in
pursuit, and as their boat was a light yawl or
“dinghy,” as they call it there, he was able to keep in
pretty fair distance. The fish made its first swerve
from a straightaway course a few minutes after it
was struck. It made a quarter or half circle and
when it did it Cleary's boat attached itself to the boat
of Kline and Farley. Now it had two boats to pull
with four men. Soon it made another deviation and
another boat threw its anchor in the Cleary boat.
All the other boats, seeing the success of Cleary, were
rushing as fast as they could to do as he had done.
The result was that in half an hour the beast was
27
Big Game at Sea
towing thirteen boats, in each of which were two
men. The most of these boats were heavy sixteen-
foot boats used for tarpon and sea fishing, while some
of them were gasoline launches. All had been done
that could be done by the generals in the fight. The
policy was to finally tire out the monster and then
drag him ashore.
It was about half past ten o'clock when Kline
threw the harpoon. Eleven o'clock came and the ray
was scurrying around in the gulf with apparent utmost
ease. Out to the ocean buoy, away beyond the Pass
buoy, he took us. Around the ocean buoy he went
with his string of boats, and round it again. Once
he went so close to it that we thought he would
foul us on the chain of the beacon, but there was
no trouble. Then out in the gulf he went until the
land had almost faded. Back he came again, some-
times in a way to show he had lost nothing of his
vitality and strength, and then again he was moving
slowly enough to excite the cry from boat to boat,
“He’s all in,” “He’s giving up,” “He can't last
but a few minutes longer.” But words of cheer of
this kind died on the lips when the fish would gather
up his strength and make taut the line of every boat as
he fairly flew through his element. Twice, when he
was circling, he took short cuts and went under
the boats. In each case it was for all the world like a
mad beast surrounded and it had resolved to break
through. As he made these moves there was a
.-
28
Trailing the Sea-Bat
Scurrying in the boats, an untying of tow lines and a
breaking away, each boat for itself. But as soon as
it had passed out of the circle the boats were attached
again and he proceeded with his heavy drag out in
the gulf, close to shore, back toward the jetties, out
in the gulf again, pursuing his way as a drunken
man, staggering, uncertain, indefinite, blindly.
The fun of the thing began to pall about half
past twelve. The gulf was fortunately calm, but the
tropical sun beat down fiercely, there was no ice
water, men who had been up from daylight began
to feel an unpleasant feeling in the region of the
stomach. Then again there was not much sport in
being dragged around in the ocean by a creature
which no one but the man of the harpoon and
his companion had seen. More than this, the fish
appeared to be just about as strong as when first
struck, and there was every prospect, unless he was
further trammeled or injured, that he could drag his
flotilla for a week or month. I have said there were
thirteen boats attached to him, but not all were
attached in the first hour. That needs explanation
to the extent of saying that two or three came into
the procession a little later. Treasurer Robbins got
into line about an hour after the fish was harpooned.
Dr. Wooten and Mr. Roberdeau got in a little later.
Mr. Robbins gave frequent advice as to how to carry
on the fight. I did the same thing. It should be
said, to the credit of the boatmen actually doing the
29
Big Game at Sea
work, that they paid not the least attention to either
of us, thus showing their wisdom and avoiding the
possible escape of the prize. It was suggested by
Some wise man in the battle—it was neither Rob-
bins nor myself—that if we could receive reinforce-
ments we might triumph. It was suggested by some
pessimistic gentlemen that if we didn't get reinforce-
ments we would never get the fish.
Finally it was agreed to hoist a signal of distress,
though it was certainly a shameful thing for twenty-
six men to do, and call out the life-saving crew. So
we hoisted a red and white handkerchief on a fishing
pole and stuck it as high as possible toward the sky.
At this season of the year the life-saving service has
a man at each station in the cupola on the top of the
building. The watch at the Pass saw the signal, and
with his glasses ascertained our trouble. He notified
Mr. Cotter, who, with another harpoon and a Savage
rifle, shooting a 30-30 soft-nosed bullet, came out to
where we were yet playing the “ring around the
roses '' with what was once our prize, but which now
had about reversed conditions and made us its prize.
Cotter anchored his large launch and, betaking
himself to a boat, proceeded with his weapons to the
side of the boat immediately attached to the devil
fish. But I am getting on too fast. Before Mr.
Cotter came Walter Crow of Waxahachie, in a launch
with his wife, who had been sloshing around fishing
for tarpon and mackerel and taking a long shot now
|
º
3O
Trailing the Sea-Bat
and then at a snipe or other sea bird with a pump
gun, arrived on the scene. Ardent sportsman, he
was enthusiastic. He hauled up by the side of the
boat of Klein and Farley. Some one suggested that
Klein pull the fish to the surface and that Mr. Crow
should shoot. At once a chorus filled the air,
“Don’t shoot; you might hit somebody’”; “Don’t
shoot; the shot will scatter ’’; “ For heaven's
sake, don't shoot.” Mr. Crow, evidently impressed
by this loud and universal request, and further by
the fact that the monster persisted in remaining
twenty to thirty feet in the depths of the sea, turned
his attention to relieving the two tired boatmen by
assisting them at the ropes. And he did valiant
service. When Cotter came alongside of the Klein-
Farley boat he quickly got his harpoon ready and
the ropes adjusted. Then Klein, Farley, Crow and
Cotter used their supreme efforts to pull the fish to
the top. For a time their efforts were unavailing.
But after a while the line slackened a little and the
bulky thing began to arise. Up, up it came, the
personification of stubbornness and weight. When
within two feet of the surface Cotter, with all his
force, threw his harpoon. The monster, stung again,
threw one of its flippers in the air, sunk in a flash,
was gone again. Men who had been standing up in
their boats to witness what they hoped would be
the coup de maitre, fell back in their seats with a
back-dislocating jolt. Again the monotonous travel
3 I
Big Game at Sea
around the gulf began. It was about two o'clock.
Two ropes were attached to the fish now, and the
two could be used by two crews to stop him and
get him to the surface. Time and fatigue were
required to stop him. Strength was required to get
him to the surface.
Time and fatigue did what was expected. The
subterranean locomotive began to go slow. Then it
stopped. Now was the time for strength. Down at
the bottom the creature lay, full eighteen hundred
pounds in weight. The two crews bent over to get
hold of the ropes as near the water as possible. They
heaved. From every throat came cheers of encour-
agement. They heaved again and there was slack in
the ropes. Again the cheers arose and the monster
weight gradually came up to the surface. Cotter
seized his rifle. Bang! There was a splash. Away
went the boats again. But there was one shot in him
anyhow, and one shot from a Savage with a soft-nosed
or dum-dum bullet means death. Again the creature
slowed up. Again supremest effort lifted it to the top.
Again, bang! Then, bang-bang! The creature sunk.
But there was no tightening of the ropes on the boats.
It had gone down under mortal, paralyzing wounds.
Slowly again it was brought to the surface. The blood
from it reddened the sea all around. Ropes were at-
tached to it and then fastened to the big launch and
back toward the hotel it was towed, while the victors,
or those who had engaged in the hunt, went other
32
Trailing the Sea-Bat
ways, since the launch could pull no more than the
great weight which it had at its stern.
When the shore was reached the island people and
all the guests of the hotel flocked to the beach to
see it. Thirty or forty boys and men tugged at
ropes to get it through the shallow water to where
it could be photographed and examined. Here it
was raised by block and tackle and pictures taken.
It was then lowered and Dr. Wooten, of Austin, Dr.
Dickey, of Dallas, Dr. Greenwood, of San Antonio,
Dr. Ahlers, of Sherman, and Dr. Cleary, of Califor-
nia, engaged in a post-mortem examination.
Captain E. H. Tomlinson, of Florida, previously
mentioned, has probably had more remarkable
experiences with devil-fishes than any one in America.
He has built a non-capsizable catamaran from which
he harpoons them. The following account of his
most recent catch I take in part from a St. Peters-
burg (Florida) paper:
BIG DEVIL–FISH.
Deep Sea Monster Harpooned off Egmont Key and
Towed to City.
Hundreds of people were on the streets in a steady
stream for several hours Wednesday afternoon, the
occasion being the bringing into port of a monster
devil-fish sighted and harpooned near Egmont Key
by Captain E. H. Tomlinson on Wednesday morning.
33
Big Game at Sea
The monster weighed I2OO pounds, measured thir-
teen feet across, and twelve feet six inches from
mouth to tip of tail, and there was “ something
doing ” before he was landed. The launch Uncle
Sam sighted the fish at ten o'clock Wednesday morn-
ing between Fort Dade and Fort De Soto, on Egmont
and Mullet Keys, and about one-half mile from land.
The harpoon was thrown at ten-fifteen from the star-
board side of the launch, and found one of the few
soft spots in the tough hide of his satanic majesty of
the deep, catching a firm hold. So well did it stick in
fact that the heavy iron rod was bent before the devil
fish was finally subdued. Instantly the fish dove
deep, taking 250 feet of line at a whizzing gait,
and when snubbed on the stern bitt, towed the launch
half a mile, stern ahead. With the aid of Captain
Will McPherson and Arthur May, the line was
passed to the bow, and snubbing on the forward bitt,
everything was ready for a tow, which was enjoyed
by all except the devil-fish, for thirty minutes, the men
occasionally taking in slack line, or losing line when
the fish got especially energetic and spurted.
At the end of an hour, the captors were able to
get the fish near enough the launch to fasten a tarpon
gaff into the lower jaw, made it fast on deck, and
started for St. Petersburg. -
The party reached port, bringing with it its dis-
tinguished captive at four o'clock in the afternoon,
and landed at the city dock, at the foot of Central
34
Trailing the Sea-Bat
Avenue. The news of the capture spread rapidly,
and in a few minutes the dock was crowded with
spectators. These as they left told the news to
others, and thanks to thorough advertising, it was
not long until nearly everybody in town it seemed,
was traveling to the water front. Dozens of kodaks
and cameras, were in evidence, and the devil fish was
the most photographed curiosity the city has seen for
many a day.

CHAPTER II
DIVING FOR TURTLES
HETHER it was the ill-concealed smile
of incredulity on the face of my boatman,
or the rashness of over-confidence I know
not, but I had announced that I was going to take a
big green turtle, single handed, on the outer reef,
and the statement had aroused no little interest among
the fishermen, wreckers and Conchs, who made up the
little settlement on Long Key.
It was April and intense heat—the advance guard
of the long summer—was beginning to be felt; yet
the days were perfect. The islands—a dozen or
more—seemed like emeralds in settings of silver, rest-
ing on an azure sea of glass. Not a ripple could be
seen save that made by the fin of some vagrant shark;
not a sound broke the stillness, except the occasional
“ha-ha " of the laughing gull, and the musical and
distant roar of the waves as they piled in upon the
outer reef. The air of early morning was cool and
delicious, and as the sun came up, suffusing the east-
ern sky with long vermilion streamers, Long John
would shove off his dinghy, and with myself as com-
panion, scull out into the great lagoon, which formed
36
Diving for Turtles
the central field of the growing atoll, and search for
turtles or the large and gamy barracuda, both of
which we took with the grains.
Long John was well named. Nearly seven feet in
height, thin as the conventional rail, angular as a
manzanita tree, his face fiery red, from the combined
results of Bacchus and the sun god, he was a land-
mark; and standing in the dinghy, slowly sculling,
his long grains-pole in hand, his small gray eyes fixed
ahead, he looked from a distance like the mast of the
boat; indeed, it was said on the reef that once when
out with his mate, Bob Rand, he stood up, and
stretching his arms wide apart as yards, boomed out
a big foresail which sailed the craft into port. Long
John's method of taking turtles, both the green and
loggerhead, was to peg them; the weapon a three-
sided peg (cut from the tip of a file and polished)
which fitted into the long pole, or handle, and was
held in place by a long cord.
At this season of the year the turtles were found
feeding on the lagoon bottom, and often asleep, when
it was comparatively easy to approach them; for
when alarmed they invariably rose to the surface to
breathe before making off. At that time the peg
of my companion would reach them, the long pole
trembling through the air like a living thing. In
the early days of these trips, during my novitiate on
the reef, my station was in the bow of the dinghy,
where I could readily see the black forms of the
37
Big Game at Sea
turtles lying in water but six or eight feet deep—
a striking contrast to the white sandy floor of the
lagoon. Often John would scull the boat within
six feet of them before they awoke. It was this cir-
cumstance which led me into deep waters. I believed
that if the dinghy could be brought within fifteen
feet of a sleeping turtle I could slip overboard, and
by diving, swim up behind, grasp the victim and wear
it out in the shallow lagoon.
“How long kin you stay under watah, sah? I
reckon it all depends on that,” said Long John, and
he reckoned further that if I could stay there twenty
minutes it might be done. Bob Rand, another indis-
putable authority, reckoned that a big loggerhead
would reach around and bite off my arm, and regaled
me with the exciting incident of a battle royal which
he had witnessed between a shark and a turtle, in
which the latter was the conqueror. Contrary to
their expectations, all this only increased my desire
to make an attempt, and, finally, the two fishermen
agreed to aid me in what might be considered a train-
ing for the event. In a word, we were first to go
on what, on the reef, was termed a turtle turn. The
game was to be turned, then placed in a “crawl"
where I could, as Bob expressed it, “get my hand in ’’
for the attempt on the open reef and sea.
All this was alluring, and the first moonlight night
found us crossing the channel between Garden Key
and Loggerhead, the twelve-oared barge propelled
38
Diving for Turtles
by a black crew whose songs and laughter went roll-
ing over the still waters, despite Long John's warn-
ing that it would frighten every turtle off the reef.
The moon was just rising, the Southern Cross set in
brilliants in the south, as the boat slid into the soft
sand of Loggerhead. As we tumbled out the boys
hauled the barge above high-water mark, after which
Long John called the crew together and apportioned
them off. Sam Pinckney was to take the point; Paublo
the bight; Dave King the cactus patch, while Tom
Mallory was to go right across the island, and Scope
down by Soldier Crab Point; and so on until the
beach of the long isle of sand, with its bay cedar and
cactus topping, was laid out into districts, each in
charge of a “boy.” Long John and I took our
station two hundred yards down the beach, and here,
in low tones, he gave me the details of turtle turning.
The animals would begin to appear as soon as the
moon rose, come slowly ashore, and deposit their
eggs, in a hole above tide water, after which they
would return to the water by a different route.
To cover the entire beach the men were stationed
along shore, two hundred yards or so apart, where
they were supposed to lie concealed, either in the bush
or in depressions in the sand. Every half hour they
were to walk quietly down to the water's edge and
then run rapidly along to the next station, watching
out for tracks that led upward. In this way every
foot of the shore was covered. The position Long
39
Big Game at Sea
John had selected was in the lee of the south point of
the key, where the gentle waves came purring up the
beach in little eddies. The track of the moon on the
water was a blaze of silver, reaching far away, in
which the splashing and leaping of large fish could be
occasionally seen. The stillness was almost absolute.
Now and then came the weird cry of a wandering
tern, or the scrambling sound of the purple land
crabs as they climbed the low bushes. Finally I
heard a mysterious sound on the sand, and in the
bright moonlight made out scores of almost pure
white spirit crabs, perched on high legs, standing
around us, evidently holding a conference as to what
we were. At the slightest movement they would
dash away in a wild scurry and reach their holes; then
when all was again quiet they would come pouring
out to resume their observations.
I was lying in a depression in the soft sand watch-
ing these ghostly marauders, who seemed to be unde-
cided whether to attack us or not, when Long John,
who had been looking up and down the beach,
uttered a slight click and touched my arm, pointing
to the sea. There, right in the path of the moon,
half in the water, half out, its back gleaming and
glistening, was a huge turtle. It was looking the
situation over and perchance had a suspicion that
something was wrong. It remained in the same
position four or five minutes, with its head raised as
though listening, then seemingly satisfied, it came
4O
Diving for Turtles
crawling laboriously upward. It was headed directly
for us, coming on slowly but surely, and in a few
minutes it was twenty feet from the water.
Long John did not move, waiting until the unsus-
pecting turtle was within ten feet of us, then we
sprang at it, and as I reached its side I was amazed
at its size—the veritable king of the logger-
heads, its back, broad enough to hold three men
standing, its huge head and jaws showing plainly,
while its long and ponderous flippers gave it the
appearance of extraordinary width. As we sud-
denly appeared the turtle swung seaward, whirling
the sand in all directions in the violence of its rush.
John grasped the shell between the flippers and gave
a heroic lift, while I, missing my grasp, received a
volley of sand from the flippers and fell upon my
side.
“Get in front,” cried Long John, who, unable to
make the turn single handed had swung himself upon
the back of the frightened animal and was endeavor-
ing to stop it by thrusting his feet into the sand. But
to get in front and stay there were two different
propositions. To face the ugly head and horny jaws
of the great animal, without a weapon, was not to
my taste, so after vainly resisting its charge, I fell
back, and both of us grasped it by the side and lifted.
Up it came a foot, and then another, Long John
shouting all the nautical epithets of encouragement
and invective he could think of; but the moment the
4 I
Big Game at Sea
turtle's flippers were clear of the sand they came
whistling through the air, striking me such a stag-
gering blow on the side of the face that I lost my
hold and fell against my companion, and down went
the turtle. Again we seized it, and with a rush
endeavored to turn it; but despite all our attempts the
animal fell back and struggled on in the direction of
the sea.
It was evidently too much of a lift for us, so Long
John ran along the beach, returning with an oar
just as the turtle was carrying me upon its back into
the water. He stopped it for a moment by striking
it upon its head, then, running the oar beneath it, we
both took hold of the lever and with a shout had
the monster upon its side; a moment later it was
sprawling and helpless on its back, beating its
armored breast with its powerful flippers in impotent
rage, snapping at the oar and crushing the hard wood.
“I’ve turned heaps of turtle here and over yander,
sah,” said Long John, “but that's the onerest one of
the lot. I reckon it weighs eight hundred pounds.”
The animal was so heavy that we could not haul
it out of the water, and as the tide was coming in
John started for the next station and brought back
two men. The turtle was, with their help, then
hauled up the beach where Long John lashed the
flippers, each side together, with rope yarn by the
simple expedient of cutting holes through the flesh
with his knife. Our game was as vicious a specimen
&
42
Diving for Turtles
as ever came under my observation in many later
experiences. Its enormous head had a particularly
ugly expression; its large eyes were sunken, watery
and bloodshot, and when turned slightly in the direc-
tion of its captors had a disagreeable menace. As
I looked it over I came to the conclusion that an
attempt to hold an animal of that size in the open
water must fail.
In the course of the night, seven or eight other
turtles were taken. I had a hand in three of these
turns, losing one turtle, which I ran across about five
feet from the water. It turned with remarkable
celerity, and though I lifted and threw myself upon
its back, holding tight, it carried me down to the
water's edge and into it, where I was forced to
release it, to the amusement of the boys who came up
in time to witness my discomfiture. In the morning
the boat was rowed round and loaded with the spoils.
Turtle turning, except when the animal is a very
large one, is a clever trick. Some of the men could
topple one over with ease, completely escaping the
flying flippers. What was known as the turtle cor-
ral, or “crawl,” as the boys termed it, was an inclos-
ure nearly half a mile long and about sixty feet wide,
varying in depth from four to eight feet; the tide
rising and falling through a gate which led to the
open sea. Into this the turtles were liberated to
fatten and await execution; turtle meat being the
beef of this remote and out-of-the-way corner of the
43
Big Game at Sea
world. The laying time of the turtles was the har-
vest, and three islands of the group upon which the
animals were found, were patrolled with more or less
regularity, and with such success that in three weeks
forty or fifty turtles of the green and loggerhead per-
suasion were confined in the corral, which was so
extensive that they might as well, so far as personal
comfort was concerned, have been in the open sea.
In walking around the wall they could be seen dot-
ting the white sandy bottom, singly and in groups,
occasionally rising to the surface to breathe and
uttering a loud hiss, then dropping down to the bot-
tom to sleep.
One morning I determined to make the attempt to
take a turtle, single handed, and having incautiously
given it out to Long John, I found a small but enthu-
siastic crowd at the tide gate awaiting me. There
was no time lost in hunting; the game was plentiful,
and the bottom dotted everywhere with the big black
forms; yet as I slipped quietly into the water, near
the tide gate, I felt that the most difficult part of my
training for the grand prix of the outer reef was yet
to come. I had located a large green turtle, which
was lying in the center of the “crawl,” in about eight
feet of water, and slowly and carefully swam toward
it. When about fifteen feet from it, I dropped under
water, sank to the bottom, and swam rapidly toward
the animal. The water was very clear, and in a few
seconds I sighted the game lying flat, its flippers
44
Diving for Turtles
extended, its head resting on the sand, apparently
asleep. A few strokes brought me directly over it,
then I quickly grasped the big creature with both
hands, by the projecting shell just over the head.
What happened during the succeeding seconds left a
very distinct impression on my mind. I remember
seeing the big head rise, the flippers strike the bot-
tom, and in a cloud of sand and rushing water, I felt
myself jerked to the surface with irresistible force;
then dragged down again and away, on the back of
as wild a steed as one would wish to mount on land
OIT SC3.
The turtle in its alarm had instinctively dashed to
the surface to breathe, then plunged down, with per-
haps an undefined idea of washing me off. The
remark of Long John that I might win if I could
remain under water twenty minutes flashed through
my mind, and I was fast giving out when the turtle
rose again to blow. In reality it had dragged me
only about fifty feet, but, so rapid was the rate against
the water, that it increased the necessity for breath-
ing. At the time, I believe I could remain under
water about one minute under normal conditions,
which were now certainly reversed. I allowed my-
self to stretch out perfectly straight at first, thus
aiding my steed, which was now flying along like a
bird, and for a second time I was threatened with
suffocation. I could feel the veins in my head swell-
ing, my eyes seemed ready to start from my head, and
45
Big Game at Sea
I was about to release my hold when it occurred to
me to try and stop the animal. Acting on the idea,
I drew up my knees and secured a position, which
if the turtle had been on land would have been a
Rneeling one. This brought my body directly against
the rushing water. The effect upon the turtle was
instantaneous; my changed position deflected its head
upward, and out of the water we came, I gasping for
wind, the turtle uttering a loud snort. As it plunged
down again, I heard the shouts of the men on the
wall, caught a “bravo!” from some one, and real-
ized that I had accidentally solved the secret of turtle
riding. So no sooner did the animal dive and carry
me to the bottom, then I immediately brought it up
by kneeling on its shell. But the turtle did not sur-
render at once. It swam on the surface when it
could not dive, plunged downward, and turned on
its side, endeavoring to wash me off; but by continu-
ally using my body as a brake, I succeeded, after a
run of perhaps five hundred feet, in reducing my fiery
steed to terms. I turned it in the direction of shal-
low water, and finally gaining my feet, held it. The
big animal had lost literally its wind.
After some weeks of this sport I assumed that I
was an expert in riding turtles, and was more than
confident that I could take one on the outer reef. So
one day Long John and I pushed off and sculled over
to the lagoon, looking for a victim. The lagoon
was cut in its very center by a deep channel, as blue
;
|
t:
46 -
Diving for Turtles
F.|
as sapphire—a veritable gem of the sea, which wound
in and out in a mysterious fashion; its sides so steep
and precipitous that, standing on the edge in six or
eight feet of water, one could look directly down
into the blue depths. We crossed this and presently
sighted a turtle, perhaps one hundred feet from the
edge. I immediately slipped overboard, and Long
John, locating the position of the animal, carefully
approached it from behind. It was fast asleep, and
when within reaching distance I dived, while Long
John backed away. I drew near with great caution,
swimming low and deep, then, when directly over it,
I seized it, pressing my knees upon the shell. The
same convulsive rush to the surface followed, as on
previous occasions, but this steed had never been
turned, had never felt a grasp upon its shell, and the
force of its plunge and rush was sufficient to loosen
my hold. By good luck, more than anything else,
however, I succeeded in retaining my grasp, though
it was impossible to keep my knees on the shell, and
the turtle towed me along, stretched at full length,
at racehorse speed. It would dash to the surface,
bringing its own and my head out of water, plunge
down again, then, as though exhausted, sweep up,
turning and tipping in a vain effort to rid itself of
its unknown and mysterious enemy. .
The turtle had carried me down four or five times
in its wild rush, and towed me some distance from
the boat, in shallow water, when I heard Long John
47
Big Game at Sea
shout something. I could not make out the words,
but the next moment I realized their import, as the
turtle plunged over the edge of the reef and dived
into the deep blue waters of the channel. I made
a desperate effort to stop it, but the turtle scented
liberty from afar, and plunged down deeper and
deeper. I retained my hold until I experienced
intensely cold water, perhaps ten feet from the sur-
face, then cast off, and swam upward, to be picked
up by my solemn-visaged boatman with the remark,
“It's jest like I told you, sah; if you kin stay down
yander for twenty minutes, you kin do it.” But I
could not retain my breath twenty minutes. There
are, unfortunately, limitations to this sport on the
outer reef.
48
CHAPTER III
TEN-ARMED GA ME
P | \HAT there was sport of an exciting nature
in the capture of a large octopus and its
ten-armed ally the squid, which ranges from
seven to sixty or seventy feet in length, dawned upon
me when spearing specimens on the Florida reefs and
among the islands of the California coast. No
animal affects the imagination as do these weird
uncanny creatures which more resemble a Gorgon's
head, with its repellent snakes, than anything else.
From early times writers have invested them with
horror; painted them as giants of the ocean world;
the very church giving sanction to the tales; Bishop
Pontoppidan, of Norway, having described and fig-
ured squids as krakens—monsters which were mis-
taken for islands as they lay upon the surface of
the sea—while other authors of the past century pic-
tured them as dragging ships down by twisting their
snakelike arms about the masts and rigging. In
“The Toilers of the Sea "Victor Hugo vividly pic-
tures the ferocity of the tribe; and the names, devil-
fish, cuttlefish, became in the public mind synonymous
with all that was terrifying and mysterious among
49
Big Game at Sea
the denizens of the deep sea. That there was some
foundation for these tales became evident several
decades ago when giant squids were captured in New-
foundland waters; and later, whalers who follow the
sperm whale have shown that the deep sea contains
cuttlefishes sixty or seventy feet in length; creatures
which, in their make-up, present an appearance at
once terrifying and horrible; animals so large, pow-
erful and active that, were they so disposed, a single
specimen in open water could, doubtless, play havoc
with a number of men, seizing them in its sucker-
lined arms and drowning them with comparative
ease. The largest specimen actually handled and
measured by me was about fifty feet in length,
including the long arms, and it would be difficult
to conceive a more hideous object. The body is
barrel-shaped, with an arrow-shaped tail, and in large
individuals weighs a ton or more; the eyes are as
large as saucers, black and staring. The head bears
eight arms lined on the inner side with sucking saw-
like discs; and two longer arms, which in the animal
I measured were thirty feet in length, with sucking
discs at the tips. Between the base of the arms is
the mouth, with a toothed tongue, and a pair of
beaks apparently identical in shape and color with
those of a parrot, and quite as powerful. The ani-
mal's mode of propulsion is to take in water at the
gills and eject it violently through the siphon. Thus
equipped, with ten snakelike arms, myriads of suckers,
50
ºspueſs IetIII eneoelue:S*Jºp[OH'H‘OÁqUIOſe AVQ21ų3ne）)pȚnbŞ03.IBT

Ten-Armed Game
the beak of a parrot, a wonderful faculty of chang-
ing color, and possessing an ink bag with which
fluid it can pollute the immediate waters and hide its
retreat, the squid is one of the most remarkable and
uncanny members of the animal kingdom. When
out of water it is soft and flabby, with little brace
for its pliable body, yet in the water it has remark-
able strength, and whalers have observed gigantic
specimens wrapped about whales, which the latter
appeared unable for the moment to dislodge.
Notre Dame Bay, Newfoundland, is famous for
its giant squids. One discovered upon the surface
threw its arms over a boat nearly swamping her.
Another came ashore and was secured in shallow
water by throwing a grapnel into it, which, in turn,
was fastened to a tree on the beach. The struggles
of the monster, whose body alone was twenty feet in
length, are described as terrible. The ten livid arms
were constantly shot into the air, while masses of
water discolored with ink, were ejected from the
siphon, converting the adjacent water into murky
foam. This giant was estimated to be seventy feet
in length; and doubtless the deep sea affords a hiding
place for larger specimens. To attempt the capture
of large uninjured squids is almost impossible. They
are timid creatures, undoubtedly dreading the light,
and those of great size which have been taken had
been injured by whales or some disease; but even if
they could be approached very few sportsmen would
5 I
Big Game at Sea
care to try conclusions with an animal possessing ten
arms any one of which might whisk a man from the
boat and drown him. With the small specimens it
is different, though their strength is disproportionate
to their size, and a fifteen-foot octopus, or a seven-
or eight-foot squid sometimes becomes active game
when faced by a single man.
Squids ranging from one to seven or eight feet in
length are at times common on the Californian coast.
On one occasion, as I was poling along the kelp-
lined shores of Santa Catalina Island, spear in hand,
I suddenly found myself in the center of a school of
them, ranging from four to eight feet in length.
The water appeared to be filled with phantom forms
darting backward with incredible rapidity, changing
direction as quickly, stopping to throw out their
tongue-like arms, then dashing into shallow water
and entangling themselves in the kelp, chased by a
band of fierce tunas that were only stayed by the
shallow water. After the mêlée I found that there
were a dozen or more of the animals dead on the
bottom, which were gladly received by the Italian
fishermen who salted them down for bait. Three
were later secured alive, and with great difficulty
placed in a large tank in the zoölogical station, where
they lived some hours, to the amazement of the local
population, who had never seen so weird an animal;
and it is possible that squids of such size were never
seen in captivity before. The largest was about
52
Ten-Armed Game
eight feet in length, with enormous black staring eyes
and long tentacles. So powerful was this gelatinous
monster that when the tentacles were clasped to the
glass of the tank I found it impossible with an oar to
pry them off; and it was evident that even these small
individuals could easily drown a man in the open
sea should they throw their arms about him. The
appearance of these confined creatures beggared
description. They at once blackened the water in
the tank, through which their uncanny eyes gazed at
the spectators. They fastened themselves by their
suckers to the glass, and pumped water and jets of
ink with inconceivable rapidity, keeping the water
boiling, and ever and anon throwing the arrow-shaped
tail out of the water. But the most extraordinary
feature of this entertainment was the appearance of
the body of the squids. Its normal color was a dark
reddish brown, yet in the strong light it seemed to
be the setting of a mimic thunder storm, so far as
lightning was concerned, as its entire surface was ever
flashing from pure white to all shades of red or
brown with more or less rapidity. To test the
strength of this animal, I grasped one by its short
tentacles and endeavored to wrench it from its posi-
tion, upon which it coiled snakelike about my arms
and resisted every effort, but made no attempt to bite.
In attempting to spear smaller specimens of the
squid on the Florida reef, on one occasion I stationed
my boatman in the bow, who leaned over with his
53
Big Game at Sea
head within two feet of the water, to notify me of
the presence of the game which were often to be
found in the lagoon, lying near the bottom, simulating
it in color. We came upon several squids on the sur-
face, which, alarmed, sent a volume of water and ink
fairly into the face of the astonished man, deluging
his expressive countenance with streams of sepia, and
were away before I could use the grains or spear.
If the squids are uncanny the octopi, or devil-
fishes, especially the large specimens, are diabolical
in appearance, motion and habits. They are bot-
tom animals, found on the reef in countless numbers
and are disturbed by having a man lift or turn a
coral branch, when the spiderlike creature is seen
lumbering away upon its eight sucker-lined legs.
When impaled, it at once becomes enraged and fights
until killed. One of the first I caught, literally turned
the tables on me. I was wading, spear in hand, in
water waist deep, turning over the coral, when see-
ing what I supposed was a shell, cyprea, I thrust my
hand under the coral and was immediately seized by
something which felt like a ball of snakes. I could
feel them climbing up my bare arm, the intensely
cold tentacles pressing their suckers into the flesh.
I jerked my hand back suddenly, but the concealed
animal held me firmly, having grasped the coral with
its remaining arms. For a moment I stood with my
face at the surface literally in the toils; then drop-
ping the grains pole I reached down and tugged at
54
Ten-Armed Game
the coral, the living chains tightening about my hand
and creeping up my arm, a most revolting and
uncanny sensation. Finally the coral gave way and
I hauled twenty pounds, or more, to the surface;
then breaking it I grasped my captor by its body
and succeeded in wrenching it from its hold. It was
evident that a large specimen could give a man a
hard struggle, and he would be at a disadvantage in
deeper water. This octopus, not over four feet
across, sprang to the attack and held my hand in a
vise-like grasp. As I tore off one tentacle, another
one or two would insidiously creep up and take its
place. The body, not larger than my closed hand,
was continually changing color, from brown to black,
then white, gray and red; its eyes gleaming with a
green baneful light, altogether unpleasant, while,
from its siphon streams of ink were expelled over my
arm, dripping into the water and clouding it for
several feet about. As long as I attempted to tear
it away the animal renewed the attack, and finally,
to prevent disagreeable abrasion on my arm, I held
it still in the hot sun when it released its hold and
dropped into the boat. Its object seemed to be to
press its mouth and bills upon my arm, and this it
did continually, and, doubtless, could have made an
incision with its parrot-like beaks; but it made no
attempt to accomplish this, nor was I ever bitten by
the octopi, large and small, which I grasped with
my hands in collecting coral. .
55
Big Game at Sea
On the Florida reef the largest octopus I ever
speared was not five feet across—radial spread—but
so powerful are they that often when hauling them
into the boat they would bring up fifteen or twenty
pounds of coral, releasing it at the surface to cling
to the boat with a strength that was astonishing in
so small an animal.
On the Pacific coast the octopus attains a much
larger size, the great Octopus punctatus having been
found with a radial spread of twenty-five or thirty
feet. Many tales are current regarding the ferocity
of these creatures which may be taken cum grano
salis; at least in my experience I have found them
timid animals, but in every instance ready to fight
the intruder when attacked. The largest specimen
I have seen in these waters was fourteen feet across.
It was impaled on a trawl hook in five hundred feet
of water off Santa Catalina. As it reached the sur-
face it threw its arms over the boat, and as each arm
was nearly seven feet in length, and as there were
eight of them, they made over fifty feet of twining
snakelike objects. The occupants of the boat were
for the moment demoralized; but they soon rid them-
selves of the unwelcome creature, killing it with the
oars. Large specimens are often brought up by the
San Francisco fishermen, and several have given these
toilers of the sea a sensational combat before they
released their hold upon arms or legs around which
the tentacles were thrown. A resident of Monterey
56
A Giant California Octopus.

Ten-Armed Game
Stated to me that an octopus, at least twenty feet
across, was found in a kelp-lined pool near that city,
that undoubtedly displayed hostile designs upon him.
He was leaping from rock to rock, and in passing a
pool a long sinuous arm came, trembling, up from
the weed and nearly caught him by the bare leg. He
went for assistance, and the monster was finally
captured, after resisting the strength of two or three
men, although a stout rope had been fastened about
its body, which was as large as a man's head. An
acquaintance of mine, a naturalist, in collecting shells
in the kelp-lined pools near Point Firman, heard the
cries of some children, and on running to the spot,
saw a large octopus crawling toward them, almost
out of the water, raising its tentacles in the air.
The children thought that it was chasing them, but
undoubtedly cut off by the tide, and alarmed, it was
making for deep water. The real danger in such a
meeting lies in the horror inspired by the appearance
of such a creature and the possible effect upon observ-
ers with weak nerves.
In hunting octopi along the rocks of Santa Catalina
I found that large specimens came in with the tide, or
crept from their dens to the edge of the water to
watch for a species of crab that lived at the water
line. By peering over the rocks I watched their
maneuvers. Sighting a crab sunning itself in fan-
cied security, the octopus would creep along, its body
adopting the exact color of the bottom, until it
57
*
.*2
|
Big Game at Sea
ºt
reached the very edge of the water. Here it would
poise and gather itself, seemingly, like a cat for a
spring, drawing back with the waves, then creeping
on again; then like a flash of light two or three
tentacles would come out of the water and seize the
crab, and in a moment the body would follow in a
series of horrible convulsions, taking the octopus
entirely out of the water, and completely encompass-
ing its victim. If the crab escaped, the octopus
would sometimes follow it for several feet in a lum-
bering grotesque fashion and then return. I caught
many of these crab-feeding octopi by creeping upon
them and grasping them as they lay in wait, and some
of the large ones forced me to exert all my strength
in tearing them from their hold. To determine their
respective fighting qualities I caught a number and
confined them in a tank, then inserting my arm under
water I would approach them with fingers wide apart.
There was the greatest difference in the combative-
ness of individuals. Some paid no attention to my
advance and allowed themselves to be stroked; and
one large one I found as readily accepted my gentle
scratching between its green eyes as a dog. Others
again would advance to meet my hand, throw their
arms about it and attempt to drag it beneath the
rocks, while one, and the largest, invariably flung
itself upon my hand and endeavored to cover it with
the finlike membranes which connect the base of the
tentacles. This is always the method of attack in
58
Ten-Armed Game
deep water. The octopus retains its hold upon the
bottom with two or three tentacles, seizes the victim
with the others, then releasing the anchors, pounces
upon its prey, the outspread membranes giving the
animal the appearance of a miniature umbrella, which
settles down upon the struggling victim as though to
Smother it, a movement which brings the mouth and
biting beaks into position where they presently find
a vital part.
At various times I had from three to five devil-
fishes in an inclosure, where I could watch them
change color and test their strength. In confinement,
if the tank bottom was dark, they assumed various
tints, generally a dark reddish brown; but the largest
one was a tiger-like creature, about three feet across,
with a ground of livid white covered with black or
dark gray blotches, giving it a truly fiendish appear-
ance, especially as the eyes were conspicuous and
appeared to emit lambent gleams. The change of
color was marvelous in its rapidity. . In a special
tank in which two of these prisoners were confined
they occupied the corners, facing outward, with arms
either coiled under or above them. At any offensive
movement on my part, presenting my hand under
water, the color, scheme would change. A blush
appeared to pass over the entire surface; and in a
large squid I can only compare it to heat lightning,
a rapid and continued series of flushing and paling,
from deep brick red to gray. It was very evident
59
Big Game at Sea
that the animals differ much in pugnacity. Some did
not resent my touching them; others merely threw a
tentacle in my direction, while one never touched
me, but directed its siphon at my hand under water
and sent a violent current in that direction, apparently
endeavoring to blow my hand away. It was fas-
cinating to observe the “range ’’ this water gun had,
and how by seeming intuition the devil-fish could
direct it at my hand as I slowly moved it about while
attempting to attract the animal's attention in an
opposite direction. The assumption was almost
irresistible that the siphon just beneath the eye, had
a sense of its own, and could be directed at my hand
and made to follow it while the eyes of the octopus
were looking in another direction. But the latter
are elevated, and doubtless not a move of my hand
(a supposititious enemy), which was passed about and
around it in the tank, was lost to this uncanny cha-
meleon of the sea.
This devil-fish, that flushed and danced about in
the water, assuming strange postures—now crouch-
ing in a corner, now poised midway—was in a sense
indifferent to me; but with the tiger, the black and
white chameleon, he of the stripes, spots, and
blotches, the approach of my hand under water was
a menace, and all his movements were essentially
cat- or tiger-like. Perhaps you have seen a lynx,
wildcat, or mountain lion creeping upon its prey or
preparing to jump when treed. There is a concen-
60
Ten-Armed Game
tration of legs, trembling muscles, constant stepping
of the feet in a limited area, bending of the back and
switch of the tail, long or short. In this devil-fish
eight arms coiled about it like snakes, trembled and
vibrated as I thrust my hand down into its den.
Colors raced over it as I bent over and watched it
closely from the outside, where I could see through
the polished plate glass every movement, throb, and
change. At a distance of eight inches I could feel
the curious current of water shot at my hand by the
torpedo-like siphon; see the delicate weed in the
water blown aside; and as my hand approached
nearer and nearer the octopus crouched low, like a
cat, its eight arms fumbling inanely, a trembling,
Medusa-like object. Nearer came my hand, and like
a flash of lightning, so sudden that it was startling,
the Octopus shot out one of its arms, that like a
snake or lariat seemed to be flung at me, the rings
of the end suckers striking my hand sharply, the
entire animal springing forward. To brace itself,
it threw one arm to the right, one below, one to the
left, fastened by many suckers to the glass, while two
others, as the sequel will show, seized its companion.
I now gradually withdrew my hand from what
may be considered the attack, and then advanced
it, and doubtless to the devil-fish the situation was
momentous and alarming. It crouched a moment,
moving forward and back, then launched itself
bodily at the enemy (my hand), striking it with sev-
6 I
Big Game at Sea
eral tentacles, dropping back quickly and crouching
for another spring, the action so sudden and force-
ful, so startling, that the corner octopus sprang into
the clear water and for a moment literally danced,
floated, or poised, uncertain which way to go, then
dropped to its corner again, rendering itself as incon-
spicuous as possible.
Again I retreated; the big devil-fish meantime
crouching and spreading itself out, color melting into
color, tint, and shade over its broad back, directing its
siphon stream at its companion. I again advanced,
pointing my finger at the animal and moving to within
a foot of it. I could see it darken, take on a deep
red hue, and then it flung itself bodily at my hand,
and endeavored to cover it by a peculiar encompassing
motion designed to smother it. A crab or fish is
taken in this way, the web being spread over it, shut-
ting the victim in its arms, and the scores of suckers
forcing it to the mouth, where the nipping black
parrot-like beak is brought into play. But the
smothering action is invariable; suggestive and hor-
rifying if we imagine it attempted by an animal thirty
feet across. To meet this leap, holding the hand
steady, and grasping the octopus, is a nerve-test to
a novice. I confess that it was distinctly disagree-
able to me, though I have caught and handled many
of these animals of various sizes; but I held the devil-
fish which gradually enveloped my entire hand, and
by grasping it firmly I pressed my little finger over
62 - .
Giant Octopus, Fifteen Feet Across, Caught at Santa Catalina Islands.


Ten-Armed Game
its bills, my palm over its eyes, and held it with all
my strength. The animal held me tightly with one
tentacle over my thumb, another through my fingers,
and bracing itself by throwing out three anchors
below, which caught the bottom and two sides of the
tank, and three behind.
I now endeavored to complete my pseudo-victory
by lifting the octopus, but I could not tear this small
animal from the sides. The devil-fish held on, pump-
ing a stream of ink at me in its rage. By using my
other hand I finally succeeded in prying it off; then I
pretended to be caught and tried to release it. But
the warlike chameleon of the sea would have none of
it. It threw its tentacles about my hand, pulled it
slowly down into the corner, covered it as well as it
could, but did not bite me. If my hand had been a
crab, fish, or other octopus, it would have been at-
tacked and bitten, but for some reason it did not
attempt it; in a word, the animal was perfectly harm-
less, which I knew; there was only a slight scratch
on my hand to tell the story, and this was received
when I wrenched it away.
This was a laughable conclusion to the threatening
and warlike movements of the octopus. The animal,
in point of fact, was a “bluffer,” and well calculated
to demoralize one not acquainted with its limitations.
I know of no animal that has the power, by mere
attitudinizing and the assumption of menacing ges-
tures, to inspire the same degree of horror in the spec-
63
Big Game at Sea
tator not familiar with it. This was illustrated when
I requested an attendant when displaying this octopus
to explain to visitors that it was perfectly harmless,
then to enrage it, and ask spectators to take it out of
the tank and place it in another, a substantial induce-
ment being offered in one instance. But among the
many observers not one could be found who would
touch the quivering, color-changing creature poised
for its harmless spring; the terror inspired was com-
plete and intense.
64
-
..Yºf
ft
|-
CHAPTER IV
THE AMBER JACKS
the splendid beach of Fernandina, the sea
rolls in with tireless energy and laves the
sands with the warm waters of the Gulf Stream, the
vast volume passing through the narrow channel and
widening out in the North Atlantic. There is hardly
a rock or stone to be found along shore, and the high-
est point, in all probability, from New York to Cape
Florida, is a diminutive hill near the beach, which
I have often climbed at Pilottown on the St. John's.
The beaches vary much in general appearance to
the close observer. In one place they are wide, the
sea retreats at the ebb tide a remarkable distance, and
the stroller along the sands can wade out a long way
in shallow water, and ships that are wrecked at high
tide are high and dry at the ebb. Again the beach
is abrupt and precipitous. The area of breakers is
narrow and soon reaches deep water. On the north
side of the St. John's the channel comes suddenly in
shore, and on the south the sand dunes are ever
changing, like the island of Anacapa. In calms they
Dº. along the Florida coast, beginning with
e-
65
Big Game at Sea
lie like sleeping monsters, huge krakens hauled upon
the sands basking in the sun; but should the wind rise
they begin to move and a single day will so change
them that the landscape of one day is blotted out
and replaced by another.
I have followed these dunes from the Jersey shore
down nearly to the mouth of the Rio Grande, and
they are everywhere fascinating in their shapes and
habit. Along the Texas and lower Florida coasts a
strange outer bar has formed, a long attenuated ridge
of sand, a series of islands formed by the so-called
passes, as Aransas, in Texas. On the Florida coast
this outside reef, island or sandy barrier forms the
so-called Indian River that lies between it and the
mainland, making possible some of the finest fishing
in the south. The beach of the outside island is often
wide, a splendid hard boulevard, and again deep
water approaches the shore and many kinds of big
fish come in.
At the mouth of the St. John's I have had sport
with the channel bass, sea trout, call him what you
will, but for the really hard fighter of the east coast
of Florida one should try the waters near Palm Beach,
Lake Worth Inlet, Miami and various regions in the
vicinity of Biscayne Bay and from there down the
reef to Key West, and camp on the trail of the amber
jack. Palm Beach is perhaps the most convenient
place to try this fish and one of the best grounds, as
this fine game for some reason comes in here so
i
!
66
The Amber Jacks
near shore that it is taken from the dock at times.
But the best fishing is some distance off the beach,
anchored in a small boat beyond the breaking of the
swell.
The amber jack doubtless frequents the deeper
waters of the Gulf Stream here, and its appearance
So near shore is merely a foraging trip, as in localities
where small boats can lie along the submerged reefs
further down the coast the fine fishes may often be
seen swimming along the reef in deep water.
We may imagine ourselves shoving off some fine
morning, the men skillfully pulling the boat through
the surf and anchoring off the sands where the amber
jacks are known to be. The air is soft, and the wind,
what there is, is warm. The boatmen are blacks who
know the country well, and the boat is soon anchored
in a spot where some unknown angler in the past
hooked a fish that towed his boat far out into the
Gulf Stream before it was gaffed.
The equipment for the sport is a 16-ounce rod with
a single tip, a tuna or tarpon reel, holding 600 feet
of 21- or 24-thread line, a mere thread one might
think with which to play so large a fish, but not
found wanting. The bait, a live “spot,” is cast
thirty or forty feet away, and the anticipating part
of the sport is begun. The current is strong and
sweeps the bagging line, and ever and anon the click
will sound a note and the angler's pulse will start
and throb; but when this has happened several times
&e
. 67 tº
Big Game at Sea
and found to be the current, or a jellyfish sagging
on the line, the angler quiets down and views the
landscape o'er—the long line of sandy beach, the
groups of palms, and off at sea the deep blue waters
of the mighty current sweeping on, freighted with
semi-tropic treasures for other and distant lands.
The boatman is telling of certain catches he has
seen when, like an electric shock, comes the sharp
staccato of the click. There is no mistaking it; no
tide rip here. And see I look the line stiffens,
straightens out like a wire, trembles a second,
throwing the water in crystal drops, and then the
game is given the butt and the reel screams, high and
low, as the unknown jerks the line away in long and
splendid bursts of speed.
There is always the thought that it may be a shark
or a ray, or some undesirable vermin, but you have
taken the amber jack before and its sturdy cousin
of the California islands and there is no mistake
about it.
Springing to your feet, with the butt of the rod
firmly in the leather socket around your waist, you see
what a game fish can do, what splendid strength is
brought into play as it races away, dragging the line
from beneath your thumb and the heavy brake, seem-
ingly playing with it.
Fifty, one hundred, two hundred feet of line slip
away before the fish is stopped, and then it appears
to strike heavy determined blows at the rod, sweep-
68
The Amber Jacks
ing around in a splendid half circle, the line cutting
the water and the fish rising with a peculiar motion.
Amber jacks have been hooked here that no man
could stop; in the language of the boatman, “they
simply walked away with the line,” then when the
end came never stopped; and there is seemingly no
limit to the powers of this fellow.
The angler has a start, the thumb brake of leather
stops the run and the big reel begins the pitiless work,
and while the jack races it is insensibly coming in
all the time. More than once it realizes this and
plunges down, and if the water is deep enough, sulks
and bores like a salmon and with ten times its force.
But the water is comparatively shallow, and the game
can only break away and dash off fifty feet to be
checked again and again. But it never really sur-
renders, never really discovers that it is in the toils.
Like its cousin, the California yellowtail, it fights
until it is in the boat, and even then I have seen
a fish double and send itself whirling out of a barrel
into the freedom of the sea. .
The angler can now see the jack as it races around
the boat, and the black boatman fingers his gaff ready
to give it the quietus. Nearly thirty minutes have
slipped away, and the attempts of the oarsman to
keep the angler stern first to the fish and the powerful
rushes have carried the boat out from shore where
the fish has plenty of water. The man at the rod
begins to feel that he has earned his fish. In box-
69 -
Big Game at Sea
ing, fencing or broadsword play there is a “let àp,”
time for rest, but in this duel with the amber jack
it is all one round, and arms and fingers are stiff and
ache. Pressing the thumb on a leather pad for half
an hour, holding a stiff rod in one position, is deadly,
and the amber jack appears to have taken its second
wind. Perhaps there is a third wind for amber
jacks, as suddenly, when coursing along at the sur-
face it apparently sees the boat and goes crazy,
plunging down to the mad acclaim of the reel, tear-
ing off the hard-won line and carrying despair into
the angler's soul.
But this is the beginning of the end, and holding
the rod and line firmly the angler dips the point to
the surface and lifts, “mans the pumps,” lifts for
all he is worth, gains three feet on the sulker, then
dropping the tip, reels rapidly; and so ever repeat-
ing the trick—the only remedy when fishes will sulk
—he regains his lost line and has the splendid fish
in sight again. There is a flash of silver, yellow
and green, a display of surface below the resilient
rod, then the reel works it on to the quarter, and
as the patch of color surges, hissing along, the negro
gaffer drops his weapon quietly, skillfully under the
fish and lifts it just under the gills, holds it firmly for
a moment while the spray and spume fly, then depress-
ing the rail, he slides the gallant fighter in, where it
hammers the bottom as the angler perchance swings
his hat to some distant and less fortunate friend still
s
70
-
-
Author Fishing for Yellowtail (Amber Fish) at Santa Catalina.
Sºº


The Amber Jacks
at anchor. These are the moments of joy in the life
of the angler, and surely life is not a failure along
the Gulf Stream and is worth living.
The boatman gives the fish the quietus and holds
it up, a sort of giant bluefish, and indeed a cousin,
but a fish of entirely different mold. It is about five
feet long; the scale limit is sixty, and the indicator
as the fish is hooked on goes down with a sag, sug-
gesting that eighty pounds is more like it. The
amber jack is nicely proportioned, calling to mind the
bluefish, but the head is larger in proportion to
the body, and solid, and the body is thick and high
beneath the dorsal. The dorsal fin extends nearly to
the tail and has a streak of gold in it like that of the
California yellowtail, its Pacific cousin. The side
fins are dusky and gold; the ventrals dark, even black,
and vivid yellow. All the under surface is a vivid
silver blazing in the sunlight, while the upper surface
is green or amber in the water, flashing blue when out
and presenting a blaze of iridescence often as the
fish dies. Few fishes so impress one with their evi-
dent power and sturdiness as this amber jack which
the ichthyologists call Seriola lalandi; a fish which
averages twenty-five pounds and in its prime tips the
scales at over one hundred.
Later when four or five jacks have been added to
the score they are taken in, the largest one weighing
nearly seventy pounds, all in all one of the finest fishes
of the summer seas.
7 I
Big Game at Sea
At Palm Beach there is much rivalry in the amber
jack field, and some splendid records are held by the
gentlemen who fish there. Mr. Wm. Lawrence
Green held the record for many seasons with an
81%-pound fish which he killed after a hard strug-
gle. This record was beaten by Mr. J. B. Caldwell,
who in 1905 took an amber jack with a 2 I-thread
line, rod and reel, that weighed 92 pounds; and this
may be said to be near the limit. Mr. Green stated
that he fished the amber jack waters for five years
before he made his record of 81%. Some of Mr.
Green's fish weighed as follows: In March, 1904,
No. 1, 46 inches, weight 34 pounds; No. 2, 50 inches
long, weight 42% pounds; No. 3, 6O inches, weight
67% pounds; No. 4, 61 inches, weight 67 pounds;
No. 5, 60, inches in length, weight 81% pounds.
My own amber jack fishing has been mainly on the
extreme outer reef, and for several seasons I was
content with one fish of good size. Long, East,
Garden, Bird, Middle, Sand and Loggerhead Keys
rose directly in the Gulf Stream that came sweeping
up from Yucatan and the winter home of the tarpon.
The water was beautiful in tint and tone, and the
reef of branch coral stretched away for miles, cut
here and there by vivid blue channels, the type of
all that is beautiful in color. The water was filled
with delicate forms of jelly fish, the fairy-like Physo-
phora with its blaze of colors, the luminous colonies
of Pyrosoma and chains of Salpa. I had fished for
72
The Amber Jacks
days for the elusive amber jack along these sub-
marine gardens and without luck, until one day while
trolling with live mullet, the strike came and the sport
WalS OI).
It is difficult to find any fish with which to compare
this fish, its power and strength are so great. I was
hardly aware that I had hooked it; my line was deep
in the heart of the channel, and suddenly the amber
fish had me in its toils, racing away with the light
dinghy and 300 feet of line, evidently reaching the
bottom to come pulsating up to the surface with great
throbs easily felt on the line, to stop when checked
and give back blow for blow.
The amber jack of the Pacific Coast is the great
game fish of the people in Southern California waters,
where it is known as amber fish, but more particularly
as yellowtail (Seriola dorsalis). It is longer, more
slender, the head not so large and the body not so
thick, and there are no dusky spots nor lines; the fins
yellow as gold, and a stripe down the side of gleam-
ing yellow. The upper surface is green or amber,
the belly silver. The yellowtail ranges from fifteen
to seventy pounds here and comes in from the deep
water in March or April and remains about the
islands from San Clemente to Santa Catalina or San
Nicolas until December. I have taken them from
the wharf at Avalon Bay nearly every month in the
year; but they are not supposed to be here in the
two cold months and are generally absent. But in
73
Big Game at Sea
the months named, or in May, they suddenly appear
in large well-broken schools, soon breaking up into
smaller ones. Then the sport begins, not for the
expert few, but for all the people who may fish, and
in July or August one of the most remarkable fishing
sights to be seen anywhere is staged off the placid
waters of Avalon Bay, Santa Catalina. Here possi-
bly two hundred boats may be seen, the anglers, with
rod and reel, fishing for the game yellowtail or amber
jack. They are anchored about twenty feet apart,
and form a compact floating town or assembly, fish-
ing in water of the deepest blue about one hundred
feet or more in depth just at the entrance of the
bay. Now and then comes a shout and a boat cuts
loose from the throng and is rowed or towed away,
and the angler is seen to be in the toils, the fish jerk-
ing the rod down to the water's edge in sharp blows
while the reel sings.
There is nothing, at least in these waters, quite
like this splendid rush, fairly demoralizing to some.
I have seen a man jerked from a pier by such a fish.
Another on receiving the strike was seized with a
species of buck fever and trembled so that the fish
ran away with all the line—600 feet—and would
have taken the rod had I not gone to the rescue;
yet these fishes average but seventeen to twenty-five
pounds. I have seen one that weighed eighty
pounds, and the largest catch with a rod is, I believe,
fifty-one pounds. . .
74

The Amber Jacks
The yellowtail is so common in these waters that
if fished for in the eastern fashion with handlines, a
boatload could be taken; but the nine-ounce rod and
number-nine line prevails, and fifteen or twenty
minutes are devoted to the catch which comes slowly
up through the blue water like a star. Four or five
such fishes satisfy the most ardent angler along these
isles of eternal summer.

75
CHAPTER V
THE BIOGRAPHY OF A MAN-EATER*
T was down on the Pagos reef, where the green
melts suddenly into seas of turquoise, that the
man-eater first saw light. He was born amid
scenes of blood and sudden death; ushered into the
world amid pitiless attack, and saved, of all the hell-
ish brood, by the swirl of waters, the uplifted sand
cloud, caused by savage kinsmen in their ruthless
charge and cannibalistic feast.
His first act was a drama in the struggle for exist-
ence. There was no one to teach him how to swim,
to breathe, to see, and instinct, that inheritance of the
ages, bade him lie limp and motionless. Being of
the same color as the sandy bottom, a livid tawny
gray, he crouched, and was buried by the shroud of
falling particles as they sifted down through the
green and opalescent water.
He was about one foot in length, lank, pliable, soft
and tender. He did not have a bone in his body,
indeed never had; he was an embryo killing machine
* This article in its entirety is fiction, a study of the man-eater; yet every inci-
dent is based on my observations of sharks covering many years, and I give it as a
possible history of a typical shark of the open sea. -
76
The Biography of a Man-Eater
of gristle, with just the suggestion of sharp teeth
around his jaws.
For hours he lay, a mound on the sand, resting
easily on his big pad-like pectoral fins and tail that
fell over upon his side; then as darkness came, he
moved restlessly, flung his tail to one side, and was
surprised to find that he shot forward and found
himself in midwater. He could move, was buoyant;
then fear came again, and alarmed at his exposed
position, afraid of he knew not what, he swung the
limp tail, shot ahead and ran blindly beneath the
edge of a wall of projecting branch coral which
formed a cheval de frise to the channel. No more
fortunate position could have been selected; indeed,
it was prophetic of the good luck which followed the
man-eater all his life.
The jagged points of the coral were so many
bayonets over his recumbent body. He had found
a snug harbor, and that it was safe was evident by
the numbers of crawfish which occupied a similar
position along the line, brandishing their serrated
whips and assuming an air of hostility and bravery
which was the merest presumption.
As night came on the young shark shifted from
side to side, working the sand out so that he could
lie with ease, gradually forming a nest in the soft
sand the shape of his yielding body. His eyes, which
were of the exact shade of his skin, but spotted with
black, now began to take in objects near at hand.
77
Big Game at Sea
He was terrified at the strange sights, which, as the
darkness deepened, flashed and scintillated in every
direction; now as starlike objects, again as comets
pulsating on through the water with a fiery train;
and as large fishes surged by, the entire mass of
water blazed with such a golden radiance that the
young man-eater fell back against the coral of his
den trembling and quivering with fear.
The very bottom of the sea was paved with won-
ders. Small animals bored their way upward through
the sand emitting a spark of light, which grew and
expanded, out of which darted a firebody which
made its undulating way to the surface. There were
strange noises—crashing, tumbling concussions now
and then, which shook the ledge, and ever and anon
the water about him moved and the delicate fire-
like jelly fishes seemed to sway to one side. It was
a night of terror to the young shark, thrust into the
world defenseless and half made up. -
All night he lay quietly, now and again prodde
by the serrated spine of an inquisitive crawfish, while
Once a sprawling many-armed octopus crossed over
him—a nerve-racking sensation—as this infant man-
eater had nerves, and realized it until he was six feet
in length, when they gradually became obliterated.
In time the light of day came and he observed that
the water over him was much lower than it had
been; it had dropped away, as it were, and then see-
ing that he was partly covered by sand, he fell asleep
78
The Biography of a Man-Eater
and did not awaken for some hours when he saw
that the water over him was deeper, that in some
way it had risen.
He now began to feel like trying his tail again,
and the Sandy plain being clear, he twisted about,
flinging his tail boldly to one side, and rose high
into the clear spot, so high, indeed, that he became
alarmed as the field of vision opened up, and duck-
ing his head, swung the remarkable tail from side
to side and plunged down, so rapidly that he ran his
head into the sand and lay there, frightened and
dazed. But the motion was too delightful to resist,
and again he gave the long swing and rose upward,
then allowing himself to drop he found that he was
balanced to such a nicety, that when he moved his
tail he sped directly ahead and so fell into a swing
from side to side and moved on and on.
The white sand led gradually upward with coral
on all sides, and as he wandered on, he observed that
the smaller inhabitants of the place fled from him.
He suddenly came upon a very high and beautifully
colored fish twice his own size, and was about to
drop to the bottom and hide, when he was amazed
to see the angel-fish dart away. Then for the first
time there crept into the man-eater's brain the idea
that he was a power, that for some reason he was
dreaded and feared, and at once his side swing
became a Swagger and he shot through the water
with such rapidity that he rose up the side of the
79
Big Game at Sea
Sandy slope and came into a region of delights, his
home or ranging ground for many a day.
He felt the water moving over him in waves. He
could see that it was now and then breaking, form-
ing a foam that was hurled downward with such
force that the water all about him was filled with
minute globules or particles which, when he breathed,
seemed to fill him with new life and vigor. His gills
opened and shut rapidly, and with difficulty he
restrained the desire to surge ahead at full speed and
test his powers. He was now moving over great
coral heads tinted with olive and dotted and spangled
over their surfaces with brilliant flowerlike objects.
On every side were gorgeous plumes waving to and
fro, some in brown, some in yellow, while clumps of
reticulated fans of vivid yellow and lavender added
to the brilliancy of the scene. Amid these objects
were countless small fishes, all in radiant colors.
Lying on the sand were long brown shapes, like
worms, and blooming from every crevice were flower-
like anemones, their petals moving gracefully in tidal
measure. The sea floor over which the young man-
eater swam was set with a mosaic of algae: masses of
scarlet, blocks of tender green, bits of blue, yellow
and white; every dead coral rock, every vantage
ground being painted in splendid hues.
But the man-eater saw none of these. He swam
heavily on until, exhausted, he fell into the friendly
vase-like shape of a huge head of coral and lay pant-
8O
The Biography of a Man-Eater
ing beneath a great lavender-hued gorgonia. For
two days he was caged here, not having the strength
or intelligence to rise upward and escape. On the
second day a young crawfish fell upon his head and
instinctively the jaws of the young man-eater opened
and closed upon the victim. A crunching sound, and
the shark, tasting flesh, scenting prey, swung himself
about, shaking the morsel as a dog would a rat, toss-
ing the mud high above the surface of the head,
clouding the water, out of which he rose. He had
eaten, tasted blood, though white, and from now on
his one object was to destroy.
For several months he lived this life, slowly mak-
ing his way over the splendid tropical floor of the
ocean, sleeping at times in the crevices of rocks, or
between coral heads, or under them, foraging where
he could, darting clumsily upon octopi, crabs, even
starfishes, or any miserable creature which could offer
no resistance, thus early in life displaying his sordid
nature. The young shark never left the shallows,
and at the end of a year, nurtured on good diet, had
materially enlarged. He was now three feet in
length; his tail long and powerful, his body notice-
ably bulky. But the greatest change was in the
mouth. The first row of teeth was well defined,
sharp and serrated. The eye was a little larger, but
still the color of sand paper, with no expression. He
had begun to change his diet. He discovered that
crawfish and other crustaceans went out on the shal-
8 I
Big Game at Sea
low flats at night to feed, and that rays came there to
hunt them; so one night, instead of coiling up in a
coral head, the man-eater, following a little channel
through the reef at high tide, Swam across a lagoon
of sand overgrown by short sea-weed. Conchs were
lumbering along on this grassy floor, and in the sub-
marine herbage were big yellow crawfish, tough and
dangerous.
Suddenly there came floating along a ray with its
birdlike motion. As it drew near, the shark rushed
blindly upon it and by sheer bulldog ferocity seized
and held it. The ray lashed the enemy with its whip-
like tail, then doubled and flung its sharp serrated
spines against the shark, inflicting a wound that was
followed by a pink cloud that slowly permeated the
water. The beadlike expressionless eyes of the man-
eater turned inward almost out of sight, but in no
way did he exhibit pain; he held on, gripping harder,
scenting the blood fiercely, tasting the flesh of his
victim. When the ray became passive he swung it,
gripped it again, and bearing down upon it, tore and
lacerated it, striking down the weed with powerful
blows of his tail, sending the crawfishes dashing across
the submarine mesa.
Engaged in this fierce attack, the man-eater was
suddenly struck, knocked aside by a sand-shark twice
his size; but he circled about with savage menace,
retreating only when fairly put to flight by his oppo-
nent. Every night now he foraged, learning that
;
- 82
The Biography of a Man-Eater
nearly all animals feed at night in this land of plenty.
In all his wanderings the man-eater never exhibited
any interest in a certain locality; he never returned to
the same place twice. He had no sense of location,
no mental action that gave him an interest in any
part of the reef sufficient to produce a desire to
return, no memory beyond that which blood pro-
duced. He slept or rested when he grew weary, and
often swam continuously for days; at times at the
surface, when his fin would make broad showing
above the water, cutting it like a knife. He swam
on, eternally on, but generally in a circle—an instinc-
tive movement, which kept him near the lagoon.
At the end of three years the man-eater was six
feet in length. He had increased prodigiously in
bulk, was especially heavy just behind the head which
was enormous and threatening. When his jaws
gaped, as they sometimes did to throw out some para-
site, an array of teeth would be seen, the front row
upright, pure white, larger than a man's thumb-nail
and perfect triangles, their edges like saws. Back
of these were ten or twelve rows of similar teeth
lying flat in the mouth, unsuspected, but called into
action when blood was tasted and some victim
attempted to escape; then all these fierce knives
sprang erect and sank into the flesh of the enemy
making escape impossible.
The shark had changed in many essentials. He
was lighter in color, nearly white beneath; the upper
83
Big Game at Sea
lobe of the tail was longer, lithe and capable of
remarkable power; but the eyes now appeared smaller
and were, if anything, more inexpressive, and gray.
Its motion was dignified, yet there was the same
peculiar swing given by the tail, and when he wished
to turn, the massive head was jerked slightly in the
given direction and the tail swung to meet it. He
had now several boon companions. Three or four
remoras had joined partnership with him, fishes about
a foot in length, black, with a peculiar sucker on the
top of the head. When weary of following the
shark they merely attached themselves by the sucker
to his back and were towed along. The others were
several little striped pilot-fishes, which hid beneath
the shark's head. They were very curious and darted
out at every strange object that appeared.
The man-eater at this time had developed a re-
markable power of scent. A dead animal half a
mile away could be traced up the wind or current
with marvelous quickness and fidelity. His plan
when a scent was found was to beat up against it
like a ship against the wind, swimming with great
rapidity, turning the instant it was lost; and as this
was always on the surface, with his big dorsal fin out
of water, he was not a pleasing sight to men in a
boat who had left their fish hanging overboard. The
spectacle of a shark of extraordinary bulk darting
about in so erratic a manner was taken by some as
menacing, and they resented it in various ways.
84
The Biography of a Man-Eater
All this time the man-eater had remained in one
general section, not straying beyond a radius of five
miles, but as years passed he became a wanderer, and
when about fifteen feet, or more, in length, like a
very ghost compared to the nurse sharks he once slept
near in the lagoon, he left shallow water and took
to the open sea. It was about this period that the
shark became a public character. He began to swim
up and down the reef taking as his route that of
many of the coast steamers, ranging from about the
latitude of Charleston to Key West, at times cross-
ing the Gulf Stream.
It is not to be supposed that he had gained any
idea of locality. He haunted this region merely
because he had certain limitations. He swam north
until the water lost the temperature which suited his
nature best, and to the south until it grew too warm.
A certain skipper of a steamer which sailed from a
northern port sighted the shark early in 1861 off
Cary's Foot Light, the shark following the steamer
for several hours, his dorsal fin high above water,
crossing and recrossing the steamer's wake in a pecu-
liarly rapid manner. For three consecutive trips the
shark was observed, and then one of the passengers
fired at him cutting a notch out of his dorsal fin, by
which the shark was known for years, nearly always
being sighted in the run from Cape Florida to
Havana. The shark was named “Old Bill,” and
there was not a superstitious sailor on the run who
85
Big Game at Sea
had not taken a shot at him or attempted to capture
him.
The man-eater could not be induced to take a
baited hook, and it was believed by many of the men
that he followed the vessel waiting for a wreck; and
when a certain ship disappeared in a hurricane and
went down with all on board in the Florida Strait, it
was said that “Old Bill " went down with her. In
any event, he disappeared for months. He was now
eighteen feet long, of enormous bulk. He rarely
went north of Hatteras and then only in summer,
when he followed the shad schools north, making the
turn at Long Island in June and the coast of Maine
some time later in summer. His habits had changed.
He preyed upon dead animals, had become a scaven-
ger, and would follow a cattle ship half way across
the ocean to feed upon a dead steer. He appeared to
be too heavy to run down a horse mackerel, and the
smaller fishes evaded him altogether, though occasion-
ally he found a school of mackerel surrounded by a
net and would dash into them, crazed by the scent of
blood and slime, and gorge himself with them.
He was utterly insensible to pain, as while en-
tangled in a net he was lanced several times by an
infuriated fisherman; but the men noticed that he did
not stop eating, paying no attention to the wounds;
and when his size was seen, the skipper ordered the
men aboard the schooner. On another occasion when
entangled in a net near Gloucester, five miles off
$
86
The Biography of a Man-Eater
shore, he destroyed it, rolling over and over, biting
the net, tearing it into countless pieces. A doryman
attacked him with a harpoon upon which he turned
Savagely, gripped the cutwater in his teeth, nearly
crushing it and lifting the boat several feet. The
men pulled off at a glimpse of his size, and the next
day some of his teeth were found in the planking.
One summer he came up the coast searching for
Some cattle steamer, but finding none he swam on,
and attracted by the fishing boats, followed several.
Food was scárce. Horse mackerel eluded him. One
day he ate a huge jelly fish in desperation, and next
seized and rent a mass of kelp in which a dead fish
was wound, which brought on a frenzy for food and
blood. A schooner was fishing near by, and as the
men hauled up fish, he would take them off, carrying
away the lines and filling his mouth with hooks to
which he paid little attention. Finally the fishing
stopped and he came to the surface some distance
off and seeing a dory anchored, swam up to it, then
circled around it. His appearance must have terri-
fied the man for he grasped an oar and struck at the
shark shouting for help. It was said later that the
shark deliberately tried to tip over the boat by rising
beneath it; but it is an historical fact that over a
dozen men and women on the schooner saw the man-
eater rush at the dory, rise over it amidships, saw the
unfortunate man waving his arms, then saw him
strike at the shark with the oar; but the man-
87
Big Game at Sea
eater fell partly on the dory, crushing it down, and
then both disappeared. This incident occurred off
Nahant, and for several summers the shark haunted
the New England coast and the Gulf of Maine.
He repeatedly attempted to capsize boats off Boon
Island, and terrorized the dory cod fishermen and
others by rising beneath them and swimming about
their boats. The “Big Shark” under which alias
he was known, is still remembered by the old fisher-
men of the coast.
The shark had earned his title of “man-eater ’’
beyond question, and his nature changed with the
acquirement. Though starving at times he haunted
vessels, paying little attention to the large migrating
schools of fish which most sharks follow up and
down the coast. In his soggy brutal mind he asso-
ciated ships and this new game, and the small gray
eyes had learned to distinguish between the animate
and inanimate parts of a vessel; a floating, rippling
flag over the stern of a propeller did not deceive or
attract, but men who were hanging in the chains or
over the rail painting or scraping ship sometimes saw
a strange but mighty shadow below them and crawled
aboard, terror stricken, with an undefined fear.
The man-eater had at one time been quick of
motion, a swift hunter. He had learned the tricks
and customs of the fishes. He knew when the blue-
fish migrated, the millions of shad came in from
the deep submarine plateau upon which they win-
88
The Biography of a Man-Eater
tered, and with others he had followed them, lurk-
ing about the mouths of rivers, often creeping in,
devouring other sharks or eating the hundreds of
shad in nets. He lurked about the gulf-coast islands
for some time and laid in wait for the silver king, the
tarpon that came up from the South American coast
in February, and he soon learned to watch until a
fisherman had hooked a tarpon, and more than one
will recall feeling a sudden strain and seeing a huge
white-bellied figure rise five feet with the tarpon quiv-
ering in his maw. Again he followed the horse mack-
erel in the spring, lurching along far beneath them,
yet keen on their scent, following the peculiar oily
exudations from their scales which followed them
for miles, as a hound would a fresh trail, making
rushes at night and often running a school inshore,
losing them on the sands where the fishermen lanced
them and wondered why they came ashore.
This and more the great shark had done, but now
his enormous bulk, his slow movements suggested a
different life; the huge creature had reached the
demoniacal climax of his development. He had
fourteen or more rows of white serrated, knifelike
teeth; he moved with great deliberation, and was
apparently incapable of rapid movement; but this
was not altogether true, the shark was really a type
of activity. He could dart ahead or from side to
side, or turn upon his side with matchless grace, but
he rarely did; he now plowed slowly along search-
89
Big Game at Sea
ing for the objects which suggested the game of his
choice.
It was this change of habit that made the great
white man-eater an ocean wanderer. He avoided
the shore and attached himself to a large ship which
sailed from Boston to Liverpool; trailed it, like a
hound on the scent, for days; laid by it in storms
and calms, and every bucket of refuse thrown over
brought the man-eater up from astern with a rush.
He finally lost the trail of this ship in chasing some-
thing which was thrown over, and was a thousand
miles or more at sea. He swam in every direction,
hoping to pick up her scent or wake; now madly,
again swimming slowly. He dived down a quarter
of a mile, searching for the bottom which was three
miles beyond, but was driven up by the cold to swim
along the surface on calm days.
The marvelous turquoise tints of the ocean's heart,
its splendid virile life, its strength, its ponderous
movements, its silvery tracery, the frosting of the
sea as it broke, made no impression upon his sodden
brain. The wonderful illumination of the sea at
night, its real comets and constellations of vivid phos-
phorescence were not seen by him as he moved along.
It mattered little to this blood hunter that the ocean
was a realm of beauties, that each crystal drop was
buoyant with life and countless lovely forms. He
failed to note the splendors of the huge jellies whose
tentacles of living lace brushed over him in a cloud
90
The Biography of a Man-Eater
\
of color—lavender, blue and pink—all were unseen
by this incarnate appetite without sensation or desire
beyond carnage.
Swimming aimlessly along one day, the shark
crossed a familiar scent. Several Mother Cary's
chickens were fluttering over the surface after some
substance foreign to the clear waters. At once the
great bulk shot into action. It rushed across the line,
caught the scent, lost it, turned savagely and caught
it again, then dashed on into the wake of a great ship
bound for Rio. For days he followed, now astern,
again lurching along the quarter with one ugly eye
cast upward; again sailing along the surface, his big
dorsal fin cutting the water. He was fired at; hooks
were tossed over baited with salt pork, but the man-
eater paid no attention to them. He crossed the line
with the ship, grew gaunt and ugly, and was forced
to catch a porpoise or starve, so well did the wind
hold, and finally entered the harbor at Rio and failed
miserably in an attempt to capsize the boat of a pilot.
Meeting an outgoing steamer, the man-eater trailed
it up the coast to Barbadoes. Here he found a small
sailing vessel bound to the westward, and so reached
Aspinwall in the Caribbean Sea. The water was
intensely hot and he lay out in deep water, cooling his
massive bulk, during the day, going inshore at night,
occasionally chasing the great rays whose leap from
and return to the water sounded like the discharge
of a cannon.
9 I
Big Game at Sea
One day the shark entered the harbor late in the
afternoon and swam in the direction of the anchor-
age, a huge uncanny menace. The crew of one ship
were in bathing. They had a topgallant sail over-
board and were swimming in it suspecting the pres-
ence of sharks. The man-eater swam beneath and
around it and was seized with a frenzy at the scent
that drifted away. He began to swim rapidly, first
in one direction, then in another, circling the ship
about twenty feet below the surface, then rising. At
this time one of the sailors, more venturesome than
the rest, swam out into the channel, and the shark
catching the scent, swung its tail from side to side
and darted upward, baring its notched fin to the sun-
light.
“Ahoy there!” came from the foretop. “Come
aboard 1 ''
The lookout did not utter the word shark, but the
swimmer turned and struck out.
“Way third cutter!” rang out from the quarter-
ma.Ster.
The boat struck the water with a crash, naked
men fell into her and seizing the oars gave way.
Men never pulled like this before; yet the man in the
bow, boat-hook in hand, urged them on in God's
name. The swimmer was still twenty feet away when
the shark shot ahead assuming a titanic shape. He
turned slightly though not upon his back, and for
a second the man in the bow saw its ghastly form
92
The Biography of a Man-Eater
against the blue, then in a moment of horror realized
that he was too late.
The white shark with the notched fin was noticed
at Aspinwall several months where desperate efforts
were made to capture him, then he attached himself to
a northbound steamer and followed her through the
Strait of Florida, by Cuba, up the Bahama Banks,
leaving her by a singular fatality where he was born,
near Cary's Foot Light on the Florida coast. Here
he was attracted by a fleet of wreckers. He lingered
here a few weeks, then dogged a tramp steamer to
Bermuda, and one day went to sea on the trail of a
British cruiser. But she was only going out for gun
practice, and as the huge sullen brute came boldly to
the surface and circled about the vessel, glaring at her
with his beadlike eyes, the big lateenlike dorsal cut-
ting the water, one of the men asked permission to
fire at him, and cleverly sent a ball through his gills.
Then came the culmination in the career of this
insatiate monster, wounded to the death, but so in-
sensible to injury that the scent of his own life blood
reached his brain before the sense of pain, his first
move being not alarm, but desire. Frenzied by the
lust for blood, rapine and slaughter, the man-eater
turned and dashed through the deep red cloud, and
was rushing savagely from side to side in search of
himself, when a second shot cut the soft spinal mar-
row. The great mass dropped inert. For the first
time the powerful tail did not respond; the huge lips
93
Big Game at Sea
gripped tightly, the rows of gleaming teeth stood
erect for a moment, then the small expressionless
eyes convulsively turned inward, the pilot fishes darted
wildly about the dropping head and open gills, the
black and white remoras were along his tawny sides
hard and fast; the man-eater was dead.
In one of the great British museums is the mounted
and splendid specimen of a shark. The length is
given as twenty-five feet, and the card attached to it
states that it is an adult specimen of the white shark
or man-eater, Carcharodon. It was donated by the
officers of one of His Majesty's ships. It is a per-
fect specimen of this rare shark, if we except the
wound or notch on the dorsal fin.
94.
CHAPTER VI
AN OCEAN SWASHB UCKLER
ern California the angler may see a long, slender
fish dash out of the blue water at an angle of
forty-five degrees. Instead of turning gracefully, as
does the tuna, it falls heavily, with a loud and reso-
nant crash. Perhaps this is repeated several times,
in which case the observer obtains a fair though
fleeting view of the swordman of the sea, the living
rapier, whose carte, tierce and lunge are more than
effective among a host of its associates.
There are several species of these fishes found in
Californian waters, from the common Xiphias to the
spearfish, trim, warlike and menacing. Ordinarily
their movements are slow; swimming along the sur-
face, allowing a boat or yacht to approach them; but
when roused by the presence of an enemy, or by that
of prey, the fish becomes a veritable type of activity.
Schools of young mackerel or barracuda are its spe-
cial prey, and dashing into them with the speed of a
cannon ball it slashes to the right and left, myriads
of silvery pieces falling in a shower to tell the story
of its prowess. These it does not always stop to
I. the summer months about the islands of South-
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Big Game at Sea
pick up, but, seized with an insatiate lust for blood,
continues charging the school again and again, until
the water is filled with the dead and dying.
The number of swordfishes observed in this local-
ity, and especially the appearance of a large school
of adults in the San Clemente channel last season,
aroused the question of their possible capture. One
fisherman procured a New England swordfish outfit,
and proposed going into the sport with the regula-
tion “lily iron ’’; but before an opportunity offered,
the report came from a boatman that one of his
patrons had hooked a swordfish, and for a few
moments had played it with a tuna rod and line—a
statement which aroused no little interest among
those anglers who are essentially seekers after the big
game of the sea with rod and reel. This unheard-of
occurrence, in American waters, at least, of hooking
a swordfish took place near the great Sphinx Rock,
which constitutes the end of Santa Catalina Island to
the southwest. An angler was fishing for yellow-
tail—a fish which runs up to forty pounds or more,
arid was using a rod weighing about fourteen ounces
with a 21-thread cuttyhunk line. He was trolling
near shore, not one hundred feet from the edge of
the kelp bed, when an unusual strike came; not
the ordinary tug and downward rush of the yel-
lowtail, but a fierce jerk, which sent the music of
the reel humming through the air, followed by a
marvelously quick rush almost around the boat. It
96
An Ocean Swashbuckler
was something totally new in the angler's experience,
and he instinctively rose to his feet to see the game,
when a sharp, long-pointed object became visible—
the weapon of the swordfish. Apparently it was
coming toward the boat, so the angler hesitated and
was in favor of breaking the line, but the boatman,
possibly seeing new laurels in the venture, urged him
to play the fish, which now turned and bore away
with a speed that made the reel sing and the line
whistle and hiss through the water.
“You have him, sir! ” whispered the boatman.
“He has me,” was the retort of the angler, who
was pressing down on the thumb brake as hard as
his conscience would permit; and this was the truth.
Large tunas had been turned within six hundred feet
with the same tackle; but the swordfish, so far as could
be learned, was not swerved a foot from its course.
It charged directly away from the boat at a mar-
velous speed, and in less time than it requires to think
it, the line became exhausted, snapped, and the first
swordfish hooked in these waters was away.
This was the simple episode which aroused interest
in the possibilities of this sport. It is evidently a
question of line, and it is the opinion of some anglers
that with a full thousand feet the big fish might be
rounded up; and if once turned, the man at the reel
could control the situation. That there would be an
element of danger in this fishing goes without say-
ing, and is well illustrated by the experience of an
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Big Game at Sea
acquaintance in the Indian Ocean. Being an expert
angler, he always carried rods. and reels with him on
his travels. Upon reaching one of the islands of
those waters he found the commonest fish to be the
huge-finned creature known as the sailfish, from its
enormous dorsal fin, which, richly colored and raised
high above the surface, resembles the sail of some
Venetian craft upon whose canvas is emblazoned the
arms of the owner. He found that it was the cus-
tom to bait these fish by throwing out chum, in this
way enticing them around the boat within reach of
spear or harpoon; as the fish eagerly took the offer-
ings, he assumed that they could be hooked and deter-
mined to try it.
Upon announcing to the native fishermen what he
proposed doing, he was met with incredible tales
regarding the ferocity of the sailfish. One man
had had a brother killed. Another had his pirogue
sunk by a monster fish, twenty feet in length, and
still another related that an enraged fish had charged
his vessel, plunging through the sail and nearly kill-
ing some of the crew. Incredible as it may seem,
this but added fuel to the flame of the angler's ambi-
tion, and he lost no time in his preparation for the
sport. He learned that the swordfishes frequented
a bank several miles off shore, and, having secured
a somewhat clumsy boat and four men to row, he
accompanied several pirogues one day to the ground,
where he baited his hook with a fish resembling the
98
An Ocean Swashbuckler
mullet, and had his boat rowed slowly along. He
had a reel of English make, which held nearly twelve
hundred feet of 24-thread braided line, and a heavy
rod of about the class used for the tarpon, with which
he had taken large sharks up to three or four hundred
pounds. -
It was not long before one of the men called his
attention to an object in the water two or three hun-
dred yards away; it appeared to be the sail of a minia-
ture craft vividly colored, moving leisurely, but
proved to be the dorsal fin of the famous sailfish.
Presently others were seen, and at one time four or
five were cruising about; their splendid fins glistening
in the sun in tints of red, purple and black. At the
angler's order the boat was directed across the course
of the fish, and was so accurately calculated that
the bait was dragged directly before the leading
fish, which swerved slightly to one side, and with a
quick movement seized it. The sportsman waited a
moment, paying out ten or fifteen feet of line, reck-
oning on the hard jaw of the fish, and then hooked
it. He was familiar with the leap high into the
air of the silver king, but in response to his move-
ment there rose from the sea a fluttering sail-like fin,
scintillating with color, and the body of a slender fish
with long dangling finlets, with a sword of such size
that the men dropped their oars in terror. Accord-
ing to the angler, the fish appeared to be eighteen feet
in length. Clearing the water, it fell back with a
99
Big Game at Sea
mighty crash, and the singing of the reel and the
jerking motion of the rod told of the rush of the
fish. It was irresistible, and the brake had to be
used with great caution to prevent burning the line.
An element of the excitement was the disappear-
ance of the other fishes, which the frightened boat-
men said would attack the boat. They entreated
him to cut the line; but he held the rod stiff and
vainly attempted to stop the rush. Three hundred—
five—eight hundred feet had gone, and it was evi-
dent that the end was coming, when suddenly the
line slackened; the next moment three or four quiver-
ing fins were seen rushing along the surface.
“We are lost, master | " cried the terrified boat-
men. “They see the boat.”
The fish were coming at a marvelous speed, their
fins throwing the water high in air; but the angler
reeled furiously, took in all the slack of the overrun
he could and bade the men keep the stern of the boat
to the fish, thus offering the least resistance. The
men crowded into the bow, ready to leap overboard,
vociferously hailing a neighboring pirogue, while the
angler sat reeling as he had never reeled before, not
knowing whether or not he was to be spitted. On
came the fish, presenting a splendid spectacle of color,
with their sails three feet out of water; but when
within a short distance from the boat, they swerved
and plunged down deep into the ocean. The men
now seized the oars, and in obedience to orders, pulled
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An Ocean Swashbuckler
in the direction of the fish, hoping to gain; but the
line came taut, and the reel again whistled and
screamed.
“Pull! row !” cried the angler, straining to keep
the rod in position, which the fish jerked downward.
The men bent to their oars. “Pull; pull!” reit-
erated the excited fisherman, as a terrific jerk landed
the tip of his rod a foot under water. The natives
pulled for their lives, forcing the clumsy craft
through the water at a tremendous pace. The
delighted angler soon saw that he was, at least, not
losing line, and by careful manipulation he gained
eight or ten feet. The boat was now under full
headway, and as more strain could be put on the
line, he gradually stopped the rowing, and finally
had the fish towing the boat by the mere thread—
the seeming enigma in tuna fishing. For half an
hour the fish plunged along, occasionally swimming
to one side, but always followed by the boat which
one man was now steering. All the time the angler
was gaining; very slowly, it is true, but foot by foot.
The men were still afraid of the fish, and one and
all insisted that when the school found out that the
boat was the cause of the trouble, they would charge
and endeavor to release their comrade; but it was
the unexpected which happened. The fish was slowly
reeled in, and when within sight of the boat, made
a splendid rush beneath it, the men leaping to their
feet in their fright. The angler, however, had the

IOI
Big Game at Sea
game in hand, and not wishing to take the chance
of a gaff, told them to stand by with the harpoon.
As he brought the great fish around again, a won-
derful sight with its gaudy fins, enormous black eyes
and menacing sword, the head boatman hurled the
heavy spear into it. The sailfish fairly doubled
up under the shock, deluging with water the fisher-
men, its sword coming out and striking the boat. A
moment more and it might have escaped; but one
of the men seized it by the sword, while another
threw a rope around it, and the big game was theirs;
in all probability, the first large swordfish ever taken
with a rod and reel—at least, to the knowledge of the
writer. Including the sword, the fish was sixteen
feet in length, its splendid dorsal fin three and a half
feet high. It was Histiophorus gladius, specimens
of which have been seen in these waters ranging up
to twenty-five feet in length, and weighing fifteen
hundred pounds. Such a fish is a menace to ships,
as well as to those who go down to sea in them. r
That such sport would become popular if culti-
vated in Southern California waters is doubtful, as
there is an element of danger in it to be considered—
that of being rammed by the fish; and as many of
the tuna boats now have from two to four horse-
power engines, they would undoubtedly go to the
bottom if injured by a revengeful swordfish. Despite
this, several swordfishes were landed with rod and
reel at Santa Catalina in 1906-7, and the fish has
I O2
An Ocean Swashbuckler
taken its place among the great leaping game fishes of
the region. The record of the Tuna Club is 150
pounds, and a swordfish cup has been offered for the
largest fish of the season. -
That swordfishes are a menace to life has been
demonstrated on many occasions. A fisherman on
the coast of Maine was astonished to see the sword
of a swordfish crash up through his dory. A similar
attack occurred on the Long Island coast, the sword,
according to Professor G. Brown Goode, barely
missing the man, who, with great presence of mind,
seized the sword, broke it off, and plugged the hole
with his coat. The extraordinary force of these
blows can hardly be realized or credited. Sir Joseph.
Banks cites an instance where the entire sword was
driven through the hull of a ship; competent judges
testified that it would require ten blows of a hammer
weighing thirty pounds to produce a like result. The
British ship Dreadnaught was injured so badly by a
swordfish, that she was obliged to make port and go
on the ways. The smack Wyoming from Gloucester,
was similarly injured, and the crew had great diffi-
culty in keeping her afloat. The smack Morning
Star, of Mystic, had a remarkable experience with a
large swordfish off Hatteras. She was struck so vio-
lently that she began to leak badly, and had to make
Charleston. The sword had pierced the planking,
timber and ceiling. The planking was two inches
thick, the timber five, the ceiling was one and a half
IO3 º
Big Game at Sea
inches of white oak. Even more remarkable was the
force expended upon the whaler Fortune, of Ply-
mouth, by one of these fishes. The weapon had been
driven through the copper sheathing, an inch board of
under sheathing, a three-inch plank of hard wood,
then through twelve inches of solid white oak timber,
and then through two and a half inches of oak ceil-
ing, finally penetrating an oil cask. Such a weapon
can only be compared to a projectile, and doubtless
many vessels or boats have been destroyed in this
manner; sunk, as was the United States Fish Com-
mission sloop Red Hot, by being pierced by this
swordman of the sea.
IO4.
CHAPTER VII
THE TAKING OF BIG GAME FISHES
HERE is one stage in the playing of large
| game fishes when the surest angler, while
putting on a bold front, feels himself giving
way before a relentless foe, supposed to be a victim
to his skill. As I recall the really large fishes which
I have taken with rod and reel, harpoon, or cast-line,
I am inclined to confess the truth that I was often the
one actually caught, and that the game was but add-
ing to the under-the-sea gayety of the nations by
playing me. -
The tarpon, tuna, black grouper, black sea bass,
amber jack, Bahamian barracuda, and others are the
big game of the sea, and when taken in a thoroughly
sportsmanlike manner they afford the excitement of
the tiger or lion hunt, and often much danger. Hunt-
ing big game, or catching big fish is strenuous sport,
and not every sportsman is fond of it. I fancy a
man must be born to it. Those who have a pen-
chant for hard riding after the hounds, who feel
inspired by a wild race across country, where the
chances of neck-breaking are in one's favor, who feel
actual enjoyment in the knowledge that a tiger may
'IO 5
Big Game at Sea
leap upon them at any moment, or that a rogue ele-
phant is ready to charge, and those who find it inter-
esting to play a fish that is likely to sink the boat
or crash through it, all these belong to a class which
typifies the ideal of sportsmanship, where the human
animal divests himself of nearly all the advantages
which nature has given him and enters the lists with
the chances on the side of the lower animal. The
nearer the sportsman comes to this, certainly the
nearer he approaches the highest plane of sport,
whose motto the world over is “fair play.” It is a
matter of congratulation that regard for the rights
of the lower animals is increasing all over the coun-
try, and that attempts are being made to raise the
standard of sport.
While hunting for big game as a sport is of
extreme antiquity, honored by the precedents estab-
lished by famous hunters of all time, the capture of
great game fishes is a more or less modern pastime.
Twenty or thirty years ago a tarpon or a tuna reel
was unknown, and the sportsman who said that a two
or three hundred-pound fish could be caught with
what is technically known as a 18- or 21-thread line,
would have been classed with Ananias, the patron
Saint of all piscatorial romancers. I recall being
warned by a boatman at Santa Catalina, but a few
years ago, that it would be dangerous to hook a
tuna, as men had been jerked overboard by these
fishes and drowned. I was told the same story by
IO6
The Taking of Big Game Fishes
my boatman several years previous in the vicinity of
Boon Island Light, on the Maine coast. My Indian
boatman on the Florida reef considered me mad, I
doubt not, when I remarked that I could take a big
devil-fish or a sawfish with the grains from a small
boat. I recollect when some journal came out with
a letter in which the writer offered to defray the
expenses of any angler who would go to Florida
and successfully take a tarpon with rod and reel.
The impossible came to pass; hundreds of tarpon are
caught every season with a mere thread. The giant
horse-mackerel, or tuna, has been conquered.* An
acquaintance fought a gigantic sail, or Swordfish, in
the Indian Ocean with rod and line until the fish
leaped through the sail. The giant ray is taken,
and has long been classed among game fish in the
Carolinas.
The big game fishes of the world are compara-
tively few in numbers. Some of them are as follows:
The tarpon, record rod catch, 223 pounds, by Dr.
Howe, of Mexico, attains a weight of 300 pounds;
black sea bass, California, 700 pounds, record catch
by Mr. L. G. Murphy, 436 pounds; leaping tuna,
I,000 pounds, record catch by Col. C. P. Morehouse,
25 I pounds; the jewfish of Florida or Texas, 800
pounds; the Bahamian barracuda, IOO pounds or
more; black grouper, 600 pounds; the white sea bass,
* The author took a 183-pound tuna with rod, reel and 21-thread line in four
hours. -
IO7
Big Game at Sea
California Gulf region, IOO pounds; yellow-fin tuna,
and others not so well known. Then there are a num-
ber of fishes of large size to which the term game
would not be applied by some, yet, were it not for
prejudice, would be ranked among the hard fighters
of the sea. Such is the remarkable leaping shark,
caught among the tarpon at Aransas Pass, and which
is so perfect a mimic of its acrobatic neighbor that I
watched its leaps for some time, completely deceived.
Several of the sharks, as the hammer-head, are lusty
and game foes to the angler who desires the acme of
strenuous sport. Sharks may be taken with either
rod or handline, and what sport is to be had by a
single man, matched against a large shark, from the
beach or boat, depends upon the man. Many years
ago, when residing in what might be called a shark
country, I indulged in these contests frequently, and
was more than once outmatched and outfought. I
enjoyed the struggle, though often forced to sur-
render, breaking or cutting the line rather than be
towed into dangerous waters by a foeman so large
that I never even saw its outline against the blue
WaterS.
Some of the rays are hard fighters, and the most
exciting game for the harpoon, which I have de-
scribed in a previous chapter, is the huge ray, Manta,
an altogether uncanny and mysterious monster, with
a habit of running off with small vessels. With these
I would class the sawfish, a vigorous contestant, in
- IO8
The Taking of Big Game Fishes
whose wake on the Florida reef I have found variety
and action sufficient to satisfy the average craving
for exciting sport. These fishes attain a length of
fifteen or sixteen feet, and such a one, which weighed
600 pounds, was taken by Mr. Edwin Vom Hofe
with a tarpon rod, reel, and No. 15 line, after a
most vigorous contest. Such are some types of what
may be termed the big game of the sea, all of which
it has been my good fortune to take.
Almost every angler or grainsman has his peculiar
method of fishing, and the following lines may be
taken merely as illustrations of how one angler ac-
complished the killing: Nearly all anglers who follow
big game at sea have an elaborate equipment, which
can be housed in a small valise made for the purpose;
such an outfit can be ordered from any of the large
dealers, and would consist of a reel sufficiently large
to hold 6oo feet of a No. 2 I line. What is known
as a tarpon or tuna reel is now made, costing from
twenty-five to seventy-five dollars, and is as perfectly
constructed as a watch. This reel multiplies several
times, and is provided with a patent internal drag to
prevent overrunning, and is rigged with a leather
thumb-piece strapped to the lower crossbar. In addi-
tion to this, some tarpon and tuna anglers strap a
piece of rubber upon the rod above the reel, and with
a thumb stall, provided by tackle dealers, press upon
the line here. There are also several attachable
brakes or drags. I have found the thumb and upper
IO9 w
Big Game at Sea
brake sufficient for ordinary work, though I have
often wished for something else when my line was
melting away before a Texas tarpon or a Santa Cata-
lina tuna, which apparently nothing could stop.
It should be said with emphasis that a cheap reel
for this fishing is impossible—a waste of time,
patience, and money. An ultra complete outfit, ready
for all emergencies, will contain two reels. There
will be room in the bag for several lines. I believe
a 2 I-thread is large enough to catch any fish that
can be handled, and anglers like Mr. John C. Hecks-
cher, Mr. Vom Hofe, Judge A. W. Houston, or
Colonel Morehouse could easily demonstrate the pos-
sibility of taking the largest tarpon or tuna upon a
No. I 5 or 18 line; it is merely a question of time. If
sharks are plentiful, and it is necessary to take the
game in at once, a No. 2 I line, or even a 24, is per-
haps admissible. I have never used a line larger
than the first mentioned, and have taken tunas and
other large fishes with a 15-thread. The line must
be of the best quality, and will cost from three and
a half to four dollars for 6oo feet. This line, in
which lies the secret of taking big game, is a marvel
of strength. It is of Irish linen, carefully made, and
one which I have in mind, called No. 15, is tested to
pull a dead weight of thirty pounds, while the No. 24
is tested to forty-eight pounds. Such lines cost four
dollars for 600 feet, or about forty-five dollars per
dozen. Before using, the line should be thoroughly
I IO
The Taking of Big Game Fishes
stretched. The bag should contain a brass drier,
upon which the line can be wound after using, and it
is well to reverse it daily, if in constant use, and exam-
ine for broken strands, as by these tokens the angler
shall discover why the biggest fish always escapes.
When a large fish does obtain its liberty it is either
from defective tackle or poor manipulation.
In the selection of hooks every angler has his
fancy. The length and structure of the leader,
Snood, or snell is considered an important feature by
anglers. It should be of tinned piano wire, six feet
long, with at least three large swivels, and the fish-
ing receptacle should contain a supply of tinned piano
wire for this purpose; or, better, a large supply of
ready-made hooks and leaders, a box of large swivels,
a few sinkers, a cork float, a pair of cutting pincers,
round and flat, a sheet of emery paper, a knife, small
patent oiler for the reel, flat file, extra guides, spool
of silk, a measuring tape, a little kit of tools packed
in the handle, a drinking cup, some simple remedies
for cuts and bruises, and the outfit is fairly complete.
The angler should have two rods, or a rod with two
tips—what is known as a tarpon or tuna rod—either
noibwood, greenheart, split bamboo, ironwood, or
lancewood. Personally I have used greenheart more
than anything else, and I believe noibwood is a species
of greenheart, highly commended. The rod for the
very largest fishes should weigh about twenty-six
ounces, and be six feet nine inches in length, and in
I I I
Big Game at Sea
two pieces, one long tip and a short butt. Such a rod,
with a butt of hard rubber, tip of noibwood, silver
mounted, with double silver and agate line guides,
etc., will cost about twenty-two dollars. It is enclosed
in a soft cloth case, and with other rods, perhaps
packed in a leather trunk case, a luxury and con-
venience. It is also a good plan, if going to Florida,
Aransas Pass, or Catalina, to box rods and check
them. It is one of the pleasures of angling to possess
a box or kit as described, more or less complete; yet
it is not always necessary. If the angler is going to
Santa Catalina he will find each boatman equipped
with the best of rods, reels, and lines; if the angler
breaks a fine rod or expensive line, he is expected to
pay for it. At Aransas Pass, at the Tarpon Inn, the
headquarters of the Aransas Pass Tarpon Club, of
which Mr. L. P. Streeter is president, rods, reels—in
fact, the entire equipment—can be purchased or
rented. In Florida, if the angler is going to the tar-
pon grounds down the coast, or to Tampico in winter,
he should invariably take his own tackle and not
depend on finding it, though I am informed that
good tackle can now be had here. If the angler
desires to enter the lists with the Aransas Pass Tarpon
Club, the Light Tackle, or Tuna Club of Santa Cata-
lina, organizations which set the standards of sport
in America, he should use the tackle advocated by
these clubs, which is a six-ounce tip and a No. 9 line
for all but the very largest of fishes.
II 2
The Taking of Big Game Fishes
With such an equipment, varying according to
tastes, the angler is ready for action, and to find
big game fish goes to one of the three more or
less well-defined regions. Florida, beginning with
Indian River, including Key West and the outer reef
up to Cedar Keys, may be considered one. Here
the sawfish, giant ray, jewfish, barracuda, and black
grouper are found. The season begins, except for
tarpon, in December, and March generally marks the
arrival of the first tarpon. At Indian River the later
the arrival the better the fishing, and as far south as
the keys between Cape Florida and Key West, the
angler will find sport earlier and at all times. Of
course the summer season is the best for sport. I tried
it for several years, but the intense heat and the mos-
quitoes more than off-set the additional catches. If
midsummer tarpon fishing in comfort is desired, I
would advise Aransas Pass. Here, at the little town
of Tarpon, or at the Aransas Pass Tarpon Club,
attractive conditions are found in midsummer—an
omnipresent breeze, day and night, no malaria and
few if any mosquitoes; conditions hard to be believed,
but true. Here are the jewfish, the jack of a size to
test the strength of the angler, king fish, hammer-
head, the leaping shark, and tarpon, in such numbers
that it is a rare occurrence for an angler on any day to
draw a blank. Aransas Pass is reached by boat or
cars from New York—by the former to Galveston,
and by the latter to San Antonio; from here the
II.3
Big Game at Sea
Aransas Pass railroad is taken to Rockport. A daily
mail boat now runs from here fifteen miles down and
seven out to Tarpon. A third locality for big game
fish is the Southern California islands, reached via
Los Angeles.
We may assume that the game is tarpon and the
objective is Captiva, or some pass on the west coast
of Florida. The boat, an ordinary yawl, has a chair
seat rigged astern, on the outer edge of which, be-
tween the angler's legs, is a leather socket fastened
to the seat to receive the butt of the rod—a solace
for many a weary angler. A small mullet, or a slice
of mullet, is used for bait, and the boatman rows or
anchors according to the conditions.
Many anglers use a leather or wired line snood
or leader, so that sharks, which are often annoy-
ing, can readily take the hook and not weary the
fisherman. -
All being ready, the angler sees that his reel is
lashed to the rod, overreels, pays out forty or fifty
feet of line, and wets his leather drag-brake, so that
the first rush will not burn off the line. This is not
so important as in tuna fishing. Not a tuna was
taken, though scores were hooked, until some one
thought of it; prior to this it was supposed that the
lines were defective, but the trouble was that the
intense friction burned the slender line, or a thread,
and the line broke. Whenever the complaint is made
of very frequent breaks in standard lines, anglers will
y
II.4.
The Taking of Big Game Fishes
do well to see that their fish do not make long rushes
with a dry line.
The angler makes himself comfortable, and keeps
his rod always raised slightly, at an angle over the
quarter, never pointing directly astern. The right
hand grasps the butt, the thumb resting lightly upon
the pad, while the left hand grips the cork grip
above the reel. A strike comes; perhaps it is a nib-
ble, perhaps a long, firm strain, as the tarpon is
bound by no fixed laws or precedent. At this point
some successful anglers strike at once; others give
line, having in mind the extraordinary mouth of the
tarpon. Unless the strike is very heavy, followed
by an instantaneous rush, I give the fish some line,
overreeling two or three feet, on the supposition that
the fish requires a few seconds to properly seize the
bait; but manifestly the angler must adapt himself to
circumstances. Assuming that we have given several
feet of line, it immediately comes taut. You quickly
bend the tip of the rod a foot, perhaps two or three,
toward the fish, and then sway back with an ener-
getic movement—not a jerk—at the same time press-
ing hard upon the brake with the thumb; this is
called giving the fish the butt—a process adopted at
many stages in the play to stop a fish, or force it
to change its direction, or to leap. Usually such a
movement hooks the tarpon, and is almost invariably
followed by the convulsive leap of the splendid fish
into the air, where it appears to hang for a moment—
II 5
Big Game at Sea
a truly astonishing sight that has bewildered more
than one angler and filled him with all the symptoms
of buck fever. The fish has jumped in wild fear,
like a bucking mustang, and when in mid-air endeav-
ors, by a convulsive side movement and opening of
the mouth, to fling out the hook—a trick often suc-
cessful. At this stage of the game, the angler, if
he has himself well in hand, will drop his rod
point, keeping the line fairly taut and out of
the water, but not at such a tension that a violent
swing of the massive head can take it unawares and
break it.
Into the water, perhaps upon its back, the monster
drops, and the thumb is now pressed upon the leather
brake while the fish makes its first rush—usually the
most vehement and terrific—tearing off one hundred
and fifty or more feet of line with incredible speed.
Here many fishes are lost, especially tunas; the angler
presses too hard upon the brake, and the line breaks.
The pressure should be governed and tempered by
intuition, and in this regulating the brake, while the
fish is making a terrific rush and the reel is screaming,
lies much of the skill. It depends upon the angler
how soon the rush will stop; but the moment the least
sign of slowing up comes the thumb should be pressed
vigorously, the fish stopped. Now the right hand
springs for the first time to the handle of the reel, the
butt is placed in the leather socket, and the subsequent
operations depend upon circumstances. The fish has
I I6
The Taking of Big Game Fishes
been stopped—that is, is not taking any line from the
reel, but it is forging around in a semi-circle, or is
moving steadily ahead, towing the boat. If it is a
shark country, there is no time to waste in observing
the play of the fish or taking time; on the contrary,
if sharks are not plentiful, the angler may proceed
with a certain amount of deliberation; but it is an
axiom with nearly all anglers that if the fish is large
it must be fought constantly, and not allowed to
obtain its “second wind ’’; if this is not done a large
fish will continue the contest interminably. A tuna
has been known to tow a boat fourteen hours and
wear out two men, ultimately escaping. I played
such a tuna four hours and was towed nearly ten
miles, despite the fact that I fought the fish con-
stantly; but I was nearly outclassed. The fish
weighed 183 pounds. A hammer-head shark which
I played two hours required five boats to tow it to
the shore.
We have stopped the fish; the right hand is now
on the reel handle, and dropping the tip of the rod,
the reel is turned, rapidly eating up the line; then,
when the tip reaches the water, the thumb slips back to
the brake and the angler slowly lifts the fish. Then
the tip is rapidly dropped, and the right hand slides
over the handle again, which is whirled around, gain-
ing at least six or seven feet, or the length of line
equivalent to a fourth the arc of a circle, or from the
perpendicular top of the rod to the surface of the
I 17
Big Game at Sea
water. This is known as “pumping,” from the
up-and-down motion of the rod, and is difficult to
accomplish at first, as the fish is liable to rush at
any moment, and the novice fails to shift from brake
to reel handle, or vice versa, quickly enough; but after
some practice the motion is readily acquired, and the
fish brought in with astonishing celerity; in fact, to
hold the rod stiff and attempt to reel in a fish out of
hand by merely turning the crank—as one would
a trout or bass, as the uninitiated angler invariably
does—is almost a physical impossibility, especially in
the case of a large fish; and I have seen a fisherman,
ignorant of the art of pumping, work for an hour,
perhaps, over a twenty-pound yellowtail. The man
held the rod stiff and turned the reel, when the fish
made a rush, the flying handle playing havoc with
his fingers. By pumping, a large fish can be brought
in with rapidity and ease; but sooner or later the fish
leaps again, when the hand must be on the brake
ready for the rush, which may be repeated time and
again with infinite variations. The tarpon, or any
large fish, should be kept as near the boat as possible,
and much depends upon the boatman. At the first
cry of the reel—the tell-tale, which keeps the boat-
man posted—he stops rowing, and when the fish is
hooked, backs water, thus enabling the angler to gain
on the fish, and, all through the vicissitudes of the
fisherman and the various phases of the contest, it
is his duty to keep the fish on the starboard quarter,
II 8
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(1) The Puff Shark of California and Its Eggs. (2) The Rose of
Paradise Fish. These Photographs Were Taken from Life Under
Water at the Avalon Zoological Station.













The Taking of Big Game Fishes
though some anglers prefer it directly astern, or as
near that location as possible.
Leaping and rushing, the tarpon, under these
manipulations, comes slowly in, and is finally pumped
alongside. It is well to be ready now for an espe-
cially vicious rush; but it is generally a short one, and
the angler ultimately succeeds in reeling the fish up
until the end of the five-foot leader is near the tip.
The tip of the rod is now slowly and steadily passed
forward, the thumb being on the leather brake, and
the boatman, gaff in hand, watches his opportunity.
A poor gaffer, or an excitable one, will ruin the
sport; but assuming that the man understands his
duty, he will wait until the fish is amidships, or the
angler gives the word, when he will slip the gaff—
a long pole with a sharp, powerful, steel hook at the
end—beneath the fish, and, with an upward jerk,
impale it in the throat or nearer the mouth if possi-
ble. Boatmen are usually provided with a clumsy
barbed gaff of indifferent point, with which they have
difficulty in gaffing. The gaff should be slender, but
strong; the point long and extremely sharp, so that
a moderate jerk will impale any fish, and it should
be fastened to the boat by a rope twenty or thirty
feet in length. I have frequently had the gaff jerked
from my hands by a large black sea bass; to have held
on would have been to join the fish in its native
element.
As the boatman gaffs, the angler overruns his line
I IQ
Big Game at Sea
with the right hand, raises the tip of his rod, and,
with thumb on the brake, awaits developments. The
well-drilled gaffer will not attempt to gaff until the
fish is exactly where it should be. The man who
becomes rattled, hooks at the fish wildly, or strikes at
it with the gaff overhand, or gaffs it in any other
way than described, is the man for the angler to
avoid, as he will either cut the line or in some way
jeopardize success. The best of gaffers may miss the
fish, especially in a seaway, and the angler must
always be ready for a fierce rush; the line must be
clear; the boatman or gaffer must, as a rule, not
touch it (in the Tuna Club tournaments this would
disqualify an angler for a record); and if the rush
does come the angler checks it as soon as possible and
pumps the fish to gaff again. Assuming that the
gaffer has secured it, he lifts its head as high as pos-
sible and holds it while it goes through the inevitable
flurry, which has on various occasions drenched me.
Then when opportunity offers he steps upon the gun-
wale, if the boat is of proper beam. The fish's head
is slowly raised and the boat tipped to the extent of
safety, when the big fish slides easily into the boat to
again assert itself. Every boatman should carry a
canvas sail or semi-bag six or eight feet square, which
can be hauled over the struggling fish, aiding materi-
ally in quieting it. Many anglers shoot tarpon at
the gaff, or in other fish endeavor to disable them by
throat-cutting, but one is governed by circumstances.
I 2 O
The Taking of Big Game Fishes
Assuming that the fish has been successfully taken
aboard, felicitations are timely. If the boatman has
done well, he should be complimented, and the angler
will not be proof against the statement of the latter
that, “he’ll be dogged if he ever saw a tarpon so
well handled before ”; and as “Mat,” “Billy,” or
“Jim” wipes his lips, he really believes it.
Such, with variations, may be said, at least in my
experience, to be a typical catch, although it is the
unexpected which always happens in fishing, and the
resources of the angler are frequently exhausted.
Thus a well-known tarpon fisherman had a fish leap
into the air, and, as it came down, crash through the
bottom of the boat. At present few anglers gaff
their fish; they are unhooked at the boat, or towed
ashore. In the former instance the angler plays the
fish until it is fairly “tamed ”; then the gaffer grasps
the line, which is doubled or trebled for a foot or
more above the leader for this purpose, and holds the
fish while he inserts a short, unbarbed gaff under the
lower jaw; by this a clever man can hold the fish
firmly and detach the hook, releasing the fish after
taking an estimate of its length or weight. If the
fish is large, or the sea is too high, the fish is beached
—a most laborious operation, if the beach is some
distance away, as the angler must hold the fish, keep
it headed to the boat, having the line reeled so far in
that the first swivel is against the agate tip. The
reel is held by the thumb brake and left-hand thumb
I 2 I
Big Game at Sea
stall, and the oarsman rows as rapidly as possible to
the beach. If the fish is large it may break away
several times during this operation, to be pumped in
again; and as it approaches the shallow water it will
invariably make a last effort. Reaching the beach,
the boatman leaps over, takes the line by the trebled
portion, and drags it in, the angler slacking out as it
goes by, overrunning his reel, always ready for a
rush, as, if the boatman is forced to drop the fish, he
must be ready to take it without giving the fish any
slack line, which often would be fatal. Assuming
that the fish has been beached, it is measured, length
and girth and weight determined by the old fishing
formula—the square of the girth in inches multiplied
by the length in inches, divided by 8oo will give the
approximate weight. -
In tuna fishing almost the same tackle is used; a
2 I-thread line is amply large. The smaller the line
the greater the test of skill. The tuna boats at Santa
Catalina are the most perfectly equipped fishing boats
to be found anywhere, being built and designed for
the purpose, and are eighteen or twenty-foot launches,
rigged for two anglers. The fishing is in blue water,
six or eight hundred feet in depth. The fish swim in
pairs, as a rule, or in a school, and when the strike
comes it is a swift surge; the fish comes for the boat
along the surface at full speed, and does not stop;
hence the angler is not required to set the hook, the
fish almost invariably hooking itself. Sharks are
I 2.2
The Taking of Big Game Fishes
rarely a factor here, hence the angler can take his
time. Some have the boatman pull against the fish;
others, who would make a short fight, have the boat
backed after the game, reeling when they can. An
instantaneous plunge, or rush down, may be expected
—in some fishes so irresistible that the entire line is
unreeled; and here most of the tunas are lost. By
legitimate thumb pressure an average fish should be
stopped before it takes two hundred feet of line, and
then the angler will find that it is nearly three hundred
feet directly down, yet towing the launch slowly but
surely out to sea. Pumping—but now vertical—is
resorted to, and repeated rushes may be expected;
some away, some at the boat, when the line must
be reeled in with all the rapidity possible, and the
hand transferred quickly to the brake as the fish turns
and charges. With a light rod I have brought a
ninety-five pound fish to gaff in forty minutes. Many
anglers, with short, stiff rods, bring their fish to gaff
in from ten to thirty minutes; but particularly game
fishes often fight for hours, dying suddenly of heart
failure. Tunas are always gaffed, and in the man-
ner described in tarpon fishing; the difference between
the fishes is that the tuna jumps only when feeding.
Its rushes are more vigorous—down instead of out;
being caught in deep water, its fighting powers are
at least twenty-five per cent. greater than those of the
tarpon.
The tuna and tarpon are types of fishes which bite
I23
Big Game at Sea
or strike on or near the surface, though the tarpon is
often taken on the bottom. In the black sea bass of
California and the black grouper of Florida, both of
which attain a weight of three or four hundred
pounds, we have examples of bottom fishes, though
I have taken them both in thirty feet, or less, of
water. The same tackle as described is used here, a
short rod being advisable, owing to the fact that a
three-hundred-and-fifty-pound fish is a terrific weight
in itself to lift. The black sea bass is a nibbler, and
will often “fool around ’’ the bait, which is five or six
pounds, or more, of albacore meat, or a seven-pound
live white-fish. When the strike comes the line is
allowed to run over eight or ten feet; then, as it
comes taut, the hook is driven in with a strong, sway-
ing back rather than a jerk. The response is imme-
diate, and, with a hand or cast line, I have almost
been jerked overboard by a three-hundred-and-forty-
seven-pound fish. The rush is shorter than with the
previously described fishes, and the black grouper,
especially, is a wild and often untamable steed, tow-
ing the boat hither and yon, while a black sea bass
has been known to resist an angler for three hours
and tow him far out to sea.
The great barracuda, which attains a length of six
or seven feet, affords features and incidents which
may be said to be between the extremes described. I
have taken it on the surface and in mid-water, and
found it a splendid game fish. The same tackle can
I 24
The Taking of Big Game Fishes
be used as in the case of other large fishes, but it
should be lighter.
The preceding methods are those adopted and
used by the Tuna Club of Santa Catalina, founded
ten years ago by the author for the protection of the
oceanic game fishes of California. The 21-strand
line was advocated to lessen the catch, and foil the
“fish hog" and his tribe, but many anglers use a
9, 18, and other small lines.
It is believed that the 21-thread line is the logical
size for the largest fishes mentioned, but the Light
Tackle Club, founded by its President, Mr. Arthur
J. Eddy, of Chicago, which has its headquarters at
Avalon, Cal., advocates a rod which weighs but six-
teen ounces and a 9-thread line for fishes under one
hundred pounds. The action of these two clubs
places sea angling on a very high standard. They
offer valuable prizes for the record fishes taken ac-
cording to their rules, and the yearly tournaments are
of much interest. Those who take a twenty-pound
fish with the tackle of the Light Tackle Club are
entitled to a bronze button; a forty-five-pound fish
brings among the joys of the catch a silver button,
while a sixty-pound fish caught with this thread en-
titles the angler to a gold button. And twelve anglers
have qualified, taking the yellow-finned tuna up to
sixty pounds and over. The prizes of this club for
the season of 1906 were as follows:
I 25
*
Big Game at Sea
CUPS
For the largest gold button fish of the season, sil-
ver loving cup; won by Mr. Arthur J. Eddy, of
Pasadena, Cal.; kind of fish, tuna; net weight, sixty
pounds.
For the largest albacore of the season, silver loving
cup, presented by W. H. Hoegee Company, Los
Angeles; won by Mr. Gustave J. Frickman, New
York; net weight of fish, thirty-eight pounds, eleven
OUIſlC6S.
PRIZES
For the largest tuna of the season, first prize, silver
mounted rod; won by Mr. Arthur J. Eddy, Pasa-
dena, Cal.; net weight of fish, sixty pounds.
Second prize, reel; won by Mr. T. McD. Pot-
ter, Los Angeles; net weight of fish, fifty-five pounds,
tWO OunceS. -
For the largest yellowtail of the season, first prize,
rod, presented by W. M. Hunt, Jr., Avalon; won by
Mr. A. A. Carraher, Avalon; net weight of fish,
thirty-eight and one-half pounds.
Second prize, reel, presented by the Tufts-Lyon
Arms Company, Los Angeles; won by Mr. T. McD.
Potter, Los Angeles; net weight of fish, thirty-eight
pounds.
For the largest albacore of the season, first prize,
rod, presented by the Pasadena Hardware Com-
I 26
The Taking of Big Game Fishes
pany, Pasadena, Cal.; won by Mr. Gustave J. Frick-
man, New York; net weight of fish, thirty-eight
pounds, eleven ounces.
Second prize, Pflueger reel, presented by the Enter-
prize Manufacturing Company, Akron, Ohio; won
by Mrs. H. H. Cotton, Los Angeles; net weight of
fish, thirty-seven and one-half pounds. -----
For the largest white sea bass of the season, first
prize, rod, presented by Tufts-Lyon Arms Company,
Los Angeles; won by Mr. Arthur J. Eddy, Pasadena;
net weight of fish, thirty-four pounds.
Second prize, rod, presented by Harper-Reynolds
Company, Los Angeles; won by E. H. Brewster,
Avalon; net weight of fish, thirty-two pounds.
For the largest bonita of the season, prize, 900-
foot 9-thread linen line, presented by Mrs. C. H.
White, Colorado Springs, Colo.; won by E. H. Brew-
ster, Avalon.
For the largest skipjack of the season, prize, 900-
foot 9-thread linen line, presented by Mr. E. H.
Brewster, of Avalon; won by Mrs. Stella W. Mc-
Neil, Colorado Springs, Colo.
To elevate the standard of sport, the Tuna Club
gives a tournament every year. The following are
the prizes of the year 1907, and a typical announce-
ment of the tournament:
I27.
Big Game at Sea
“The Protection of the Game Fishes of California and
the Establishment of a Higher Standard of Sport.”
President, First Vice-President,
CHARLEs F. HoLDER, THOS. S. MANNING,
Pasadena, Cal. Avalon, Cal.
Second Vice-President, Third Vice-President,
Col. C. P. MoREHOUs, W. H. BURNHAM,
Pasadena, Cal. Orange, Cal.
Secretary, Corresponding Secretary,
L. P. STREETER, F. L. HARDING,
Pasadena, Cal. Philadelphia, Pa.
AlFRED L. BEEBE, T. McD. POTTER,
Portland, Ore. Los Angeles, Cal.
THE NINTH ANNUAL
SUMMER SEA ANGLING TOURNAMENT
OF THE
SANTA CATALINA Island TUNA Club
May 1 to October 1, 1907, Inclusive
The Santa Catalina Island Tuna Club in the interests of a
higher standard of sport, the protection of game fishes, and the
higher development of the art of sea angling (rod and reel) on the
Pacific coast, announces its Ninth Annual Sea Angling Tourna-
ment to be held under the rules of the Club at Avalon, Santa
Catalina Island, California, from May 1st to October 1st, 1907.
The game fishes referred to in this tournament are divided
into two classes.
CLASS A
Leaping Tuna, Black Sea Bass, and Swordfish of any kind.
Rod and reel, rod to measure not less than 6 feet, 9 inches in
length, tip to weigh not more than 16 ounces. By tip is meant
that part of the rod from the reel seat to the tip. The line must
I 28
The Taking of Big Game Fishes
not exceed standard 24 strands. (If the angler desires to use a
standard 9-thread line for these large fishes, he may use not less
than a 5-foot tip, weighing not more than 6 ounces, the butt
not longer than 14 inches.)
CLASS B
In this are included all other fishes, Albacore, Yellow-fin
Tuna, White Sea Bass, Yellowtail, etc. Contestants in this
class must use rod and reel. The tips must not be less than 5
feet in length and must not weigh more than 6 ounces; butt
must not be longer than 14 inches. The line in this class must
be a standard 9-thread linen line.
*º-
RULES
Anglers must bring fish to gaff entirely unaided. The fish
must be reeled in fairly; a broken rod either before or after
gaffing disqualifies the angler, it being assumed to display a lack
of skill. The tournament is open to amateurs only, professional
fishermen or those engaged in allied industries and members of
their families are barred.
PRESENT HOLDERS OF CUPS AND RECORDS ARE:
LARGEST LEAPING TUNA-(Thunnus thymnus)
C. F. Holder, Pasadena, Cal., season 1899 . . 183 pounds
Col. C. P. Morehous, Pasadena, Cal., season 1900 25 I pounds
Mrs. E. N. Dickerson . tº © e e . 216 pounds
F. S. Schenck, Brooklyn, N. Y., season 1901 . I 58 pounds
F. V. Rider, Avalon, Cal., season 1901 . º . I 58 pounds
Ernest E. Ford, season 1902 & gº e . 174 pounds
John F. Stearns, Los Angeles, Cal., year 1902 . 197 pounds
H. E. Smith, season 1903 . tº º gº 94 pounds.
General A. W. Barrett, Los Angeles, Cal., season 1904 131 pounds
I 29
Big Game at Sea
RECORD BLACK SEA BASS—(Stereolepis)
F. V. Rider, Avalon, season 1898 ge & . 327 pounds
T. S. Manning, Avalon, season 1899 . te . 372 pounds
F. S. Schenck, Brooklyn, N. Y., season 1900 . 384 pounds
A. C. Thompson, Pomona, Cal., Season 1901 . . 384 pounds
H. T. Kendall, Pasadena, Cal., season 1902 . . 419 pounds
Edward Llewellyn, Los Angeles, Cal., 1903 . . 425 pounds
H. L. Smith, New York, season 1904 . º . 402 pounds
L. G. Murphy, Converse, Ind., season 1905 . . 436 pounds
LARGEST YELLOWTAIL–(Seriola)
F. V. Rider, Avalon, Cal., season 1898. * . 41 pounds
F. S. Gerrish, Jacksonville, Fla., season, 1899 . 37 pounds
R. F. Stocking, Los Angeles, Cal., season 1900 . 48 pounds
T. S. Manning, Avalon, Cal., season 1901 tº . 33 pounds
Dr. Trowbridge, Fresno, Cal., season 1902 . . 47% pounds
F. P. Newport, season 1903 * tº © . . 46 pounds
H. Meyst, Chicago, Ill., season 1904 . e . 44 pounds
J. E. Pflueger, Akron, O., 1905 . e e . 43 pounds
A. A. Carraher, 1906 . {º} e º e . 38; pounds
LARGEST WHITE SEA BASS—(Cynoscion)
C. H. Harding, Philadelphia, Pa., season, 1904 . 60 pounds
LARGEST SWORDFISH-(Tetrapturus)
Edward Llewellyn, Los Angeles, Cal. . ge 150 pounds
PRIZES
No. I
TUNA CLUB SILVER LOVING CUP
(Donated by the Banning Co.)
For the largest Leaping Tuna of the season over Ioo pounds.
This cup remains the property of the Club, the name of the
I 30
The Taking of Big Game Fishes
winner being engraved upon it. It is the most interesting and
hardly contested cup of any sea angling club in the world.*
No. 2
THE MONTCOMERY SILVER CUP
(Presented by Montgomery Bros., Los Angeles)
This trophy becomes the property of the angler who shall
hold the Tuna record (100 pounds or over) three successive
years. -
No. 3
THE TUNA CLUB GOLD MEDAL
This hardly contested for medal tells a remarkable story of
almost incredible contests with the greatest game fish known
in the annals of sea angling. It bears the name of winning
anglers and remains the property of the Club, the name of the
successful angler being added every year. No event in the
entire range of sea angling lends more honor to the sea angler
than to have his name inscribed on the bars of this medal, which
goes to the angler taking the largest leaping tuna of the season
over 100 pounds.
No. 4
TUNA CLUB GOLD BUTTON
The angler taking the largest Tuna of the season becomes
eligible to, and receives the gold button of, the Tuna Club, an
insignia (showing a gold Tuna on a blue background with name
of the club) known all over the world as an evidence of remark-
able contests with the king of large game fishes taken with the
tackle specified by the Club.
No. 5
EDWARD VOM HOFE PRIZE
For exceeding the Club record, Rod and Reel, donated by
Edward Vom Hofe, of New York City. (Tuna.) -
* The Leaping Tuna referred to in this tournament is the fish known to
naturalists as Thunnus thynnus, the largest of all the bony fishes.
I3 I
Big Game at Sea
No. 6
THE MOREHOUS TUNA CUP
Col. Morehous, ex-president of the Tuna Club, offers a silver
cup to the angler who will exceed his record under the Tuna
Club rules.
No. 7
HOLDER SWORDFISH CUP
Charles Frederick Holder, of Pasadena, Cal., founder of the
Tuna Club, offers a silver cup to be known as the “Swordfish
Cup,” to be contested for under the rules. The angler taking
the heaviest fish of the season shall have his name engraved on
the cup. By securing this record for two successive years, he
becomes the owner of the cup.
No. 8
BLACK SEA BASS
TUFTS-LYON CUP
For exceeding the Club record.
No. 9
RIDER-MACOM BER GOLD MEDAL
The medal goes to the angler taking the largest fish of the
SeaSOI).
No. IO
JOHN F. FRANCIS GOLD MEDAL
For the largest Yellowtail of the season, John F. Francis
gold medal; winner's name to be engraved on gold bar each
season, medal to be property of the Club.
No. 1 I
HARDING CUP
Mr. F. L. Harding, of Philadelphia, Pa., awards a cup for
the largest Bonito of the season, to be won three times.
I 32
The Taking of Big Game Fishes
No. 12
THE EDDY LIGHT TACKLE CUP
Arthur Jerome Eddy, President of the Light Tackle Club of
Avalon, offers a cup for the largest Yellowtail of the season.
Light Tackle club rules, 16-Oz. rod, 9-thread line, etc.
No. 13
THE NORDLINGER LADIES’ CUP
(Presented by S. Nordlinger & Sons)
The lady taking the largest Yellowtail of the season will
have her name engraved on the cup.
No. 14
THE C. H. HARDING TUNA CLUB WHITE SEA BASS
GOLD MEDAL
The angler taking the largest fish of the season, over 60
pounds weight (9-thread line, etc.), shall have his name en-
graved on the bar.
No. 15
THE L. P. STREETER ALBACORE SILVER MEDAL
(Thunnus Alalonga)
The angler taking the largest albacore of the season, over 40
pounds (9-thread line, etc.), shall have his name engraved on
the bar.
No. 16
YELLOW-FIN TUNA CUP
(Yellow fin—Thunnus maculatus)
The angler taking the largest fish of the season (9-thread line,
etc.) shall have his name engraved on the cup.
I 33 4 ºr
Big Game at Sea
No. 17
THE COL. D. M. BURNS CUP
(Value $400)
Goes to the angler exceeding the Tuna Club record of Leap-
ing Tunas—251 pounds.
No. 18
THE T. McD. POTTER CUP
(Value $400)
To the angler taking the largest red button fish.
RULES
All catches must be reported at once to a member of the
weighing committee, weighed in his presence and posted. Tackle
must be exhibited with the fish, no allowance for shrinkage.
Anglers shall fish with but one rod at a time and take fish abso-
lutely unaided. The club recommends a 21-thread line for
Leaping Tuna, Black Sea Bass and Swordfish, and No. 9 for
all other fish.
RESIDENT WEIGHING COMMITTEE
T. S. Manning, Chairman; E. L. Doran, W. H. Burnham,
L. P. Streeter, L. H. Brewster.
It is extraordinary what influence the co-operation
of gentlemen has in accomplishing angling reforms.
Previous to the formation of the Tuna Club, fishes
were caught at Santa Catalina wholly with hand-
lines. To-day, rods are used entirely. There is not
a boatman at Avalon out of the large number, who
would allow its use in his boat. Every fish has a fair
chance for its life, fair play, a square deal, a line
- I34
The Taking of Big Game Fishes
being used so small and delicate that the slightest mis-
take breaks it; indeed, I am told that when an alba-
core weighing sixty pounds takes 600 or 800 feet of
a No. 9 line, the latter often breaks itself under the
severe strain. The action of these clubs could be imi-
tated all over the country to advantage, and the man
who entertains the belief that the best angler is he
who catches the most fish, should be put to the blush
and drummed out of the fishing grounds of America.
I 35
CHAPTER VIII
A TIGER OF THE SEA
P | WHE angler held a polished vibrant noibwood
rod with a grip of iron, but the line dangled
listlessly in the wind. It had come whizz-
ing at him with the coils of a snake a second before,
and his face had perceptibly whitened beneath the
coat of tan that one takes on along the Kuroshiwo
in California.
“Did you see it, Jack?” he asked the boatman and
gaffer who had jerked the lever of the little launch
and was sending her inshore at the top of her speed.
“Did I, sir? I think I did. You're the first gen-
tleman ever played a killer.”
“I don't know about playing,” replied the angler;
“I only hooked him and he went into the air.”
“Yes, sir,” answered the gaffer; “but he was
hooked all right, and it was the old one that ran
under the line. Did you see that fin, sir? Five foot,
if an inch, and the light lavender half circle on its
back P’’ -
“Suppose I had caught it, and I think I could
have played it; it was not over six feet in length, not
longer than a big tuna.”
I36
A Tiger of the Sea
“Why, the dam would have bitten the launch in
two; she could do it, sir. She was thirty feet long
and had teeth like spikes.”
The angler laughed.
The boatmen around the channel islands of South-
ern California have a pronounced respect for the
“killer "–the small, toothed whale that frequents
these waters the year round. The angler had been
trolling with a small sardine for the amber fish, and
a school of killers or orcas had quietly come up, the
infant of the school had seized the bait, been hooked
and sprang into the air, showing its entire length.
As the tall knife-like dorsal fins of the old whales
pierced the water everywhere, showing that they were
excited, the boatman stood not on the order of going,
but immediately put in toward shore. Not that he
was a coward, far from it; he knew the possible
danger when a young whale has been attacked and
the adult animal can find the cause. The adult gray
whale has been known to follow a boat so far inshore
that she beached herself in frantic endeavors to reach
the human despoiler and many a lonely grave in the
sands of Lower California might have as its epitaph,
“Killed by a revengeful whale.” .
Few animals known to man possess the savage and
murderous nature of the small whale-like animals
known as killers or orcas. They pass under various
names as black fish, killer, orca, kill fish, sea tiger,
and deserve all the titles. The shark may be a man-
I37
Big Game at Sea
eater; is a sodden blood-lustful brute, a scavenger of
the seas, a midnight prowler seeking devious paths
to accomplish its ends; but the killer charges the
largest of all animals, the whale, and the story of its
life is one of relentless carnage.
“Whole kingdoms fell
To sate the lust of power; more horrid still
The foulest stain and scandal of our nature,
Became its boast, ‘One murder made a villain,
Millions, a hero.’”
Lines which might well apply to the orca in its
raids upon the animal life.
For a number of years I have watched the move-
ments of a school of orcas in the Santa Catalina
Channel, one of which was hooked by an angler in
the manner described. They are present the entire
year presumably, but are more common in the sum-
mer months, sailing up and down, having a rendez-
vous off what is known as the tuna fishing grounds,
a range of five or six miles in extent, from Long Point
on the island of Santa Catalina to the sea lion rook-
ery on the south end. The reason for this is obvious,
as the savory tuna is a tid-bit, a bonne bouche for the
orca, and doubtless the greatest of all fishes often
falls a victim to its rapacity. Then, too, the sulphur-
bottom whale frequents the Santa Catalina Channel,
several often being seen, as well as the gray whale,
each of which is at times a victim to the fury
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A Tiger of the Sea
and rapacity of these smaller but toothed cannibal
whales.
Such an attack was witnessed several years ago off
the Bay of Avalon. The channel was as smooth as
a disk of steel and of that blue that seems a reflection
of the sky. Suddenly not far from the rocky cliffs
of the islands a large whalebone whale shot into the
air, flung itself out of the water, returning with a
mighty crash, so near a boat that the occupant saw
the details of what was apparently a tragedy. As
the monster rose, clinging to its head were seen sev-
eral black and white creatures, which appeared to be
fastened to it, and the leap of the whale was to shake
them off. The whale evidently sounded and came
out of the water a moment later like a catapult,
swinging its tail about and around with relentless
fury, striking blows that would have wrecked a large
vessel at contact.
The whale, which was sixty or more feet in length,
was attacked by these hounds of the sea, the orca or
killer; they had seized it by its huge lips and were
clinging with all the ferocity of a pack of bulldogs.
In vain did the giant swing its deadly tail. The
nimble foes leaped over it, avoiding it with ease,
directing their attacks at its most vulnerable point—
the throat, lips, and tongue.
Impelled by the fascination of this duel of sea mon-
sters, the observers drew nearer and watched what
was in all probability one of the most remarkable
º
I 39
Big Game at Sea
sea fights ever witnessed by man at so close a range.
They were so near that the blood of the whale
changed the water about them from turquoise blue to
incarnadine; and the waves created by the leaping and
rushing of the ponderous body made their boat rise
and fall, as though on a heavy sea. The orcas tore
the wide lid-like lips of the whale, biting great pieces
from the tongue, and, crazed with the lust for blood,
rent the huge creature until it seemed completely
cowed, lying on the surface, making ineffective swings
from right to left, rising, then sounding in a fury
of indecision and fright.
For nearly half an hour this combat continued,
then the whale, apparently exhausted, was literally
hauled down and disappeared. The following day
the orcas were sailing up and down the channel as
though nothing had happened.
As they leaped into the air when attacking the
whale, an excellent opportunity was afforded the
spectators to observe their beauties, as this tiger of
the sea is a most striking and attractive animal.
They appeared to be twenty or twenty-five feet in
length, the skin a polished jet-black marble-like sur-
face, devoid of the slightest parasite, smooth and
glistening in the sunlight; black above, pure white
beneath, a contrast so sharp that when leaping in
mid-air and the ventral surface turned toward the
observers, they appeared like white whales, while
from the opposite side the spectators would have seen
I4O
A Tiger of the Sea
a figure of inky blackness. Rising from the smooth
back was an enormous dorsal fin that stood out like
a great cleaver cutting the waters, a totem by which
the orca could be recognized from far away. Be-
neath the eye was a clear oblong white or lavender
spot appearing like a huge grotesque organ of vision;
and as though to emphasize its oddity, the orca had
a vivid pronounced crescent-shaped saddle of creamy
maroon color just in front of the tail fin and partly
encircling it.
I have frequently seen this in contrast with the vel-
vet black of the back, as the big killer swam slowly
along with dignified pace always at the surface, its big
dorsal, like a lateen sail cutting the air. Generally
the animals move in a line four or five in succession,
the fins resembling diminutive black sails, conspicuous
and menacing. Such a school is a family party, a
very large male, several females possibly, and two or
three young.
These schools may be seen in summer off the
island of Santa Catalina, rarely coming in nearer
than half a mile, slowly parading up and down in the
lee of the island mountains. I have made various
attempts to photograph these animals, but with poor
success. But once I had favorable conditions and
was nearly on top of them, when one of the party
became demoralized at their size and we had to turn
back. On another occasion I followed them in a
heavy launch and succeeded in reaching a point just
I4 I
Big Game at Sea
over the tail of one; but the big creature did not
come up, at least within a reasonable distance, but
for some seconds I looked down upon the animal as
the boat's bow cut through the boiling water occa-
sioned by the working of the screw-like tail just
beneath me. .
Once I observed the leap of a sixty- or seventy-
foot whale in these waters, possibly to avoid its
enemies, the orcas. The giant rose slowly and delib-
erately out of the water until it appeared to stand on
its tail on the surface—an absorbing spectacle—then
gradually sank into the sea. In attempts to photo-
graph a large whale I followed so closely that the
prow of the boat appeared to be almost directly over
the tail that was working like a large propeller
forcing the tons of flesh along.
There are two orcas well known in the Pacific:
Orca ater, with its saddle of maroon, and Orca recti-
penna. The latter is the largest and cannot be mis-
taken, as its dorsal fin is as remarkable in its way as
the upper lobe of the tail of the thresher shark. It
is often six or seven feet in length, tall, slender, and
rigid except at the very top, which occasionally falls
over in the air. The long-finned orca claims the
northern regions as its hunting grounds, while the
maroon saddle variety is found in warmer latitudes
off Southern California, though this is by no means.
a hard or fast rule. In the North Atlantic is found
the Orca gladiator, a fierce and relentless creature,
#

I42
A Tiger of the Sea
and Eschricht is authority for the statement that this
animal, or a specimen twenty feet in length, was seen
to kill and eat thirteen porpoises and fourteen seals,
the animals being taken from the stomach after
capture.
The long-finned orca is a fury in every sense. It
roams the seas, enters bays, follows up rivers and
preys upon animal life of all kinds, from whales of
the largest size to salmon. It has been known to
Swim near to rocks in hope of snatching seals or sea
lions from their rookeries, and is at times successful.
Some years ago a whaler in the Northwest had
killed a large whale, and had the animal alongside,
when it was attacked by a school of orcas. They
doubtless were half-starved, and crazed by the scent
of blood that extended away a long distance, probably
followed it up like hounds, immediately attacking
the whale. The men with spades and lances cut and
slashed at them, inflicting terrible blows; yet, despite
this, the orcas literally tore the whale from the ropes
and carried it off.
The orcas are very clever and intelligent, a fact
illustrated in their method of capturing their prey.
They know that the breeding season of the seals in
the Northwest is a propitious time for feasting, and
assemble promptly and play havoc with both young
and old. They even attack animals as large and
well armed as the walrus, and show their cunning by
swimming far under the ice floes, coming up near
I43
Big Game at Sea
the walrus herd, butting through the ice with tre-
mendous force, and in the confusion seizing the
young which have been lying on the backs of their
mothers in fancied security. The jaw of the huge
man-eater shark, with its many rows of serrated teeth,
is a menace, but it does not compare to that of the
orca. The head of the latter is extremely power-
ful, and the heavy jaws are provided with great tusk-
like ivory teeth, well devised to crush and tear the
largest of animals, its method of attack well justify-
ing the title the tiger of the sea.
The capture of so vigorous an animal as the orca
or killer as a sport would hardly appeal to one
familiar with its ways. Off the channel island
of Southern California, where the maroon-saddled
killer, as described, is common, it has never attacked
any one, and except on very rare occasions display-
ing a disagreeable officiousness, demonstrated by fol-
lowing up boats, once chasing a small boat nearly
to the rocks, doubtless in curiosity, possibly thinking
it was some kind of a whale like itself. But the
dignified procession of orcas on certain warm days
was so attractive and inviting to certain landsmen
that they determined to take one, or at least
to make the attempt. The party provided them-
selves with a heavy shark line five or six hundred
feet long, a heavy hook constructed for the purpose,
and to the extreme end of the line fastened an iron-
bound box. The hook was baited with a thirty-
I44 -
A Tiger of the Sea
pound amber fish and floated in the pathway of the
killers, some ten miles out in the channel. After
several days of waiting, a long line of killers came
swimming along, and by rare good fortune ran foul
of the amber fish and took it. The line was held
until it came taut, then four of the fishermen pulled;
and that they hooked the huge creature was evident,
as it leaped into the air and swung itself so violently
that it dropped partly on its side, lashing the water
for a few seconds, then sounding. During this brief
struggle, the remainder of the school appeared to be
intensely excited, darting about as though in search
of the cause of attack, then sounding. In a few sec-
onds the line was jerked overboard and the launch
plunged ahead, her bow deep in the water, the men
going aft to lighten her. The killer towed them
four or five miles, then finding it impossible to move
the animal or haul it in, or the launch over it, they
cast off the line and box. The killer had now
reached the deep part of the channel, given by the
fishermen as “no bottom,” and apparently appreci-
ating this fact, the killer sounded and carried the
large white box out of sight. That it exploded
under pressure was probable, as it did not come up,
at least, was not found, and the big game anglers,
who had hooked one of the largest of the sea animals
capable of being hooked after the fashion of fishes,
} }
returned to shore, convinced that a “killer” could
not be stopped, at least in this manner.
I45
Big Game at Sea
Killers have been harpooned on the California
coast, but the oil taken does not justify the danger of
the chase. It is not difficult in summer to creep
upon them. A large whaleboat was put within ten
feet of an orca, the harpooner successfully tossing
his weapon into it just back of the saddle. Into the
air went the vicious and powerful tail of the orca,
just missing the boat, fanning the atmosphere a few
seconds, then disappearing with a force and speed
that was ominous. The “starn all !” of the whalers
was shouted at the second of impact, and the double
ender shot backward, as the harpoon's thud sounded.
Like a snake the coil of rope leaped into the air, and
the old whalers stared at the rapidity of the move-
ment. It appeared like a nebulous cloud, a phantasm
of indistinct snake-like coils poised for a strike.
This killer evidently assumed a position twenty or
thirty feet below the surface, and for some time ran
like a racer, coming slowly to the surface to breathe,
then to drop and renew the rush from this unseen
and terrible enemy that was clinging to its very vitals
and could not be shaken off. The killer finally car-
ried them into a heavy sea where the pace was so
fierce and uncompromising that they took everything
as it came. No rising over seas here; they hit them
strong and full, cut and bored through them, the
spray caught by the wind beating against their faces
and like specters of the sea rising from the crests of
waves to beat them back. The fishermen laid back
I46
A Tiger of the Sea
On the line and hauled, one dropping off to bail now
and then, but despite every effort they could not gain
a foot. For some time this sea tiger ran madly
through the seas; now on the surface, where the tail
fin cut the water like a knife, then plunging down, as
though with the demoniac idea of carrying the unseen
enemy with it; but being an air breather, it was forced
to the surface to plunge again and again into the
heart of the Kuroshiwo.
The sea rising under the strong west wind, the
channel was filled with white caps. The orca seemed
to gain strength with the contact, and sped on and
on until the patience and endurance of the men was
about exhausted. The open sea was before them,
still no one said cut away, though it was evident that
if the orca was killed, it could not be towed in
through such a sea to port, ten miles distant. What
could be done? They gave a mighty haul on the
steel wire-like rope; the loud chanty was swept away
from their lips by the wind, then without warning
the tension of the wire relaxed, the game rushed sav-
agely to one side, came up into the air, as though in
fear, and fell, a slack line telling of the finish. -
Whether the orca had been killed or carried off
by a huge shark, or whether a companion had cut
the lines was never known; but many were the views
and opinions as the boat fell away before the strong
west wind and ran down the channel for the little
bay, hull down, seemingly on the edge of the world.
I47
CHAPTER IX
BIG SHARKS AS GAME
HE shark is not generally considered a game
fish, but rather a loutish scavenger, a bait-
taker, and a general nuisance, to be hauled
in, strung up, and executed with derision. Yet,
despite its reputation, I am inclined to champion
this maligned boneless monster, basing its claims to
gameness upon many bouts I have had with it, often
single-handed, in various waters from Maine to
California. - -
If one does not undertake shark-fishing in a sports-
manlike manner, there is very little sport in it. The
typical method of shark-fishing is to bait a large
hook with a piece of salt pork, fasten it to a hawser,
and, if it is caught out at sea, trice the shark up
to the main-yard, all hands laying on to take part in
humbling what they term the common enemy.
So handled, the shark has no opportunity to dis-
play its powers. If, however, it is fished for with
a recognition of what constitutes fair play, it often
becomes a foeman well deserving the attention of
the sportsman.
• * I48
Bonito Shark, Taken with Rod and Reel at Santa Catalina.

Big Sharks as Game
I have taken sharks ranging from sixty to one
hundred pounds with a rod and 2 I-thread line, also
with a nine-ounce rod and a 9-thread line, and found it
excellent sport; in fact, one of the most exciting con-
tests it was ever my good fortune to have was with an
eight-foot shark, which I hooked in Florida when
standing almost waist-deep in the surf, fishing for
hog-fish. The hard-fighting creature towed me half
a mile down the reef before it was brought to what
usually would have been the gaff, but, in this instance,
was release. -
Ordinarily a shark twelve or fifteen feet in length
is considered game for twenty men. It is hooked by
two or three; the others then take the rope, and the
big fighter is run up on the beach helpless; but if a
man matches his skill and strength single-handed
against so large a fish, a vast amount of sport may be
enjoyed. True, it is sport of a gladiatorial kind, a
fight to the finish, when the superior animal is often
overmatched; but the true sportsman is, I fancy,
much more satisfied to be defeated single-handed by
a large fish than to be one of a party to take it by
unfair means.
It has been my good fortune to catch sharks of
all sizes in many waters, and nearly always I have
been able to afford the game a fighting chance.
When this is done, I can commend the shark as a
game contestant. What I mean by fair play is to
take all the sharks up to one hundred and fifty, or
I49
Big Game at Sea
even two hundred pounds with a tuna rod and out-
fit, which may be briefly described as a sixteen- or
eighteen-ounce, seven-foot rod, and six hundred feet
of 2 I-thread line. .
Larger sharks, up to one thousand or more pounds
and from ten to fifteen feet in length, should be
taken with the handline from a light boat; and,
assuming that the fisherman delights in lusty sport
with more than a spice of danger in it, it can be
commended.
Most of my shark-fishing has been done on the
extreme outer Florida reef, the home of various kinds
of sharks, ranging from so-called man-eaters, thirteen
or fourteen feet in length, to ugly shovel-nosed sharks
ten or twelve feet long; yet the legends of the reef
did not record a single instance of a tragedy from
these fish. I was once witness to the sinking of a
boat off a certain favorite fishing point where I had
often, by pouring over beef blood and other “chum,”
conjured up a seething maelstrom of these hounds of
the sea; yet the three men forming the crew, whom it
was impossible to save, and who drowned, were not
touched by the sharks which infested the place.
Of course, every sportsman who came down the
reef to this jumping-off place in the direction of
Yucatan was entertained with weird stories of con-
flicts with sharks and taken out shark-fishing. The
usual outfit for the sport was a light boat, the
greener the hand the lighter the craft; and it was
- I 5 O
Big Sharks as Game
{ {
to see a novice “cross-bucked,” as they called it.
This consisted of being thrown out of a dinghy by
a shark which jerked the line from the bow over the
rail, invariably capsizing the boat and forcing the
fisherman to leap into the water. As the victim had
been duly impressed with the ferocity of the sharks
and regaled with stories of anglers taken from boats,
this was something of an ordeal.
I had a boat built and equipped for shark-fishing.
She was sixteen feet long, of cedar, very light, with
a small deck which covered an air tank, while a row
of cans along the sides, decked over, made her so
buoyant that she would, when filled with water, hold
eight or ten men. The line was a small manila rope
three hundred feet long, with a four-foot chain and
a hook of steel, of royal dimensions.
Thus equipped, two fishermen, eager for a trial
of conclusions with the tiger of the sea, would row to
a certain point of the reef which juts out into the
channel, and anchor by hooking on to the coral a
boat-hook which could be easily hauled in. The
ancient and honorable chummers of the New England
fishing guild would have looked with amazement at
the methods here employed to ensnare the largest
game. Negroes were engaged to tow out the rejecta-
menta of a slaughter-house, beef blood was poured
overboard, and, not long after, the waters would be
swirling with sharks fighting for the food, tearing it
I 5 I
Big Game at Sea
apart with so much action and expression that a pack
of hounds was invariably recalled.
Among these monsters was one whose length was
estimated at fourteen feet. I determined to try and
capture this individual, but it was difficult to select
one when there were so many. A large steel hook
and chain with swivel was baited with a ten-pound
grouper and adjusted to a float so that it hung four
feet below. Hardly had this drifted clear of the
bristling coral when it was the object of attention on
the part of several sharks. They did not rush at it
after the approved method of the shark in the popu-
lar story, but with deliberation, guided by unerring
sense of smell. Ahead of them, darting here and
there, was an advance guard of several pilot-fishes;
while each shark had its bodyguard of remoras—
black, eel-like creatures, which clung to the dusky
sides of their hosts like leeches, their slender bodies
writhing and twisting as they were towed along and
presenting an attractive appearance.
Several sharks of comparatively small size ap-
proached the bait, which was deftly jerked out of
their way whereupon they would turn clumsily, wheel
about, and try again. Finally, up out of the deep
sea came the great man-eater, looking so colossal that
one felt that it would be a matter of chance whether
it could be brought to terms. It swallowed the huge
bait at one gulp, swinging its head to one side with
an impatient movement as the serrated teeth crunched
I 52
Big Sharks as Game
upon the chain. As my companion lifted the coral
hook I paid out the line until perhaps ten feet had
been taken, and then jerked the steel point into the
monster's throat.
The response nearly carried me overboard.
Though well prepared for it, I was thrown against
the rail upon my knees, and was elbow-deep in the
water before I could relinquish the line, which went
over the side with an ominous hiss. The stout
manila rope, carefully coiled forward, went leaping
into the air like an endless snake as my companion
turned the boat in the direction of the flying fish
and stood ready with the oar to steer her directly in
its wake. The shark would have taken the entire
line had I not seized it with a piece of canvas when
about two hundred feet had gone, stopping it with
a turn, first seeing that it had slipped into the notch
in the bow made for the purpose.
The first rush of the shark, indicating its alarm,
was in the nature of a stampede, in which every shark
in the vicinity, apparently, joined; so that for a while
our boat seemed to be the center of a shark brigade.
I could distinctly see their forms beneath and on
each side of the boat flying along with us. The
effect of checking the line was possibly to enrage the
stricken shark; it crowded on more speed and pulled
...the light boat down almost bow under, so that the
deck was nearly flush with the surface, and on each
side rolled a wave of foam as though from a launch.
I 53
Big Game at Sea
The shark had, either by chance or from knowl-
edge, turned into the outer channel, which led directly
out to sea, and was momentarily edging into the
deeper blue channel which was one of the arteries
of the atoll. It became necessary, therefore, to
slack away the line. I was doing this when, without
warning, the monster made a terrific lunge. Per-
haps it had been attacked by some even larger shark,
or had suddenly awakened to its danger; in any event,
it bore away about fifty feet of the line with a rush;
then, turning quickly, jerked the rope from the slot
and over the gunwale amidships.
It was a trick well devised—if, indeed, it was a
trick—and well carried out, and had I not been able
to slack away the line at once, the boat would have
filled. As it was, the water poured in as we sprang
to the weather side, now in air. As I let go the line
the boat righted and the rope went whirling and
hissing out. It was a moment's work to slip it into
the notch again, and away we went in the original
direction, the boat a third full of water.
The channel ran to the north for half a mile, then
turned to the westward and spread out into a wide
passage of unknown depth. The shark, apparently,
was making for the open sea, and once it got where
the water was five or six hundred feet deep it would
sound, and nothing could stop it. It was necessary,
then, to turn it, if possible, before it reached deep
water; so we took up the line and heaved, bracing
I 54
Big Hammerhead Shark. Length 8 feet, 5 inches; weight, zoo
Pounds. Caught at Avalon, Santa Catalina Islands.


Big Sharks as Game
back hard against the seat; but after working ten
minutes the only perceptible effect was that we were
going faster, while the line was so taut that it
hummed like the string of a musical instrument. We
then shipped the oars, my companion holding and
backing them against the fish, and a bucket was
tossed over and towed.
These expedients seemed to urge the shark to fur-
ther efforts, and on we rushed, headed for the outer
sea. It was manifestly impossible to stop the shark,
and we had the alternative of being towed an indefi-
nite distance or of cutting the rope. Two miles
ahead was a fishing-boat, so we decided to continue
the struggle until she was reached—hauling on the
rope; making a foot, now and then, but more often
losing two or three.
After perhaps another mile the bucket and the oars
had evidently made themselves felt, and there was a
noticeable relaxation. The shark was rising; either
it had met a shoal reef and was climbing its banks,
or it was losing strength. We assumed the latter,
and hauled the boat upon it, foot by foot. Before
we had gone another mile I could see the dusky form,
not ten feet below, swimming sturdily along with a
powerful movement of its tail, the pilot-fishes and
remoras still alongside, as though nothing unusual
had occurred. I held the rope in the bow, with
knife between my teeth, ready for an emergency, lift-
ing when I could, and my companion, coiling the slack

I 55
Big Game at Sea
amidships, prepared for the rush which we knew
might come at any moment.
We had been towed perhaps three miles against
the obstacles, and finally saw a gleam of white and
felt that the finish was near. Giving the word, we
both hauled with all our strength, and were repaid
by the clank of the chain against the keel—the game
was ours. But not yet. The monster rolled over
several times; then, feeling the bow against its nose,
turned and seized the cut-water in its cavernous
mouth and crunched it, driving the serrated teeth into
the wood. Then, hanging on like a bulldog, it made
a rush ahead, lifted the bow out of water and almost
capsized the boat. My companion very nearly lost
his balance, and, thinking that we were going over,
hailed a fishing-boat about two hundred yards dis-
tant; but we righted, and grasping a heavy oak gaff,
I thrust it into the maw of the shark and fought it
off. I had the chain in a firm grasp with a turn,
and the mouth of the man-eater was not more than
three feet from my face, as terrible a living guillotine
as could be imagined. Row after row of serrated
teeth could be seen, one row erect, the others lying
flat except when in use, and forming a veritable
pavement.
To handle such a shark, weighing perhaps fifteen
hundred pounds, was no easy matter, as its mere
weight was an obstacle to progress. The game had
been brought, theoretically, to gaff, but to land it was
I 56
Big Sharks as Game
another proposition. The size of the jaw and the
complete equipment of porcelain-like teeth were the
incentives, and it was decided to attempt it. The
man-eater was triced up to the bow, and would have
to be transferred to the stern to tow. During our
attempt to accomplish this it turned the tables on us
and almost swamped the boat. -
All this time the line had not been lifted from
the slot in the bow, and it was necessary to do this
with dispatch and transfer it to the scull-hole in the
stern without giving the shark any slack or oppor-
tunity to break away. The moment was selected
after a paroxysm of whirling and rolling, which,
thanks to the freedom given by the swivel hook, it
could do. My companion placed the line in the stern,
and at the word I released the chain, sprang to the
stern, and hauled with him; but the shark, feeling
itself apparently free, dived beneath the boat. It
had perhaps eight feet of line, and jerked the stern
down with so much force that the boat was again
a third full before the line could be slacked away.
We held on, and within fifty feet stopped the shark
and held it until the boat was bailed out. Then,
again, began the work of hauling in, this time up to
the stern. When within ten feet of the latter the
shark began to swim doggedly along, heading up the
channel; and in this position we sat, holding the line
while our huge steed towed us within half a mile of
the point from which we had started, where, after
I 57
Big Game at Sea
having hauled us in all perhaps five miles, including
circles and rushes, it gave signs of weakness; its strug-
gles almost ceased except for an occasional lunge, and
from here it was towed in; yet this occupied nearly
two hours, owing to its repeated lapses from the
quiescent state.
Reaching the beach, the line was tossed ashore,
and two score men pulled the shark up on the sands,
where it was found to measure between thirteen and
fourteen feet in length; but it was the girth of the
monster which made the greatest impression upon the
average observer. It was impossible to weigh the
huge creature, but few of those who saw it placed
the weight at less than fifteen hundred pounds, and
every ounce of it was game.
On the Californian coast the Bonita shark abounds,
and in the neighborhood of Santa Catalina they
afford great sport.
Recently several large Basking sharks have been
taken on the Californian coast; one observed by me
measured nearly thirty-five feet in length, small com-
pared to some which reach fifty or more feet in length
on the Atlantic coast, where there was a large and
important fishery a century ago.
The progressive Japanese established a shark
fishery at Monterey some years ago to catch the
members of a large school which lay off that
part in summer; but the first shark they caught
came suddenly to life and killed several men, and
I 58
Ground Shark. Length I I Feet, 8 Inches. Caught with Rod and
Reel by Capt. A. W. Lewis at Santa Catalina Islands.



Big Sharks as Game
so utterly ruined their boats that the fishery was
abandoned.
An acquaintance of mine stated that once in Mon-
terey Bay a huge specimen of these sharks followed
him about for hours, becoming so attentive that he
came in shore. This shark, which was estimated to
be thirty or forty feet in length, placed its head
directly beneath the rudder of the launch about three
feet down and held that position.
These huge creatures are harmless, having ex-
tremely small teeth, and doubtless live on sea weed,
and on small fishes and animals of various kinds.
The specimens caught off the Southern California
coast became entangled in nets, involving great loss
to the Portuguese and Italian fishermen.
At Santa Catalina sharks of remarkable size are
taken with rod and reel, and in other ways—it being
not unusual to see huge Grouper sharks, twelve or
fifteen feet long, brought in by anglers, while Mack-
erel and Thresher sharks, Hammer-heads, Oil sharks,
and many more fall to the anglers especially in Sep-
tember, when the big game comes in from the outer
sea to prey upon the schools of fish which abound in
the vicinity of the island. .
159
CHAPTER X
THE HIGH LEAPERS
P | \HERE is probably no question associated
with angling, especially sea angling, about
which observers differ so radically and
materially as that of the leaps or jumps of fishes.
This is due possibly to the temperament of the ob-
servers. Some anglers see marvelous things when
under the excitement consequent upon the landing
of a large fish. I have heard an angler, who was
known to be thoroughly conscientious when not
under the uncanny influence of St. Zeno, relate, when
fishing, the most extraordinary tales of what he had
seen; and the deplorable part of it was that he thor-
oughly believed that he had been a witness to these
marvelous and impossible experiences. With this
and other pernicious examples in the perspective, I
approach the subject of leaping fishes with caution,
calmness and self-control that would not be possible
to the layman who jots down in his memory, not
what he really sees, but what he thinks he sees and
would like to see.
The most stupendous of all leapers of the sea is
the whale—but the whale is not a fish. I have seen a
I6o
The High Leapers
monster weighing hundreds of tons, possibly eighty
feet in length, rise slowly and deliberately out of the
water until it appeared to be dancing on the surface,
almost clear of it, then sink slowly back. Such a
leap is on record in the annals of the British navy.
A large whale cleared a boat, going completely over
it, an estimated leap of twenty feet in air—how many
in a lateral direction was not known.
The leaps of fishes are usually of three general
classes: they leap in play or sport, to escape from an
enemy, and in feeding. In the second class we find
most of the great game fishes, as the tarpon, king
fish, black bass, shark and others. No better place
to observe leaping fishes could be devised than the
lagoon of the outer Florida reef, or the inner bays
or lagoons that stretch along the low coast of Texas.
Here the water is very shallow, ranging from four
to fifteen feet—often shallower; and when drifting
in this enchanted region in search of certain channel
bass holes, which my boatman assured me were there,
I believe I have seen some very remarkable leaps. I
cannot say that I was perfectly cool, in a literal sense,
as the mercury was up among the eighties, as it often
is along the Texan coast in August, but I was abso-
lutely calm as my boatman dropped anchor by a cer-
tain hole and I prepared to give battle with the gaff-
topsail cat fish, king of all the bait stealers.
I had barely cast my first shrimp when I saw a fish
shoot out of the water at least fifteen feet to wind-
I6 I . -
Big Game at Sea
ward. It came through the air like a flying-fish and
landed in my boat, not a foot behind me, at which the
boatman, a calm and meditative man, a philosopher
from 'way down near the Rio Grande, who was
opposed to work on general and well-founded princi-
ples, remarked that we were not “skunked.”
This fish was a pompano, and in a few moments
another left the water near the same place. I noticed
it at the very second of its rise; saw it gradually go
up until it was four feet from the surface when it
deliberately turned, or fell over upon its side, and
came sailing along, after the fashion of a California
flying-fish; at least the broad surface tended to bear
it up, just as the wings of a flying-fish support this
large and heavy fish, and it came cutting through the
air and, to my amazement and the grim delight of
my philosophical boatman, dropped into the boat.
So I am prepared to say that the pompano can leap
fifteen feet into the air, but whether the turning to
obtain the benefit of its flat surface was accidental,
or with a purpose, I leave the reader and the modern
nature writer to decide. -
These pompanoes were doubtless alarmed and
were attempting to escape from some enemy, and on
that eventful morning four or five fishes jumped into
our boat. This is often the fate of the mullet, which
is a graceful leaper covering four or five feet under
pressure—the school rising like rippling silver.
The leap of the sardine is a dazzling performance,
I62
The High Leapers
and my boatman at Santa Cruz, California, told me
that once in drifting over a black school of anchovies,
similar to the one I was then watching, a big whale
came shooting up beneath them, probably engulfing
half a ton and demoralizing the school to such an
extent that the anchovies nearly filled his boat by
pouring into it—the whale just missing it.
Comparatively few anglers have taken the tarpon,
the very prince of leapers. Its splendid bounds into
the air are always made when hooked, and often in
play or in pursuit of its prey. Tarpons differ much
in their leaping power; in my own experience, it is
the long slender fish which excels. Who can calmly
and stolidly analyze such a jump, such a stupendous
exhibition of lofty tumbling? I confess that I can-
not; and would not if I could. When the Silver
King is in the air showing its deep red gills, I am
there too, drinking in the excitement of it, and
frankly, what I record is what I think I saw, and I
believe it to be as near the actual facts as one can make
them.
There is no hard and fast rule for the tarpon.
The moment it is hooked its stupendous tail sweeps
the waters and forces it up into the air. If the fish
is pointed upward it may shoot ahead, rising gradu-
ally four, five, six, eight, ten, or even more feet, and
cover from ten to thirty feet in a horizontal direction.
| Such a leap I observed at Aransas, when fishing with
a short line. My fish rose directly before me and so
I63 -
Big Game at Sea
near that the spray went splashing over us. The
next second I saw the tarpon over my left shoulder,
going through the air like a meteor, and I believe
in that jump it cleared nearly fifteen feet. I was
near the long jetty, and the next moment my tarpon
was crossing the channel in a series of splendid
bounds, like a band of silver, dashing over the green
and red waters until I had lost nearly six hundred
feet of line, then it turned, and still leaping occasion-
ally, came around in a great circle.
It is well to quote some one else when one's imag-
ination is inclined to soar into a mental empyrean.
It has been my good fortune to meet Mr. F. T. Reed
of Oklahoma, who impressed me as a calm and
judicial angler, and who is one of the most skillful
patrons of St. Zeno to be met either in Florida,
Texas, or Santa Catalina—all of which grounds he
fishes and fishes well. Under the stand of Mexican
Joe, I met Mr. Reed and Mr. L. G. Murphy, who
won the tarpon record in July, 1906, and the former
related the following:
“While at Aransas Pass last summer I caught a
good many fish, and my opinion is that I have seen
at least ten feet of blue sky between the fish and
water while on the turn, and have had as high as nine
or ten good jumps from a long, lean fish. I saw a
hooked tarpon go on to the finished jetty at the Pass.
Also hooked and landed one that jumped over the
jetty where it was not quite completed. Think I
}
I64
The High Leapers
^- ----- - - -—— –
have seen them jump twenty feet in distance when
coming toward the boat on slack line. Tarpon while
feeding on their natural food rarely, if ever, go over
four feet in the air. I have seen on several differ-
ent occasions the channel between Mustang and St.
Joseph Islands at the Pass, fairly alive with leaping
tarpon, who were coming down with the shiners and
knocking them in every direction. The fish were so
plentiful and were out of the water so much that it
was dangerous to row a boat among them.”
Few anglers have taken as many tarpon as Judge
A. W. Houston, of San Antonio, and I have had the
pleasure of fishing with him in the Aransas Pass. In
the evening at the old Tarpon Club (now, no more)
we often exchanged opinions and experiences regard-
ing the leap of the Silver King. As to his own obser-
vations he said:
“The leap of a tarpon is so attractive and exciting,
especially when he has been hooked, that one is very
liable to overestimate the height which he attains, and
I shall therefore be so conservative in my estimate as
not to exaggerate the facts. When first hooked, I
am sure that I have seen them leap fully ten feet
above the surface of the water. While sitting in a
chair in my fishing-skiff I have had one jump over my
head, which must have required him to attain a height
of between five and one-half and six feet from the
water level. I am sure, in my experience in landing
about three hundred of these fish, that I have often
165
Big Game at Sea
seen them attain a much greater height. I have
what I consider perfectly reliable information that a
tarpon leaped over the rail and on to the deck of a
Gulf Steamer (Morgan Line), which required it to
attain a height of from fifteen to eighteen feet. I
did not see this incident, but from my observation of
the fish I should readily believe the statement.”
J. C. Van Blarcom, Esq., of St. Louis, who has
had a wide and interesting experience with the tarpon,
writes me: “On one occasion I was sitting in my
boat, about thirty yards back of a friend who had
hooked a tarpon, and at a distance of sixty yards
from his boat the tarpon made a leap, which I wit.
nessed, and as my friend was holding his rod, which
was seven and a half feet long, perpendicularly, I was
able to approximate the height of the leap from the
fact that from where I sat looking over the point of
the rod, the fish made his turn from two to three
feet clear above the point. According to my figures
this leap was eighteen feet in the air and I do not
think I am more than a foot out of the way.”
It should be remembered that these anglers are
not callow sportsmen, or green hands, but skilled
anglers who have observed the splendid leaps again
and again. I have seen a tarpon hanging in the air,
parallel to the water, ten or twelve feet, I believe,
above it, and coming on at an unknown speed, thrash-
ing the steel-like tail to the head and back, to drop
into the water with a surge and roar. Again I
I66
The High Leapers
have seen the fish rise head first, like a tuna, come
out and turn gracefully. I have seen them belly up,
beating the hot air with tremendous blows; indeed,
the experienced tarpon angler has seen the fish in
every position, and possibly the jumps observed by
Mr. L. G. Murphy were the most spectacular, at
least of any which I recall. He stated that he hooked
a tarpon at Aransas, a six-foot fish, which made a
series of six leaps across the channel, each of which
was at least twelve feet in height—a magnificent
series of ačrial performances; and when I say that
Mr. Murphy has taken twenty-four tarpon in a single
day, and holds the record as well for the largest black
sea bass rod catch in the world, four hundred and
thirty-four pounds, it can be imagined that he is not
an imaginative or excitable person. When fishing in
the St. John's River, Florida, for tarpon in 1876, I
was told by an officer of the steamer Ella Morse that
a tarpon sprang aboard of her and landed in the lap
of a man who was sitting on the upper deck in front
of the pilot house; and any one who knows the tar-
pon, who has been on intimate terms with it, can
well believe that none of these incidents suggest the
limit of its powers as a high jumper. -
Perhaps the most extraordinary leap of a fish I
have witnessed was that of the big ray or manta,
which has an enormous square surface, the contact
or return being a remarkable spectacle. I believe I
have seen a manta fifteen or eighteen feet wide, five
167
Big Game at Sea
feet clear in air, but would not be willing to make
affidavit to it, confessing to more or less excitement;
and I have had a big one leap so near my boat at
night, in a lagoon on the Florida reef, that the
return of the fish made waves which almost capsized
the boat. The manta has huge, outspreading wing-
like fins, a long ox-whip-like tail. In air or water it
resembles a huge bat, and in course of aerial flight,
its wing-like fins are bent in graceful undulations;
altogether, when near at hand, not a reassuring spec-
tacle, except to the few men who enjoy the sport of
its capture.
Many of the rays are notable for their acrobatic
feats. In Texas a big calico ray, spotted like a
tiger, came within a few feet of jumping aboard my
boat, and if I had had sufficient patience the feat
might have been accomplished, as never was there a
more remarkable place for leaping fishes than the
shallow lagoon reaching away from Corpus Christi
toward the pass at Tarpon.
One of the interesting fishes of Florida and the
Gulf is the kingfish. I have taken it at Key West,
to the east up along the keys on the edge of the
Gulf Stream, and along the barrier reef which forms
the last of the lagoon at Garden Key, forty miles
west of the Marquesas. I have seen them in the air,
but do not pretend to be an authority on the leap, as
those which I took were mostly from a row-boat
trolling slowly with mullet bait. Under these con-
I68
The High Leapers
ditions they are incomparable game fishes, but not, at
least in my experience, jumpers. Judge Houston
tells me that they never leap when hooked, but when
feeding he has seen them go eighteen feet into the
air, a record which gives them rank with the tarpon;
and Mr. Reed, already quoted, who has a record of
fifty-nine tarpon in four consecutive days, told me
that the kingfish jumped when trolling from a fast-
going launch, a method in vogue at Tarpon, Texas.
Mr. Waddell in referring to his experiences at Aran-
sas with the kingfish states that the leaps of the king-
fish for the bait trolling at high speed are marvelous.
“Without exaggeration,” he says, in the Forest and
Stream, of April 21, 1906, “I have seen them make
rainbow jumps fully fifty feet long and twenty high;
and once I saw two of them make such jumps at the
same instant, and exactly abreast. It was a magnifi-
cent sight; although the fish thus jumping seldom if
ever misses the bait it is by no means always hooked.
It is,” continues Mr. Waddell, “curious that not-
withstanding its great leaping ability the kingfish
never leaves the water after it is hooked.”
This is equally true of the famous leaping tuna.
In twenty years' experience in the tuna country I
have never seen a fish leap after being hooked, or
after the fashion of the tarpon, and have heard but
one angler state that he had seen such a leap. The
tuna, which ranges up to fifteen hundred pounds in
weight, jumps for pleasure and to secure its prey,
I69
Big Game at Sea
the California flying-fish—the latter a jumper and
'soarer of no mean parts. Exactly how high a tuna
can leap it is difficult to say. I have seen the water
beaten into foam by them four miles distant, and
have a photograph showing a fish—a black streak
at least a mile distant, high in air—a jump of cer-
tainly ten or fifteen feet; and it is my opinion, based
on what I have seen, that it is possible for a lusty
tuna at full speed to project itself twenty feet into
the air and twenty or thirty feet in a horizontal direc-
tion. I judge the latter possible from the leap of a
big tuna which cleared the kelp and landed high on
the rocks at Santa Catalina. I have often stood in
the center of a school of leaping tunas and watched
them; but the situation is not one suggestive of repose
or peace of mind.
The most extraordinary example of their leaps
occurred to me about a mile off Avalon Bay. I was
in a skiff which weighed not over one hundred and
twenty-five pounds, so light that I did not dare to
cast my bait, as any of the fishes would have towed
me away or capsized the boat; so I stood and watched
the equilibrists. They were feeding on a school of
flying-fishes, the latter darting into the air like great
dragon-flies, passing over my boat, dashing beneath
it—scores in the air in every direction; and look which
way I would, there were also tunas in the air; no
chance leaps, no miscalculations, but each one a per-
fect angle and line of beauty.
I70
The High Leapers
The flying-fishes were on the surface, and the big
game were charging them, churning the blue ocean
and beating the still waters into foam that formed
a white area acres in extent. In all probability, other
tunas were swimming some distance beneath the sur-
face, and these were the leapers. Sighting a flying-
fish they would charge upward and, missing it, dash
into the air at an angle of sixty degrees, go up, and
up, like a gleaming arrow, then with perfect grace
turn, and for a tenth of a second hang—a horizontal
bar of silver and flashing yellow—one hundred or
three hundred pounds of animation; then the head
would drop and the tuna would fall into the sea
without perceptible splash, having formed a perfect
curve. The tunas were everywhere in air. I ex-
pected one to drop into the boat, when the experi-
ence of Senator Quay might have been repeated, in
which a tarpon went completely through the boat;
but nothing of the kind occurred, and I stood on the
seat at least twelve inches from the water, and saw
fishes five or six feet long turn almost as high again
as my head; so I believe I am within the bounds by
stating that I saw tunas fifteen feet in air. I have
seen flying-fishes at least thirty feet in air, but blown
there by a sudden gust of wind.
These lines are written between attempts on the
Santa Cruz and Capitola coast, California, to watch
the leap of the sea-going salmon of the Bay of Mon-
terey. The salmon come here in countless thousands
171
Big Game at Sea
in April or May and remain, as a rule, until October.
I have taken a number trolling, but due to the heavy
tackle they would not leap, though this fish fre-
quently does, clearing several feet. The leap of the
salmon in fresh water especially up falls and rapids,
is well known. -
The rainbow trout is an especially game leaper.
Recently in the beautiful Soguel, which flows down
from the Santa Cruz mountains, one sprang into the
air six inches to meet my hook; and I have known
large specimens to make splendid leaps. In the
Klamath Lake country, when fly fishing for big rain-
bow trout, I was much entertained by their leaps,
Some three- or four-pound fish making a series of
jumps in Crystal Creek, where I made numerous and
futile attempts to photograph them in mid-air. One
fish which I hooked appeared to turn a double somer-
sault. Mr. Alfred L. Beebe, one of the clever fly
fishermen of American waters, who has fished the
lakes of Oregon for many years, and who has landed
a remarkable number of large trout, tells me he has
seen a three and a half pound rainbow trout take
thirteen successive leaps across the river before com-
ing to the net; and I sat in the bow of a skiff at Peli-
can Bay for an hour or more trying to photograph
the living rainbows which Mr. Beebe lured to his
March brown fly and into the air, but failed, owing
either to the rapid gyrations of the fish or my own
cumbersome methods. It was an exhilarating spec-
I72
The High Leapers
tacle, as following the first rush away, the trout,
usually of large size, would surge upward and go
whirling into the air, its marvelous tints caught by
the sun, blazing and Scintillating as the fish reached
the air again and again.
The gar is a leaper, going at times into the air
eight feet. I have seen the leaping shark at Aransas
three feet in air on the end of my line; and the
leopard shark of Catalina is a clever jumper when
taken in shoal water. Black bass are famous for
their leaps of two and three feet—remarkable when
the size of the fish is considered. A chapter could
be written on the leaps of the lady-fish and the ten-
pounder; they are cousins of the tarpon, and mem-
bers of the circle which includes the most agile
acrobats of stream and sea.
The two swordfishes taken with rod and reel in
Southern California water are both leapers. Tetrap-
turus fall back clumsily from a leap of three feet,
which I have observed, but Xiphias, which has been
played by anglers here, makes a graceful leap, one
having been seen to go into the air four or five feet
several times, and up to date none of this species has
been landed; their extraordinary fins enable them to
break the delicate line of 2 I-thread, which is used.
I73
CHAPTER XI
FISHING IN SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA
ODS are not put away during the winter in
R Southern California, for there are the white-
fish, the sheepshead and the rock bass always
to be had along shore; but as spring comes on there is
greater activity, and the best fishing, the real sport,
is in the spring and summer, where the Black Current
that sweeps down the coast is tempered by the semi-
tropic sun, and the shore is swarming with bait.
The mainland Pacific Coast presents many anoma-
lies. Harbors, coves and bays it has only to a lim-
ted extent, the coast between San Francisco and San
Diego being, in the Eastern sense, with one exception,
without protected bays for the fishermen. The wind
blows freshly every day, and the sea rolls in eternally
upon long sandy beaches, broken here and there by
rocky headlands. To fish with a small boat rigged
with a chair, and the conveniences one finds on the
St. Lawrence, is almost impossible. The profes-
sional fisherman goes offshore in his heavy sailboat
from one mile to three, and trolls for barracuda or
yellowtail, or sets trawl-lines along the rocky points.
I74
Fishing for Sheepshead.
Santa Catalina Islands.

Fishing in Southern California
In Southern California the water in the morning is
often smooth, but in the afternoon the wind rises and
the sea comes in. To enable fishermen to reach the
fishing and retain their equipoise, many towns and
resorts, as Santa Monica, Long Beach, Redondo,
Ocean Park, Terminal and Coronado, have built
long and expensive piers, which are well patronized
by anglers, who fish with long bamboo poles, stout
enough to lift a heavy fish, and handlines, and catch
surf fish, mackerel, and other small fishes. At Re-
dondo, because of the setting in of a deep channel,
yellowtail and sea bass are caught from the high
pier, and occasionally a black Sea bass. At Coro-
nado the fishing at the pier is for yellow-fin, surf
fish and small shore fishes. To obtain larger game
the angler goes offshore from one to three miles with
the professional fishermen, or to the entrance of the
fine bay.
This wharf-fishing is eminently satisfactory to the
angler whose piscatorial fancy is whetted by small
fry, yellow-fin and surf fish, which can be lifted in
by the pole; but California has a series of large game
fishes which afford all the sport of the salmon, the
muskellunge, the bluefish and the tarpon; and to take
them in a sportsmanlike manner, with the lightest
lines and rods, requires smooth water and small
boats, and to find these one must go to the Southern
Californian islands, where the equipment and environ-
ment are perfect. These islands, beginning north of
I75
Big Game at Sea
Santa Barbara, are San Miguel, Santa Rosa, Santa
Cruz, Anacapa, San Nicolas, Santa Catalina and San
Clemente. All lie parallel to the coast, forming a lee
to the north and east, where the angler finds almost
perfect conditions. San Miguel, Santa Cruz and
Santa Rosa are reached from Santa Barbara; all
are private property, and permission must be ob-
tained to camp. This and the fact that bait is uncer-
tain, there being no professional fishermen resident
upon the islands, and no regular boat, has tended to
discourage anglers. One hundred miles to the south,
off Los Angeles County, lie two large islands—San
Clemente and Santa Catalina—about which nature
has done her best for the angler. The location seems
to be a favored one, a common ground for all fishes.
The islands are about twenty miles in length, Santa
Catalina being about seventeen miles from the main-
land, and San Clemente, a Government reservation,
about forty. The former has fifteen miles of good
lee, affording water as smooth as a lake, in a number
of bays and coves formed by the cañons. The water
is deep along shore, intensely blue, and the fishing on
the line of fringing kelp.
Santa Catalina is the only island having a town
and regular daily communication with the main-
land, Avalon, being well equipped with hotels and
cottages—a unique spot, possessing everything re-
quired by the angler. The bay is filled with boats
and small launches equipped and furnished with every
*
176
Fishing in Southern California
appliance for the capture of the great game fishes of
the region.
The peculiarity of this Californian angling is the
large size of the fish, their great numbers, the remark-
able equipment for the accommodation of anglers—
the boatmen being provided with the best rods, lines
and reels—and finally the climatic conditions, which
afford the angler pleasant weather, without storms,
from May to November. The tuna is the tarpon of
the Pacific Coast, and is caught only at this island,
between Avalon Bay and Long Point, a distance of
about five miles. It is an oceanic fish, which explains
its absence from the mainland shores. The season
is from June to August.
Tuna rods are not less than six feet nine inches,
and often seven or eight feet in length; the line not
over 24-thread; the tip of the rod, or that portion
from reel seat to tip does not weigh more than six-
teen ounces. The fishes are divided into classes. The
black sea bass, swordfish, and leaping tuna are taken
on heavy tackle, but for all others anglers fish with
a rod, the tip of which weighs but six ounces, and a
line so slight that it would not stand a dead weight of
over eighteen pounds, being what is termed a nine-
thread line. The reels are strong and good; in point
of fact, cheap tackle is the most expensive here. The
boat is a large, wide-beamed yawl, with a diminutive
three or four horse-power engine, and there are num-
bers of small launches of similar fittings in the bay.
177
Big Game at Sea
The boatman and gaffer sits amidships. Another seat
extends from rail to rail, with two comfortable chairs
facing astern for yourself and companion. Thus
equipped, rods in hand, the boat is shoved off and
cuts the smooth waters of the bay. It is to be yellow-
tail, and the lines are run out sixty feet, the engine
slows down to about the rate of slow rowing, the
course set along the kelp-lined shore, about which the
rocks rise in picturesque bluffs and cliffs, reaching
back to melt into the mountains of the interior. It
is July or August, but the air is cool, and as far as
the eye can reach the sea is like glass.
The anglers are lost in the beauty of the surround-
ings when z-e-e, z-e-e! goes the reel, its high staccato
notes rising so loudly that an angler in a boat near by
shouts his congratulations. The fish are plungers.
Down into the deep blue they go; z-e-e-e, z-e-e-e-e!
rising on the soft tremulous air, the line humming its
peculiar music. Now, started by the big multiplier,
the fish comes up, breaking away with feet and inches
to again plunge, circling the boat with savage onward
rushes. Lines cross, but rods are passed over and
under. Ten, twenty minutes have passed away, and
as fast as the fish comes in, it breaks away again to the
melody of the singing reel. Finally, deep in the blue
water a dazzling spot appears; then another, and up
they come, by a marvel not fouling. Now one cir-
cles the boat; away it goes at sight of the gaff, z-e-e-e!
to come in again. Five times it circles the boat, dis-
178
º qņIOEUIn LĐŲ[]JOĐULIOHºspueſs Ibuļļejeoeques‘UO[bAV


Fishing in Southern California
playing its beauties to the anglers; a blaze of glory,
canted upward, its silvery belly gleaming in the morn-
ing sun, its back an iridescent green, the fins, median
line and tail yellow. The boatman is fingering his
gaff. “Now, then l’’ whispers the angler. The tip
of the rod goes forward, a quick movement, a blind-
ing splash of water with the last compliments of the
yellowtail, and the gaffer straightens up with the fish
of fishes quivering, trembling, still fighting, to receive
its quietus. “Thirty-two and a half pounds, sir,”
and glancing at his watch, “in twenty-two minutes.”
The common fish is the yellowtail (Seriola dorsa-
lis), a sociable fellow, coming within ten feet of the
boat to take the bait, playing about in full view, its
golden tints flashing with gleams of green and blue.
It is usually caught trolling slowly; but from the
wharf or from a boat it is often taken by allowing the
bait to lie on the bottom. The cleverness and dis-
crimination of the yellowtail are unequaled. Toss
over a handful of sardines, and the big fish will dash
at them, picking up every one except that containing
the hook. In many years' fishing at this island, I
have never seen a yellowtail under seven pounds, the
largest weighing sixty-three; but a specimen has been
taken which, headless and cleaned, weighed eighty
pounds.
The yellowtails arrive in March and April, and in
midsummer are at the islands in countless numbers.
In August last, four rods took sixty of these fish,
I79
Big Game at Sea
averaging thirty pounds in a day. The record catch
is that of Colonel C. P. Morehous, who is credited
with a fifty-nine-pound fish. While yellowtail is the
pièce de résistance of this angling feast, there is
another fish in these waters—the white sea bass—
which appeals to the angler. The yellowtails, which
have been dashing about the boat, suddenly disap-
pear, the color of the bottom changes to dark brown
—the cause, a dense school of sardines, which are
packed so closely that they seem to be a solid mass.
They are being driven up the coast by the sea bass,
and a change of method becomes necessary. The
dead smelt is taken off and the bare hook cast into the
affrighted throng. A slight jerk, and a sardine is
impaled, rushing off, as lively a bait as could be
imagined. Its erratic actions frighten the rest, which
form a hollow down through which the blue water is
seen, and into which the struggling bait sinks deeper
and deeper, until it clears the school; then out of the
unknown rises a mighty fish shaped like a salmon.
The sardine disappears as though by magic. Z-e-e-e,
tse-e-e-e-e! The shriek of the reel, the burning hiss
of the line as it cuts the water, the flying leather from
the brake tell of game worth the having. The bass
cuts a mighty swath in the sardine school, and is away
on the surface—no sulker he. Fifty, one hundred,
two, three hundred feet of the delicate nine-thread
line are jerked off to the measure of the click—music
indeed, vibrant, shrill and exciting; then the brake
I8O
Fishing in Southern California
stops the fish, and he is away. No, he is coming in, a
living, finny charger.
There may be multipliers quadrupled which can eat
up three hundred feet of line while this magnificent
fish is covering that distance at the top of his speed,
but I never have seen one. On it comes, like the
shadow of a cloud. The angler sees it as he reels,
and knows that it has fifty feet of line towing behind;
then suddenly it turns, with a magnificent swirl of its
powerful tail, and is away. It is a trick that fails.
The thread of line, which would part at the slight-
est jerk, slips beneath the brake as it comes taut, and
the angler fortunately turns it, and the bass circles the
boat fifty feet away, its high dorsal fin cutting the
water like a scythe. Three times it goes completely
around the boat, constantly increasing its pace, but
always coming in. The dexterous gaffer begins to
estimate the distance, and the angler is about to pass
the fish to the position for gaffing, when it turns, and
the reel again gives tongue. But this is the beginning
of the end. For nearly thirty minutes the bass has
played, and is tugging bravely, bearing off like a
sturdy craft on a lee shore, its white belly lightly
showing. A final turn, a beating of waters, a shower
of spray, and the grand fish is held on the cruel barb,
to beat the boat powerful blows, to plunge and carry
the gaffer's elbow into the water in its last desperate
rush. But the gaff is inexorable, and slowly the fish
comes up, protesting every inch; and in the sun a
I8 I
Big Game at Sea
thousand tints and scintillations seem to flash and play
upon it. The belly is white, grading into gray; the
upper portion, old gold with iridescent hues; the head
a blaze of peacock blue in iridescent flashes to pink
and indescribable tints ever changing in the sun.
Nearly five feet in length, and tipping the scales at
fifty pounds, on a nine-ounce rod, No. 9 line, are
incidents in the verdict.
The bass (Cynoscion nobilis) is a cousin of the
weakfish, and in these waters averages fifty pounds.
Four I caught in one morning were all of this weight,
or over. Like the yellowtail, the white sea bass is a
very sociable fish, some of the best catches having
been made twenty feet from shore. But the season
is short and uncertain, from May until July. These
fishes attain a weight of one hundred pounds. The
record rod catch of the Tuna Club in Avalon bay is
fifty-eight pounds.
The tuna is game for the veteran, but the inex-
perienced angler may work up to it by practicing on
albacore, a game long-finned oceanic fish found at the
Californian islands the year around. A sixty-three-
pound fish towed an angler three miles before it could
be brought to gaff. If larger game is desired with-
out the extreme excitement of the tuna, the black sea
bass affords it. This is the giant of the bass tribe,
ranging here up to four hundred pounds. The record
rod catch with nine-thread line is a two hundred and
thirty-four-pound fish, caught by George Farnsworth.
. I 82
Crowd at Avalon Bay Watching the Landing of a Big Tuna.

Fishing in Southern California
The bass, like all of its kind, affects the rocks and
the great beds of kelp which form halls and par-
terres beneath the sea, in comparatively shallow
water inshore. The boat is anchored in twenty-five
or thirty feet of water, and arrangements made to
cast off at short notice. The equipment is a single-
tip rod, the line a thread of 9 or 2 I strand, with
long wire leader, and Van Vleck tarpon hook. The
bait is four or five pounds of barracuda, or a live
white fish. This is cast into the clear places in the
kelp, or near it, or suspended three or four feet from
the bottom, as the angler may choose; either way
accomplishes the purpose and lures the big game.
The strike of the tuna is a magnificent rush, some-
times a leap upward, sometimes down; that of the
yellowtail a single powerful plunge, a miniature light-
ning stroke with electric effects; but the king of the
bass is more deliberate, reminding one of the methods
of the great Mexican barracuda. The line begins to
move, to tremble and twitch. A few inches go over
the rail, the reel sounds a note of alarm, then another,
and the line runs slowly out. Five feet have gone
when the angler gives the fish the butt, and the bass
gives the retort courteous. I have seen a strong man
jerked elbow deep—this on the handline; but with
the reel, it means a long musical prelude in various
keys, the bass tearing off the line by the fathom. The
boatman casts off the anchor buoy, grasps his oars,
and heading out to sea, surging through the water,
183
Big Game at Sea
towing the boat, the big game is away, and the sport
of kings is on.
These fishes have resorts in deeper water from an
eighth to a quarter of a mile offshore, and they invari-
ably rush to the groves of deep-lying kelp into which
they can dart, soon breaking the line. The oarsman
rows against the fish, the angler endeavors to stop the
rush by applying the leather brake, and finally a
vibrant pumping motion is felt and the bass rises
gradually, then comes in, to suddenly turn and break
away. The contest may be anywhere from one hour
to three; the fish may tow the boat two or three miles
offshore and bring it in again, or it may play within
a few yards of where it was hooked. Finally the big
multiplier wins and brings the fish to gaff; and be the
angler a novice, there comes to him out of the depths
an amazing fish, a gigantic image of the black bass,
fin for fin, mahogany tinted, with silvery belly and
large eyes. As it feels the gaff its ponderous tail
rises, and angler and gaffer are swept with a small
tidal wave. It rises, plunges, tips the boat danger-
ously, and must be killed before it is brought in, then
almost filling the boat. Little wonder that those
who fail to see such catches are affected with doubts,
as the black sea bass is stupendous, and when hung
up at the stand of the gaffer, with the thread-like line
dangling from its mouth, and the split bamboo stand-
ing against it, it seems incomprehensible that these
trifles have killed so powerful, so gigantic a fish.
I84
Fishing in Southern California
These delightful waters abound in small fry that
afford excellent sport. There is the sheepshead,
ranging up to fifteen pounds, caught within one hun-
dred feet of the rocks, on a twelve-ounce rod; the
whitefish, calling to mind the weakfish of the East,
a famous fighter, especially in a tide run when the
bait can be cast down the tide. With them is the
rock bass, almost identical in shape to the black bass,
as gamy for a while, but without endurance. They
attain a weight of ten or twelve pounds and afford
fair sport. At San Nicolas Island the rock bass are
very large and gamy, and there are several kinds.
San Clemente is famous for its whitefish, yellowtail
and sea bass. In these waters is found the barracuda,
smaller than the Gulf of Mexico form, rarely exceed-
ing twelve pounds. They are taken slowly trolling,
and with an eight- or ten-ounce rod sometimes afford
excellent fishing.
The vicinity of Monterey is a famous locality for
angling. The streams abound in trout and the bay
in salmon from early spring until late in the fall.
The latter fish appear in a series of runs, governed by
the bait supply—sardines and anchovies. The tackle
must, in the majority of cases, be a stiff rod, as a
heavy sinker, weighing from a quarter to half a
pound, is often used to take the bait down to the level
of the salmon, which do not play on the surface like
the yellowtail, but lurk beneath the big school of sar-
dines. Fairly smooth water is found in Monterey
- - 185
Big Game at Sea
and Santa Cruz bays, and from four to fifteen salmon
have been taken in a day by a single rod, the fish
weighing from ten to forty pounds.
If the fishes of Southern California disappoint the
angler, it is because, possibly, of the tackle, as the
average visiting angler fishes with a stiff rod. My
own rods, which, of course, may not suit everyone,
are the result of experience: for tuna a greenheart,
or noibwood, single joint, weighing sixteen ounces,
about seven feet in length including butt. This is
much longer than the average, six feet nine inches
being the requirement. This rod is also for black sea
bass; the line, a 2 I-Cuttyhunk. For yellowtail an
eight-and-a-half-foot three-jointed rod is used, about
nine ounces in weight, not too slender, but pliable,
with a No. 9 line. For white sea bass (fifty pounds)
a seven-foot four-inch rod, two joints, pliable and
light, and the same line. This can be used for sheeps-
head and barracuda; but for whitefish and ten-pound
rock bass an eight-and-a-half-foot light bass rod is
used, reel seat above the hand. All these rods have
cork or left-hand grips above the reel seat, and are of
greenheart. In thus adapting the tackle to the fish,
all its game qualities are put to the test, and the
angler has the supreme satisfaction of knowing that
he has accorded all the advantage to the dumb animal
which is affording him so much sport. The salmon
fisherman who has landed a fifty-pound fish may con-
sider an eight-and-a-half-foot nine-ounce rod a cruel
I86
The Coast Line of Santa Cruz Islands.

Fishing in Southern California
weapon for this fish, when salmon of equal size are
taken with a very long rod, but it should be remem-
bered that there is no comparison between the
strength of a yellowtail or sea bass of fifty pounds
and a salmon of equal weight. It would be a ques-
tion of hours to take a large yellowtail fairly” with
salmon tackle, for the water is deep, and the fish takes
advantage of it, and plunges into its blue depths.
The introduction by the United States Fish Com-
mission of striped bass into the waters of San Fran-
cisco Bay has added another fine game fish to those
caught in California. The fish are remarkably good
fighters, and are found in such numbers that a striped
bass club has been formed. Occasionally the yellow-
tail ventures into Monterey Bay, and the big sea bass
is caught there as well as far down the coast. A new
fishing ground has been found at or near Tiburon
Island, in the Gulf of California, where sea bass of
remarkable size are found and are caught in great
numbers from the beach. At Ensenada there is
excellent fishing with the rod, and doubtless when
Lower California is developed, other fine fishing
grounds will be found. When to these are added
yellow-fin tuna, leaping swordfish and dolphin the real
wonders of this fishing ground are realized.
* By fairly, not using the rod as a line, is meant.
CHAPTER XII
WING SHOTS AT SEA
nered the flying-fish market. Matters were still
further complicated by whispers of a trust, and
that a privileged few were to combine and squeeze
the wealthy anglers. That there was some truth in
this became apparent when the flying-fishes, which
up to this time had been a drug in the market—flying-
fishes which insisted upon flying into boats over night
and upon the beach during the daytime—became so
scarce that they were quoted at a dollar apiece, while
there was a well-credited report that a certain tuna
expert and enthusiast had paid five dollars for a
single fish. This corner, it was said, was conducted
with skill and caused no little commotion in fishing
circles, among the adventurous sportsmen who fol-
lowed the tuna, and their men and gaffers. The
leaping tunas were making the sea boil, and bait
must be had; yet it increased in price until only the
affluent or the very feckless could go out, or those
who had the temerity to filch from others the much
desired bait.
I' was rumored that a certain Venetian had cor-
188
Wing Shots at Sea
It was at this season that foraging and stealing
became, in a sense, synonymous. An enthusiastic
angler, when informed by his boatman that he had
stolen the bait on a certain morning, replied sternly,
“Foraged for it, you mean. If a man takes another's
bait simply to improve on his own, that is stealing;
but when the case is desperate, when you or I have no
bait at all, when we must have it, why, the act of
securing it becomes foraging.”
The corner on bait was fast reaching an acute stage
when suddenly the market was broken by a boatman
who remembered that on the previous season a tax-
idermist preserved in formalin dozens of flying-fishes,
intending to mount them at his leisure. The fishes
had merely hardened, and like the mammoth in the
Siberian tundras, buried for a million years, was
the image of life. This bait, a year old, broke the
market. It was sold at twenty-five cents a fish, and
proved a fortunate discovery, as the fliers were so
well preserved that they could be used over and over
again. It was with such bait that I caught the first
tuna of the season of 1899, carrying off the prizes,
and my boatman others.
But it is not of the tuna that I write, though the
subject offers fresh and alluring material, but of the
flying-fish as game. This suggestion may bring a
smile to the face of the angler who is familiar with
the beautiful species of the Atlantic and the Gulf
of Mexico, which dart from wave to wave like bril-
189
Big Game at Sea
liant insects, and are among the most attractive of
the denizens of the sea. The Santa Catalina chan-
nel is a highway for these winged fishes, which run
in large ill-defined schools, coming up from the south
apparently in May, and in June and July forming
an interesting feature of the region; springing from
the sea with lightsome leap to soar over the glasslike
surface in marvelous flight. In crossing the chan-
nel in the daily steamer, after April, one sees the
flying-fishes constantly flushed. They evidently be-
lieve the vessel to be an enemy and dash away from
the bow in every direction, affording the observer
an excellent opportunity to study the question as to
flight—or soaring—which bids fair never to be
decided among laymen.
The California flying-fish—Exocartus californien-
sis—is the largest of its kind. It is over a foot in
length, and weighs three or four pounds; a sturdy,
hard-headed fellow, as clumsy in the water as a
gurnard, but capable of several rapid plunges or
darts; then, as though fully appreciating its import-
ance, it leaves the water and soars buoyantly away
over the blue channel in the so-called flight, but no
more a true flight than the leap of the flying squirrel
from tree to tree. The tail of the flying-fish is the
organ of propulsion. The lower lobe is much the
longest, and by twisting this about with a screw-
like motion, the fish is forced into the air when the
huge wing-like pectorals and the ventrals are spread,
I 90 .
Wing Shots at Sea
and the fish becomes a parachute, a living aeroplane,
shooting along over the water a foot or more above
it. In this way the fish is enabled to fly an eighth
of a mile or more; then its tail drops, touches the
water, and if the fish is still pursued, begins the screw-
like action which imparts to the entire body a wrig-
gling, tremulous motion which for an instant gives to
the wings the appearance of flying, and again the
fish is in the air. I have seen the fliers in this way
move far out of the range of vision in one sustained
rush.
The flying-fish is the choicest food of the tuna, and
the arrival of the fliers indicates the opening of the
tuna season—generally from the twentieth of May to
June first. At this time the coast of Santa Catalina
island in the vicinity of Avalon is the scene of bril-
liant charges of these active fishes and marvelous
flights on the part of the flying-fishes. I have seen
a school of tunas charge a school of flying-fishes,
which dashed into the air like a flock of birds,
the wind lifting them twenty feet upward, sending
them careening away, glistening and Scintillating like
gigantic insects, to reach within a foot or two of the
surface when they moved on, the tunas following
beneath them, or swimming slightly on one side, with
one eye cast up, never losing sight of the prey, and
dashing at it as it touched the water. Some endeav-
ored to secure them flying in the air, and I have seen
a tuna come up from below like a living arrow, strike
I9 I
Big Game at Sea
a flying-fish in midair and toss it ten feet upward,
where it whirled about like a pinwheel, falling dead
upon the water, to be picked up by its relentless pur-
suer. That the tunas sometimes take their prey liter-
ally in the air there can be no doubt.
The agility of the tuna and the flying-fish can
hardly be credited. In the wild chase the flying-fish
soars blindly on, the tuna a foot below, never losing
sight of the game. On one occasion a flying-fish so
pursued passed over my boat. I saw it coming fifty
feet away, and moved my head so that I would not
be struck, the fish passing within a foot of my face.
As it passed I looked overboard and saw a tuna dart
under the boat, and a short distance beyond it seized
its prey. -
The flier has apparently little or no power to alter
its course, or if so, to a very limited degree, as I have
repeatedly known them to strike the boat or pass over
it; and on one occasion a large individual struck me
on the neck. On another occasion a flier passed over
the upper deck of a launch so near my face that I
could have touched it; and again, one was caught or
knocked into my boat and used as a bait for the vora-
cious fish. At times the rushes of the tunas present
an exhilarating spectacle; one, under certain condi-
tions, calculated to demoralize the observer. On a
calm day, when the sea was like a mirror, I noticed
from a hilltop a mass of clearly defined foam three
miles away. It apparently covered one hundred
I92
ºspueſs IBuſ(ejeoelue:S
ºsº qsJ-3uĻĀĻI 3ūņOOLIS
S*7i.
of
*/cº

Wing Shots at Sea
acres and presented a remarkable appearance, as
though some submarine volcano was convulsing the
ocean bed. It moved slowly up the coast, and I
hastened to the beach and jumping into a boat, rowed
out half a mile from Avalon Bay in the path of what
I soon discovered was a school of tunas which were
feeding upon flying-fishes. The magnificent fish were
leaping into the air, dozens being seen at one time,
turning and falling like arrows. In a few moments
I was in the midst of this war of extermination. The
flying-fishes were dashing about in every direction,
the tunas slowly driving them up the coast. They
sought refuge beneath my boat and crowded around
it, apparently exhausted, followed by the tunas, which
dashed into the air, so near me that I pulled away,
fearing that mine might be the experience of the
Southern angler who had a tarpon plunge into his
boat, passing through it. Such an accident was pos-
sible, and I only ceased rowing when on the outskirts
of this remarkable center of activity which well illus-
trated the soaring powers of the flying-fish and the
leaping possibilities of the tuna.
It was, possibly, this and other experiences with
the flying-fishes which suggested what was certainly
a novel sport—the substitution of flying-fish for
quail. The tuna flushed the flying-fishes, which flew
in every direction, offering similar shots to those one
finds afield, so one morning the launch Linda steamed `
out of the bay of Avalon with two or three friends
•
I93
Big Game at Sea
and myself sitting on the upper deck, about eight feet
from the water, each armed with a shotgun. The
agreement was that we should take the fish flushed
on the side on which we sat. The man on the port
side was to shoot to port, the one on the starboard
to starboard. The Linda was headed up the coast
and was presently running at full speed and in a short
time into the flying-fishes, which rose at or near the
bow and went skimming away in graceful lines. The
first flier went to the left, and was cleverly dropped
by one of my companions, who killed another with his
left barrel. The third fish fell to me. It rose
twenty feet ahead with a vigorous trembling of the
body, produced by the screw-like motion, and dashed
away three feet above the surface. As it swerved to
the right I fired, dropping it; as it fell the splash
startled another fish from the water, which came
straight toward the boat, rising slightly on the stiff
wind. I did not fire, as the fish was too near, and it
passed over the boat into the preserves of my com-
panion, who dropped it when fifty feet away.
There was something essentially novel in this sport.
The fish appeared as though by magic, shooting out
of the water with little or no splash, often apparently
sailing along a foot above the surface, which it so
resembled that it was as difficult to drop them as it
would be the woodcock darting over cover that it
perfectly resembled. As the launch neared Long
Point—a prominent headland which reaches out into
I94
Wing Shots at Sea
the blue channel, forming the base of a high moun-
tain—the flying or soaring game became more plenti-
ful. The fishes came from every direction; now
dashing up under the cutwater, or again, startled by
a tuna, flying head on, or even coming up behind us,
though racing with the boat. The bay ahead—the
famous tuna ground—was like glass, not a breeze
disturbing its surface; yet, as we drew near, great
splashes of foam dotted it here and there; and
beyond, the foam was continuous, as though a heavy
sea was breaking upon the rocks. But the error of
this conclusion soon became apparent. The masses
of foam were caused by the leaps of the tuna flush-
ing the flying-fishes, which were darting into the air
in every direction. In a few minutes the launch
was in the center of the commotion, which covered
acres of the bay, and the flashes from the guns told
of the accumulation of valuable tuna bait, which was
in high demand.
While the actions of the flying-fishes before a
launch running at full speed may be compared to
those of quail, they are more mechanical, and the
game goes whirring away more like a clay pigeon,
and quite as difficult to shoot, as the fish have, to a
greater or less extent, the color of the water and
quickly disappear. A few weeks later along these
shores, where the kelp formed literal hanging gar-
dens, I found the young flying-fishes, the size of
grasshoppers, leaping from the water almost a foot
I95
Big Game at Sea
in their efforts to escape the bonito, mackerel and
other cousins of the tuna.
On one of these peculiar hunts it occurred to a
member of the party to take a retriever. The dog
soon became familiar with the game, saw the flying
fishes with ease, and when one was shot, sprang from
its place on the fore-deck and swam directly for the
fish, but unfortunately the flying fish invariably sank
before the dog reached it, and the only way to secure
them was to run the launch to the spot at once, and
scoop the game up with a net and haul the barking
dog aboard, who was greatly excited and concerned
at the disappearance of this new game bird.
196
CHAPTER XIII
A LEAPER OF THE KUROSHIWO
- HE channel islands of Southern California,
| a chalice of emeralds in settings of azure,
were rising in the distant haze. The sea
was a mirror in which the heavens were reflected, and
the rising sun over the distant and snow-capped peaks
of San Antonio and San Jacinto in the mother range
drew a translucent old-rose film over it that seemed
to set the world aflame. The sky and the edge of the
world blended—it was one harmonious sea that like
some great monster rolled about the world. Here
and there a catspaw made its way aimlessly along to
die away. The big wing-like fins of the flying-fish
occasionally cut the water or waved above it in some
game of the sea, and far away the bonitos were play-
ing havoc with small fry. The high cloud banks
were retreating to the west, and forty miles away at
sea a pink cumulous cloud-bank rose, dome-like, tell-
ing of San Clemente, its dunes, its dead, and its sand
glaciers. It was early June in these islands of the
sea, the last rain had come, and the hills and slopes
were fast fading into umber and the splendid tints
I97
Big Game at Sea
of gray, yellow, purple and brown that ravish the
eye and senses in the Southern California summer.
The oceanic wanderers, the pelagic fishes that had
winter and summer homes, were coming in out of the
west to the spawning grounds of their choice. They
were leaving the banks of Tanner and Cortez—the
offshore plateaus—where the tops of island moun-
tains are ever rising under the slow accretion of
oceanic débris, and in big schools were ravishing the
seas, starting along the surface, menaces to life and
fin of the smallest fry.
There were scattered bands of yellowtail in splen-
did vestments of silver and gold; great concourses of
white sea bass whose heads gleamed with all the tints
of a Spanish opal; tribes of bonitos in dazzling blues,
iridescent armies of albacore with long wing-like
fins and staring hypnotic eyes, indeed, this sea of Bal-
boa, this Black Current of Japan as it laved the
shores of the Southern California islands was a high-
way of the fishes. Later than all the rest, larger,
more portentious of possible havoc and alarm, came
the tunas from where, how, or exactly when, no one
knows, but when they appeared there was no mis-
take, no confusing them with something else. Ex-
actly the direction from which they swam no one
could possibly tell, but it was a fancy that they came
from the south, from some distant and mysterious
region beneath the sea. This spring the anglers had
been watching for them for several weeks, the small
198
A Leaper of the Kuroshiwo
launches plowing the blue waters to the south, and
were all but despairing when, without warning, the
tunas came in. A miracle of the sea seemed to have
been performed.
For miles the ocean to the south was as smooth as
glass, when suddenly it broke into a blaze of foam,
acres boiled and blazed in the sunlight, as though
some maelstrom had broken out, some vast convul-
sion that made the ocean boil and tremble. This dis-
turbance begun some five miles offshore, came slowly
in, and when the first launch steamed out the men
saw the cause—the leaper of the Kuroshiwo was
chasing its prey, the flying-fish, driving it in with
supernal cleverness, to corner it in one of the open
bays of Santa Catalina Island. Nearer the launch
approached; the air was now seen to be cut with
black leaping forms, and soon, by happy chance or
good luck, I stood and watched the acrobat of the
fishes. -
Few fishes leap for the pleasure of it; the tuna is
one, and this school covering acres and made up of
fishes of large size, of from seventy-five to three
hundred or more pounds, seemed to be in the air most
of the time. The leaps were the desperate attempts of
the tunas to reach the big flying-fishes, which when
seen on the surface from below, would be charged,
missed perchance, and the great fish would go dart-
ing into the air for ten or more feet, then turn slowly
with perfect grace, until the sharp head pointed
I99
Big Game at Sea
downward, and drop into the sea. Scores of such
leaps could be seen all about. I saw a tuna miss
a flying-fish but strike it so violently that it was sent
whirling like a pin-wheel twenty feet upward. I had
been told by cool and veracious observers that they
had seen the tuna grasp the fish in mid-air. I never
have seen this, but almost every other catastrophe
that could befall the game I witnessed during this
remarkable scene when fishes were maddened by the
lust for blood, and the prey so terrified that they
crowded about the launch, clung to the bottom, ut-
terly and completely demoralized by the fierceness of
the onslaught of the ferocious tunas. The air seemed
to be filled with soaring fishes. They came over the
boat. I turned my head aside to avoid being struck,
and watched the stony hypnotic eye of the flier as it
moved on never Swerving from right to left to avoid
me. I saw them strike the boat and fall dead, to
be seized by the tuna, and saw flying-fishes moving
along a foot above the surface, and just below, canted
to an angle of 45 degrees the dark green form of the
giant tuna, a nemesis that rarely failed to seize the
victim. -
So fascinating was this feature of the cunning of
the leaper that I stood in the center of the ground
and lofty tumbling and watched the slaughter of the
flying-fishes, fully expecting that a tuna would land
in my boat, yet so fascinated that I disregarded what
was really a menace; a leaping fish would have gone
2OO
A Leaper of the Kuroshiwo
through the bottom of a small boat as though it had
been made of paper. But nothing occurred, and none
struck the water nearer than a few feet, though in a
similar scene, an acquaintance told me that a tuna
leaped over the boat. Their method of feeding was
easily seen. Many were dashing along the surface of
the water churning it into foam, snapping up the
flying-fishes; others came up from below and shot into
the air, some hitting their prey, some missing them,
so that in a glance I could see ten or more of these
leapers in the air at the same time in as many differ-
ent positions, a scene at once sensational and spirited.
The action or movement of the vast school was
singular. While it, apparently, had no definite plan
and fishes were leaping in every possible direction,
the school as a whole was moving up the coast, and at
a rate of at least three miles an hour, presenting the
extraordinary sight from a distance of ten or twenty
acres of fiercely congested water, foam, and spume,
moving along over a sea of glass.
Later another school of tunas came in and I met
them at the point of the island where the strong west
wind of summer came surging in. I entered it from
a perfect calm, and as the launch left the blue and
entered the rich emerald green waters that character-
ize this part of the island, twenty or thirty flying-
fishes rose from the sea flushed by a band of tunas.
The moment they struck the heavy wind, they went
up, and up, until they reached an altitude of I judged
2O I
Big Game at Sea
at least thirty feet, an extraordinary spectacle, resem-
bling huge dragon flies glistening and gleaming in the
sun. For a few seconds they breasted the wind, high
in air, like kites without a string, or gulls, then fell
away in a graceful curve, slowly descending to the
surface and sailing away a foot above it, doubtless
followed by the insatiate tuna. The tunas came in
from some distant and offshore feeding ground to
the south, following the flying-fishes, driving them
before them into the bays, out upon the beaches, and
in its madness, I have seen a huge tuna dash into the
kelp beds and out upon the rocks. The charge of
the fishes is a splendid maneuver, full of martial
spirit, dash, and utter abandon. One night my boat-
man was rowing along near shore when the tunas
flushed their game within twenty feet of us. I could
hear the initial flutter of finny wings caused by the
lashing of waters with the powerful tail, then the fliers
came soaring over the boat, one striking me on the
neck, almost knocking me from my seat, indeed had
not the boatman caught me I should have lost my
equilibrium, and for the next ten minutes my compan-
ion and I sat in a stooping position with hands over
eye glasses to prevent further catastrophe; loud
splashes, violent rushes, swift plunges telling the
story of the insatiate enemy near at hand, and glan-
cing over the side, streaks and flashes of phosphor-
escence could be seen, as the leapers dashed hither and
yon in pursuit of their prey.
2O2
A Leaper of the Kuroshiwo
To one familiar with the delicate flying-fish of the
Atlantic such an experience might seem trivial, but
the flying-fish of the tuna, the tid-bit of its taste, is
eighteen inches long or more, weighs one or two
pounds, and has four wing-like parachutes, which
while they are not wings, and the fish does not fly,
bear it aloft and support it along the surface at an
astonishing speed, and with a momentum that has
been known to knock a standing man down. The
flier has two pairs of supporting wing-like fins. The
front pair measures nine by nine inches, or eighty-one
square inches; the smaller ones three and one-half by
three and one-half inches each, and tipped at an
angle of 40 degrees, poised like a kite, the heavy
flier dashes away in any direction from one hundred
feet to an eighth of a mile, during which it uses its
tail several times for additional stimulus.
The leaper of the Kuroshiwo is an ocean traveler,
a bandit of the sea, a swashbuckler, preying upon vic-
tims of many kinds. When the flying-fish fails the
tuna descends to deeper waters and preys upon young
squids, and I have seen it charge these diabolic,
ghostly creatures, chasing individuals upon the beach,
that were eight or ten feet long. On pleasant days
you may find tuna upon the surface off the bay of
Avalon, swimming in great Schools, one big porten-
tous tuna swimming in advance, forming, with their
big dorsal fins out of water, a big angle, reminding
one of the flight of ducks or geese. I have run into
2O3
Big Game at Sea
such a school of titans, six or eight feet in length,
seen them coming on, watched them divide on either
side, disdaining to leave, merely sinking to rise a few
yards astern. A dozen such schools may be seen off
Avalon in good tuna years, and I emphasize the good,
as there are bad years, off years, when the large fish
are rarely caught. At times they are accompanied
by albacore, and in 1904 the islands were visited by
a large school of allies from Japan, the Japanese
Hirenaga, a species of tuna hitherto unknown
outside of Japan and Hawaii. They looked like
tunas, weighed from fifty to seventy or more pounds,
had long saber-like pectorals, and finlets and fins of a
brilliant lemon-yellow. They remained for two
months, then doubtless sailed for Japan or some
foreign port, but have returned every year since.
In these serene and richly-tinted waters of tur-
quoise with their sprinkling of living gems, the leaper
and its allies pass the long cool summer. Their only
enemy is the big maroon-saddled orca that swaggers
up and down the watery rialto of Santa Catalina, an
occasional big shark that steals upon them, and the
angler, who in gallant fashion throws down the gaunt-
let as becomes a gentleman enamored with the sport
of fair play and high standards, and lures the leaper
with a cobweb-like line, when the size of the game
and its staying powers are remembered. The leaper
is apparently invulnerable and strong. He parades
the blue waters during the day, and often at night
2O4. -
(1) The Author Playing a Leaping Tuna. (2) Bringing the Fish
to Gaff. (3) The Morning’s Catch.

A Leaper of the Kuroshiwo
between day and darkness charges the little bay of
Avalon and drives the desperate fliers out upon the
beach, into boats, and on to rocks, circling the shores,
and is a be-finned whirlwind. It is now that this free
lance from the outer seas often meets his nemesis in
the angler. The long delicate line, hardly to be seen
in the water, is out, baited with a flying-fish. One
crosses the path of the leaper; he sees it far ahead
and with his mate charges, foaming along the blue,
steely waters. The resilient rod bends, the big reel
gives tongue, and the game of games is on, often an
interminable contest. The leaper is confronted with
a totally new experience; he has never been checked.
He has been chased by sharks and orcas, stabbed, per-
haps, by a vicious swordfish, but this sudden pain, this
control by something invisible, comes like a bolt out
of a clear sky, and being in six hundred feet of clear
blue water, he turns and goes down like a shot out of
a gun.
But something is going with him, tending to stop
him. For the first time this swashbuckler, that all
his life has killed for the pleasure of it, for the mere
lust of killing, learns the meaning of restraint, and
out of the “corner of his eye ’’ he sees that he is fol-
lowed by a blaze of white, a sheet of spume-blue
water churned into foam by a rapidly towed line.
He stops, shakes his head and body, and then plunges
on and on with terrific, irresistible force, until he
reaches the sandy bottom in water almost as cold as
2O5
Big Game at Sea
ice. The thing is still there. He dashes at the
bottom, attempts to brush it away, then, terrified,
maddened at the restraint, rises like a rocket, bound-
ing upward to the surface and is free; no, he has
merely overrun the thing which now presses on him
stronger, harder than ever.
Again he plays, and despite his titanic efforts is
stopped. He rises, reaches the surface, gets the
direction of the thing and charges along the surface,
fin in air, tossing the spume, a splendid object, a
living catapult. Then into the field of his vision
comes the strange object he has seen time and again—
the launch, a man in the stern standing up reeling for
his life, another looking over his shoulder. This is
the enemy he must get away from, and turning, the
leaper, never leaping now, darts away carrying the
line fifty, one hundred, two hundred, three hundred,
four hundred feet, until the strain becomes unbear-
able, maddening; then he turns, perhaps in uncon-
trollable curiosity, perhaps in rage, and charges the
thing again, and again breaks away, turning so
quickly as to toss the spume upon the man. Five
or six of these charges I have watched or experienced,
splendid exhibitions of skill, well calculated to test
nerves of any caliber.
Again the tuna dives into the turquoise sea boring
down, but the long slender rod checks him, and
slowly he rises until thirty feet from the surface he
turns and resolutely swims away performing that
2O6 -
A Leaper of the Kuroshiwo
miracle known to all tuna anglers—towing a heavy
boat by four hundred feet of 21-thread line. He
keeps this up for mile after mile; now going, now
being reeled in, but maintaining a general average
of distance. An hour, two, three slip away, and
maddened at the eternal strain, the constraint that
he has never before known, he rises and charges
again, and again rushes away, taking more line.
Down into the deep he goes; now far out in the
watery cañon, an oceanic abyss, piling into the un-
known where the water is cold as ice; then out from
the blue comes a gray ghostly shape, a grouper shark.
The shark has caught his scent, sees the gleaming
silvery victim in the toils and charges in a vicious
manner, and snaps and misses as the leaper climbs up
the vault of the watery heavens, climbs with the swift-
ness of a beam of light, literally between the devil and
the deep sea and the thing at the surface.
Reaching the sunlight, he swings around in a circle
and catches a glimpse of the boatman rowing with all
his might: he must keep the stern of the boat to the
fish, and he pulls with one oar; but the leaper dashes
away again, and again begins the long pull. Four
hours have passed, the tuna is still fresh, is still full of
fight, but the insatiate something is always there,
always working, holding back, a fearsome thing, and
suddenly the leaper realizes that he is standing still,
then is being lifted. He makes a desperate, gallant
rush, but the thing holds. He dashes about in a con-
2O7
Big Game at Sea
stantly decreasing circle. He is not tired, his heart
is strong, but somehow he cannot do anything but
pull, strain and swim with dogged perseverance, and
the thing seems to be able to pull just a fraction
more; so he rises higher and higher and suddenly
faces boat and man. A desperate flurry; he plunges,
turns, dashes under the boat, gains fifty feet, loses
it, comes in, always fighting, then, still alert, he is
struck from below, a sharp dagger-like blow that
maddens and kills. He whirls away, writhing, roll-
ing over, tosses spray high in air, makes a gallant
fight, but the sharp deadly weapon has impaled his
throat, lifts him higher and higher. He sees the
grim-faced, bronzed boatman step on the side of the
boat bearing it down to the water's edge, then, still
fighting, is hauled, dragged ignominiously into the
air, and dropped into the boat to make a final strug-
gle and die.
Such is the story of a one hundred and eighty-three
pound leaper* of the Kuroshiwo, as he might tell it,
from the time he came in from the open sea in June,
until July when caught and gaffed after towing me
nearly twelve miles, in four long and hard-fought
hours. -
* This was the first large tuna caught, single handed, with rod and reel. The
author landed the fish, but the latter wore him out. This fish resulted in the
founding of the Tuna Club and was the record for two years, and it is believed
that no harder fighting fish has been taken, though several larger ones have been
caught. It was six feet four inches long and weighed one hundred and eighty-
three pounds, and when gaffed could apparently have towed the boat many miles
further.
2O8
A Leaper of the Kuroshiwo
The ending is not always so peaceful; a tuna
fought two anglers fourteen hours and then escaped.
Another fought an angler, or defied him, for six or
seven hours. He was hooked, if I remember cor-
rectly, at six in the morning. At noon I was put
aboard. The angler was exhausted, and the later
efforts of three men failed to subdue the fish. None
of us could reel it in. Time passed and as the sea
rose we faced the alternative of surrender or being
towed across the channel thirty miles to land in the
surf. We could have taken the fish in long before
by lifting by hand, but the feeling was strong to give
the splendid fighter fair play, all the advantage; and
no one suggested it until more than discomfort, and
the worry a night in the channel would have caused
several families, decided us. So we surrendered and
hauled the game in by hand, then raised a piece of
sail cloth stained in his blood to the boats hunting
for us to see, and finally were picked up six or seven
miles off shore, out of sight of Avalon.
Another tuna took my lure off Long Point and was
conquered in forty minutes with a light rod. The
boatman hauled him in, landed him fairly when the
fighter gave a tremendous leap, bent like a spring and
went whirling into the air, fell on the rail, and I found
myself treading water, rod still in hand. The boat
shot bow up into the air. My companion, Mr.
of Philadelphia, clasping the bow of the boat as it
rolled over, shouting that he could not swim. We
209
Big Game at Sea
were a mile and a half offshore, and as the boat
refused to float with us all we pushed my companion
onto the bottom and the boatman and I started to
swim for our launch nearly a fourth of a mile distant.
I got ahead, and as the tender came up, the boatman's
wife, who was aboard, screamed that he was drown-
ing. I turned and swam back, and in a second or
two up he came. “What's the matter?” I cried,
amazed at the spectacle.
“I’ve got your tuna, sir,” and out of sight he went
again. Three times I saw this fish, still on the gaff,
plunge down and carry the plucky fellow out of
sight. Gardner had never lost his gaff. If there
are angling heroes wanted for the “hall of fame,” I
commend my boatman, Jim Gardner.
I was soon hauled aboard the tender, a process
which took two or three men to accomplish, owing
to my lead-like corduroy hunting suit. In the mean-
time Gardner had his legs about the propeller. As
the men held me over the stern I reached down, run-
ning my arm deep into the tuna's throat, took it by
the gills and gave the word; the men hauled upon
my legs, and I the tuna, and dropped it safe in the
cockpit; dead? out-fought? never! It was still an
animated whirlwind, and drove everyone out of the
pit by its wild leaps and lateral swings. I never
killed a fish with more regret. It deserved to live,
a type of the hard fighters, fighting immortals of the
tuna tribe; but it was a prize, the first fish of the
t
2 IO
A Leaper of the Kuroshiwo
season, and as I write it hangs on my wall, and I
fancy I can see the glint of its hypnotic eye, the steel-
like swing of its splendid tail as it wrecked us that
balmy morning on the blue Kuroshiwo.

CHAPTER XIV
THE MAN BE HIND THE ANGLER
HE sea angler, the man who goes down to
the sea to take big game, is more or less
dependent upon the man who sits behind
him, his gaffer, or boatman, who, as a rule, if he
has been long in the business, is intelligent, clever and
often possessed of an individuality which materially
adds to his patron's sport. As a rule, the gaffer's duty
is to row; on the St. Lawrence he is the man behind
the angler. He makes or unmakes the creel; he
knows where the bass or “ lunge ’’ are, and goes
there. He is as interested in making a catch as the
angler, indeed more so. He baits the hook if live
bait has been decided upon, nets the fish, and at noon
on some one of these fascinating islands cooks a fish
dinner fit for the gods, or Lucullus, or both.
The sport of angling has become so firmly estab-
lished that the gaffer and boatman is a profession,
well honored, and no little rivalry is maintained in
securing certain men on the various great fishing
grounds. The poor men are weeded out, and if the
angler to-day can find a boatman who has been in
the business several years, he can usually count on the
2 I 2
The Man Behind the Angler
services of a good retainer; and as I have known
many of these men, in many waters, it is a pleasure
to say more than a word in their commendation. It
is often true that a good boatman or gaffer is a char-
acter in his way. One of the best-read Shakes-
pearean scholars I ever met was once my guide and
boatman in the Adirondacks, before it was opened up
to the world. In those days one had to ride on a
buckboard thirty or forty miles to reach the heart
of the mountains, and the deer and bear were not
dazzled by electric lights and the vision of big hotels,
motor cars, and men in dinner and evening dress on
the shores of Blue Mountain Lake, nor were the
trout in the chain of lakes familiar with the whirl
of a propeller. I recall making the round of one
of these lakes in one of the first launches placed upon
the waters. We passed a little shack on a clearing
by the lake side and the skipper said, “There's a man
who would blow me out of the water if he dared;
watch him,” and pulling the whistle several times, out
came the woodsman who ran down the beach shaking
his fist at the little craft as long as she was in sight.
Bill Longley, as I will call him, not only had a
penchant for Shakespeare, but he was a man of
scholarly tastes and could have figured successfully in
several professions in the outside world, but his
poetic fancy led him to seek the deep woods and
the solitudes where he was happy, which, after all, is
the chief end of man. Bill was a clever fly caster;
2 I 3
Big Game at Sea
he knew every rock and hole where a large fish might
lurk. He handled a boat as no one else could, and
was at once the object of my regard and wonder, and
of many who were fortunate in securing his services.
I once dropped into camp with a well-known angler,
a man of much erudition beyond the realm of tackle,
and we found Bill scrubbing up the dishes. While
sitting by the smudge watching him, my friend, the
Professor, made use of a certain quotation from
Sophocles, one with which not one in ten thousand
persons, taken as they come, would be familiar. As
he rolled it out, as certain gentlemen of the old school
love to do, Bill stopped scrubbing his frying pan.
“I’m glad to hear that, sir. I’ve been quoting that
line wrong all my life.”
“How did you quote it?” asked the Professor,
who held a chair in ancient languages when he wasn't
fishing.
“Why—” and Bill gave the quotation, and then
as though carried away, kept on quoting line after
line until he seemed to remember himself, stopped,
and began to scrub again. Doubtless Bill had a his-
tory, but I never questioned him. He was one of the
best guides and woodsmen in the Adirondacks thirty
years ago, before the inundation from the cities; he
lies deep in the heart of the great forest.
The boatmen along the St. Lawrence are a fine
body of men, and one finds it difficult, indeed im-
possible, to make any comparisons. For a number of
2 I4.
The Man Behind the Angler
years Bill Massey rowed me with the late Andrew
Clerk, the founder of the House of Abbey and
Imbrey, the latter one of the most genial of black
bass anglers. Massey made his headquarters at
Westminster Park, opposite Alexandria Bay, and was
a type of a dozen or more men who typified the best,
that can be imagined in guides or boatmen. Genial,
possessed of a good nature that nothing could inter-
fere with, honest as the day is long, holding a fine
sense of honor, except when the size of his patron's
fish was concerned, Massey was a manly fellow, the
modern voyageur of the great river of the thousand
islands and ten thousand delights.
He rowed me from ten to twenty-five miles a day,
in and out. He knew every rock and shoal in the
river, and often told me of the strike that I would
have at a certain point; and it was marvelous to see
his delicate adjustment of the fishing, dividing up the
inside or shore side fishing so impartially between my
companion and self that never a suspicion of unfair-
ness was entertained. Massey never lost his head.
I rather think he grew cooler in times of terrific
excitement, and as for gallantry he was unsurpassed.
One day when fishing with a fair angler we came
upon a school of six or seven gigantic bass lying on
the surface of the water at the foot of a high rocky
bluff, and the skill with which Massey arranged it so
that the lady cast first, and caught the most and the
heaviest of the splendid record bass was a revelation.
2 I 5 -
Big Game at Sea
She took a three and one-half pounder, a four and one-
half, and a five and one-half pounder in about forty
minutes, the largest towing the boat around and
around in its splendid play; and when they were in the
boat this gaffing diplomat, who had never given me a
chance to cast, congratulated me on my companion's
skill, and so convinced me that I had really had a
share in the honor, that we rowed a mile to the
Canada shore that Bill might fittingly celebrate the
famous catch, the record of that and many seasons,
and incidentally weigh the fish.
While Massey was a perfect boatman his true
genius was most apparent when he hauled the boat
into some quiet cove, on Stave Island perhaps, and
cooked a fish dinner of yellow perch, black bass, and
on rare occasions a small muskellunge. Perhaps
twenty anglers had agreed to meet here, and the
boatmen were cooks and attendants about the tables
that bore viands fit for the gods. -
In Florida I had four boatmen for a number o
years whose individuality is strikingly fixed upon my
memory. The fishing ground was way out on the
reef, and I found the men there when I arrived, on
a key of about twelve acres of sand about a foot
above high-water mark. Where they came from no
one knew. One, I was told by an old reefer, was an
ex-pirate, and he certainly looked it; the others were
“warious,” and all were wreckers and fishermen, the
bravest men I ever met. Ex-pirates, perhaps, but to
- 2 I 6
The Man Behind the Angler
me honest and true. It was a hard matter to get
whiskey out on the reef at the time I write of, when
I first met Long John, Bob Rand, Chief and Bunsby,
their real names. One night when I went down to
their quarters, I found them sitting around a long
table playing “seven up,” with a bottle of Perry
Davis’ Pain Killer between them. It was a pathetic
sight. Long John was nearly seven feet in height, a
giant in stature, and as thin as the traditional rail, his
face the color of the wattles of a turkey. Bob Rand
was very short and stout. Chief was a typical Semi-
nole, while Bunsby was an old Scotch man-of-warsman
in his adolescence, the possessor of a burr that was as
good as a fog horn down the wind.
All these men were expert fishermen. Long John
could toss the grains into a barracuda at longer range
than any man I ever saw. Bob knew every coral
head on the reef, and all were expert wreckers. John
was loguacious. Bob so rarely spoke that I do not
recall a dozen sentences, but this very attribute made
him a solon, a monument of wisdom in the eyes of
his fellows; he might well have been the original Jack
Bunsby. All possessed absolute courage and cool-
ness, and were men to be relied upon in trouble of
any kind, or on a lee shore. I remember coming in
one day with Long John from a fishing trip to one
of the outer islands, when the wind suddenly died
down to a sudden calm, and we were surrounded by
several of the largest waterspouts I had ever seen, and
217
Big Game at Sea
I had lived some years in what might be termed a
waterspout country. Before the wind dropped we
had seen two large spouts ahead and supposed they
were passing to the eastward, so kept on, headed for
them, as they lay in our course; but they were more
or less stationary for a while, and as we neared them
three others began to drop from the peculiar low-
lying clouds, the wind died as though it had been
struck, and in a few moments we were literally sur-
rounded by the great giants whose tops seemed lost in
the heavens. A more terrifying spectacle it was
never my fortune to witness. The roar was dis-
tinctly audible, and the entire heavens took on a
strange copper hue, while the clouds grew dark and
angry, and appeared to be supported by the gigantic
pillars, apparently a mile high.
As the wind dropped the heavy boat stopped, and
the giants seemed to close in upon us. I turned to
Long John, who had the helm, and asked him if we
could not pull ahead. He was absolutely unmoved
by a sight that should have demoralized any man.
The only thing he did was to ask me for a match,
and lighting his old pipe he puffed away and waited
for death, as it seemed impossible for us to escape.
I remember wondering at his nonchalance, and tried
to make up my mind what to do, whether to jump
overboard when we were struck or stand by the boat.
While I was turning it over in my mind Long John
said he reckoned we were going to have some wind,
2 I 8
The Man Behind the Angler
and I saw that the spouts were bending to the east;
then they began to move and the wind came rippling
along the surface and caught the sails, but hardly
enough to move the old hulk, and one of the spouts
crossed our bow so near that I could have thrown a
stone into it and the top seemed to be hovering
directly over our heads down from which poured a
sheet of rain. This spout passed quickly on with a
roar like that of a locomotive, and with a fresh
breeze the old sloop bore away. I have been tell-
ing the story to friends ever since, but I never could
learn that Long John considered it even worthy of
retailing to his comrades around the cheerful pain
killer that night in the quarters.
Bob Rand, with whom I took my first lessons in
taking the big barracuda with the grains, and who
taught me the trick of pegging green turtles, was a
man of equal indifference to danger, which must be
sheer bravery. No sea was too heavy to keep him
from a wreck, no chance so great that he would not
take it to help a vessel into port in a hurricane. Once,
while fishing for kingfish on the outer reef, trolling up
and down a run of three or four miles, he and I
were caught in as ugly a gale as I have ever encoun-
tered. The storms or squalls came up here with
remarkable rapidity, and in twenty minutes a clear
sky had become inky black and ominous and we
barely had time to let fly the sheet and jerk out the
sprit when it was upon us. For a moment I thought
2 I 9
Big Game at Sea
*=s*
we would be blown out of the water, there seemed
to be but one chance for us, and that to cross the reef,
as it was impossible to beat around to the harbor
entrance. So Bob pointed to the roaring wall of
foam beyond which was our island and motioned me
to take the flying sheet. I kicked off my shoes, fol-
lowing his example, then without a word he kept the
boat away and headed her for what appeared to me
to be a sure and positive catastrophe; but in the wall
of dead coral over which the sea was thundering
there was a channel called the “five-foot ” from its
supposed width, and if a boat on the outside got the
lighthouse on a line with the second chimney in the
quarters and could hold her there, he might make
it in good weather, but it was almost impossible in a
gale. -
Bob had seen that it was our only chance and he
took it without any hesitation. I took a turn about
the cleat with the sheet, clung to the slack, and lay
flat in the bottom of the boat bracing myself, and
when he wore around and the gale caught the leg of
mutton sail, the gaff having been carried away, it
filled it with a report like a cannon, the craft careened
violently, taking in a quantity of water, then like a
bird shot along over the waves. In a few seconds
we were in the back wash, then a huge roller caught
us, and breaking as it went, half filling us, it sent
the boat along like a shot into a mass of foam and
spume that welled up over the boat and filled her from
!!
22 O
(1) A Good Catch of Yellowtail (G. Michalis, Boatman). (2) A
Well Earned Prize (J. Gardiner, Gaffer). (3) A Leaping Tuna,
Played Seven Hours by Mr. Wood and then Another Seven Hours
by Harry Ellis, Boatman.


The Man Behind the Angler
rail to rail; yet upright, trembling like a living thing,
she went speeding on the crest of the wave, until
her very weight stopped her amid the wreckage of the
big sea which swept over us, rolling us over into the
sandy lagoon in three feet of water. -
It has been my luck, good or bad, to land in hea
surf on various occasions where the outlook was omi-
nous, but in all my experience I never met a man
who had the peculiar quality of courage possessed by
this silent boatman, the clever fisherman who gaffed
many a big fish for me on the outer reef. Later I
watched him with Long John go out through this
channel in a half hurricane to a ship which was
almost on the reef, which by their skill was brought
in. I considered it a clear case of suicide, yet they
boarded her by taking a rope from the spanker boom
and were hauled aboard, losing their boat; yet the
instance was not considered worthy of talking about.
Men in any other region would have had medals from
several humane societies.
Bob Rand, while as brave a man as ever lived,
was a whimsical character in many ways, and ulti-
mately went down before strong drink; the man that
had taken a thousand chances to help his mates in
gales on this lonely reef, was, in the succinct language
of Bunsby, killed by “John Barleycorn,” his wife,
unfortunately being addicted to the same habit.
When she died I went down with some sympathetic
ladies to see what could be done, but Bob utterly
22 I
Big Game at Sea
destroyed the solemnity of the occasion when the
visitors asked if there was anything in the barren
shanty with which to garb the deceased, by producing
from beneath the bed, a huge hoop skirt of the
fashion of the sixties. He held it out with both
hands and burst into tears, the first display of emo-
tion I ever saw him make.
When I fell in with Robert Bunsby, another of this
remarkable quartette, he was an old man with a
decided list to port, due, he said, to rheumatism.
When I last saw Bunsby he stood on the beach after
a terrible hurricane, with wreckage piled high about
him. Our sixty-ton schooner had gone to pieces the
night before, and her timber strewed the sand, while
our small racing and fishing boat was ground into
such small pieces that in hours of search the old
man could find but her name in copper letters which
he held, while down his red and deep-lined cheeks
genuine tears found their way. Wrecker, fisher-
man, boatman, genial good-natured Bunsby, as faith-
ful companion as man ever had -
Many a night when he and I sat on the beach of
some key watching for the big turtles to come in did
he unfold some wonderful and impossible romance of
his life, which he firmly believed. Though old and
stiff, he insisted on being my compariſon on the various
exciting sailing races we held, and here his one weak-
ness came to the surface—he had all a sailor's horror
of sharks, and was in constant fear of capsizing; in
%
2. 2 2.
The Man Behind the Angler
truth he was afraid of what he termed my reckless
sailing, yet as we generally won in the end by means of
this alleged recklessness, he was usually pacified.
Once he gallantly rose above it. We were in a closely
contested race and I was sailing my boat in half a gale
without a reef. By mere good luck we had rounded
the outer buoy ahead and I wore her around, and
with great difficulty got her wing and wing. Bunsby
lay flat on his back, tending the sheet of the big fore
sail. I had the helm and the main sheet, and Paublo,
a negro, bailed with a bucket as the boat was a third
full all the time. She squared away and flew along
and as we passed the boats we had distanced, Bunsby
could not resist and raised up and waved his hat and
held out the end of the sheet. At that moment a big
sea broke astern and rolled in upon us filling the boat,
but, curiously enough, did not capsize her, so that
she stood on the surface, but almost stationary.
Bunsby's face emerged from the water, and struggling
to a sitting position like a half-drowned rat, he turned
to me and shouted, “Hold her to it, sir! hold her to
it. We'll beat the d– fleet if we are full.” We
slacked away the sheets and Paublo and I got over-
board to lighten her, while Bunsby, not being easy on
the shark question, bailed her out; and even then we
did not come in last. It should be mentioned that
the buoyancy of this boat was due to a row of air-
tight cans on each side, and a forward deck holding
a bigger can, found useful on many occasions, as when
223
Big Game at Sea
the boat filled it was only necessary to keep still and
bail her out.
Bunsby of all the boatmen here was the only one
afraid of sharks. I have seen men swimming under
the keel of a vessel to examine the copper when ten-
foot sharks were not many feet away, and could be
caught at any time, while others often plunged from
the dock as big sharks were passing in full view, to
prove their timidity. Chief claimed that with a knife
he would tackle any shark, and doubtless he could,
and with success, for a more clever man in the water,
or about it, would be difficult to imagine.
As this paper refers particularly to the pluck and
bravery of boatmen, as a class, I must include an
incident relating to a boatman named Rogers, who
frequently went with me on fishing trips, and was our
chef. -
In one of the devastating West Indian hurricanes
which swept over this region, a tall building next to
our own quarters was blown over, leaving a danger-
ous wall standing. It was necessary to attach a rope
to the top to haul it over, but it was so evidently dan-
gerous that the overseer would not order any of the
men to attempt it. While he was discussing it
Rogers volunteered; his sailor life stood him well in
hand, and as he climbed up the trembling pile the
crowd hardly dared to breathe lest they should
demoralize him. Up he went, sixty or one hundred
feet, and with consummate skill hauled up a cable
!
224
The Man Behind the Angler
and fastened it, then made his way down, to be
received with the loudest cheer that ever broke the
echoes of the key. The act was one of such signal
bravery that the government recognized it in a lib-
eral way to Charles Rogers, boatman.
The idea of fear never entered his sturdy breast.
One day when we were shark fishing a large shark
jerked him overboard in the lagoon in water shoulder
deep. The average man would have dropped the
line, but not Rogers. He held on and went down
out of sight, coming up a few feet distant, and was
towed away so rapidly on the surface that I could
only catch him by sculling and intercepting the fish
in one of its zig-zag rushes. It may be said that
there was no particular danger in this, but there was
a school of sharks, ten or twelve feet in length, and
they were darting here and there, all about him, and
while the danger was not apparent to us, the situation
would have deterred many a man.
It is a long reach either on the wind or before it
from Loggerhead Key to Boon Island light, off the
Maine coast, but a boatman I often had in these
waters when hunting for the tuna or horse mackerel,
or other game well offshore, was a type of the sturdy
fishermen who have given a distinctive character to
New England along shore. This boatman, whose
only claim was that he was a cod fisherman, went out
every day from six to ten miles offshore, fishing; on
land he was a school trustee, a selectman and a citi-
225
Big Game at Sea
zen of much intelligence. I heard the most remark-
able story about him from an old friend, himself a
character along the coast, Captain Sam Littlefield,
who made many voyages to the river Platte. “One
year,” said Captain Sam, whose inimitable Yankee
dialect it would be impossible to reproduce, “I was
running a schooner from Boston up the coast, and
one day, when about five miles off the Isles of Shoals,
I heard a hail, ‘Schooner ahoy!” I was regularly
struck dumb, as there wasn't a sail nearer than five
miles. I called the boy and asked him if he heard
anything, when it came again, ‘Ship ahoy!” and this
time my name, ‘Sam,' jest as plain as could be. I
stood there in a regular sog for a minute, and I
reckon that boy was nigh scared to death. I looked
all around, and there, about one hundred feet to wind-
ward, I see a head as it rose on a sea. I luffed a
mite, an' in a minute I see it was Daniel P gº
‘Ahoy, shipmate!' he sung out, as cheery as if I’d
met him a-walkin' down the street. ‘Ahoy!' says I,
givin' her a push up into the wind; ‘won't ye come
aboard,” says I, ‘or,’ says I, are you goin' the other
way?’ ‘Wal,’ says Daniel, now alongside, ‘I was
a-goin right ashore, but seein’ as you've come along
I'll join you,' and with that he caught the line I
tossed him and in a moment he climmed aboard as
fresh as a daisy.
“This,” said Captain Sam, “was ten miles off-
shore, and he'd swum about five miles and would
226
The Man Behind the Angler
have fetched it sure some time if it was ten miles.
The way it happened was this. He and a boy and
a cat was the crew of a coal schooner, and a sud-
den squall struck him afore he could cast off the
gaff topsail sheets, and over she went and down she
went, takin' the boy and the cat so sudden they
couldn't get out and afore Daniel knew where he was,
he was in the water, and with his ile skins on ; but he
got the whole rig off in the water, cast ’em off, and
started to swim in shore, a matter of ten miles. He
was nearer the Isles of Shoals or Boon Island, but he
knew he couldn't make anything so small on account
of the tide, so he just headed for sundown and swum
on, and as luck would have it, ran afoul me, and I'll
tell you what, don't ever tell this yarn, as they'll put
you down as a tarnation liar, to put it mild; but its
a fact.” -
This was the true story of as brave and modest a
man as ever pulled an oar or gaffed a fish, and I
finally one day when we were fishing offshore, induced
him to relate it. He did not consider it out of the
ordinary, as he could swim all day and all night, and
he thought he could have made shore, but he saw
Captain Sam's schooner and luckily headed her off.
On my last day's fishing with Daniel I sat amidships
holding a trolling line as we ran in, watching him
holding the tiller in hand, steering by intuition, as he
was fast asleep. The great Gulf of Maine where it
begins to turn to the east is his grave; the endless
* _____s_------~~~~~~~~~~~~~~T"
227
Big Game at Sea
murmur of the sea his requiem. He went out one
day, so his wife wrote me, bore offshore as the sun
rose, sailed on into the unknown sea where the winds
are ever fair, and I fancied as I went over our many
conversations on the outer bank that this true heart
would rest better deep in the blue waters he knew so
well than buried in the rocky pastures along shore.
“Captain Sam ” was often skipper or boatman
on my fishing trips in this region, as rich and genial
a character as the fertile land ever produced. He
told me that his first trip to sea was on an old hog-
back schooner that had a hump like a camel. He had
a load of something for the Bay of Fundy and sailed
up this long reach in blissful ignorance of the famous
tides. He was awakened at his anchorage by the
grunting of pigs which were rooting about the rud-
der post.
“When I went on deck,” said Captain Sam, “she
had an awful list on her, and I’ll swan there wasn't a
drop of water in sight. It was the most powerful
parch I ever heard on and I was in a sog for a while.”
Along the tarpon grounds of the mainland of
Florida are many excellent boatmen lying about the
central points for anglers, and at Aransas Pass, on
the Texas shore, are a dozen or more men, among the
most skillful of their class. These men have for
boats some skiffs that no tuna fisherman would dare
think of going out in, hence skill and intelligence is
an absolute necessity. It was my fortune to employ
228
The Man Behind the Angler
One Mateo Brugen, a clever oarsman and gaffer,
with a wholesome respect for the big sharks of the
Pass that did him credit. The angler appreciates
bravery and pluck in a boatman, but not recklessness,
and the boatman who takes many and useless chances
at the expense of his patron's comfort is the man to
avoid. I was struck with the intelligence and cau-
tion of Mateo, and found that he was a type of all
the watermen there, a faithful jolly lot of men, any
one of whom would add to the pleasure of a day's
fishing. Mateo was an Austrian, who had followed
the sea all his life and could splice the main brace on
a three-master in a gale, or for the toothache, it was
just as you took him; and when I say that he had
me fast to as lively a tarpon as ever bent a twenty-
ounce rod, ten minutes after I reached the ground,
and repeated the act almost every time I went out, it
may be surmised that he was a boatman after the
angler's heart.
The way he managed his light skiff was a pleasure
to see. In coming in one afternoon the sea sud-
denly picked up in the channel; he rowed in on the
lee side of the jetty, and when we reached the end,
we had to go out into the channel, but to reach the
latter it was necessary to cross a shoal over which I
saw that some high rollers were breaking. It was
a question of this, or the surf on the beach opposite
our island, and I wondered what he would do. He
did not hesitate but pulled onto the shoal, and I con-
229
*nºrmºn I-ITTTTTTTTTTT
-------------~~----------------- -
Big Game at Sea
fess that I took a turn about the seat with my line,
so that my valuable reel would stay by the boat, and
prepared to kick off my canvas shoes for a swim,
but the first sea that came menacing in he whirled the
skiff about and we went over it like a bird. I have
been spilled out of a dory by a smaller sea. Then,
instead of pulling off again, he pulled diagonally out
and after riding several big seas, made the channel
in a manner so skillful that I never again thought
of capsizing when with him.
The California boatmen and gaffers are well in
line, so far as ability is concerned, with their Eastern
representatives, and there is, especially in Northern
California, more of a foreign sprinkling. Along the
St. Lawrence many of the men are part French, or
have French ancestors of the old voyageur's type,
while in California we find among the fishermen many
Venetians, Italians, and Portuguese. But the actual
gaffers and boatmen to anglers are in Southern Cali-
fornia, are in the main Americans, and men of skill,
intelligence and pluck. Harry Elms was a boatman
to Mr. John Woods, of Los Angeles, when he played:
a tuna seven hours; then the angler gave out and
Elms took the rod and it was supposed that a fresh
man could bring the fish to gaff at once, but it is the
unexpected which happens. Elms worked, single-
handed and alone, for nearly seven hours to save his
patron's tuna. It was necessary for the angler to
go in and he was taken off, Elms refusing to give up
230
The Man Behind the Angler
^
the contest; so his gaff was placed near him, and he
was left seven or eight miles off Santa Catalina. Dur-
ing the seven hours he was towed a number of miles
out to sea, at times having the fish near the surface,
again losing it. It was so large that he could not
bring it in, and at the end of the fourteen hours'
battle he succeeded in raising it so that the huge tail
was plainly visible, the leader being wound about it.
It was manifestly impossible for him to gaff the fish,
so a man from another boat made the attempt.
When the great fish felt the gaff it made a desperate
plunge and escaped, after the greatest struggle ever
chronicled in the annals of tuna angling.
The moral is, that the boatman has the interests
of his patron completely at heart. In this instance
skill and dogged determination to win were the char-
acteristics, and the boatman here is not only a thor-
ough sailor, angler, and fisherman, but he is familiar
with all the conditions about the islands and is fre-
quently consulted by the government regarding the
banks about Santa Catalina. Another such a man
at Santa Catalina is Mexican Joe, the dean of this
interesting family of Avalon boatmen, the oldest citi-
zen of Santa Catalina, and one of the most interest-
ing and genial characters on this isle of summer; not
only a good boatman and gaffer, but the posses-
sor of a wealth of fishing lore. No one knows the
islands as well as Joe, and as guide over the green
hills and mountains in winter he is pre-eminent and
23 I
Big Game at Sea
undisputed. Long before the day of launches, when
he was the only boatman and guide of the island, I
fished with him, and he thought nothing of rowing
fifteen miles up the coast and back for a day's yellow-
tail fishing. To-day this is counted a day's trip for a
power launch. I know that Joe's nerve is true for I
have fished with him under all conditions, but he
pleased me best one day when he put me through
what I called a bad surf at San Clemente. I was per-
fectly willing to swim and really expected to, not
believing that a boat could live in the breakers with
the heavy and rather nervous load we had, but Joe
stopped and addressed his audience:
“Gentlemen, if you will just sit still and give me
a show, I'll land you and you won't get your feet
Wet.”
So we sat while Joe bided his time, as would a
thoroughly sensible, careful and reliable boatman
who knew all about surf riding, and when the series
of low waves came he went in and landed us, dry-
footed.
Among the characters of the islands there was one
well known to those fond of leaping-shark fishing—
Johnny Daly, a clever gaffer, with a good nature that
had no limitations and a brogue that would have
arrested the attention of Ned Kendall's ghost. Ac-
cording to legend, sometime in the past Johnny laid
in a barrel of Kentucky Blue Grass whiskey; the bar-
rel still remains and is mounted on a cart that resem-
232
The Man Behind the Angler
bles a gun carriage of the time of Paul Jones.
Harnessed to this was an old white horse, said to
have belonged sometime in the past to a noted bandit.
The first time I saw this team Johnny came down the
cañon road sitting on the barrel—an outfit so remark-
able and original that I can think of him in no other
connection. ---
Among the Avalon fishermen is Vincente Moriche,
a Venetian who employs a number of others, skilled
men, while Percy Neal, a clever gaffer, boatman and
guide, and many more are all men who know every
foot of these islands and every fishing-ground along
its shores. On the Fourth of July these men display
their brawn by having a tug-of-war with five boats
on a side, ranged along the shore, where several
thousand people cheer and encourage them.
Almost every locality where angling is the vogue,
from San Diego to Avalon, to Monterey where
salmon are caught on the Pacific coast, and from the
Restigouche to Texas on the Gulf, boatmen are found
who, by their knowledge of the best localities, make
sport what it is to the weary business man who steals
away to the sea or the woodland solitudes for a few
weeks in summer.
233
CHAPTER XV
THE DUEL
HEAVY ground swell was piling in from the
west, lifting the glazed turquoise sea in mys-
terious ridges and furrows, gigantic pulse
beats beginning in no-man's land somewhere to the
west and ending in sheets of foamy spume that leaped
up the steep slopes of the precipitous Santa Catalina
cliffs, which, painted in red, blue, mauve, yellow,
green and vermilion, cast strange and indescribable
reflections upon the restless waters.
A great mass of pinnacled rock bearing a vague
figure of a lion couchant, guarded this region to the
south, and around it beneath the water grew the
marine forest of Nereocystis that waved and bent in
strange serpentine convolutions with the erratic ebb-
ing and flowing of the tide.
Out beyond the outer kelp bed one might have seen
on the crest of a swell the long slender figure of a
NotE.—The habits of the swordfish are but little known. It is an oceanic roamer
and as yet but one breeding ground where the young are found is known, the Med-
iterranean. This is a chapter from the history of a swordfish, the incidents
being taken from actual happenings which the author has either observed, or has
obtained from acquaintances who did see them; hence so far as it goes the history
may be relied upon as authentic, though made up from the life histories of several
individuals.
234
The Duel
fish that stood out, a marine bas-relief, against the
azure background and then as suddenly disappeared
as the wave came on, leaving it in the valley beyond
to again appear as another ground swell came sweep-
ing in with its messages from the outer sea.
Big fishes are so common here that this might well
have been passed by, but it was different from the
ordinary passer; it was long and slim, yet robust, and
from its head extended a poniard-like object of dun
color. As the wave turned, or threw it up, the
lower surface of the fish was seen to be white, the
upper a delicate mauve or French gray. It was
directly on the surface, ten or twelve feet long, and
cutting the water like a knife was a slender dorsal
fin—an expressive organ to the looker on, and fol-
lowed by the upper lobe of the powerful crescent-like
tail. tº
The swordfish was an ocean wanderer. Men had
named him Xiphias years ago. He did not know it,
but he knew men and their boats, as he had more
than once tried conclusions with them. He was born
on the high seas, at first a strange little creature with
equal jaws or bills, enormous eyes, like an infant
Ichthyosaurus, bearing little or no resemblance to its
parent, and from stage to stage it had passed, like
some strange insect, only gradually assuming the
typical shape, form and figure of the adult swordsman
of the sea. -
At times, and in winter, it took to the open waters
235
Big Game at Sea
of the ocean, haunting the deep rocky ledges or sub-
marine plateaus, where vast shoals of mackerel and
Small fry lived, in constant terror, fleeing from it as
from a devouring monster. Its method of life was
one of rapine, murder and sudden death; the mere
catching of prey did not satisfy it, the sight of blood
seemed to fire its sodden brain with a lust for prey,
and sighting a school of mackerel it fired up like some
living engine, dashed ahead like a torpedo, and with
fierce strikes right and left mowed them down, and
amid the silvery shower again and again rushed into
the solid animated mass, killing for the mere insatiate
love of it, then circled gracefully around and picked
up the disembodied pieces. -
This occurred several times a day; now on the
surface where every movement was visible, again in
deeper water where the sunlight came dimly down in
great bands and was intercepted by myriads of deli-
cate jelly-like forms that floated in it. The great
swordfish had few enemies, except sharks that fol-
lowed in the wake of schools of barracuda, tuna and
other schooling fishes, and to them it paid no attention
and they doubtless gave it ample sea room, or a single
thrust from this living battering ram, and the end of
another shark came and the beginning of a canni-
balistic feast.
The swordfish had been working its way up the
coast and inshore, following a large school of silvery
smelt that were tid-bits to its choice, and as large as
236
The Duel
mackerel. As it swam slowly along it presented a
picture of strength and reserve force; clinging to it
were four or five black, flat-headed remoras, towed
along by their protector, while several swam about
hunting for food. Suddenly the swordfish perceived
a large flying-fish acting strangely, whirling slowly
around yet moving along. Few if any game fish can
resist the spectacle of wounded small fry, and the
swordfish was no exception. A quick movement of
the powerful tail and the game was seized; then the
big fish for the first time felt pain, something sharp,
venomous, irritating, struck it sharply in the mouth.
A strange bearing, controlling sensation followed.
The fish had possibly felt the strong resistance when
its sword was hilt deep in the thick blubber of a
whale, but this was a new terror-inspiring sensation,
and wild, maddened at the unknown check, it surged
upward like a living catapult and went shimmering,
trembling, high into the air.
Of all leapers the swordfish is the most clumsy,
the most ungraceful, rising up and forward at an
angle of forty-five degrees, then dropping flat or prone
upon the surface with a tumultuous splash and roar
of waters. In the few seconds in the air the swords-
man of the sea may have caught a glimpse of the big
mountains of Santa Catalina lying like a giant whale
on the surface, and just ahead, a launch and a man
holding a rod. It is very doubtful if the fish associ-
ated this object sixty or seventy feet distant with the
237
Big Game at Sea
cause of its pain, though possibly its big black eyes
took in all foreign objects in sight. Had the fish been
able to grasp the situation it would have seen an
angler standing, rod in hand, staring with amazement
at the leap, and a boatman, a long, iron-tipped gaff in
hand, gazing over his shoulder, equally astonished
and perhaps perturbed, as this was the first time in the
history of a great fishing ground, that is visited every
year by thousands of people, that a swordfish had
been hooked by an angler with rod and reel.
The swordfish was not disturbed by reflections of
any kind. Of an uncertain and vicious temper it was
annoyed, then maddened by being held by something
it could not see, and dropping into the water it dashed
away in blind fear and fury, still feeling the strange,
uncanny check which seemed to follow it as a sheet
of foam. Cutting the water one hundred, two hun-
dred feet, it shot ahead with the speed of light, then
still held, still in the toils, it again sprang into the air
with frenzied shake and twist, whirling itself from
side to side, striking terrific blows in search of the
invisible enemy. Falling, the swordfish plunged
downward, sounded, and reached two hundred feet
below the surface and the bottom, then turned, and
rose with a mighty rush, going high into the air again,
whirling itself completely over in its madness, so that
it fell upon its back, beating the sea into a maelstrom
of foam and spume, in its blind and savage fury.
Again it leaped into the air, and still again, and
- 238
The Duel
whether it saw the cause of its trouble and realized it,
or whether it was merely an accident cannot be said,
but the facts remain that it charged in the direction of
the launch, shot along the surface, dorsal fin out of
water, like a knife, tossing spray, an animated fury,
the embodiment of blind savage rage. What would
have been the result no one can say, but the quick eye
of the boatman saw the move, pushed his lever just
in time, and the living sword shot by the stern, not
two feet from it, and in a few seconds was taking line
from the big reel in the opposite direction.
Up to this moment the angler had not been able
to stop the fish and it had taken four hundred or more
feet of line, when it charged. Could he take in the
slack? The fish caught him unawares, and went
twisting up into the air again, flinging itself about
in a frenzy of rage or fear, then disappeared. That
the swordfish was about to ram the boat was, to the
excited angler, a moral certainty, and there was but
one result of such a charge. Such a fish had been
known to sink a sixty-ton schooner, and seriously
damage a full-rigged ship, and, sad to relate, the timid
angler lost his nerve when it was most required, and
when the opportunity presented itself for an interest-
ing experiment, he shouted to the boatman to go in-
shore, pointed his rod at the fish, and when the thread-
like line came taut, jerked it, and parted company
with what was, in all probability, a splendid game
fish, a half dozen or more finished catches since, justi-
239
Big Game at Sea
fying this assumption. Doubtless to land such game
one runs a possible risk of being charged or rammed
by the game, but I believe it to be very slight.
The big swordfish, still feeling the broken line
dragging over its perfectly smooth back, rushed
madly about, gradually quieting down and taking up
a swinging gait to the north. It had reached the
deeper waters where a deep channel or fiord cuts into
the island, when, without warning, a blue-backed,
torpedo-like body shot out of the depths, coming at
it like an arrow. The swordfish tipped down and a
sword grazed its head as a big thick-set member of
its own family, a trim but heavy fish with a sword but
half the length of its own, swept through the water
above it. The two fishes turned and came at each
other like mad bulls, tossing spray into the air with
their knife-like dorsals, in so deadly a fashion that a
spectator” stopped rowing, backed off to a presumably
safe distance, then stood up in his boat and watched
the demoniac struggle for the mastery by these two
well matched swordsmen of the sea. Again by some
miracle they missed, just grazing one another and so
shooting on into the blue of the ocean, to whirl about
and begin the circling play for time and opportunity.
They turned about each other possibly three or four
times, then like battering rams came together with a
strange whistling sound and an impact that tossed the
* This duel was observed by Harry Elms, of Avalon, and the author examined
the skull of one of the fishes later.
24O
The Duel
white churned spume high in air, came together as
only bodies weighing two hundred or three hundred
pounds can, when impelled by animate vibrant engines
of unknown power; came together and remained
there, whirling, tossing, tail in air, rolling over and
over, twisting, writhing, bending like blades of steel,
waving, fanning the spray-filled air until the myriad-
hued ocean whose every move caught the splendid
tints of the cliffs, looked like the center of some
strange volcanic disturbance, in which flashed the fins
and dim forms of Turner's masterpiece—the slave
ship. The sole and silent looker-on perceived that the
long slender fish had pierced the other; the sword had
entered the cheek near the eye, coming out near the
gills, and the terrific efforts on the part of the fish, its
bounds and twisting to unsheath the sword, was
accomplished only after a struggle of several minutes.
The larger swordfish, wounded to the quick, was in
no sense discouraged, and as it wrenched itself away,
it dragged the other over and, turning like a flash,
struck it from the side a lateral blow. Both fishes
now shot away and began the circling, playing for
time and opportunity, then again came together,
partly leaping out of the water, separating, giving
mighty side blows, and then out of the red-stained
water one broke and fled, the other following to
repeat the struggle, charging some distance off, then
disappeared. I discovered the largest of these fishes
a few days later on the sand, where it had been
24. I
Big Game at Sea
washed or thrown by the waves. Four or five deep
wounds penetrated the body. In one rush the sword
had entered the eye, coming out at the gills; another
cut a furrow along the top of the head; another still
had entered from below; but the real cause of defeat,
the reason why the splendidly-equipped despoiler had
shown the white flag, was evident—its sword was
splintered and broken against its enemy. Helpless,
it had been struck, carte and tierce, rammed repeat-
edly, and left for dead by the other, which, doubt-
less, was desperately wounded and with difficulty
escaped from the large sharks which lurked in the
vicinity. The dead swordfish was about nine feet in
length when its sword was complete, its barrel-shaped
body powerful, hard, and muscular, its mackerel-like
tail suggestive of a dominant force—a swordsman
well calculated to demoralize an enemy of any kind.
Fishes soon recover from their wounds, even of
the most desperate character, and doubtless the win-
ner in this duel, surly, ugly, constantly on the alert,
swam slowly on keeping inshore for a few days, until,
its wounds represented by scars, it again turned into
the open sea.
For days it met no prey. It swam along the sur-
face, sometimes chased by sharks, then leaping clum-
sily into the air, and one day perceiving a dense black
mass ahead and possibly remembering its late encoun-
ter, it dashed forward, taking the initiative, and
plunged its long keen rapier into the soft yielding
242
The Duel
blubber of a whale, which sprang into the air, drag-
ging its tormentor, which swung loose, to circle and
ram the leviathan again and again, until weary of so
fruitless a prey it turned, dodged the mighty blows of
the whale's tail and swam away.
The swordfish now traveled over water a mile deep,
filled with mystic shapes, crystals of the sea, shaped in
radiant models, richly tinted in lavender, pink, brown,
blue and amber. Some were in chains, as Salpa, ten,
twenty, thirty or more feet in length—undulating ser-
pents on the surface of the sea. At night the sword-
fish traveled through a region of vivid lights—red,
blue, yellow, green, silver and gold—which gleamed,
scintillated and blazed on every hand. Its long rapier
was a blaze of light and the entire outline of the
swordfish was framed in lines of vivid fire—the votive
offerings of the lamps of the sea, while during the day
countless forms of minute animals filled the waters
with marvelous gleams, as though myriads of gems of
all kinds had been scattered over the sea, by some
Midas hand; gems whose light was iridescent, not
phosphorescent. So, slowly traveling, hunting for
schools of sardines or mackerel, the swordsman fell in
with several of its kind and together they cruised off
shore. One day as it swam along another whale ap-
peared, but lighter, like a sulphur bottom. The sword-
fish saw it indistinctly, and standing not on the order
of going, scorning the huge leviathan, shot ahead like
a bullet from a gun, struck the dim object a blow that
243
Big Game at Sea
shook it in every fiber and muscle. But the whale did
not leap or shrink; it moved stolidly on, and the
swordsman found himself being towed, hard and fast,
unable to move, held by the unknown. No soft
blubber this; no jellyfish to cut down with a single
sweep, but some terrible mechanical force that swept
on and on, eternally on. The swordfish was partly
stunned by the shock, but quickly recovered and
whirled its body about back and forth, up and down
in frantic endeavor to escape; then something gave
way, a wrenching, tearing, deadly shock, and it swam
away, out of balance, impotent, the most timid and
helpless thing in all that great sea, a swordfish with-
out a sword; its weapon had broken short off.”
A few months later the ship Fortune made port,
and on the log was seen by the curious that on the
14th of June, while under full sail and off bottom, the
ship suddenly received a shock from an unknown
cause. When the ship was docked and unloaded, a
long and powerful sword was found penetrating her
side. It had passed through the copper, through six
inches of oak, through a foot of soft wood and sev-
eral partitions, the tip entering a barrel of oil, not a
drop of which escaped. The case attracted wide-
spread attention, and the Sword was cut out and
placed with the section of timber in a museum, where
it stands an effective monument for this swashbuckler
of the sea, that soon paid the penalty of its disposition
* From the Smithsonian records made by Prof. G. Brown Goode.
244
The Duel
.-|!
and either starved to death or became the prey of
predatory sharks.
It is an interesting question to decide whether a
hooked swordfish is really trying to ram a boat when
it makes its sensational and menacing rushes on the
line. Anglers who have cut away from such fish in
Santa Catalina waters are confident that they are; and
the number of small boats which have been struck by
the ordinary Eastern swordfish suggests that they are
a dangerous game, while the following incident,
reported by the Havana Post, points to the conclusion
that the tall-finned Cuban species at least, is game to
be handled with care. The Post states that at the
time of writing one Eugenio Martinez, of Casa
Blanca, a fisherman, “lies in the hospital at the town
of Cajimae for treatment from a wound received
from a swordfish. He was about three miles off the
Morro when he had a strike and hooked the sword-
fish, which towed the boat repeatedly for some time,
then suddenly stopped, turned, rushed at the boat and
jumped through the air, striking Martinez in the leg
and piercing it. The rush of the fish threw Martínez
overboard, but he never lost control of himself and
managed to again get on board.”
The most valuable swordfish fishing in the world
is that found in the vicinity of Block Island, Massa-
chusetts, where the huge Xiphias is followed by
swordfishermen rigged for the purpose with a “pul-
pit" on the bow. The fishermen pack the fish in salt
245
Big Game at Sea
until they obtain a load, then bear away for Boston,
where I have seen a dozen vessels unloading at the
same time, the men hoisting out the big bodies, the
heads and swords having been left behind. It is a
singular fact that these New England fishes cannot be
taken with hook and line, while the sailfish of Florida
and Cuba, and the powerful short marlin-spike sword-
fish of Southern California takes the bait readily and
are included among the game fishes of the several
regions, making a desperate fight on the rod, and
having a decided economic value. Usually sword-
fishes on the California coast appear singly, but sev-
eral years ago an enormous school was seen in the
San Clemente Channel moving slowly north—an
imposing and menacing spectacle.
246
CHAPTER XVI
ADVENTURES WITH THE BIGGEST BASS
W M Y HEN the angling habitué of the Pacific
coast of Southern California speaks of fish-
ing grounds he has in mind conditions
entirely different from those in the East. Here the
smart catboat is bounding along over the water in a
fresh wind, trolling perhaps for bluefish, or the
angler is anchored, as I have often been, ten
miles off the Maine coast, in a dory, holding on hard
in the heavy sea which is often present; but on the
Southern California coast, the angler goes to the
string of islands offshore and in deep water, in calms
like that which rests on the surface of the Rangeley
Lakes or the Adirondacks, fishes for the big game
that is on the surface and ready for the lure. Good
winds, stiff seas, can be had if desired; but the big
island of Santa Catalina is sixty miles around, and
on its northeast side affords miles of lee where the
water is almost always smooth.
This is to some extent essential for the kind of
sport found on the Pacific Slope, where the fish are
big and hard fighters. Some comparison may be
247
Big Game at Sea
made. In the East, a ten-pound weakfish is a large
fish. It is found on the Pacific Slope up to eighty
pounds, though a different species, and averages fifty
pounds at Catalina and Monterey Bay, affording
famous sport. The bluefish is represented by a
cousin, the yellowtail, which runs up to sixty pounds,
averaging twenty-five pounds. The blackfish of the
East, a common catch as tautog, runs occasionally
to ten pounds or more, and the fish of the nearest
habit on the Pacific Coast is the great black sea bass,
though not a near ally.
My first glimpse of this great fish was at Santa
Catalina. I was fishing for small game and was
hauling in a whitefish when I observed a monster
fish following my catch. I hauled the faster and
drew my whitefish literally out of the frying pan
into the fire, as the big fish, over six feet long and
doubtless weighing three hundred pounds, shot to the
surface, making the water boil not two feet from my
face, darting away with the speed of a sardine as it
Sa VW IIlê. -
It was a vision to make the blood run, and I soon
interviewed the only boatman on the island, as this
was twenty years ago, before Santa Catalina had
really been discovered as an angling paradise, and
Joe told me that it was a jewfish. I had caught a
three-hundred-pound jewfish in the Gulf of Mexico;
a miserable sulker, an overgrown creature, and knew
that a real jewfish, that is, of the Florida type, could
248 -
--------|-
ith
aught at Santa Catalina Islands w
Rod and Reel
C
Mammoth Sea Bass

Adventures with the Biggest Bass
not by any stretch of the imagination be supposed
to rush up to the surface in deep water like a bass,
and I soon found that the jewfish of California was
an entirely different fish. The Florida fish looks like
a giant overgrown grouper, a fellow who will lie in
a mud hole and engulf everything that comes along.
On the other hand, the California giant is a fish,
called Stereolepis gigas, of the bass type, never living
in holes or on the bottom, but lurking in the halls
and nooks of the great forest of Nereocystis which
surrounds the California islands, floating gardens of
the sea, whose beauties compare with those of the
land.
“Mexican Joe,” who was in those days the arbiter
piscatorium, the oldest inhabitant, and the best-posted
man on the island, smiled when I suggested that the
big fish could be taken with a rod. But Joe no longer
smiles, as he has seen hundreds of them taken in this
sportsmanlike way, and his jewfish is now the black
sea bass of fame and sport. Joe had taken many of
them with a hand-line, and one day with a party
of friends he rowed us to Pebble Beach, where we
anchored over a mysterious rock, supposed to be
haunted by bass, and not one hundred feet from the
shining sands five of us served to amuse a big sea
bass. Joe baited the big cod-line with a live white-
fish, and, as the originator of the expedition, I was
awarded the honor of the first trial.
It was a charming place in which to test one's
2-3.
249
Big Game at Sea
patience. Lofty rocks, mountains climbing up into
the clouds, deep cañons winding away filled with
sweet-scented verdure; picturesque rocks rising like
castles, and in the water, deep waving forests of kelp,
the hanging gardens of the sea. All about the water
was so clear, so perfectly smooth, that it seemed to
be a disk of steel reaching away to the edge of the
world, and sea and sky blending so perfectly that,
were it not for the caps of high mountains eleven
thousand or twelve thousand feet in the air in the
distant Sierra Madre, one could not have told where
earth began and sky ended. We sat perhaps twenty
minutes, waiting, then I felt something nibbling on
the line, the very antipodes of what might have been
expected from the huge fish. In fact, having fished
the Mexican Gulf for tarpon where a thousand ani-
mals prey upon bait, I might have fancied the inevi-
table crab was nibbling on the lure. But Joe shook
his head, touched the line, and whispered hoarsely
and dramatically, “jewfish, sure,” and at that exact
moment the line began to stiffen and to run slowly out.
“Let him have ten feet,” said our boatman.
Have you ever tried to count one, two, three as a
big shark was slowly running off with your line?
Your heart is bounding away ahead of your counting;
in a word, it is a nerve-wracking period, as there is a
subtle something which comes up the line, which
thrills you, and sets the nerves tingling, and then the
ten feet have been eaten up by this mysterious thing
25O
Adventures with the Biggest Bass
beneath the sea. You check it; the line comes taut,
and for a single second you feel that strange insistent
throbbing and think you hear it, as the line is a single
chord played by the currents of the sea. Then you
brace back and, as the line tautens, jerk heavily on
the line and then, literally, the deluge.
At this period I had taken every known large fish
in our Southern waters, not once, but repeatedly,
from the tarpon to the king of rays, but in all these
bouts I had never received so quick a retort, as the
next thing I knew my arms were elbow deep in the
water and the line was hissing through the water.
It is the fashion to disparage the hand-line and argue
that it requires no skill and is a barbarous method of
taking a really game fish, for the latter, as a rule, has
no chance whatever; yet contrast the action of a
green hand and a skilled handliner; the former
misses, his line becomes involved, while the latter
hauls in with the rapidity of light, his fingers grip
the line every time by intuition, and when the rush
comes, he allows it to run out, using his thumb and
forefinger as a brake, and putting on just the re-
quired tension.
There was not much time to make a demonstration
of skill here, as the hauling was all one way. I could
compare it to nothing but a twelve-foot shark, too
big to be fooled with, yet I did manage to stop it
legitimately and hauled it up a foot or two, then I
had my arms dragged beneath the surface again.
25 I
Big Game at Sea
There were five anglers on the waiting list eager for
the fray, so to be fair I handed the line to the Doctor,
who promptly was jerked down, his arms beneath the
water. About two minutes satisfied him, and he
passed the line along to the banker, who performed
duty heroically; then the Judge took his turn. All
the while Joe lay back and enjoyed the agonies of
the anglers unused in the main to such a “beastie.”
I do not recall who had the honor of landing this
bass, but I am confident that it gave sport and anguish
to at least five men. I had always supposed that this
fish weighed three hundred and forty-seven pounds
and had so entered it in my angling diary, about like
this:
“June 30, caught one jewfish; weight, three hun-
dred forty-seven pounds; length, six feet seven
inches '' (with no mention of the rest of the angling
syndicate). I found later, not only did the rest do the
same, but some claimed to have caught the fish single-
handed. Years after it happened I recalled the catch
to a member of the party and the weight, three hun-
dred forty-seven pounds.
“You are wrong about the weight of that fish,”
he said; “it was five hundred pounds.” Which
shows that my memory is treacherous; it was five
hundred pounds, and its length must have been eight
or more feet. To this day I hardly see how I could
have landed, single-handed, so gigantic a fish. Mex-
ican Joe still lives, and the catch was made over
252
Adventures with the Biggest Bass
twenty years ago, but I doubt if he would remember
this adventure in any other way than that. The bass
was caught by himself.
In the intervening years I took a number of jew-
fish and several honestly and fairly, single handed;
and this has been accomplished by scores of anglers.
Perhaps the most interesting catch was made by Sen-
ator Charles Bell of Pasadena. He always fished in
a light canoe-like boat and would capture his gigantic
game, bring it to gaff, and tow it in in triumph single
handed. As time went on the Tuna Club was organ-
ized for the establishment of a higher standard of
sport and the protection of the game fishes of the
coast, and prizes were offered for the man who would
take the big bass with a rod, and to-day three or four
are often taken in this way in a day in summer from
June to September.
Among the many catches I have made, one will
perhaps illustrate the strength and endurance of the
fish, as I happened to know the weight of the boat,
a small impossible skiff weighing one hundred and
twenty-five pounds. An acquaintance who had never
caught a black sea bass, and who was trying to reduce
his weight by rowing, insisted upon acting as boat-
man and pulled to the grounds, about six or seven
miles. Ten o'clock found us anchored in the kelp
one hundred feet offshore. This, too, being before
the fish had been taken with a rod, though I had often
tried it, but never succeeded, the fish breaking my too
2.53
Big Game at Sea
delicate tips. We happened to strike a lucky day, and
while watching for the big game to bite, fished for
sheepshead.
We had landed ten or twelve, and two large sharks,
all of which my companion insisted upon keeping
with the enthusiasm of the new angler, hence the boat
was well filled when the strike came. My companion
weighed over two hundred pounds, and as I hooked
the big fish he lay, or sat down in the bow to prevent
the fish from hauling the flat stern of the skiff entirely
under.
I held on hard during several rushes of the bass
to give my companion a good idea of the power of
the fish, which nearly dragged the skiff under; in
fact, my slacking alone saved us, and several times I
held on until he cried “Enough !” I had made the
boat fast to the floating kelp and at the strike tossed
the big vine overboard; away we went in the wake of
the fish, which weighed anywhere from two hundred
to four hundred pounds. It took us possibly a quar-
ter of a mile offshore before I could stop it. I repeat-
edly hauled it in after the fashion of shark fishing,
pulling rapidly and then letting go, then repeating
it—a process which, if enough line is at hand, is very
fatal to large fish, especially when kept up. -
Time and again this bass took me down elbow
deep into the blue water, and realizing that my com-
panion was having enough, I rallied and brought the
big fish to the rail and held it while it tossed the
254 .

Adventures with the Biggest Bass
spume over me, and gaffed it. One lift of its pon-
derous head, and it jerked the gaff from my hand,
repeating this several times. Finally I hauled it up,
held it, and announced that as my companion had
now seen the capture of a big sea bass I could cut it
away; but he rallied and insisted upon taking it in, to
show what “we” had caught. In a weak moment I
agreed to hold it while he rowed and towed it in.
The wind picked up and nearly swamped us as we
went around a point, but two hours later we had the
monster in smooth water, where we hailed some fish-
ermen and got the bass aboard. It comfortably filled
the boat; in fact I had to sit on it, and the skiff's
gunwale was just at the edge of the water; a slight
wave would have filled her, so we hired the fishermen
to convoy us, one on each side, and in two hours or
more entered port with our fish, which weighed be-
tween three hundred and four hundred pounds.
This bass attains a weight of eight hundred or a
thousand pounds. I know of an eight-hundred
pounder taken in the Gulf of California. A remark-
able contest was that of Mr. T. S. Manning with a
huge fish weighing three hundred and ninety pounds.
It towed him several miles off shore and into rough
water, when the boat was prevented from filling by
oil which his boatman poured around the boat. This
was a rod catch, and a notable one. Since then many
bass have been taken with the rod and the 2 I-strand
line. .
25.5
Big Game at Sea
Many of the Tuna Club members believe the great
bass is a superior fish to the tuna. I do not agree in
this, but I have not taken over ten or twelve bass of
large size and have never been successful with a rod.
That the fish is a mighty creature, that it requires a
strong man to kill it, goes without saying, but it is, in
my estimation, too ponderous to make a game fish
of the first class, though I have had some splendid
bouts, hand-to-hand, with it, and my failures with
the rod have with one exception been due to the too
light tips.
In this one exception I hooked the fish with a heavy
rod, and frankly confess that I could not stop it. It
was necessary to turn the colossus before it reached
an outer kelp bed, but I could not turn it, neither
could I pump up that mighty irresistible embodiment
of force that moved on and on. I pumped, lifted
and reeled until I had warning that I had met more
than my match, and I surrendered. If I could have
taken my time and had open water I think I could
have landed the fish, but I failed to make a rapid
finish, and as my companion was good naturedly
jeering me and asking me why I didn't “go in and
win,” I handed him the rod, expressing the opinion
that he could not do it.
This was one of those lucky “bluffs '' which some-
times, though rarely, work. I really believed that my
lusty companion with fresh wind could land my fish
in a few seconds, and he took the rod with an air of
256
Adventures with the Biggest Bass
confidence that was at least interesting, and I, winded,
lay back and became a looker on in Venice. But for
Some reason my companion did not start the fish, and
though I politely offered my help and adjured him
to “go in and win,” as I had really worn the fish out,
he could not do it, and a few moments later the bass
made a rush and broke the line. Rarely do anglers
agree on the size of a fish they have not seen, but I
think we both “guessed ” that sea bass at a ton.
Some of the astonishing records with these fishes
have been made by women, and with a rod. The
late Mr. F. S. Schenck of Brooklyn probably took
more than any one, having a passion for the lusty
sport. I recall his collection of photographs which
filled an album—a remarkable record of contests with
the giant of the bass tribe.
The visitor at the town of Avalon will see in the
collection of the Tuna Club the cups and medals
given to the heroes of the rod in their struggles with
the big bass. Here is the black sea bass gold medal;
the black sea bass cup, with the names of the winners,
all men who fished with a rod, and line not much
larger than an eyeglass cord.
At the dinners of the Tuna Club one may see a
small black sea bass baked whole, a one hundred
pounder brought in by waiters as they would a boar's
head, and the young fish is excellent. Almost
every year the record is beaten, and this season it
stands in the name of Mr. Murphy, four hundred
257
Big Game at Sea
and thirty pounds. This angler carried off the tarpon
record in the same year at Aransas Pass, Texas.
The coming in of a big black sea bass is always an
event. As soon as a fish is hooked the boatman
throws a big flag to the breeze, so that other boats
may know that the fight is on, and when the fish is
brought in the crowd gathers to see it hauled up the
beach or hung on the rack to be weighed by the Tuna
Club committee; and then comes the moment of
triumph of the victorious angler. He stands up by
the giant with his boatman and gaffer and has his
catch taken—a most necessary piece of publicity; his
rare experience will never be believed out of Cali-
fornia, unless he can “prove it.” Even this is
questioned by some doubters, as a singular character
in Los Angeles conceived the idea of playing upon
the credulity of the public and bought a big sea
bass, which he mounted, bought a few cheap rods and
advertised to give any one a picture with a sea bass
for a dollar, and doubtless a number of these bogus
catch pictures have been sent away by fun-loving
people who have never fished in their lives. This
same photographer has a bogus orange tree (this in
an orange country) beneath which he places his vic-
tims and photographs them picking an orange, sug-
gesting that it is not alone the Chinaman who is
famed for “ways that are dark and tricks that are
vain.”
There are some singular things about the great
258
‘qūIO eun,L QUIL. Jo sēļqdol, L

Adventures with the Biggest Bass
bass. The majority of those taken are females with
egg masses weighing many pounds, but in twenty
years' fishing I have never seen a young fish, though
I understand several as Small as eight pounds have
been caught; but even in nets no very small fishes
have been taken, and in all probability they are
hatched inshore in August or September, and soon
go out into deep water. The rocky shores and kelp
forests of these islands of Southern California are
their home, and where deep water cuts in near the
mainland, as at Redondo, they are found in summer;
but in winter they doubtless school and retire to the
offshore plateaus, as Cortez and Tanner's banks, or
enter deep water—that mysterious realm where sar-
dines and small fry take up their home in the alleged
cold months of winter.
Many confuse the black sea bass of Southern Cali-
fornia with the Florida jewfish, an entirely different
fish, a fish I have taken in Florida, and which is com-
mon all along the Gulf, large specimens being taken
at Aransas Pass.
Our camp was on a key where, it was alleged, a
lighthouse keeper had taken twenty thousand dollars
in gold from an old wreck, and the pieces of this same
vessel served us as firewood, according to Scope, and
Scope was authority for everything on East Key in
those days. The key was perhaps twenty acres in
extent, covered with bay cedar and prickly pear, and
over it hovered a cloud of gulls that could be seen
259
Big Game at Sea
two or three miles distant. The birds were laying,
and their speckled eggs so covered the ground in the
interior that it was difficult to walk in places without
crushing them. The eggs were delicious, from the
camping standard, and with green turtle steak and
broiled kingfish and barracuda constituted our daily
fare.
I had seen a jewfish (Promicrops guttatus) in Key
West, a monster weighing three or four hundred
pounds, a giant in brown, a big grouper; and now,
being upon the jewfish domain, proposed to try con-
clusions with one. Scope protested that the old
wreck, the larger portion of which was in the coral
in thirty feet of water, was the lair of a particularly
large jewfish. He had frequently hooked it and once
had brought it to the surface; so, early one morning,
we pushed off and anchored the dinghy over the old
wreck. I confess that it is not to describe the jewfish,
as it is a libel on the game fishes, that I have admitted
it among this honorable company, but to illustrate the
remarkable variety of fishes taken from this ancient
vessel laden with doubloons. Jewfish tackle was an
Eastern halibut line, a small shark hook baited with
a five-pound yellowtail; and as it sometimes was a
waiting proposition I threw over a handline rigged, as
all lines were here, with a sinker on the bottom and
the hooks six or eight inches above, thus enabling
them to swing clear of coral. As soon as the single
line reached the bottom I hooked a grunt, a three-
~ 26o
Adventures with the Biggest Bass
pound fish beautifully marked with red, yellow, green
and gold; as I unhooked it, it grunted and croaked so
loud a protest that I tossed it back.
“'Scuse me, mawster,” said Scope, “but dat set-
tles it.”
“Settles what?” I queried.
“De fishin’,” replied Scope, rolling up his line in
a peculiar overhand fashion. “ Dat grunt dun gone
down an’ tole de res' of de fish.”
I laughed him to scorn, but, nevertheless, it was
the last bite I had for an hour; then I landed another
grunt, and Scope reckoned “ Dey had done forgot
it,” and unwound his line. I soon had a heavy bite,
and after some good sport landed a hogfish, a great
red be-finned creature which I had often taken off the
barrier reef in the breakers. This was followed by
a red grouper; then came yellowtails and a ten-pound
porgy; finally a speculiar bite was felt, and after a
struggle I jerked into the boat a murray nearly four
feet long, a spotted, hideous creature, the image of a
snake, which opened its mouth and made for Scope,
who struck it down with the tiller. My next fish—
mark the variety in the finny procession—was a sea
porcupine, a fish often seen in curiosity stores, puffed
up like a balloon and covered with spines. This is
not its normal condition. My porcupine came up
slim but fretful, its spines, as Scope said, all “pointed
aft”; but the moment it was placed in the boat it
began to grunt and to inflate itself until it assumed
26 I
Big Game at Sea
the shape of a balloon, its spines standing out in
every direction, its head, eyes, and fins almost disap-
pearing; and when tossed overboard to rid ourselves
of a dangerous creature, it was perfectly helpless,
blowing away before the wind like a gigantic soap
bubble.
These fishes and many more were taken in almost
as fast as they could be caught. The lure was cray-
fish. If this bait was changed, it was another story;
if conch was used, red grouper, a big uninteresting
fish, was invariably caught, which reminded me of
cod-fishing off the Maine coast, though the cod is a
whirlwind compared to this lethargic monster. This
had gone on for over an hour, when I noticed the jew-
fish line slowly moving over. It was either a jewfish
or a shark, and I slacked away until it was assumed
that the fish had taken the bait, then gave him his
strike. The response was immediate, and my arms
went overboard before I could release the line, which,
after a short rush, stopped. Assuming that the fish
was gone, I hauled in, but it was there, and I draw a
veil over the proceedings. At first I thought we had
hooked the keel of the old galleon, but occasionally
felt tremendous blows on the line. It was the jew-
fish, the original sulker, that simply held back and
was finally hauled in, three hundred and sixty-four
pounds of it, like a log, to roll over and twist and
deluge us with spray, though I doubt if it ever
realized that it was hooked.
262
Typical Santa Catalina Fishing Boat Coming into Avalon with (3) Sea Bass, and with Bass Flag Flying.

Adventures with the Biggest Bass
The great fish, to my mind, was a failure, though I
have been told that smaller ones up the coast of
Florida, where they live in holes, are very gamy, and
have been taken with a rod. They are found on the
South Atlantic coast, at Cuba, and on the Texas
shore, and on the Pacific side of Central America
there is another species. The smaller specimens are
game, and are frequently taken when they follow a
small fish that has been hooked, swallowing it, hook
and all. When placed in the wells of fishermen they
will, it is said, prey upon the other occupants, and to
prevent it the fishermen sew up their mouths. The
term jewfish is probably a corruption of June fish, as
in that month they bite most frequently. The strik-
ing feature of the jewfish is its size, often, it is said,
in Cuban waters, ranging up to six or seven hundred
pounds. I can imagine that some individuals may
display some hard fighting, but judging from my
own experience, I cannot commend the Florida jew-
fish, though the small fish which are found in its
vicinity will well repay the angler.
263
CHAPTER XVII
THE SILVER KING
NUMBER of years ago I was floating down
the St. John's River in Florida in a small
steamer, dodging shad nets which the men
would insist upon setting in midstream and which the
steamer often struck, when I thought I saw a sabalo
leap far ahead.
“Is there any tarpon fishing here?” I asked the
skipper, who was leaning out of the pilothouse just
over my head.
“Why, yes, sah, right in this identical place,” he
said, “I saw a tarpon leap aboard the steamer and
land partly in the lap of a man who was leaning
NotE.—Since this chapter was written, Mr. L. P. Streeter, Secretary of the Tuna
Club, has accomplished the seemingly impossible by taking a large tarpon at Aransas
Pass with a nine-ounce rod and a number-nine line. This catch created a sensa-
tion in sea angling circles, and the Aransas Pass Tarpon Club took form as a
result, with Mr. Streeter as president, and prizes are now offered, and every effort
will be made to put tarpon angling on the same high standard of sport as found at
Avalon, California, where the Tuna and Light Tackle Clubs hold forth, and where
club rods are no longer used for fishes not of the largest size. Up to the time of
Mr. Streeter's catch the average tarpon rod has been an almost impossible machine
from the standpoint of fair play to the game, and doubtless Mr. Streeter's catch
will revolutionize methods both in Florida, Texas and Tampico; at least this is
devoutly to be desired. The leaping tuna and large swordfishes, and the largest
jewfish and black sea bass are really the only fishes which require the very stiff
and heavy rods.
:
264
The Silver King
against the pilothouse, just as you are.” The skipper
looked around as though expecting a repetition, and
to be on the safe side I got up and moved away,
pretending to look over the rail. “He hit the man
fair in the lap, rolled him over on the deck and
busted the chair.”
This induced me to go ashore at Pilottown, at
the mouth of the river, where I had an interesting
and varied experience catching everything from
sharks to coons, and never seeing a tarpon or Sabalo,
though there are tarpon there at times. I “still-
fished ” for channel bass at the mouth of the river,
where the tide was so swift that it brought heavy lead
sinkers to the surface, helped land a huge sunfish
which I sighted coming over the bar, and which
grounded like a ship, keeled over and began to beat
the water into foam, and soon fell a victim. I did
my most exciting fishing at the mouth of the river
where the channel came in near shore. The shad
were running and the men were catching these
delicious fish in great numbers, and after them, liter-
ally in their wake, came sharks of all kinds and
degrees, colors and conditions of servitude. I no-
ticed this at once, as my first cast from the beach
resulted in hooking a large shark which carried me
knee deep and then took the line; and forthwith I
procured shark tackle, and with shad bait had the
sport of my life with sharks, landing many single-
handed from the beach, and finally losing line and a
* * 265
Big Game at Sea
large log which an unseen monster dragged out to
sea, and would have taken me also had I not retired.
The shad fishermen and pilots of Mayport, on the
south shore, were an interesting people, many being
descendants of the Minorcans who came to Florida
a century ago. They all knew tarpon, but could not
produce them, so I drifted down to New Smyrna, and
so on down the Gulf to the jumping-off place, where
I found tarpon, or sabalo as the man called it, while
at another key the Conchs called it Grande Écaille,
but it was all the same fish, the finest jumper in the
world.
I was wading along shore one day at Bush Key
when I saw, I believe, a dozen tarpons go into the
air at once. One ran upon the beach, where I could
have caught it, but I was interested to see the cause,
and grains in hand, as I had been wading along the
beach after crayfish, I ran down and found that a
school or bunch of Silver Kings had been trying to
go through a little channel and had been charged by
a big ten-foot nurse shark, a harmless crab-eating
beast, doubtless as frightened as themselves, but send-
ing them into the air in a blaze of silver. Here was
my tarpon ground, and at flood tide the following
day I returned to the island, which I tried to find
years later, but a hurricane had literally blown it into
the sea. -
The water here ranged from six to twenty feet in
depth, and while the heat was extreme, raising great
266
The Silver King
billowy, nebulous waves over the sand, it was not
unbearable. I stretched out on the edge of the key
one day, and the boy having tossed out the big mullet
bait, sat down to wait. Five strikes came, sharks
and three unknown; then there was throwing the
cast-net down the key for more mullet, and again
the big bait went whizzing out. This time luck of a
specious quality followed; the line began to run out,
and not knowing whether it was a shark or some-
thing else I struck; no doubt about that, as up into
the air went a shining gigantic beam of silver, exactly
how high I dare not say. I thought ten feet, I
believe fifteen, and there it seemed to my astonished
eyes to hang, and fan the air, rolling completely
over and dropping, belly up, a wide, open-mouthed
horror with gills agape and blazing red, that might
well startle a timid angler who had never seen any-
thing of the kind before. r
The tarpon struck the water with a mighty crash
and made a run for the channel of two hundred feet,
to stop which seemed an impossibility. But the fates
favored me and by good fortune, when I had gotten
out into water up to my waist, I stopped the fish,
turned it into the lagoon, and reaching shore raced
with the boy along the sands, trying to keep up
with it. -
“Look at dat fish fly, mawster. For de Lo'd, see
dat sabalo stan’ on his haid. See him stan' on de
tail.”
267
Big Game at Sea
This and other cries came from my companion
as the big fish went flying up the reef; now in the
air, now sliding along the surface with a tremendous
lateral bound, again in a graceful plunge into the
very empyrean, and other gyrations that one would
deem impossible in so large a fish.
Sometimes it appeared to be dancing wildly on
its tail, and then in a frenzy of rage would remain
on the surface and beat the water with lusty blows
from side to side that could be heard a long distance
with the wind. For six hundred feet up along the
sandy bay I walked, waded, and ran, having crossed
the little shoal from Bush Key, and here played the
splendid fish to a finish and kept it leaping and jump-
ing until I had it in shoal water, when the boy
grained it in default of the gaff, and hauled it, shin-
ing, gleaming, onto the sand.
If you have never seen a sabalo, imagine the Med-
iterranean sardine that you take from the box for
lunch lengthened out to six or seven feet; give it two
enormous black staring eyes, a supercilious lip of the
most grotesque shape imaginable coming down and
twisting up again, a mouth that can be thrown so
wide open that thirty feet distant, when the fish is in
the air, you can see blue sky down its throat and out
through the arched gills; give the fish a greenish
back and a long spine at the dorsal, a powerful
sardine-like tail, and equip its belly and sides with
scales which look more like newly minted dollars than
268
Author Catching “The Silver King.” (I) The Strike. (2) A
Heavy Rush. (3) Bringing the Fish to Gaff.


The Silver King
anything else, dollars often twice their natural size
onto which the purest of molten silver had been
dropped, scales that flash a thousand rays in every
direction, and in the full glare of the sun form so
many sunbursts to dazzle the eye and confuse the
excited angler. -
I have taken the sabalo under many circumstances,
have seen it leap all over the Florida reef and down
by the Rio Grande, where it forms in gigantic schools
and moves south in the winter, and everywhere it is
the same sensational equilibrist, the same “air
climber '' and “sky scraper" when hooked. What
the sensations of the tarpon are when snared it would
be difficult to say, but I fancy it is frightened and
leaps in the direction away from the pain center, with
no two leaps alike.
It may go directly up, carrying a big wave with it,
and lash the air, or it may go out of water head first,
rising like a ray of light ten or fifteen or more feet, to
fall gracefully into the water. I have seen the fright-
ened tarpon standing on its tail twelve feet up, as
upright as a soldier, to exactly the opposite direction,
and an angler told me that he had seen one make a
lateral leap of thirty feet. I have, in hauling the
seine on the Florida reef, seen the sabalo or tarpon
come flying out of it with such force and rapidity
that men dodged with great difficulty, and more than
one man has lost his life in this way. Indeed the
tarpon is a dangerous fish to experiment with. The
269
Big Game at Sea
angler is always taking a chance, as the fish is so
uncertain and irrationable that it is just as liable to
leap into your boat as anywhere else, and if all the
stories and experiences of the tarpon anglers could
be collected, an interesting showing of great chances
taken would be made. I have seen a tarpon wreck a
boat, hurling chairs, tackle, oars into the air. A
tarpon has been known to come down and go through
the bottom of a boat as though it was made of paper.
A boat was found drifting in Galveston Bay some
years ago containing a dead tarpon and a dead angler.
The fish had broken the man's back.
A friend of mine was fishing when a compan-
ion one hundred feet away had a strike, and the
fish came aboard my friend's boat, struck his chair,
knocking it overboard. In a past season a tarpon
in Florida came into a boat and knocked the angler
overboard, sending the oarsman over onto his back.
When the latter picked himself up he found his
patron gone; looking over the side he saw him sink-
ing and with the boat hook brought him up. He was
stunned, and later examination showed that two ribs
were broken. Between tiger hunting and tarpon
fishing as a steady occupation, the former might be
chosen as the safer pastime.
There is not so much danger when one is fishing
in the open water, but when ten or twenty boats are
following one another out a narrow pass, every boat
is menaced by the fish that is hooked by the angler

* 270
The Silver King
just ahead, and more than once I have stood ready
to dodge or jump overboard to avoid the mad leap
of a wild sabalo which went into the air alongside
my boat, but on the hook of a fellow angler ahead.
Tarpon fishing is without doubt the most sensational
and exciting of sports, and one of the most dangerous
when persistently followed, but the writer has been
fortunate. I have seen my boat swept by a mad
tarpon, while hanging on over the stern to keep out
of reach of the tail, my boatman as far forward. If
you have the field, or are not near any one, you are
fairly safe, but to give an idea how much room a
wild tarpon wishes, I was fishing once at Aransas
Pass, and as near as I can recall there were ten
anglers, all in little skiffs, and a line of five near the
jetty, of which I was in the middle. Another line of
five, a quarter of a mile long perhaps, held the mid-
dle of the channel. I hooked a tarpon not twenty
feet from the jetty. He went into the air ten feet
from me, came down almost hitting the boat. I
remember I dodged, then I saw him bound into the
air over my shoulder, going so high that I had to
look up at him, and then I saw him go bounding over
the channel in a series of marvelous leaps, nearly
hitting one boat and missing another by a miracle.
I was using a nine-foot rod of heavy greenheart, a
big reel of the Vom Hofe make, one which I had
tested on tuna and black sea bass, and which held six
hundred feet of a 21-strand Cuttyhunk line. It was
271
Big Game at Sea
equipped with a powerful leather pad and I was using
a little wooden lever; yet that splendid leaper carried
away five hundred feet or more of line as it went
dancing into the air and over the pass. It towed us
into midstream and away to the south, ran into seas
which were piling in. I saw it take a last splendid
leap on the crest of a big wave, fall in the hollow, and
had just concluded that the game was up, when I
stopped it by a miracle. With extraordinary rapidity
it went coursing in a big circle around across the
channel again, ever and anon making a wild leap
into the air, a menace to any boat, a living catapult
that could have killed a man with a single blow of its
powerful tail.
In a few moments the fish was in the breakers on
the north side of the pass, and while my man held
the skiff head on, to prevent foundering, I played the
splendid game and by great good luck brought him to
the boat, from which he soon swam away free. It
is the honored custom to cut away all tarpon caught
at Aransas Pass after the length has been obtained;
and as the rod catch here last year was eight hundred
and fifty, the lives of many splendid fishes are saved
and a high standard of sport sustained.
Aransas Pass is without question the finest location
for tarpon angling in America, as the catch is abso-
lutely sure. You can fairly count on four or five a
day from April or May until October, subject of
course to the ordinary hard-luck times. My fishing
272
The Silver King
there was at the hottest period, August Ist, yet I
found it comfortable on the fishing grounds and mos-
quitoes were not a pest, which cannot be said of
Florida, with all its charms of location. Theoreti-
cally, tarpon can be found from Aransas Pass all
around the Gulf to the St. John's on the east coast of
Florida in summer, but there is a vast difference in
location.
Up to within a few years winter tarpon fishing has
been unknown, but Tampico, Mexico, has been discov-
ered to be the winter home of the great bands of
tarpon which sail up and down the coast winter and
summer in their various migrations, and in the brack-
ish mouth of the Panuco River the great fish lie in
countless numbers and afford sport under conditions
which are doubtless much more comfortable than those
of Florida. It is possible to-day, then, to find tarpon
at any time, there being three great regions: that of the
Southern Florida coast on both sides down to Key
West, which can be fished from March or April to
October, the season varying at different points; the
Aransas Pass region, where the season is the same,
and Tampico in midwinter.
While this article is being written I have received
a letter from the Panama coast telling me of the cap-
ture of a large fish called the sabalo, showing that
the great game fish is in the Pacific. Curiously
enough, it has never been seen on the Californian
coast where the water is moderately warm, but on
273
Big Game at Sea
the Atlantic side the appearance of the tarpon is her-
alded at times as far north as Cape Cod. During
the summer of 1906 living tarpon were to be seen
for a limited period in the New York Aquarium, the
fishes having been taken in or about New York
harbor.


274
CHAPTER XVIII
THE MADNESS OF FISHES
T certain times various predatory fishes seem to
A go mad from the excitement of the chase.
Once when lying at the island of San Nicolas,
in the Pacific, I saw a large school of yellowtails dash
into a little cove, Corral Harbor, and rush a school
of sardines out upon the sands. In their excitement,
the large fishes, ranging from ten to thirty pounds,
dashed completely out of the water, paying no atten-
tion to the men who were wading among them, killing
them with oars and tossing them out upon the beach.
The same thing is occasionally seen at Avalon, when
the bag is filled with the big game which bites at
everything and anything, and is hauled upon the
sands by scores. At such a time the fishes are crazed;
they lose their habitual caution, and do not heed
their enemy, man.
Such exhibitions are more often seen at the tropics,
where every day in the long summer, from June to
November, such spectacles as the following may be
witnessed, and in which as a spectator or angler I
have often participated.
275
Big Game at Sea
The Mexican Gulf was sprinkled with emeralds in
settings of white coral sand, and upon these islets, the
cayo of the Spanish, the sun beat with a fierce and
torrid heat. Not a breath fanned the air, the heat
appealing even to the eyes, rising from the sandy
beaches and distorting every object. The cranes
standing on the point loomed up like grotesque
giants; the gnarled roots of mangroves, half a mile
away, resembled sea monsters that had crawled out
upon the sand, and all nature seemed in revolt. The
blue sea, which stretched away to seeming infinity,
blending and melting into the horizon, was asleep;
even the great fringing reef, which ordinarily breasted
the seas so gallantly, was almost silent, giving out but
a sullen roar, with which the sharp, oft-repeated
“ha-ha " of the laughing gulls were the only sounds
which broke the stillness. Here and there a sharp fin
cut the water in circles, telling of a wandering shark;
then a flash of silver, a shower of spangles, suggested
that the tarpon or some equally voracious enemy
was following the mullet shoals.
On such a day we launched the little dinghy,
shoved off, and headed for Bird Key, to replenish the
larder. Eggs were the desiderata, and we had car-
ried an empty flour barrel to take them back in, a
receptacle at once suggestive of the possibilities of
supply and demand. Bird Key was about two miles
distant, and as we rowed along the dinghy passed
over a garden of the sea. A deep channel, a ribbon
276
The Madness of Fishes
of turquoise, wound in and out among groves of coral,
and crossing this we shot along over the city of the
coral polyp. The great mass of points were olive-
hued. Here patches of leaf coral in palmate form;
on the edge of the channel huge heads four or five
feet across and three or more in height, some hol-
lowed out like vases and filled with groups of fishes
with all the hues of the rainbow. The color display
was a delight to the eye. The prevailing hue was
olive, broken here and there with brilliant patches of
yellow, brown, and lilac, where the fan of plume-like
gorgonias waved in the gentle current.
Suddenly the boat passed out upon a sandy bottom
of opaline hue, where pink-lipped conches lumbered
along and ugly holothurians stretched their lazy
lengths. Then presently we drifted over a carpet of
algae, delicate tufts of exquisite green, lace-like vines
of the most delicate design, among which were small
heads of meandrinae, columns of white and black
echini standing out in strong relief. These were the
gardens of the sea, indeed; forests in miniature, peo-
pled by finny birds of gorgeous coloring, which added
to the splendor of this world of silence.
As we neared the key a low intense noise became
apparent, growing louder and louder as the boat
neared the shore; then, as her bow ran into the white,
sandy beach, gulls rose upward in such prodigious
numbers that they formed a dark cloud over the key,
which could be distinctly seen two miles away.
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Big Game at Sea
The noise was deafening, and increased so when
we penetrated the bush and began to collect the eggs
that it was impossible to converse without screaming.
The eggs fairly covered the sand in places, and in a
short time the barrel was filled. As we returned to
the beach, exhausted by the fiery heat of the bay-
cedar bushes, we were confronted by a strange sight.
The water along the beach for two hundred yards
was a mass of foam, and the air filled with leaping
fishes. A school of jacks (Caranx hippos) had
followed a school of sardines and were chasing them
inshore, and now crazed by the sight of their prey,
were charging the mass, leaping upon the shore in
scores, presenting a scene which for excitement and
animation it would be difficult to equal.
Shoving off, we were soon on the outskirts of the
school and in the very heat of the battle of extermi-
nation. The small fishes were packed along shore in
a solid black mass; now leaping out of the water,
flashing in the sun like molten silver, and creating a
continuous blaze of light. Into this the jacks, heavy,
blunt-headed fishes with silver sides and yellow fins,
gay creatures weighing eight or ten pounds, were
rushing like so many thunderbolts. Long ago they
had been satiated, and were now killing for the mere
desire for blood, evidently aroused to a high state of
frenzy by the sight of it. Seizing a handline, I
baited it with a wounded sardine and tossed it over.
Hardly had it struck the water before one of the
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The Madness of Fishes
powerful fishes seized it, took it on the run and darted
off, snapping it at the first strain.
I soon found that no bait was refused; a bit of
cloth served as a lure and was eagerly taken by the
wild and excited jacks. They invariably took the
hooks with a rush, and never stopped, going on with
a force which was almost irresistible, and affording
great sport from the standpoint of handline fishing.
They were cunning, despite their wild excitement,
and once hooked, tried all the tricks that a gamy
fish is master of to break the line; now coming in
with inconceivable velocity, so that slack could not
be taken in; then, turning to dash away, making the
line hiss and fairly scream, hoping thus to attain
force enough to take it unawares and snap the strands.
Finding this of no avail, they would swim in a circle,
dive beneath the boat, or plunge madly into the
demoralized throng. There was no surrender to the
jack, it came in fighting to the last, leaping, plunging,
and often escaping after it had been landed in the
dinghy.
The sport became fast and furious, the whirling
lines hardly struck the water before they were hissing
through it, and splashes and victorious shouts from
excited anglers, added to the sullen and peculiar roar
of the beat itself, which could easily be heard a quarter
of a mile. The jacks had formed a cordon about the
school and hundreds were in the air at a time, pre-
senting a rare and animated spectacle. Every
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Big Game at Sea
moment the jacks drove the dark line of sardines
closer in. They seemed to be acting by some pre-
concerted arrangement; now darting into them in
platoons or long lines, and with such force that they
penetrated the mass of small fry and went spinning
out upon the sands, to leap and bound about, finding
their way again into the silvery mass.
My boatman, who, I found, had the government
contract for providing the garrison fish supply, was
now standing knee-deep among the fish, catching the
jacks by the tail as they floundered among the sar-
dines, and hurling them high and dry upon the beach.
In this unique manner he caught scores, while num-
bers leaped so high up on the sands that they could
not reach the water again, and so became victims to
their own temerity and madness. For half an hour
this exciting scene lasted, then, satiated with the spoils,
the jacks drew off, leaving the beach covered with
their own forces and the sardines, while all along
shore a dull red cloud floated away, telling the san-
guinary story. The noise of the beat had at the very
onset attracted the laughing gulls, pelicans, and man-
of-war birds, that dashed into the mêlée and gorged
themselves with the wounded small fry, adding not
a little to the excitement of the scene, which well
illustrated the war waged by the stronger upon the
weaker in all life.
These beats were of common occurrence in their
particular season, April, May, June, and when the
28O -
The Madness of Fishes
peculiar sound made by the beating upon the water of
myriads of tails would come from the adjacent keys,
the gulls would be seen flying, the lumbering pelicans
heading in that direction, and another war of extermi-
nation began. The jack, like many of its kinsmen,
traveled in large schools with a roving commission,
and under ordinary circumstances could not be in-
duced to bite. The wild excitement of carnage
seemed necessary to arouse them, but I found by
following on the edge of schools I could induce the
stragglers on the outposts to take a live bait or even
a dead one when manipulated properly. Such a fish,
taken with rod and reel, was a revelation, and I give
the jack a place high among the marine game fishes
of the Florida reef; too brave a fighter to take with
a large handline when the odds are all against it.
28 I
CHAPTER XIX
BARRACUDA
HEY called him Barracuda down on the
reef. He was long, thin, loose-jointed,
with a long, pointed nose; a typical Cracker,
with long, dead-gold hair and big freckles, and for
some time I supposed the name applied to his looks,
the barracuda being a long, pointed-jawed fish very
common in the vicinity. I had been told that Barra-
cuda was the best guide and fisherman on the reef.
He had a big sloop and smaller boats, a comfortable
home on Key St. Vincente, so I had hunted him up,
and Barracuda and myself were under a three
months' engagement to hunt and fish among the
Florida keys. He was a very quiet fellow, rarely
speaking, and I do not know that I ever saw him
laugh, yet he was not taciturn, and was simply a quiet,
good-natured man of whom you would not expect
great things.
A few days after I was settled at the key, we went
out in the dinghy, and I had my first experience with
Barracuda and the fish whose name he bore. I was
desirous of learning all the tricks of the reef, and he
proposed to show me how he took the barracuda—
|
282 .
Barracuda
the biggest and gamiest fish to be found in the waters
of the reef.
As I followed him down to the boat he had a small
pair of oars in one hand and over his shoulder a long,
slender pole which vibrated like willow. It was
twelve feet long, and bore on one end a two-pronged
spear, whose barbs were deftly made to close up as
they struck and open out again. The “grains,” as
the spear was called, fitted on to the end of the pole
and was held by a long cord, the coil of which the
fisherman held in his hand.
Jumping into the boat, we shoved off, and upon
reaching the channel, not one hundred yards away,
Barracuda threw over a white rag fastened to a line
about five feet long, and began to slowly scull the
boat along in the direction of the sun. He presented
a picturesque if not a graceful figure at this work, his
tall form bending by the regular movement of the
left arm as he propelled the oar with a screw-like
motion. In his right hand rested the long, trembling
pole, while the rope was coiled up at his feet.
We had gone perhaps two hundred yards when I
noticed the lank form of my guide stiffen up. He
now moved the oar very gently, and in a low voice
told me to look over his shoulder. I did so, and
about twenty feet astern saw a fish nearly eight feet
in length swimming along, evidently watching like a
cat the white rag that whirled over and over as it
darted ahead, every few minutes turning upon its side
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Big Game at Sea
so that I could see its sharp muzzle and big, black
eyes; then alarmed, possibly at the whirling, it
dropped back again.
When I had seen how the fish was lured within
reach of the grains, I leaned back, and Barracuda
dropped the oar just as the fish darted ahead, a little
to one side, eying the rag. Slowly the long spear
came up, and, taking it in both hands, the fisherman
leaned far back and hurled it with an aim so unerring
that it struck the fish fairly in the back, throwing
the pole out of the socket with the rebound. A second
later a magnificent fish sprang into the air, shaking
itself violently to free itself from the sharp iron and
falling with a crash to dash away. The line was soon
exhausted, the coils leaping overboard like some living
thing, and then the light boat turned and dashed
away, towed at a rapid rate by the gamy fish. Foot
by foot it was taken in, struggling, thrashing, leap-
ing, in its efforts to escape, and finally was brought
alongside and lifted into the boat, where it beat the
frail planks and performed some mighty acrobatic
feats. .
The fish was striped like a pike, with a sharper
nose, large black eyes and a display of sharp, pearly,
cutting, tearing teeth that made it a foe to be avoided.
It was nearly seven feet long and weighed at least one
hundred pounds. But this is estimated.
In this skillful way Barracuda took several of the
fish, bidding me note that he always sculled against
284
Barracuda
the sun to dazzle the eyes of the fish. I then assumed
that my guide had been given the name of this fish,
perhaps, on account of his skill in taking it, but this
was not so, as I learned later. He was away from
camp one day when a sloop came down to anchor off
our key. The crew rowed ashore to inquire after
Barracuda, and from them I learned the man's singu-
lar experience. Some years ago he lived on Sea
Horse Key, one of the Bahamas, and during one of
the terrible hurricanes that sometimes pass over that
region in September, a brig was driven on the reef
and broken up. The crew and every one on board
were, one by one, washed away and swallowed up by
the sea, with the exception of a woman, who must
have been lashed to the spars. While the little bunch
of fishermen were watching her, helpless to aid, Mc-
Nally—that was his name—came down to the shore
and began to take off his clothes, announcing that he
was going to swim out to the wreck and bring the
woman in. The fishermen tried to dissuade him, as
the sea was so rough and threatening, but, fastening
about his waist a stout cord that was in turn made fast
to a rope, he plunged into the water. Several times
they lost sight of him, and once they saw him turn
and strike at something, and feared a shark had bit-
ten him, but he kept on and finally reached the wreck
and succeeded in attaching the line to it by which the
woman was brought to the shore. When McNally
was coming back he was seen to sink near the shore,
285 ... --
Big Game at Sea
then come up, beating something off. When the men
dragged him ashore it was found that he had been
attacked by barracudas, both coming from and going
to the wreck. One fish had struck him on the arm,
tearing it viciously, and on the return another had bit-
ten him severely. From this experience he was called
and known to everybody as Barracuda.
These large and vicious fishes abounded in the
channel, and several men had been almost killed by
them, so I was told.
The barracuda is not generally included in the list
of fishes dangerous to man, but it is none the less so,
its habit of darting at any white object it sees making
the act of swimming where it is found more or
less dangerous. Numbers of instances have been
reported, and the writer recalls one, where a barra-
cuda had been placed in the well of a sloop and for-
gotten, and which attacked a man who entered it to
make some repairs, maiming him for life.
An illustration of the danger that sometimes lies
in small fishes is the case of a fish which is common
in the rivers of South America, the serrasalmo. It is
probably the most fearless of all fishes, very small, of
peculiar shape, with powerful jaws, so strong and
sharp that they can bite a piece out of an animal as
neatly as though it had been done with a pair of
scissors. In some sections it is impossible to fish,
as the moment a fish is hooked thousands of these
vicious creatures flock to the spot and tear it in pieces
286
-
-
The California Barracuda.



Barracuda
before it can be brought to the surface. The fish
apparently does not know what fear is, and has in
more than one instance jeopardized human life, if
not destroyed it. A traveler in crossing a river on
horseback was attacked by these fishes, the blood
from his horse's legs attracting them in such multi-
tudes that they soon stripped the flesh from its legs
so that it fell over, maddened with fear and agony,
and was soon drowned. The rider leaped from its
back and swam to shallow water, surrounded by the
throng, and, though protected by his clothing, he
was bleeding from many wounds, and in deep water
would doubtless soon have been killed by the raven-
ous, blood-thirsty fishes.
When down on the reef, I met a collector who had
recently made a trip up the Amazon for Professor
Agassiz and, I think, Professor Baird. He had
found a number of new fishes, among them a giant
which he said compared to the tarpon and others in
affording sport. In answer to my request for his
experiences with the fish, he narrated to me in sub-
stance the following, relating to this giant fish which
is at times literally run to its death by otters:
“‘Listen,” whispered our Indian guide, dropping
the oars and sitting rigid as a statue in an attitude of
expectancy.
For a moment nothing was heard but the ripple of
the waters and the occasional cry of some bird from
the thick forest that lined the bank. Then came a
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Big Game at Sea
resounding splash, followed by another, apparently
proceeding from around the bend ahead.
‘The arapaima!' exclaimed the Indian, his eyes
sparkling with excitement; and he lifted out his spear,
placing it ready for use, then slowly rowed on.
We were moving up one of the upper branches of
the Amazon on a hunting and fishing trip, and José,
our guide, had promised to take us to the lair of the
game fish of South American waters—a monster that
attained a length of twelve feet and a weight of
twelve hundred pounds, and upon whose strength and
activity he was never weary of dilating.
The river bank which we were passing was four
or five feet in height, and covered to its very edge
with trees, which in turn were wound with inter-
minable vines or lianes. The stream was continually
undermining the banks, bringing down sections of
forest into the water with a resounding reverberation,
and which floated away as small islands. Soon again
José stopped rowing, and again we heard the peculiar
splash repeated several times in succession. We were
now at the turn, only a narrow spit being between us;
and as the Indian pulled cautiously, we turned just
in time to see an enormous fish hurl itself clear of
the water, shake itself like a dog in convulsive bends,
seemingly scattering a number of small animals that
were clinging to it. * -
‘The otter!’ said our guide, briefly, giving the
canoe a vigorous pull which sent it into the stream.
ii
288
Barracuda
* See, they are after the arapaima.’ And now we
observed five or six cat-like animals swimming about
in the water, as if looking for prey. In a few seconds
they dived, and up came the gigantic fish, so near the
boat that we distinctly saw its plight as it rolled over
and over. Clinging to it by the gills and fins and
throat were several of the little animals, while a num-
ber were following and diving after the monster.
When they saw the canoe they dropped away and
made for the shore. I was tempted to shoot, but the
Indian had seized his spear and was now in the bow,
asking us to row slowly along.
Instead of a branch of the river, we were in a small
inlet or bay, not over six feet in depth, and up this the
arapaima had dashed, as we could see by the ripple,
and would soon reach the end and turn. This was
just what occurred. The big fish almost ran out of
water on a sand bar, scattering a score of turtles that
were sunning themselves there, and then, with a con-
vulsive effort, turned and plunged again in our
direction. -
On it came, its big fin cutting the water like a
knife, reminding one of a shark. As it reached us,
José drew back and plunged the spear into its side
with an underhand blow that lodged beneath the pec-
toral fin in a vulnerable spot. The moment the fish
felt the cold steel it gave a magnificent leap partly into
the air, seeming to rise bodily, showing at once its
enormous size, the gleaming coat of armor-like scales
289
Big Game at Sea
with which it was enveloped, and also dragging with it
three of the otters that had apparently with remark-
able ferocity clung to their victim.
The fall of the fish so near the canoe almost
swamped it; but José jerked the handle of the har-
poon from its socket, tossed over the coil of line, and
with a vigorous sweep of the paddle turned the frail
craft in the direction of midstream just in time, as
it dashed away with the speed of an arrow, then
trying to leap into the air, to fall back heavily, beating
the water with its ponderous tail.
These actions soon exhausted the line, and with a
jerk the canoe dashed ahead, towed by the arapaima.
There was no need for José's warning to get astern;
the first lunge of the fish sent the bow of the canoe
deep into the water, half-filling it, at which we tum-
bled aft as best we could. This brought the bow up
into the air, where José stood and managed the line,
with his knife between his teeth, ready to cut it if
necessary. With unerring instinct, the fish made for
midstream and deep water, towing us at a rate not
to be despised by a steamboat, making the water hiss
about the bow and carrying a big wave of disagree-
able dimensions on either side.
In the stream were numerous trunks of palms that
had been undermined and were on their slow journey
down the river, and beneath one of these the big
fish plunged. It was evident that the end had come;
but José was equal to the emergency; and seizing the
;
29O
Barracuda
paddles, he guided the canoe around the root, and on
we sped. ‘He soon get sick,” José kept repeating;
and finally, when the fish had made a desperate plunge
to the bottom, he began to take in the line, passing
it along so that each one aided in the work.
That one fish, about eleven feet in length, could
weary and tire out three men seems incredible, but it is
a fact. The rushes of the gamy monster were of a
kind undreamed of by the sportsmen, and when its
plunges came, they could not be met. The line hissed
through our fingers and smoked as it went over the
slight gunwale; and to have fastened it meant a
break; so we possessed ourselves in patience and
played the game, allowing it to wear itself out, which
in time it did. When the line slackened we took it in,
hand over hand, as rapidly as we could, every pull
felt by the fish being answered by a lunge that sent
the rope hissing through our already burned fingers.
But finally the pace began to tell on the big fish. It
had towed the canoe an eighth of a mile with leaps,
plunges and struggles that proved it a worthy foe-
man, and now gradually succumbed. Its rushes grew
less and less frequent, and without the force and
power that characterized them at the onset, and finally
José announced that the game was up; the fish barely
responded to the hauls on the rope, and the fight was
over. The fish sulked like a salmon and allowed itself
to be hauled alongside without a struggle, merely
moving its great tail back and forth, propelling the
29 I
Big Game at Sea
canoe slowly along. Once alongside, a shot in the
vertebrae of the neck put an end to it, and it was
towed ashore and hauled upon the sand bar, where
its dimensions could be admired. No wonder it
towed us at steamboat speed so long. No wonder it
had put our endurance to the severest test. The fish
was over eleven feet in length and must have weighed
one thousand or eleven hundred pounds. It was en-
cased in an armor of scales of extreme hardness that
would easily have resisted a bullet or caused it to
glance.
That so large a creature should be attacked by the
otter, a small and apparently harmless animal, is
somewhat remarkable. Taken singly, the animals
are insignificant, but when banded together they be-
come a menace to the largest fish. Their method of
attack reminds one of a pack of hounds. They fol-
low their prey in packs, and in the case of the great
arapaima, dash upon it while at rest in shallow water,
and fastening their teeth in it at every available spot,
cling to it until the fish rises to the surface in com-
plete exhaustion in its efforts to shake off the otters.
Often the latter are drowned, and specimens of the
fish have been found stranded with dead otters cling-
ing to them, their teeth clinched through the fins,
showing their bulldog-like pertinacity if not ferocity.”
292
CHAPTER XX
A SEA-GOING CROCODILE
NUMBER of years ago, I spent several
A weeks fishing at the mouth of the St. John's
River, Florida, and while there I heard much
about the “sharp-nosed gater,” and met a man who
told me that he could take me to a place way down
the river where lived the biggest alligator in Florida
—an old fellow twenty feet long. I was so positive
that such an animal did not exist that I asked the
man if he would enter into an agreement with me
that I should defray all the expenses of the expedi-
tion and pay him two dollars a day if the animal
proved to be twenty feet long, or even eighteen;
while if it fell short of this he should meet the
expenses. He readily agreed to this, and I con-
gratulated myself that I was really on the trail of
a giant. A few days later we started across
country for the river to the south. It is useless
to go into the disagreeable features of this quest.
We hunted over swamps and pools for days, slept
in the open, fighting mosquitoes; indeed, I had
what I remember to be the most disagreeable time
of my life, and finally found the giant—an alligator
293
Big Game at Sea }
not quite eleven feet in length. All that my guide
could say, as it lay on the ground, was: “Well, I'll
be dogged, boss. I'd sworn that 'gator was over
twenty foot long.” The moral is, that what the
unscientific observer thinks he sees and what he
really does see is a very different question. Mr.
Ralph Monroe, of South Florida, has told me many
interesting incidents regarding the American croco-
dile, one of which was that he had repeatedly seen the
animal out on the reef, evidently fishing.
One night in the little public house at Mayport a
fellow angler, just in from a successful day with the
channel bass, related the following, which bears inter-
estingly on the sea-going habit of the American
crocodile:
“When I first went down around Cape Florida
and up the rivers, the old Indian I had as a guide
told me that he had not only caught ‘’gators,’ but
one variety especially, called the ‘sharp-nosed 'gator,'
that caused no end of trouble and was very cunning
and wicked. All the fishermen have their yarns, so I
paid little or no attention to him, until one day when,
sailing over by a reef in a small dinghy, old Bob
reached over and touched me, and pointed to a black
object just discernible moving about in shallow water.
“‘Sharp-nosed 'gator,’ said the old man.
“ . A 'gator two miles out to sea?' I asked,
doubtingly. e
... Yes, sir,’ was the reply; and so it proved. I ran
2.94
A Sea-Going Crocodile
up within rifle-shot, and distinctly saw the animal
swimming away. According to the Indian, they swam
out to the reef to go fishing—catching birds, fish, and
anything else; and later on I found them on an island
off shore to which they must have swam; so the Flor-
ida crocodile is to no little extent a marine reptile like
some of its ancestors in the early geological days.
“My old guide daily regaled me with stories of
the ‘sharp-nosed 'gator,’ and I finally made up my
mind that I must have one as a trophy; so prepara-
tions for a crocodile hunt were forthwith made. Old
Bob told me that he knew a little swamp-like place,
on a key about ten miles down, where he was confident
I could get one of the 'gators, and one morning found
us going down the coast in a flat-bottomed cat-boat
which I used for coasting purposes, and towing a
small dinghy, provided with rifle, harpoon and shark-
hook—three weapons that were used in the capture
of the reptiles.
“We landed on the key and made our camp,
anchoring the cat-boat, and the next day started on
the hunt—Bob, rowing the dinghy up the beach,
recalling stories of the crocodiles he had seen in his
youth, and allowing his imagination full play. We
pulled a mile or more, and then came to a bend
beyond which was a small creek, into which the boat
was headed. - -
“What appeared to be a creek gradually enlarged,
and we soon emerged into an enclosed bay of some
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Big Game at Sea
extent, but filled up with tall grasses common to such
places. The tide, in its rising and falling, had appar-
ently cut channels here and there, and through one
we passed, finding a succession of beaches of soft mud
leading up to the brush—most inviting spots for the
sleepy reptiles.
“Slowly we poled along, passing many such, but
no signs of a crocodile, and I was well nigh discour-
aged, and had put down my rifle, and was about to
fill my pipe, when the old Indian stopped the dinghy
suddenly, and gave a deep and mysterious hiss. I
sprang to my feet and looked in the direction indi-
cated, where, sure enough, was the black form of
something; perhaps a log, perhaps not.
“‘That's him,' whispered Bob; and taking hold of
the grass by clumps, he drew the dinghy along until
we were in a position concealed, yet commanding a
good view of the reptile. It was indeed a crocodile;
even from that distance the difference between it and
an alligator being noticeable in a clearer and more
rakish built and sharper nose. He was at least thir-
teen feet long—a big fellow even for an alligator.
“It was evident that he could not escape us readily;
so I determined to give him a rifle bullet, then shove
quickly to the mouth of the bay, and let him have the
grains or harpoon if he attempted to go out. Old
Bob steadied the dinghy, and, taking careful aim, I
fired. I heard the sharp ring of the bullet, and the
next second the tail of the monster swung around to
296
A Sea-Going Crocodile
his head with a ringing blow, and he scrambled into
the water and shot away, followed by a big wave.
“We had but twenty or thirty feet to go, and
reached the entrance just in time to see the big fellow
coming. As he went by, in about three feet of water,
I hurled the spear into him; the next moment the
dinghy was flying through the water, as if behind a
side-wheeler, sending the foam into the air, while the
Indian and myself lay back, braced against the
thwarts, and hung on to the line for dear life.
“Such a heat could not be of long duration, and
after hauling us down the reef for half a mile our
reptilian steed showed signs of weakening, whereupon
the Indian began to haul in the line. This started
the crocodile to renewed exertions; but it was a tem-
porary spurt, and we soon succeeded in getting along-
side. As the corrugated back appeared at the sur-
face, glistening in the sunlight, I put another bullet
into it; and now I have to call your attention to what
I consider a remarkable case of ‘playing possum.'
At the second shot the crocodile rolled over, appar-
ently dead, so that I seized him by the flipper and took
a turn about it with a rope. -
“He was longer than the boat, but we succeeded
after a little trouble in dragging him in by taking out
the seat and putting it on his back, literally sitting on
the monster. Old Bob managed to use the oars, and,
well satisfied, flushed with victory, we moved back in
the direction of the yacht.
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Big Game at Sea
“I think we had gone, perhaps, a mile, and were
almost in, when, without warning, the old Indian
seemed to rise in the air, falling partly overboard,
while the tail of the crocodile came whisking around,
knocking oars and grain handles into the air, and just
escaping my head. This was but the prelude to other
movements, the awakened captive evidently intending
to finish the boat. His tail flew about like a scythe,
and he rolled over and over, carrying confusion with
every move. Discretion being the better part of
valor in this instance, I retreated to the extreme limit
of the rail, where, aided by a resounding blow, I
leaped backward into the water, which, fortunately,
was shallow, and left our captive in possession. Hav-
ing driven us out, he calmly clambered over the rail,
and sliding into the water, made off. Fortunately the
grains or spear was still in his back, so we scrambled
into the boat again, and as the line came taut, allowed
the crocodile to drag us along; and in this way we
soon tired the reptile out. As we hauled him in again
and brought his long, black form alongside, he gave
a vicious blow at me and nearly knocked old Bob out
of the boat the second time; but this was his last
caper, as I sent a bullet into his brain. The other two
shots, I found, had not seriously injured him, the
second one probably stunned him, though I believe
him to have been ‘ playing possum,’ a trick they often
have. His finely bleached skull now adorns my
library.”
--------------------- - - - - - - - -----º-º-º-º:
298
A Sea-Going Crocodile
The Florida crocodile is known to science as Croco-
dilus acutus, and differs materially from the alligator
in appearance and in other respects. The principal or
most noticeable point is the extremely sharp nose and
sharper or more fang-like teeth. The crocodile is to
a certain extent marine, as we have seen, while it is
doubtful if the alligator ever ventures out to sea.
The true crocodile is found in the island of Hayti,
though a different species, and in the swamps and
rivers constitutes an important feature of the island
life. Many cases are on record of their attacking
people. In one instance, a little girl, who had been
told that it was dangerous to go near the water after
dark, disobeyed the warning and was suddenly seized
as she was washing clothes and carried to the bottom,
her body being found the next day, partly dévoured,
while two huge crocodiles were killed near by.
The largest species found here were seen by Hum-
boldt, one measuring seventeen and a half feet, and
the other twenty-three feet in length. Such an animal
would indeed be a formidable antagonist. “In
attacking a person on dry land,” writes an English
sportsman and naturalist, “they stand erect on the
four feet and leap bodily, arching the back like a cat at
every jump. A party of priests was out on a picnic
on this island, and one having strayed away, the
others went home without him. As he did not
appear, they returned to look for him, and found him
sitting astride the limb of a tree, a crocodile lying
299
Big Game at Sea
in the bushes near by patiently awaiting his coming
down, after the fashion of a bull. The animal had
darted at him suddenly, in bounds covering a sur-
prising distance, and humping its back as described.”
The crocodile has a loud and resonant voice, like
that of a bull, that is especially unbearable during the
breeding season. The females utter a cry like the
yelping of a dog, and are very solicitous for and
careful of their young, that are much esteemed as
articles of diet by the males. The eggs are deposited
in rough nests, and are hatched out by the sun. The
mother watches the nest zealously, and when the
young appear, leads them away to some secluded
spot, where, for weeks, she feeds them on half-
digested food, after the manner of birds.
The natives sometimes have the temerity to catch
crocodiles single-handed, and one colored man in a
small town was famous for his exploits. One was
that he had mounted a crocodile and rode it by catch-
ing it by its fore-flippers, so that it could do nothing
but push itself ahead and lunge its muzzle into the
sand. Waterton, the English naturalist, distin-
guished himself by riding a big crocodile up the beach
in the same way.
3OO
CHAPTER XXI
OUEER GAME
to another have many and varied experiences
in the pursuit of the game of their choice; it
is often the unexpected which happens. I have, in
fishing for white sea bass, hooked a sea lion, and
played it one brief moment—long enough to remem-
ber the sensation; and I have been followed so per-
sistently by seals when trolling that it was impossible
to fish; the clever animals took my bait as fast as
the trollman put it in, and for a long time I could
not see them, so cleverly did they come to the surface
to break without being seen. I have had my bait
taken by a bald eagle, a gull, a loon, and by various
sea birds, when trolling, and doubtless all anglers
have had equally strange experiences. Some, which I
have heard, are chronicled in the following:
When fishing one season at Avalon Bay, an inter-
esting ribbon or oar-fish was brought in. It was
about a foot in length, a rare creature for this part of
the world, though at Long Beach, California, a speci-
men over ten feet long came ashore in 1901.
w Aº who wander from one fishing ground
3OI
Big Game at Sea
An English angler relates his experiences with a
large specimen as follows: “I was master of a smack
in Loch of Brae some years ago, when one of the
hands sang out: ‘The net's foul |
“The Smack had been fishing all day, and the men
had let the big seine around a school of mackerel,
and were slowly hauling it in when something oc-
curred which caused the halt. The mate immediately
began to feel around in the big bag for the offender,
which was generally a shark, though occasionally
porpoises were trapped with the mackerel. In a few
minutes the hook fastened upon a shiny object, and
slowly a most remarkable fish came into view. As
the mate hauled it up he passed its head to the man
next to him, who, in turn, passed it along to his
neighbor, and so on until the bow of the boat was
reached. Then one of the men took the fish by the
gills and pulled it aboard.
“Fifteen feet of this curious creature had been
passed along like a cable from hand to hand, and
still the end did not come. The men were amazed,
and their astonishment grew as ten feet more of the
silvery body came out of the net, then ten more. Then
the end came, and the strange fish was laid out along
the deck, reaching from one end of the smack to the
other and beyond—a total length of over fifty feet—
and a beautiful object in the bright sunlight.
“As long as it was, it was not over fifteen inches in
height, and presented the appearance of a satin rib-
3O2
· Spunoaſ o9kº I ºnųāſ： Aſ ºtroſeAV ne liſâneo qsl J uns queſ®
- ） ----------- ---- --


Queer Game
bon. Along the back was a delicate fin, and upon the
head a marvelous array of plume-like objects.
“The fish was known to the men as the ribbon-
fish, but none of them had seen so large a specimen,
one so like a snake; small ones of ten or twelve feet
being not uncommon.
“This captive created a revival of the interest in
the sea serpent, and it was found upon investigation
that a number of ribbon-fishes had been caught in this
locality, one being reported as fifty feet in length;
but this was not verified. The smack Sovereign,
owned by Lord Norbury, caught one sixty feet in
length, but the men, considering it an uncanny object,
cut it up and threw it away. The fish is known to
science as Regalecus banksi, and in all probability
many of the tales of sea monsters may be laid at its
door. To illustrate the possibility of this, it may be
said that the fish has a singular habit of swimming
along at the surface, with its head on or above it, so
that the peculiar plume-like objects show. Its motion
is an undulatory one, which would give it a snake-like
appearance in the water. *
“Another Regalecus was captured in Northern
waters by a vessel in hauling up the anchor. In some
way the band-shaped fish had become entangled in the
chain, and was hauled to the surface, and fifteen or
twenty feet of it taken aboard the vessel by the
sailors.”
“To be stabbed by a fish is singular,” said
3O3
Big Game at Sea
an angler, “but to be shocked by one is still maf.
remarkable. Some years ago, I was visiting a friend
on the New England coast, who was interested in
natural history, and one day during my stay he asked
me to accompany him on a collecting trip. Nearly
opposite his house was a little bay, having a clean,
sandy bottom, and over it we were soon slowly drift-
ing, my friend using net or spear, as occasion offered,
to secure the various animals which took his fancy.
“I sat in the stern, enjoying the day and examining
the curious things he brought up, when suddenly I
heard a groan and a muttered ejaculation. Looking
up, I saw my companion clinging in a seemingly help-
less way to the pole, his face ashy pale; indeed, his
whole appearance indicated a person stricken with
some fatal disease. I sprang forward just in time to
catch him as he fell back into the boat, and lowered
him upon a seat. At first he could only motion to the
water, and I noticed that he was almost rigid and
numb. Finally he recovered sufficiently to say ‘tor-
pedo,” and then I saw that the harpoon he had been
holding was dancing about at a famous rate, evidently
having been forced into a large fish. Grasping it, I
quickly discovered what had happened to my friend.
As soon as I took hold of the pole with both hands I
received an electric shock sufficient to almost knock
me over, causing me to drop the pole and roll my
eyes well, I can assure you. By this time my friend
had somewhat recovered, and acting upon his sugges-
3O4.
Queer Game
thon, I allowed the fish to remain where it was, and
slowly pulled the boat in shore.
“When we grounded upon the beach I took a
turn about the line with a cider bottle, which I found,
and with this home-made insulator pulled the fish
ashore. It was one of the largest torpedoes or electric
rays I had ever seen or ever taken, and capable, under
certain conditions, of almost killing a human being.
It was of an almost oval shape, with a small tail, the
side lobes being taken up by the electric organs, which
extended from side to side, the ends of the cells being
visible from either side.
“When touched, the fish would roll its eyes dis-
mally, utter a low croak, and give what was almost a
knock-down shock. No one has ever been killed by
one of these fishes, but several people, as in the case
of my friend, whose recovery was not complete for
a week, have been seriously injured by them.”
The torpedo is one of the rays, and illustrates an
extremely interesting phase of the defensive side of
life, being provided with a very powerful electric
battery capable of benumbing enemies of large size.
“Speaking of queer game,” said another, “re-
minds me of a singular experience I once had in
Japan. I was at the time trying to find out some-
thing about the game fishes of Japan, and I found
the greatest pleasure among the native fishermen,
who employed many and singular devices. There
were men who made a specialty of net-fishing,
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Big Game at Sea
others who fished with birds like the Chinese, while
others caught shrimps for the markets of the large
cities. I was particularly attracted to a firm of crab-
bers, from the fact that about their fish-house I had
found the legs of a crab which must have been a
monster in point of size. I questioned one of the
crabbers, who said that the creature that had excited
my attention was a small one, and I further learned
that he not unfrequently caught them. For a consid-
eration, I persuaded him to take me out; and, to my
surprise, he informed me that the best time to go
crabbing in Japan was by moonlight.
“A few nights later, when the full moon was
rising over the water, we pushed off from the beach,
the man hoisted his clumsy sail, and away we went
down the shore.
“For several miles we followed the beach just
beyond the breakers; then, finally, turned into a small
bay, from which a great black forest set back, and so
ran ashore. As the crabber said we could not fish
until the tide was low, I strolled about, to pass away
the time, while he lay upon the sands smoking and
droning a peculiar song.
“When the moon was well up and the tide had
receded, leaving a long stretch of beach bare, the
crabber notified me that it was time to begin, and, to
my astonishment, handed me a stout cudgel and a
piece of rope. I supposed the crabs were taken in
the water, but they came up at low tide, he said. I
* 306
Queer Game
was then instructed to take a position at a certain
place, upon a rock, about ten feet from the water,
and to literally watch and wait, and when anything
appeared, to kill it with my cudgel or tie it with the
rope.
“This was not a particularly exciting outlook; but
I took my place, and slowly the minutes went by.
There was something rather soothing in the murmur
of the waves and the rustling of the leaves in the
adjacent forest, and I must have dozed or nearly
gone to sleep when I was aroused by hearing a curious
sound, and on looking up, saw an indistinct object
moving along not ten feet away. As my eyes became
accustomed to the darkness, I made out a form that
seemed all legs, with a small body; in fact, a big
spider it might have been, and then it dawned upon
me that this was the crab.
“My man had gone around a little point, so,
hardly knowing what to do, I waited. The crab, for
such it was, crawled slowly toward me, passing up the
beach, evidently feeding, or at least acting as if it
was, and stopping every few moments. It was the
most extraordinary spectacle I had ever seen. The
body of the creature did not appear larger than my
head, but the legs—eight of them—were five feet
long, while each of the biting claws was at least ten
feet in length. I allowed the animal to pass me, then
made a jump in its direction and grasped it by one
of the big claws; then, by a quick movement, seized
3O7
Big Game at Sea
the other, and lifted it from the ground. It was
light, and came easily; but imagine my feelings when
the spider-like creature deliberately threw its claws
about me, and fairly squeezed me in its embrace
“It was not much of a squeeze,” said the relator,
laughing, “but the idea was so uncanny that I tore
the crab away, unfortunately breaking one of the
small claws in the struggle. I then threw it down,
pressing my knee on its body, and endeavored to tie
the big claws; but before I could accomplish it, the
small but ivory-like nipper had caught me in the fleshy
part of the arm and given me a bite that has left a
mark ever since.”*
“Speaking of crabs,” said an English angler who
was familiar with almost every portion of the globe,
“I think the most singular experience it was ever my
good fortune to have was on the west coast of Africa.
We had traveled in the interior with a government
expedition, partly for protection through a bad coun-
try and partly for the companionship of some very
intelligent men who knew the region well, and who
were going down to the coast to meet a sailing vessel
which was to take them to another district.
* This was a most interesting yarn, but the author would advise its details to be
well salted before taken. The giant crab of Japan is a fact and specimens as large
as described have doubtless been caught, and large specimens may be seen in some of
the American museums; but still not professing to know anything about the
method of capture, the author would venture the statement that a crab of this kind
was never seen wandering over land. Its appearance suggests a life at moderate
depths, and there, or possibly in deep water, it is captured by becoming entangled in
nets or traps; but if any trained observer has been squeezed by the big crab on dry
land by the light of the Japanese moon, the author's apologies are ready.
3O8
Queer Game
“One day we entered a strip of country that was
covered with locusts, and when they rose into the air
they almost darkened the sun, giving it a dull cop-
pery hue. We fairly waded through locusts, and
that night came to the seashore to find that the dead
locusts were piled up on the beach by the waves in a
perfect wall for miles. They had flown out to sea,
blown by the wind, and been washed in by the waves.
The odor was sickening, and to escape it we traveled
for miles down the beach before we made our camp,
and here it was that the singular experience occurred.
We noticed almost immediately that the white sandy
beach was fairly riddled with the burrows of a large
land-crab that was the most rapid runner I had ever
seen. Some of the naturalists wished to capture some,
so a hunt was begun, and by mere accident several of
the party were on horseback.
“The crabs would not always take to their holes,
and one chased by me ran up the beach on the hard
sand. The crab ran like a streak of light for almost
a hundred yards, and I had great difficulty in catching
up with it; when I did, and reached down to strike it
with a bamboo, it stopped, then ran as rapidly back in
a direct line, while my horse went on and lost twenty
feet in the turn, and by the time I had wheeled about,
the crab had scurried far ahead and was at the mouth
of its den, dodging in as I came up.
“Another crab was started, giving me a zig-zag
race, actually tiring the horse out by the sudden and
3O9
Big Game at Sea
erratic turns that were necessary to keep up with it,
reminding me of a game of polo; and, finally, just as
I would stoop to strike the creature, it would dash
into its hole.
“The agility of the crabs was marvelous, and it
was soon evident that to run them down was an impos-
sibility; so the running was sport, and every morning
a race with the crabs was had in the saddle as exercise.
I believe I should not be overstepping the bounds of
truth if I should say that the crabs entered into the
spirit of the thing, and gave us a race as though
they enjoyed it. We finally captured one by dig-
ging it out—an arduous operation under a tropical
sun.” -
The land crabs, especially those known as Ocypoda,
on our own shores, are remarkable for their agility.
In Florida they are called spirit crabs, because of their
ability to avoid the hunter and their resemblance to
the white sand. They have a peculiar method of
running, scampering away over the beach, then when
almost caught turning quickly and running in a
directly opposite direction, then zig-zagging so rap-
idly that in attempting to catch them I have often
been completely nonplussed and obliged to acknowl-
edge that they could not be taken on the open beach.
On rocky places another very rapid crab, the Grap-
sus, is found; a bright-red fellow, watchful and
equally difficult to capture, often giving the pursuer
a hard run before overtaken. These crabs at the
3 IO
Angel Fish Taken with Rod and Reel
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Queer Game
island of Tristan da Cunha have been seen carrying
off small birds; and at other islands rabbits have been
caught by them, showing that they are the hunters of
the tribe.
“Regarding the myths and romances of the sea,”
said an angler, “it is very easy to see where they all
arise. As an example, take the unicorn in the English
coat of arms; there is no doubt at all but that this is a
distorted narwhal, which, to my mind, is quite as
remarkable as the supposed unicorn. .
“The latter was supposed to be a horse with fins
or webbed feet, possessing a horn that projected from
the forehead several feet. This animal plowed the
ocean in olden times, and, according to old histories,
was a common sight. It was, in reality, the creation
of some scientist, who had heard the unicorn described
by a sailor. It looked like a horse, and from the fore-
head extended a long horn, a terrible weapon that
no man or fish could front.
“The sailor had seen a narwhal, a small whale with
a rounded forehead, from which projected a remark-
able spiral horn, and sometimes two. No wonder the
old seamen were astonished. The present unicorn
is nearer the actual truth than one might expect, con-
sidering the times and the ignorance regarding natural
history.
“Some years ago,” continued the speaker, “I was
in the North Atlantic on a government vessel. We
went up to Iceland around the coast of Newfound-
3 II
Big Game at Sea
land, and while in this region I saw more or less of the
famous unicorn, or narwhal. We were stopping at
a native village where there was a large shark fac-
tory; the meat was known as spec, and, in reality, was
the money of the country, or a medium of exchange.
“The sharks here were very large and were caught
in deep water. Being somewhat curious to see the
method of capture, I asked one of the men to take
me out, which, for a consideration, he agreed to do.
The boat, or canoe, we went in was a huge arrange-
ment made of skins and whalebone, and fitted with
bone spears of all kinds for the capture of big game.
It took three men to manage the boat, while a boy,
the son of the owner, steered.
“The shark-fishing grounds were about five miles
off shore, and, as the wind was light, the men pulled.
We had gone nearly a mile, I think, when the boy at
the helm gave a loud grunt, the only sound that had
been made, and pointed up the coast. Following the
direction indicated, I saw what appeared to be the
heads of several men on the surface of the calm
water. The natives, lethargic enough at any time,
seemed to be excited, and immediately turned the boat
in that direction and began to pull with all their
energy, the boy helping along by bending his body,
as man-of-war's men often do in a race.
“We soon came up to the place and saw the curious
heads projecting from the water ahead. One of the
men put his oar away and took up a harpoon, and
- 3 I2
Queer Game
silently the boat moved on. I now could see that the
animals were not seals, but cetaceans of some kind.
Suddenly there came a flash, and as one of the crea-
tures dashed out of the water, I saw that it was a
veritable unicorn, so far as the horn was concerned,
as from the head projected a long blade or tusk. The
sight appeared to spur the men on to greater exer-
tions, and, in a moment, we were in the midst of a
mass of boiling heads and tails. I knew what the
buck fever was from personal experience with a
moose; but I certainly never experienced the feeling
that came over me as the animals darted this way and
that about us. Suddenly a large horn gleamed by our
side; the next instant the harpoon was plunged into
its owner, and we were deluged with foam from the
big animal that rose high in air. It must have
sounded, as whales do, going directly to the bottom
with a rush that made the gunwale of the boat
smoke. Again it went down, the coils of rope fairly
leaping from the box; then came a stop, and the men
hastened to take in the slack, coiling it back with mar-
velous rapidity. The animal had to rise to breathe,
and soon an enormous white ivory tusk shot out of
the water not a foot from the bow. Then came a
curious performance: for a moment the narwhal
seemed to fairly balance, and then the boy, seeing the
long tusk so near, grasped it and was jerked off his
feet. For a second he clung to the horn as one would
to a flagstaff, then was dashed into the water and run
3 I3
Big Game at Sea
over in the mad rush of the animal that now dashed
away in a lateral direction. The boy was picked up
in a half-drowned condition, cuffed, and tossed into
the bottom of the boat; not a moment too soon, as
the line exhausted again brought up with a jerk, and
away went the boat in a wild race over the seas.
“It was now merely a question of endurance, and
directing us all to sit in the stern so that the bow of
the canoe was well out of the water, the harpooner
sat and held the line in place. For a mile, nearly, the
game animal tore through the water without show-
ing signs of fatigue, then it began slowly to abate its
pace, so that the men ventured to take hold of the line
and haul in. Slow work it was. Every pull the
animal seemed to resent with fierce bursts of speed;
darting this way and that, leaping from the water,
turning over and over, trying in every way to escape
the terrible weapon that held it. Escape, however,
was impossible, and slowly the line came in, until
finally the animal was alongside and landed. A beau-
tiful creature it was, a narwhal of the largest size,
nearly fifteen feet long, of a dark spotted color, mak-
ing it a striking object as it rolled about in the water.
The horn of the narwhal was a spiral piece of ivory
eight feet in length, and was in reality a tusk or tooth
protruding from the left side of the upper jaw. The
narwhal is a whale, losing its teeth early, this tusk,
and sometimes two, being preserved. As far as
known, there is not the slightest use for the strange
3I4.
Queer Game
tusk; it is possible that it is used as a weapon, though
this is unlikely.” -
“I have seen a rival of the narwhal in the Indian
Ocean twenty feet in length,” interrupted a listener.
“It happened this way: I was bound down the
Madagascar coast in a trip to South Africa, and
was sitting on the quarter-deck with the captain,
and had just made the remark that there was not
a sail in sight, when I chanced to turn my eyes
back to where I had been looking, and there, cours-
ing along, was a sail. For a second I thought I
must be laboring under a delusion; but the cap-
tain also saw it and called for his glass. It was
a leg of mutton sail, apparently on a long boat a
mile away, or perhaps more, and, the strangest part
of it, was moving along as if propelled by a stiff
breeze, while we could distinctly see that there was
no wind within sight. By this time the native part of
the crew had seen the stranger and were gathering at
the rail, talking to each other in a mysterious way,
while occasionally one would throw his hands or arms
upward. The sail, when first observed, was passing
to our left, but soon hauled on what must have been
the wind and came directly for us. *
“There was something extremely uncanny in it
all, and it was easy to see that the men, a superstitious
lot, were ill at ease. The captain, after looking at the
object through the glass, handed it to me with the
remark that, if it was a boat, she was sailing hull
3 I 5
Big Game at Sea
under. A second later and I had it under view
myself, and a more astonishing object had never pre-
sented itself to me. The sail was still visible, and I
thought I could make out the mast; but as for the
hull, there was none, nothing but a ripple appearing
where the sail apparently joined the surface.
“On it came, however, rapidly increasing its speed,
until finally, when within one hundred yards of the
quarter, its true nature was appreciated. It was a
fish, one of those monsters of the deep rarely seen—a
gigantic swordfish over twenty feet in length, with a
dorsal fin rising five or eight feet from the back, pre-
senting the appearance of a leg-of-mutton sail, colored
brilliantly and flashing and scintillating in the sun-
light; a truly magnificent spectacle as it moved along.
It was the sail-fish of the Indian Ocean, famed as
being the king of the swordfishes and for its huge,
sail-like dorsal; and, as I found later, considered by
the natives as of a spiritual nature, or rather as having
the faculty of changing itself into a boat under full
sail. Its presence was looked upon as a bad omen or
indicative of a coming storm; but, as it happened in
this case, it came after the storm, so may be said to
have brought us good luck, or at least fair weather.
“The sail-fish, or Histiophorus, as it is known
to science, is found in the Indian Ocean, and compe-
tent authorities state that it has been known to attain
a length of at least thirty feet, and being armed with
a sword of great strength and size, it is no mean
3 I6 .
Queer Game
antagonist. Few native fishermen have the temerity
to attack this monster; in fact, they avoid it; but a
few years ago, at Ceylon, a crew was employed to
capture one in the interest of an English collector of
museum curiosities. A long native boat was used,
which held ten or fifteen men, and an old native,
whose reputation as a harpooner had been established
after many a conflict with the denizens of the deep,
was placed in charge, the Englishman being the only
white man in the party.
“Even in this locality the sail-fish was a com-
parative rarity, but rumors had been afloat for some
time that a fine specimen had been seen a dozen miles
up the coast at a small fishing village. In a few hours
the place was reached, just at nightfall, as it hap-
pened, the party finding accommodations on shore,
the men in the huts of the fishermen and the white
man in a poor hotel.
“Stories about the ferocity of the great fish were
in every mouth, and had they all been taken literally
it is doubtful if the purposes of the expedition would
have been carried out. A tall, olive-colored lascar
was mourning the loss of his boat—the great fish had
completely wrecked it—and stated that he narrowly
escaped with his life. Another native claimed that
the fish was a magician and had charmed the coast,
roaming up and down and waging warfare against
all who dared to venture upon his domain. Still
another volunteered the information that the great
3 I7
Big Game at Sea
fish could leave what was presumably its native ele-
ment and roam about the land in the shape of a white
elephant. Such tales were not reassuring to the native
crew, and not a few refused to start, so that when the
boat put off on the following day it was seriously
short-handed.
“The sail-fish had been seen but a few days before,
dashing across the waters of a small bay, pre-
sumably in chase of schools of fish that at this season
sought the seclusion the inlets and bays afforded, and
for this place the boat was directed, the natives sing-
ing a mournful chant, hoping, perhaps, in this way to
appease its rage. For several hours they rowed this
way and that, the lookout standing on a short mast,
ready to give the signal. Occasionally a porpoise or
some large fish would dash into the air and create a
momentary excitement. It was after several of these
false alarms that the Englishman took his stand on
the lookout. The water was nearly smooth, here and
there a ripple being seen, caused by a school of fish,
when suddenly, among the small fry, there appeared
a sharp, knife-like fin. It was merely a shark, per-
haps, or a great horse-mackerel, chasing the small
fry; but no shark had such a fin. It was rising every
second, and was soon two feet out of water. Up it
came, glistening, gleaming in the sunlight, and the
looker-on was so fascinated and spellbound with the
curious apparition that not until a shout came from
the crew did he realize that they were there to do
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Queer Game
more than look. The big fish was at hand, had
thrown down the gauntlet, and they were to take
it up.
“As the great fin rose higher and higher, the speed
of the animal seemed to decrease, and it appeared to
be indulging in a sun bath or displaying the gorgeous
hues of its dorsal appendage. Slowly it came on; a
slight turn of the oar, and the boat was placed in the
same general position, heading in the direction in
which it was moving. A glance about the crew and
boat showed everything trim and ship-shape. The
harpooner held his weapon firmly; the long rope was
coiled in the tub and clear, a native crouching behind,
armed with a knife, ready to cut if danger threatened;
the rest of the men sat at their oars, awaiting orders,
stoical, as was their nature. On came the fin, now
high out of water, cutting deftly and waving with a
gentle undulating motion. Nearer it crept, so close,
that Surely it must hear the compressed breathing of
the men. Then rose a dark form, a steel gleamed
for a second in the sunlight, a flash, a thud, and an
enormous form seemed to shoot upward from the
ocean, falling with a roar and crash; the boat was
almost covered with foam, and the line rushed from
the tub, making the woodwork smoke.
“‘Well done !' shouted the white man, “but for
Allah's sake, stand clear the line—if it fouls but an
inch, cut. Now, then, lads!” he continued, ‘give
way!' And under the strong efforts of the rowers,
3 IQ
Big Game at Sea
the canoe shot ahead after the fleeing fish. The rope
was running out so swiftly that it would probably
have broken when the end came, had not this precau-
tion been taken; as it was, when it was all exhausted,
the jerk of the fish buried the bow in foam; the man
sprang aft, and a second later the craft was bounding
after the stricken fish.
“For nearly half an hour this race was kept up,
and then the game showing some signs of exhaustion,
the rope was manned, and an attempt made to gain
upon it and take in the slack. At first it seemed to
spur the fish into renewed efforts, but finally they
began to gain and could see the monster ahead.
“‘He has stopped l’ shouted the harpooner, Sud-
denly, after a few moments of hard pulling. ‘Take
in quick!’ said the Englishman; ‘perhaps he is sink-
ing.” Then a movement from the bow man attracted
his attention. The latter was evidently dumb with
terror and could only point, and there, coming on
with the celerity of light, was the great fish, its fin
fairly whistling through the water. ‘Leap for your
lives!' shouted the Englishman, hoarsely, and as the
men dashed over, the frail craft rose from the water
as if shot from a catapult, pierced by the great fish,
and fell back a shattered wreck, a precarious refuge
for the men. They swam about it holding on in
terror, expecting momentarily to be run through by
the giant swordsman, and in this condition were finally
picked up by some fishermen. The sail-fish had in
32O
Queer Game
Some way broken the line, and, seeing its supposed
enemy, had, after the fashion of its kind, charged it,
so becoming the conqueror in the sea-fight.”
As remarkable a story as this appears to be, it is exceeded by an account given
by Colonel Nicholas Pike, late consul to Mauritius, who describes the leap of one
of these large swordfishes through the sail of a native boat. -

32 I
CHAPTER XXII
OFF THE SIERRA SANTA CRUZ
OU might search some maps all day and not
l find the name Soquel, but this is the fault of
the map-makers. Soquel is a little town
along the Coast Range near the Bay of Monterey
in California; a hamlet of cool winds, fragrant rose
gardens, of fields of grain reaching up to splendid
forests of redwood which form the sky lines every-
where alongshore back into the Santa Cruz range as
far as the eye can reach. Among the verse of David
Starr Jordan one particular poem, which he has
called “Vivérols '' has always had a fascination for
me, and with his permission I quote the following:
“Beyond the sea, I know not where,
There is a town called Vivérols;
I know not if 'tis near or far,
I know not what its features are,
I only know 'tis Vivérols.
“I know not if its ancient walls
By vine and moss be overgrown;
I know not if the night-owl calls
From feudal battlements of stone,
Inhabited by him alone.
322
Off the Sierra Santa Cruz
“I know not if 'mid meadow-lands
Knee-deep in corn stands Vivérols;
I know not if prosperity
Has robbed its life of poesy;
That could not be in Vivérols,
They would not call it Vivérols.
“Perchance upon its terraced heights
The grapes grow purple in the sun;
Or down its wild untrodden crags,
Its broken cliffs and frost-bit jags
The mountain-brooks unfettered run.
“Perchance among the clouds it lies,
'Mid vapors out from Dreamland blown;
Built up from vague remembrances,
That never yet had form in stone,
Its castles built of cloud alone.”
I have always had a Vivérols in my mind; some fair
and beautiful spot always just ahead. I fully ex-
pected to find it in the Laurentides where the green
reaches of the mountains come down to the St. Law-
rence between Quebec and the Saguenay. Perhaps
you remember the deep and splendid blue tints that lie
like bars of tourmaline, or old Persian turquoise in
these valleys along shore. No deeper blue, no more
splendid tint ever met the human eye than these, but
as I advanced they slowly stole on and were always
just so far ahead, and then fell in behind, glowing,
inviting, realistic, unapproachable.
323
Big Game at Sea
So I fancy is Vivérols, but in Soquel when I first
saw it one bright afternoon I imagined I had found
a Vivérols; yet now as I look down upon it from the
hills I cannot say why; it caught my fancy, that was
all; not Soquel alone, but the valley of Soquel, for
there is a valley, a town and a little river; indeed the
real Soguel of my fancy is a combination of all these.
First there is the valley or the cañon that reaches back
from the bay five, six, perhaps ten miles; very straight
for a California cañon, really two great arms of the
Santa Cruz range, which come creeping down to the
sea that piles in onto the sands of Laguna del Soquel,
and against the cliffs in such a melodious way that
five miles up the cañon you may hear its roar. This
is due to some peculiar carrying quality of the air,
which intensifies the sound, as often when going down
the river I have heard the ominous roar of the sea
sighing through the meadows and woods, fancied
that a heavy gale was on, imagined great seas, storm
and disaster; yet, when I reached the shore the sea
was a disk of steel extending away to the distant
mountains of Monterey.
It is well perhaps that you cannot ask me wherein
lay the real charm of Soquel as I should be embar-
rassed. Indeed I never stopped there; I was always
going through, or wading down the little river, the
real Soquel; but there is a Soquel with tangles of
roses, a peculiar quality of air, cool, rich, pure,
vibrant, velvet-like on the cheek. I remember a score
324 es
- - -
S-Sºz.
(2) Blue
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Nº.
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eyed Perch.
(1) Spiny Lobster (Crawfish)

Off the Sierra Santa Cruz
of houses rose-clad, with a strange assortment of
trees; figs, chestnuts, oranges, acacias, eucalyptus,
madrone, apples, tremendous antipodal opposites,
cheek by jowl; little churches, an ancient inn with
inviting yard reaching away from the well-watered
country road, fields of pink and lavender, real fields of
the cloth of gold that waved and rippled in the wind
in ever-changing tints and combinations of color; a
neglected field of mustard, wild carrot and vagrant
weeds, if you will; a mountain Gobelin of the fields,
irresistible, alluring.
Then there was the river, and perhaps this was the
charm after all; a little river that demanded tribute,
as you could not reach the sea without crossing it,
and from its mouth at the laguna back into the range
it was flanked as is no river in all the world outside
of California, a solid wall of redwood rising, the
very gods of the forest, pillars that seemed to support
the sky.
The Soquel is a winding stream, yet it never
strayed very far from the trees, and as I followed it
down they were always in sight, gradually disappear-
ing as I came to the sea where the little laguna widens
out and sea and mountain stream join forces and
form shelter for the steel head as it did for the sal-
mon in other days. -
Usually when one goes fishing he is on the ground,
but it was my fancy to make this a pilgrimage, so I
slept five miles up the Soquel, on its banks, one
B
32.5
Big Game at Sea
might say, yet one hundred feet above it, and not
beyond the music of its voice, the ranch house
facing the splendid range and seemingly a score
of miles from any sea. Yet, in just thirty minutes I
could reach the wharf at the seashore and find my
boatman waiting to take me out after the salmon
of the Bay of Monterey.
Country and ocean are rarely so charmingly com-
bined, so completely in contradiction. Quail run be-
fore the team; the roadrunner crosses the road, and I
catch sight of an eagle soaring high above the giant
redwoods, see the rainbow trout dashing aside as
we rumble over the little bridge, and presto! I am
unreeling and “Doc Hamilton,” my boatman, is
telling me of the ten salmon averaging thirty-two and
a half pounds apiece, or three hundred and twenty
pounds in all, which Mr. Someone of Somewhere, not
of Vivérols or Soquel I swear, took with him yester-
day and which, had I been there I might have caught.
I feel guilty and am afraid that “Doc” will perceive
it, and I wonder what he would say if he knew that
I had spent the whole day on the Soquel looking at the
mountains and dreaming. I am relieved when he
does not press the matter. He has an abundance of
bait—gleaming anchovies caught by the light of the
moon, and taking the oars he stands, facing the bow,
and with powerful strokes sends the double ender out
into the bay.
Perhaps you have never fished for salmon in Mon-
326
Off the Sierra Santa Cruz
terey, and do not know its many charms. Let it be
known, then, that it is August, and that it is always
cool. The hot days are apparently unknown here;
the air has a peculiar quality altogether delightful
and the sea or bay in summer is often as smooth as
glass all night, and until midday when the so-called
“trade,” the inshore, wind begins, increases until it
often creates a heavy sea; but by that time you are in
and your salmon are on the wharf. The bay is fifty
miles long, really an open roadstead, after the fashion
of nearly all the harbors made by nature in Cali-
fornia. The Presidio of Monterey is at one end,
Santa Cruz and Capitola, near the mouth of the
Soquel, at the other; the latter being five miles to the
west of Santa Cruz, and being more in the lee, ap-
pears to be the favorite point of departure. Here
the Soquel has broken down the cliffs which charac-
terize the coast. A long wharf reaches out, and in
its lee lie numbers of picturesque lateen-rigged boats,
launches and smaller craft for the diversion and
use of the anglers; and every morning at five or six
they are lining up off the float to receive their patrons
from all over the country. .
There is a fog bank out at sea, but the high moun-
tains of Monterey and Carmel stand up clear and
distinct across the bay. The water is as smooth as the
proverbial crystal, and one thinks of the painted ship
and the time of the Ancient Mariner. If you are a
tenderfoot your boatman will unfold the mysteries of
327
Big Game at Sea
the salmon, surely the fish of mystery which is here in
vast bands feeding on schools of anchovy to later
go up the rivers to spawn and die.
Once clear of the kelp bed and shallow water that
is tinged red in patches with the clouds of Peridinium,
the most remarkable of all the small phosphorescent
animals, my boatman prepared his tackle, and I mine.
He had a heavy cord line, with loops every twenty
or thirty feet and sinkers of lead ranging from a few
ounces to several pounds. The heavy sinker was
attached twenty feet from the hook, which was clev-
erly baited with a large three-inch anchovy. I
noticed that he inserted the hook through the eyes,
hauled it through, then passed the point through the
mouth and down through the body coming out near
the tail; the line formed a loop around the jaws of
the bait, preventing them from opening, thus stop-
ping the whirling of the bait. A two-pound sinker
was attached twenty feet from the bait, and the
seemingly incongruous mechanism lowered to lure
the game fish of the world, if authorities are to be
considered.
At intervals on his line he had marks at two, five
or ten fathoms, and the secret of the fishing was to
find how deep the fish were lying, and then go for
them. “ Doc” tried a depth of fifty feet at first and
was encouraged when passing a boat whose owner
pointed downward, which meant “deep fish.” This
was too suggestive of cod fishing for me, and I used
328 -
Off the Sierra Santa Cruz
my rod and reel with a twenty-one thread line and
pipe sinker, which took it down possibly twenty feet.
I dwell upon the modus operandi or statistics of this
sport, as to me, at least, it was very singular.
In Scotland, in Eastern Canada, the salmon re-
quires the most aesthetic lure the fly-maker can con-
ceive, and skill on the part of the angler; yet here
the splendid fish, a near kinsman, a cousin german,
was to be taken literally with a mechanism of the
grossest kind, though it should be remembered that
the method was that of the market fishermen.
It was a fascinating sight, twenty or thirty boats
and strange crafts, launches with engines in the best
place down astern, rowboats, Americanized Latin
double enders, suggestive of Naples, small craft
rowed by anglers, their wives astern holding the rod,
and far away on the skyline where it blended with the
blue ineffable haze of the coast range the picturesque
lateen sails of Italian trollers.
We were four or five miles off shore when a shout
came from a pirate with six lines, each held by a
rancher from San Joaquin or Santa Clara. “There
you are,” said “Doc.” “Those blasted haymakers,
who never saw a salmon outside of a can, come out
and take the record fish,” as with a shout the rancher,
who was having the time of his life, brought a great
bar of quivering silver to the surface after a mighty
struggle and the boatman involved it in the big scoop
net and lifted it aboard. The wedge of possible
329
Big Game at Sea
envy was coming over the rail when my rod bent,
a soft, strange (to me) something struck it, the line
rushed away and I hooked my fish. I was anxious to
compare the play of the salmon to other fishes I had
taken, so held it with a taut line and took my time,
while “ Doc” adjured me by all the gods, to “snake
him in.”
The fish made a splendid run, sweeping up-
ward with a vigor that sent waves of tingling thrills
up line and rod into every fiber; this I conceive to be
the moment of complete fascination in angling, after
the first run when you stop the fish and hold it a
second that you may feel its strength, watch the tem-
per of bending rod and taut line; and this is where
I made a palpable mistake. I felt a strange hammer-
ing on the line, distinct, pronounced, as though the
fish was deliberately jerking its head from side to side,
as I have often seen a tarpon do in air. I am advised
by “Doc” that I should have reeled and reeled hard,
as the hammering only widened the hole in the sal-
mon's jaw, and the next slack the fish got, it threw
out the hook.
This is what happened. I played that large and
splendid fish a few short moments, saw it bounding
upward, almost anticipated its leap as the water boiled
on the surface twenty yards away, and then—tell it
not in Gath !—there was a sense of goneness.
“It's all off,” said “Doc,” sententiously. A wild
cheer rose from another handliner on the launch, as
||
33O
Off the Sierra Santa Cruz
another big salmon was lifted in. At this precise
moment I fell from grace. “Doc” baited my line
and I unreeled my fine tackle again, and getting the
butt of my rod under my leg held it in my left hand.
The handline was temptingly near; it required but a
reach of an inch or two, and in some way my fingers
closed over it.
“Doc” recognized the diminished strain, and re-
marked that now “I was getting down to business,”
and at that moment on that combination battering
ram and juggernaut-like tackle, I had a strike.
“Doc” seized my rod, while I bent to the work of
landing my first salmon. I had fished for red
grouper, red snapper, cod and halibut with a hand-
line, but these were deep-sea fish and could, as a rule,
be caught in no other way, and the game was legiti-
mate, but here was a splendid fish which was liable to
be caught anywhere on the surface or in the deeps,
and I confess that I felt the culprit in murdering the
game in so base a fashion. Still I played it, and
admit that the salmon gave a splendid fight, despite
the fact that it had no chance. It tore the heavy line
through my fingers with a rush and hiss that told of a
big fish, and could easily have broken the line; then
it came rushing upward with tremulous bounds, broke
water fifty feet away, came in at me with a dash
that ought to have been cheered, swept about the
boat in a circle, always coming in, as I gave no slack
even where it was making the heaviest rushes, a game
33 I
Big Game at Sea
fish of the first quality. Soon I had it near the
boat and called for the net.
“Why,” said “Doc,” “he hain't found out he's
hooked yet; look out for him l’”
This was true. The fish came alongside, appar-
ently saw me or the boat and made a rush that caused
everything to burn and tingle, made a sound of twenty
fathoms that was irresistible and began a series of
plays, rushes and runs that satisfied me of the splen-
did qualities of the salmon while at sea. Such a
fish on a rod would have been the perfection of
angling. I handled him as daintily as I could, and
soon saw the gleam of silver, a flash of light in the
rich green water, brought him to the quarter and
watched the splendid play of silver, as surely no fish
gleams so brightly except the tarpon, and then led
the game into the wide open net which “ Doc”
handled with skill; there was at least this redeeming
clause in the catch. The salmon tossed the water
over us bravely, doused us well, and having received a
merciful quietus came in as fine a salmon, in the
neighborhood of twenty-six pounds, as one would
wish to see.
I was willing to concede that even on the handline
it was sport of a certain quality, though not for me,
as I confess to a certain unreasonableness regarding
light tackle along with other lapses.
By this time twenty salmon had been taken by the
various boats, and a man in a launch, who was fishing
332
Off the Sierra Santa Cruz
with a rod and heavy sinker, landed one; but I could
not conceive the difference between this and the hand-
line.
Coursing, wheeling in every direction, the boats
went, always looking for this silver ignis fatuus that
was down somewhere, and every boat which passed
within hailing distance exchanged signals.
“How deep? Ten fathoms, or twenty out?”
Then “Doc” would adjust his line to the new
conditions, and so on the handline, always the hand-
line, I would have a strike and play the dashing band
of silver in its countless rushes in and out.
I confess to what may be an unreasonable preju-
dice against the handline, and wishing to be per-
fectly fair, concede that to any one who enjoys hand-
line fishing here was the sport of sports; and that it
is enjoyed at Santa Cruz, Capitola and Monterey is
shown by the fact that hundreds flock to these shores
and enjoy it, and, strange to say, they get nearly
all the fish, the rod catches being in the minority.
Doubtless if every one fished with a rod, to give the
game a square deal, as they do in Southern California,
the result would be different.
The water was still smooth, yet a ground swell
was coming in out of the west, telling of storms at
sea, and on the crest of the waves rode the fairy-like
physalia, and under the surface countless and gigantic
jelly fishes with amber and deep chocolate and laven-
der radiations. Some with tentacles twenty or thirty
333
Big Game at Sea
feet in length, like gigantic comets; others, in white
and pink, were mere disks, while countless minute
forms filled the water of this bay, famed for its wealth
of life of strange and incongruous diversity. Huge
black spots here and there told of schools of ancho-
vies, and up through them occasionally came forty
or fifty-foot sulphur bottom whales, while over the
sea flew countless flocks of sea pigeons, also preying
upon them, covering the green waters for acres; and
when they rose with a rippling roar, like the beating
of a thousand waves, the air was filled with the
disagreeable musky odor; not so disagreeable perhaps
as the odor of the whale which filled the air with
spray just to the windward.
The eye of the angler is constantly regaled with
marvelous sights in this paradise of animal life.
The boatman has turned to the east, and we are
going in shore before the big swells which are coming
from nowhere and growing larger and larger. I see
a big long-tailed gull chasing the sea pigeons, forcing
them to stand and deliver, and then, the rod bends
and the big reel is a witness to its own undoing; no
salmon this. I could stop this silver king of Mon-
terey in a few seconds, but this is another matter.
It rips the line off by the yard, literally makes things
sing, and a fine leather spray rises about the thumb
brake. Away and down it goes, while the reel sings
an acclaim of its own; down deep into the cañon, that
is supposed to be beneath us, then up, rising in a long,
334
Off the Sierra Santa Cruz
well-sustained bound. I stop it, as it reaches the
surface, where it whirls about, beating the water into
foam and for a moment blazes on the side of a big
roller, then is off, surging down, bending the stout
rod to the buckling point, stretching the line until
it twangs like a guitar string.
Then I had it all my way, and again stop for the
grand rush which makes even the stolid “Doc" say
“Gee whiz 1 '' then have it on the flank and watch its
splendid play, breathless, as it is work, this pumping,
holding, playing, slacking, reeling, all at just the right
time; work that makes the veins stand out, the heart
pump and the boatman smile, as he is paid not to do
it, for that day at least. In it comes, perhaps a sal-
mon. “ Doc' thinks it a thirty-six-pounder, but I am
a skeptic; I know those splendid runs, those strong
leaps up from depths to the surface, those splendid
sweeps around, and I wager with myself, taking heavy
odds, that it is a white sea bass.
As I bring it to the quarter and for a moment
catch a glimpse of the fish I see that I am right. It
is a cousin of the great bass of the south, more slen-
der, and what the southern fishermen call a sea trout;
a splendid fellow, full of fight from start to finish,
and as he comes in, bearing off heavily, he has me
breathing hard, and just to show that he can do it,
despite all my strength, breaks away and is off one
hundred feet to be slowly reeled in again. So comes
this fighter to the net, and when I turn him in and the
335
Big Game at Sea
boatman successfully nets him, for there is no gaffing
here, he tosses the water over us in a royal fashion,
coming in with a decided protest.
I can imagine no more attractive catch than this
on an eight- or nine-ounce tip with a number-nine line,
and as the boatman holds it up, I see a fish four feet
and a half long, thirty pounds in weight at least, with
the graceful shape of the weakfish, bronzed irides-
cent with pink and old-gold hues on its upper surface,
gray and silver below, and about the head, the mar-
velous tints of the peacock. Such a catch in olden
times would have been sent to the emperor and all
the great men of the city summoned to the feast.
But what are the facts on this twentieth day of
August, in the year of our Lord, 1906? We are
slightly disappointed; it is salmon that we are out for,
and if the truth is told these fish are so plentiful that
they interfere with the real game. We do not want
them, yet if one such fish was caught at any point on
the Atlantic coast it would be heralded far and near,
photographed and mounted. The launches on this
happy day in the Bay of Monterey brought in at least
thirty of these hard and splendid fighters, ranging
from thirty to fifty pounds in weight; and that morn-
ing on the wharf I saw at least half a ton of them,
some sixty and seventy pounds in weight; brought in
by the lateen-rigged boats, having been trapped in
gill-nets at night; and this is repeated from April until
October. - .
336
S(4)--s
(1) Giant Star Fish. (3) The Blacksmith Fish.
(2) Sea Anemones. (4) A Meteor of the Sea (light giver).
Sºº
OF
*/cº

Off the Sierra Santa Cruz
We had struck a school of “sea trout,” and an-
other fish came in on the hand-line, making the welkin
ring, tossing spume into the air as it came to the
net. Then the rod came in action again, hooked
another trout, to be followed by a salmon on the
hand-line, that made a fine fight for liberty and life.
Luck was against me.
I hooked and landed another salmon on the big
line, but large sea trout only fell to my rod, nor
during my stay here did I succeed, though I tried
various schemes to obviate the use of the big sinker.
But the fish were down to the twenty fathom mark,
for reasons best known to themselves. On days when
I was not out, they were at the surface, and I saw
a man who took a number with his rod. At Mon-
terey and Carmel many anglers take them in this way.
I believe my jovial boatman spent part of his time
ashore hunting up gentlemen who had killed large
salmon with the rod, as every time I visited the beach
from the ranch up the country I was introduced to
a Mr. Blank, who that morning had taken a forty-
pounder with the rod, or a Mr. Someone else regaled
me with a tale to the effect that he had found the
salmon on the surface and trolled for them as he
would bluefish or yellowtail, and took two monsters.
Indeed I saw them do it; yet when I fish it is “twenty
fathom, Bill.” Some day I shall go to these happy
hunting-grounds and camp on the trail of the salmon
all summer and land my game with rod and reel.
337
Big Game at Sea
The movements of the Monterey salmon are more
or less uncertain. They are scheduled to appear in
April, and generally do, and they remain, as a rule,
until the first heavy storm in winter; and as some of
my catches were filled with nearly ripe eggs it is evi-
dent that they were soon to enter some river not
far away, as the Sacramento, or Russian, and were
feeding high in the interim; the vast schools of sar-
dines and anchovies affording an omnipresent feast,
and in such vast numbers that it was a miracle that a
salmon could be induced to take a dead fish on a hook.
As midday approaches the wind springs up, com-
ing first in catspaws, then spreading over the surface
until out at sea white-caps are to be seen. Then the
small boats put up sail and edge in shore. Perhaps
another salmon and sea bass are taken, the latter
from the heart of an anchovy school where we saw
him lying in state, surrounded by prospective food,
and then we join the line, reel up, take a satisfying
glance at the big salmon under the canvas, and run
in shore, where all the inhabitants of Capitola appear
to have come down to count the spoils, and soon the
float is piled with the splendid fish, and the amateur
fishermen climb the stairs to the high pier and tell
the stories and have their salmon packed and shipped
to friends who cannot go a-fishing. At Monterey a
small army of Japanese have the professional salmon
fisheries in hand. They fish from sailboats, and begin
when the angler stops, requiring the strong west wind.
338
Off the Sierra Santa Cruz
When this arises the fleet sweeps down the bay often
with the alignment of an army, covering every section
of water where the salmon are liable to be found,
and reaping a big daily harvest of large fish.
The bay is now covered with white-caps, the strong
west winds bowling in big patches of high fog, the
whistling buoy is complaining, and the day is over for
salmon, at least off Soquel, and by one o'clock I am
far up the winding river in the Santa Cruz range,
where the odors of bay fill the air and the rich tints
of giant sequoias paint the slopes in ever varying
beauty and are in truth semper virens.
339
CHAPTER XXIII
A NEW GAME FISH
migrations of its inhabitants, the fishes, and
the causes which influence them. The Pacific
Coast of North America is peculiarly situated; swept
by the Kuroshiwo, the so-called Black Current of
Japan, an Asiatic Gulf Stream, its climate is tempered
and modified so that the entire coast is much warmer
than corresponding regions on the Atlantic coast, and
it is constantly visited by strange and unexpected visi-
tors from the sea. For ten years Santa Catalina Island
has been famous for its tuna fishing; the big game
has been taken with rod and reel, the author capturing
the first very large fish, weighing one hundred and
eighty-three pounds, which was followed by one taken
by Col. C. P. Morehous, weighing two hundred and
fifty pounds, and the records of the Tuna Club to-day
show about sixty of the fishes taken with rod and reel,
weighing over one hundred pounds, and four or five
one hundred and fifty pounds.
The tuna is remarkably fickle. As a general rule
it comes in July, or the latter part of June, arriving in
schools and remaining until August 15th, when it sud-
s MONG the mysteries of the sea are the strange
34O
A New Game Fish
denly ceases biting and the season, so far as the sport
is concerned, is at an end; yet the tunas are still on
the ground. Up to this time they have been feeding
on flying fishes, running them into the bays and out
on the beaches, but now it will be found that they are
feeding on squid and in deeper water.
These fishes evidently range from seventy-five to
two hundred and fifty pounds, doubtless larger ones
being in the schools. For two years past only small
ones have been seen, and it is supposed that a large
school of orcas drove them away, and tunas have been
reported from Australia and other parts of the world
where they have never been seen before. But sud-
denly, in the fall of 1904, a new fish arrived, a beauti-
ful creature, an almost typical tuna, but not over sixty
or seventy pounds in weight; a fish as trim and attract-
ive as can be imagined.
It had the general shape of a tuna. The head was
large, the back light olive green, in contradistinction
to the blue-backed big tunas. The finlets, instead of
pale yellow, as in the tuna, were a vivid lemon yellow;
the side fins were a third longer than those of the
typical tunas. The oldest inhabitant of the island,
“Mexican Joe,” who had been fishing its waters for
twenty years, had never seen the fish, although the
typical tuna has been known from the earliest times;
indeed, I have found its bones in the mounds, showing
that it was favorite game with the early inhabitants
of the island.
34 I
Big Game at Sea
The fish was new to me, and upon sending a photo-
graph to Dr. Jordan, he wrote me that the fish was a
most interesting visitor, or as he put it, “one more
bond which bound us to Japan,” or words to that
effect. The fish hitherto had been known only in the
ports of Japan and rarely at Honolulu, but never had
been reported from American shores. It is known to
science as Germo macropterus, and is a species of alba-
core, a cousin of the tuna.”
Having no common name, I called it the Japanese
Albacore, and by any other name it would have been
just as interesting; but the term was justified by the fact
that it had been known for a long time in Japan. The
fish so resembled the tuna that the boatman assumed
that it was a tuna and called it the “yellow-finned
tuna,” by which name the interesting fish will go down
to fame, and with some excuse, as when compared
superficially to the tuna it resembles it much more than
it does its generic relative. This was in 1904, and
ever since the new tuna, with its vivid lemon finlets,
has appeared every August or September in vast num-
bers, affording a sport never dreamed of, for the sim-
ple reason that, being smaller than the tuna, averaging
about fifty pounds, they are much easier to catch.
The capture of the large and true tuna, the most
difficult of all fishes (if in good condition) to catch,
is an event even in Southern California, and out of
thousands who have made the attempt there are not
*Dr. Jordan now considers it a tuna. (Thunnus macropterus.)
342
(I) A New Game Fish. The Yellow-finned Tuna.
(2) L. P. Streeter, with a Catch of a Yellow-finned Tuna.




A New Game Fish
over seventy anglers who wear the blue button of the
Tuna Club, showing that they have taken a one-
hundred-pound tuna or over with the rod, reel and line
(2 I-thread line) specified by the Tuna Club. Many
anglers have taken specimens weighing up to one hun-
dred pounds and over in ten, fifteen or twenty minutes,
some in five minutes (female fishes, exhausted by
spawning), but the vigorous fish, the typical tuna of
one hundred and fifty pounds, in its best condition, is
more than a match for the average angler.
The tuna of large size is the exception; but the
yellow-fin of fifty or sixty pounds, five hundred of
which were caught last season, without question
affords great sport and less real labor to the majority
of anglers. One big tuna satisfies the soul of the
average angler, but the fifty-pound yellow-fins, when
played on the light thread-like line from one to two
hours, have opened up a new field of sport.
The tuna and albacore are wandering fishes, found
over wide areas. They move north and south with
the seasons, appearing in the Pacific in spring or sum-
mer and leaving when the rains come, or in December
or earlier, and sometimes do not come at all.
In August or September the fishing is at its best,
and in the lee of the great island of Santa Catalina
vast schools of yellow-tail, tuna, bonita and albacore
congregate to prey upon the schools of small fry,
sardines, anchovies, smelt and flying fishes, which are
there to spawn in the shallow bays which form the
343
Big Game at Sea
mouths of cañons along shore. The bonitas and true
tunas are on the surface, the latter often moving along
in schools in an acute angle with a large tuna in the
lead, fins and tail projecting above the surface, when
it is an easy matter to cast a bait in front of them.
Deeper, but not far from the surface, lies the albacore,
and at times the big tuna, and almost invariably the
“yellow-finned tuna,” which in the rush upward after
the prey is often the last, coming up out of the depths
flashing white, green and gold scintillating with color,
a radiant object.
The conditions on these Pacific fishing grounds are
ideal. The island affords smooth water, though
twenty or thirty miles out at sea the water is deep,
blue as Sapphire, the sky clear and bright, the tem-
perature almost always cool and delightful, while the
island with its high mountains, its rocky and pre-
cipitous cliffs affords a charming relief to the eye.
Slowly the launch with its comfortable seats in the
stern moves along the kelp beds, the highway of the
fishes, where groves and forests of giant weed rise in
the deep blue water and roll and bend in the tide,
forming halls and portières of great beauty through
which countless fishes swim and poise. t
Often the game is here; again off shore, where the
sea is a vast sapphire, a blue so intense that it appears
to be the very sky reflected in the waters. The line
is out sixty feet or so and at the end of the long
leader or snood a silvery sardine gleams and flashes
344
A New Game Fish
in the sunlight as it turns and quivers. In almost
every direction the perfect mirror of the ocean is dis-
turbed by schools of large fishes and no one can tell
what the game may be. The air is cool and delicious,
the only sound the cry of some distant gull or the
harsher protest of a bald eagle chased by king birds
and ravens. Off on the horizon is the perfect figure
of a ship under sail, really a rock, and away to the
east the snowy peaks of the Sierra Madre, ten or
twelve thousand feet in air.
So attractive is the environment that one forgets the
objective, until suddenly the tip of the rod bends, leaps
downward, resilient, deadly. The reel sounds, blazon-
ing a loud acclaim on the silent air, and you are aware
that some marvelous thing has you, and despite your
best and most conscientious efforts, is tearing away
the thread-like line known as “number-nine,” in yards,
varas and feet. There is no stopping it. Your thumb
stall plays gently on the line, and you can almost see
it smoke, and smoke it might if you had not wet the
line in advance. The slightest mistake, the least over-
pressure, and the game is up.
So you dally with the line, play with it, press your
thumb gently upon it, as it sinks into the sea to the
acclaim of the reel. If you are wise in your genera-
tion you will have marked your line with silk; red for
one hundred feet, blue for two hundred feet, and
yellow for three hundred feet and so on, as the fine
cobweb-like line melts away, and—tell it not in Gath !
34.5
Big Game at Sea
—I lost nine hundred feet of this line once in Avalon
Bay, which went off in one wild scream of the reel.
There was a z-e-e—eel dying slowly away, and an
empty spool to tell the story, a burned thumb to illus-
trate the fierceness of the rush. -
The line is going down at an angle of forty-five
degrees. One hundred, two hundred, five hundred
feet gone before you feel that the intensity of the rush
is over. The slightest tension that you have been able
to give has told, and up comes the game, the delicate
line as taut as a guitar string. You have the butt
in the cap of your belt, the slender tip of greenheart
bending to the dangef point. Any mistake will be
fatal now, and you begin to reel with circumspection,
watching for the rush which is sure to come sooner
or later. But the unseen game is rising to the surface.
The first wild bound on feeling the hook is over, and
the fish is surging up, sending a peculiar thrill through
the light rod and line, exhilarating to the angler per-
fectly attuned to the sport and the environment.
There is nothing quite like it, yet one has the time
to observe the beauties of the place—its many charms.
Nowhere is the water bluer, more deeply tinted with
the ethereal splendor of the sky, for sky it seems, and
as you look down into it, indigo, Sapphire, Labrador-
ite, all the blues you have seen or dreamed of flash
across the mind, the blue of Byron, and
“Oh, darkly, deeply, beautifully blue,”
346
A New Game Fish
as somewhere someone sings about the sky, and as you
gaze into the deep blue heart of the ocean to catch the
first glimpse of this splendid game that is playing you
so well, you see the strange, graceful, fairy-like deni-
zens of the sea, forms of crystal of such dainty shape,
so ethereal, that you look through some of them and
see other forms far beyond. They drift by, radiant
comets, chalices of seeming pearls, cloud-like traceries,
shapes seemingly of the fancy, while everywhere are
scattered gems, diamonds, rubies, Sapphires, emeralds,
living gems, minute crustaceans known as Sapphiraene,
which take on this marvelous gift of iridescence and
add to the splendors of the sea.
The ocean which looks so blue, so absolutely clear,
is, on closer inspection, seen to be alive with countless
myriads of shapes, and up through them comes your
game. You see him first, a glint of silver far below,
then green, and vivid lemon tints catch the sunlight,
and up into or through this empyrean of the sea rises
the game, a splendid fish, three or four feet long,
with back of green, belly, as it turns upward, of silver,
finlets of lemon yellow, eyes large, side fins, albacore-
like, though not so long, but longer than in the tuna;
the head is large, body robust, but graceful, a splendid
type of fish, the hirenaga of Japan. Up it comes,
dashing about the boat, trying, and successfully, to
plunge; circling, darting this way and that, full of
vigor, never giving up, though fighting every move
of rod and reel; never had fish a fairer field; never
347
Big Game at Sea
was game caught on more honorable terms, as the
slightest mistake will break the delicate rod; a jerk
of any kind sever the web-like line.
Moments have slipped away during this play, and
the fish that is now circling the boat, or swimming
back and forth by it, always bearing off, has been
contesting the reel for over an hour, yet is still strong.
The relentless click, click, click continues, and the big
reel brings it in until it is seen doggedly swimming
along near the boat. Then you rally and have it on
the quarter, the boatman sinks his gaff beneath it,
jerks it into the silvery throat, and the gleaming, strug-
gling hirenaga is held, beating the water furiously, to
be hauled in and put out of its misery. It is needed
as a trophy.
The fish doubtless runs up to nearly, if not quite,
one hundred pounds, the largest taken with rod and
reel of the Light Tackle Club being a sixty pounder,
caught by Mr. A. J. Eddy. Mr. L. P. Streeter,
president of the Aransas Pass Tarpon Club, in a con-
versation on the subject of the fighting qualities of
this fish, said:
“My experience with the Japanese albacore, or
“yellow-fin tuna,’ on the nine-thread line, under the
rules of the Catalina Light Tackle Club, leads me to
the belief that he is indeed fortunate who has the
opportunity of capturing this grand game fish in the
waters of Catalina.
“The difficulties attending its capture on light
348
A New Game Fish
tackle are such that if one out of every five tuna hooked
is brought to gaff, the angler may consider his spurs
WOI). -
“It has been my experience in landing eighteen on
the nine-ounce rod, ranging from seventeen to fifty-
one and one-fourth pounds, that the capture of the
larger fish (those over forty pounds) can best be
effected by chumming them around the boat, and this
can be done only by the liberal use of chum—such as
sardines, smelts or albacore cut up, which must be
fresh, as salted bait is ignored by this fastidious
fish. - -
“When the chum is first thrown out the skip-jacks
appear, then the albacore. At this stage of the game
expectancy is keen—but wait; presently up from the
unseen depths rises what appears to be a long bar of
gold—it is a yellow fin. Now throw out a handful of
chum away from that on which the albacore are feed-
ing, and just as the tuna cuts the surface meet him
with your bait, and the battle is on.
“This seems very easy, but requires much expe-
rience and skill, as the slightest miscalculation finds
you fast to an albacore; also the tuna passes the bait
by, if he discerns its connection, which indicates a game
fish of the highest order.
“Most of these tunas (especially the large fish)
make a brilliant surface fight, only sounding at times,
it being very difficult to pump them up from any great
depth, and instances where captures have been made
349
Big Game at Sea
of fish sounding much over eight hundred feet
a TC T2 TC. -
“The delicacy of pressure required when these fish
sound to a depth must be experienced to be appre-
ciated; it is such as to preclude the use of a leather reel
apron; only a knitted thumb stall is permissible.
“The general experience with the larger fish is a
strike, then down he goes until your line has almost
faded away; then a slight tremor comes up from
below—you can now reel up and start anew; the tuna
is off, also your tackle, which parts generally near the
swivel.
“Those fish which do not immediately sound are
off like a flash, the launch at full speed follows; some-
times the course will continue straight for a mile, often
more, then they commence to swing in huge circles
around the boat until the slowly closing circle causes
them to sound.
“I have had this movement repeated twenty times
in quick succession, on which occasion my boatman
remarked, ‘You will never get that fish to sound.’
Happily he was wrong. The capture brought me my
gold button. Here is an interesting point, namely,
unless you can outrun the tuna, until circling ensues
and he takes a notion to sound, your case is almost
hopeless, as during a running battle the strain which
it is possible to bring in action and not break a nine-
thread line will not serve as a check for an instant,
much less kill the fish; in fact, it is but a leading string.
ſ
35O
A New Game Fish
“These tuna all surface when hooked at some
stage of the fight; this appears to be a trait character-
istic of the species, thus differentiating from the com-
mon albacore, which, when hooked, immediately
sounds in all cases; they, however, are not to be con-
sidered for an instant in the same class.
“With light tackle the time required to bring a
tuna of forty pounds or over to gaff has ranged from
one to two hours.”
It is conclusive, then, that a new factor in sea
angling has appeared in these already remarkable
waters; a new game fish ranging from twenty to sev-
enty pounds or more; a game which combines the play
of the albacore and the tuna, which makes in the larger
fishes a surface play like the bonita, and has strength
and power sufficient to give it high rank with the
fine tackle which anglers now use with a view of giving
the fish fair play. In one season over five hundred of
these fishes were brought to gaff, most of them being
released and not gaffed; and when it is considered that
albacore, two kinds of bonitas, yellowtail and white
sea bass, with barracuda and Swordfish, are roaming
these seas all at one time, some idea of the sport may
be imagined. -
Mr. L. P. Streeter, Secretary of the Tuna Club, took a large number of yellow-
fin tunas in 1906, and made some interesting deductions as to the average time in
bringing them to gaff on a 9-ounce rod and a nine-thread line.
Fish 15 to 20 pounds: Four caught—average time 16 minutes. Fish 20 to 25
pounds: Seven caught—average time 32 minutes. Fish 25 to 30 pounds: Three
caught—average time 1 hour. Note—This high average due to I hour 45 min-
35 I
Big Game at Sea
utes charged against my first tuna (281bs.) on light tackle. The average time of
other two fish in this class was 50 minutes. Fish in 40-pound class: Two
caught—39% pounds and 40 pounds—average time 2 hours. Note—The 39%
pounds fish put up a very hard fight, lasting 2 hours and 30 minutes; he was a
deep sounding fish. The 40% pounds fish (Silver Button) put up a beautiful
surface fight lasting I hour and 30 minutes. Fish in 50-pound class: One
caught—514 pounds (Gold Button). Note—A grand surface fight lasting I hour
and 40 minutes, extending several miles; also he did not sound for fully an hour
after the strike.
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