ke loose. They turned to play with us,
racing, diving, leaping, shooting--all for our delight. I stood right
up on the bow and could see deep. It was an unforgetable experience.

_August 7th._

Long run to-day, over eighty miles. East to Point Vincent, west to end
of Catalina, then all around. Fine sea and weather. Just right for kite.
Saw many ducks and a great number of big sharks. The ducks were
traveling west, the sharks east. We saw no tuna.

Coming back the wind sprang up and we had a following sea. It was fine
to watch the green-and-white rollers breaking behind us.

The tuna appear to be working farther and farther off the east end.
Marlin swordfish have showed up off the east end. Three caught yesterday
and one to-day. I have not yet seen a broadbill, and fear none are
coming this year.

_August 8th._

Went off east end. Had a Marlin strike. The fish missed the hook. A
shark took the bait. When it was pulled in to the gaff Captain Dan
caught the leader, drew the shark up, and it savagely bit the boat. Then
it gave a flop and snapped Captain Dan's hand.

I was frightened. The captain yelled for me to hit the shark with a
club. I did not lose a second. The shark let go. We killed it, and found
Dan's hand badly lacerated. My swiftness of action saved Dan's hand.

XII

BIG TUNA

It took me five seasons at Catalina to catch a big tuna, and the event
was so thrilling that I had to write to my fisherman friends about it.
The result of my effusions seem rather dubious. Robert H. Davis, editor
of _Munsey's_, replies in this wise: "If you went out with a
mosquito-net to catch a mess of minnows your story would read like Roman
gladiators seining the Tigris for whales." Now, I am at a loss to know
how to take that compliment. Davis goes on to say more, and he also
quotes me: "You say 'the hard, diving fight of a tuna liberates the
brute instinct in a man.' Well, Zane, it also liberates the qualities of
a liar!" Davis does not love the sweet, soft scent that breathes from
off the sea. Once on the Jersey coast I went tuna-fishing with him. He
was not happy on the boat. But once he came up out of the cabin with a
jaunty feather in his hat. I admired it. I said:

"Bob, I'll have to get something like that for my hat."

"Zane," he replied, piercingly, "what you need for your hat is a head!"

My friend Joe Bray, who publishes books in Chicago, also reacts