to hook my
fish. It was getting along pretty well into the afternoon by this time
and the later it got the better the small fish and kingfish seemed to
bite. I caught one barracuda and six kingfish, while R. C. was
performing a somewhat similar feat. Then he got a smashing strike
from a sailfish that went off on a hard, fast rush, so that he hooked
it perfectly. He jumped nine times, several of which leaps I
photographed. He was a good-sized fish and active and strong. R. C.
had him up to the boat in thirty minutes, which was fine work for the
light tackle. I made sure that the fish was as good as caught and I
did not look to see where he was hooked. My boatman is not skilled in
the handling of the fish when they are brought in. Few boatmen are. He
took hold of the leader, and as he began to lift I saw that the hook
was fast in the bill of the sailfish fully six inches from his mouth.
At that instant the sailfish began to thresh. I yelled to the boatman
to let go, but either I was not quick enough or he did not obey, for
the hook snapped free and the sailfish slowly swam away, his great
purple-and-blue spotted sail waving in the water, and his bronze sides
shining. And we were both glad that he had gotten away, because we had
had the fun out of him and had taken pictures of him jumping, and he
was now alive and might make another fisherman sport some day.

VII

BONEFISH

In my experience as a fisherman the greatest pleasure has been the
certainty of something new to learn, to feel, to anticipate, to thrill
over. An old proverb tells us that if you wish to bring back the wealth
of the Indias you must go out with its equivalent. Surely the longer a
man fishes the wealthier he becomes in experience, in reminiscence, in
love of nature, if he goes out with the harvest of a quiet eye, free
from the plague of himself.

As a boy, fishing was a passion with me, but no more for the conquest of
golden sunfish and speckled chubs and horny catfish than for the
haunting sound of the waterfall and the color and loneliness of the
cliffs. As a man, and a writer who is forever learning, fishing is still
a passion, stronger with all the years, but tempered by an understanding
of the nature of primitive man, hidden in all of us, and by a keen
reluctance to deal pain to any creature. The sea and the river and the
mountain have almost taught me not to kill except for the urgent needs
of life; and the time will come when I shall