is great, broad, shining flukes in the air, high above the water,
is in my opinion the most beautiful spectacle to be encountered upon the
ocean. Up to this day, during five seasons, I had seen three whales
sound with tails in the air. And upon this occasion I had the exceeding
good fortune to see seven. I tried to photograph one. We followed a big
bull. When he came up to blow we saw a yellow moving space on the water,
then a round, gray, glistening surface, then a rugged snout. Puff! His
blow was a roar. He rolled on, downward a little; the water surged white
and green. When he came up to sound he humped his huge back. It was
shiny, leathery, wonderfully supple. It bent higher and higher in an
arch. Then this great curve seemed to slide swiftly out of sight and his
wonderful tail, flat as a floor and wide as a house, emerged to swing
aloft. The water ran off it in sheets. Then it waved higher, and with
slow, graceful, ponderous motion sank into the sea. That sight more than
anything impressed me with the immensity of the ocean, with its mystery
of life, with the unattainable secrets of the deep.

The tuna appeared to be scattered, and none were on the surface. I had
one strike that plowed up the sea, showing the difference between the
strike of a big tuna and that of a little one. He broke my line on the
first rush. Then I hooked another and managed to stop him. I had a
grueling battle with him, and at the end of two hours and fifty minutes
he broke my hook. This was a disappointment far beyond reason, but I
could not help it.

Next day was windy. The one following we could not find the fish, and
the third day we all concluded they had gone for 1918. I think the fame
of tuna, the uncertainty of their appearance, the difficulty of
capturing a big one, are what excite the ambition of anglers. Long
effort to that end, and consequent thinking and planning and feeling,
bring about a condition of mind that will be made clear as this story
progresses.

But Captain Danielson did not give up. The fifth day we ran off the west
side with several other boats, and roamed the sea in search of fins. No
anchovies on the surface, no sheerwater ducks, no sharks, nothing to
indicate tuna. About one o'clock Captain Dan sheered southwest and we
ran sixteen miles toward Clemente Island.

It was a perfect day, warm, hazy, with light fog, smooth, heaving,
opalescent sea. There was no wind. At two thirty not one of the other
boats was in