an hour. It almost wore me out. If he had not changed those tactics
again those jerks would have put a kink in my neck and back. But
fortunately he came up on the surface to thresh about some more. Again
he leaped clear, affording us another chance for a picture. Following
that he took his first long run. It was about one hundred yards and as
fast as a Marlin. Then he sounded. He stayed down for half an hour. When
he came up somewhat he seemed to be less resistant, and we dragged him
at slow speed for several miles. At the end of three hours I asked Dan
for the harness, which he strapped to my shoulders. This afforded me
relief for my arms and aching hands, but the straps cut into my back,
and that hurt. The harness enabled me to lift and pull by a movement of
shoulders. I worked steadily on him for an hour, five different times
getting the two-hundred-foot mark on the line over my reel. When I tired
Dan would throw in the clutch and drag him some more. Once he followed
us without strain for a while; again we dragged him two or three miles.
And most remarkable of all, there was a period of a few moments when he
towed us. A wonderful test for a twenty-four-strand line! We made
certain of this by throwing papers overboard and making allowance for
the drift. At that time there was no wind. I had three and one-half
hours of perfectly smooth water.
It was great to be out there on a lonely sea with that splendid fish. I
was tiring, but did not fail to see the shimmering beauty of the sea,
the playing of albacore near at hand, the flight of frightened
flying-fish, the swooping down of gulls, the dim shapes of boats far
off, and away above the cloud-bank of fog the mountains of California.
About two o'clock our indefatigable quarry began to belabor the leader
again. He appeared even more vicious and stronger. That jerk, with its
ragged, rough loosening of the line, making me feel the hook was tearing
out, was the most trying action any fish ever worked on me. The physical
effort necessary to hold him was enough, without that onslaught on my
leader. Again there came a roar of water, a splash, and his huge
dark-blue and copper-colored body surged on the surface. He wagged his
head and the long black sword made a half-circle. The line was taut from
boat to fish in spite of all I could do in lowering my rod. I had to
hold it up far enough to get the spring. There was absolutely no way to
keep him from getting slack. The dangerous time in fighting heavy,
powerful fish is when they head toward the angler. Then the hook will
pull out more easily than at any other time. He gave me a second long
siege of these tactics until I was afraid I would give out. When he got
through and sounded I had to have the back-rest replaced in the seat to
rest my aching back.
Three o'clock came and passed. We dragged him awhile, and found him
slower, steadier, easier to pull. That constant long strain must have
been telling upon him. It was also telling upon me. As I tried to
save some strength for the finish, I had not once tried my utmost at
lifting him or pulling him near the boat. Along about four o'clock he
swung round to the west in the sun glare and there he hung, broadside,
about a hundred yards out, for an hour. We had to go along with him.
[Illustration: WALKING ON HIS TAIL]
[Illustration: A MAGNIFICENT FLASHING LEAP. THIS PERFECT PICTURE
CONSIDERED BY AUTHOR TO BE WORTH HIS FIVE YEARS' LABOR AND PATIENCE]
The sea began to ripple with a breeze, and at length white-caps
appeared. In half an hour it was rough, not bad, but still making my
work exceedingly hard. I had to lift the rod up to keep the seat from
turning and to hold my footing on the slippery floor. The water dripping
from the reel had wet me and all around me.
At five o'clock I could not stand the harness any longer, so had Dan
remove it. That was a relief. I began to pump my fish as in the earlier
hours of the fight. Eventually I got him out of that broadside position
away from us and to the boat. He took some line, which I got back. I now
began to have confidence in being able to hold him. He had ceased
batting the leader. For a while he stayed astern, but gradually worked
closer. This worried Dan. He was getting under the boat. Dan started
faster ahead and still the swordfish kept just under us, perhaps fifty
feet down. It was not long until Dan was running at full speed. But we
could not lose the old gladiator! Then I bade Dan slow down, which he
was reluctant to do. He feared the swordfish would ram us, and I had
some qualms myself. At five thirty he dropped astern again and we
breathed freer. At this time I decided to see if I could pull him close.
I began to pump and reel, and inch by inch, almost, I gained line. I
could not tell just how far away he was, because the marks had worn off
my line. It was amazing and thrilling, therefore, to suddenly see the
end of the double line appear. Dan yelled. So did I. Like a Trojan I
worked till I got that double line over my reel. Then we all saw the
fish. He was on his side, swimming with us--a huge, bird-shaped creature
with a frightful bill. Dan called me to get the leader out of water and
then hold. This took about all I had left of strength. The fish wavered
from side to side, and Dan feared he would go under the boat. He ordered
me to hold tight, and he put on more speed. This grew to be more than I
could stand. It was desperately hard to keep the line from slipping. And
I knew a little more of that would lose my fish. So I called Dan to take
the leader. With his huge gaff in right hand, Dan reached for the leader
with his left, grasped it, surged the fish up and made a lunge. There
came a roar and a beating against the boat. Dan yelled for another gaff.
It was handed to him and he plunged that into the fish.
Then I let down my rod and dove for the short rope to lasso the sweeping
tail. Fortunately he kept quiet a moment in which I got the loop fast.
It was then _Xiphius gladius_ really woke up. He began a tremendous
beating with his tail. Both gaff ropes began to loosen, and the rope on
his tail flew out of my hands. Dan got it in time. But it was slipping.
He yelled for me to make a hitch somewhere. I was pulled flat in the
cockpit, but scrambled up, out on the stern, and held on to that rope
grimly while I tried to fasten it. Just almost impossible! The water was
deluging us. The swordfish banged the boat with sodden, heavy blows.
But I got the rope fast. Then I went to Dan's assistance. The two of us
pulled that tremendous tail up out of the water and made fast the rope.
Then we knew we had him. But he surged and strained and lashed for a
long while. And side blows of his sword scarred the boat. At last he
sagged down quiet, and we headed for Avalon. Once more in smooth water,
we loaded him astern. I found the hook just in the corner of his mouth,
which fact accounted for the long battle.
Doctor Riggin, the University of Pennsylvania anatomist, and classmate
of mine, dissected this fish for me. Two of the most remarkable features
about _Xiphius gladius_ were his heart and eye.
The heart was situated deep in just back of the gills. It was a big
organ, exceedingly heavy, and the most muscular tissue I ever saw. In
fact, so powerfully muscular was it that when cut the tissue contracted
and could not be placed together again. The valves were likewise
remarkably well developed and strong. This wonderful heart accounted for
the wonderful vitality of the swordfish. The eyes of a swordfish
likewise proved the wonder of nature. They were huge and prominent, a
deep sea-blue set in pale crystal rims and black circles. A swordfish
could revolve his eyes and turn them in their sockets so that they were
absolutely protected in battle with his mates and rivals. The eye had a
covering of bone, cup-shaped, and it was this bone that afforded
protection. It was evident that when the eye was completely turned in
the swordfish could not see at all. Probably this was for close battle.
The muscles were very heavy and strong, one attached at the rim of the
eye and the other farther back. The optic nerve was as large as the
median nerve of a man's arm--that is to say, half the size of a
lead-pencil. There were three coverings over the fluid that held the
pupil. And these were as thick and tough as isinglass. Most remarkable
of all was the ciliary muscle which held the capacity of contracting the
lens for distant vision. A swordfish could see as far as the rays of
light penetrated in whatever depth he swam. I have always suspected he
had extraordinary eyesight, and this dissection of the eye proved it. No
fear a swordfish will not see a bait! He can see the boat and the bait a
long distance.
Doctor Riggin found no sperm in any of the male fish he dissected, which
was proof that swordfish spawn before coming to Catalina waters. They
are a warm-water fish, and probably head off the Japan current into some
warm, intersecting branch that leads to spawning-banks.
This was happy knowledge for me, because it will be good to know that
when old _Xiphius gladius_ is driven from Catalina waters he will be
roaming some other place of the Seven Seas, his great sickle fins
shining dark against the blue.
[Illustration: TIRED OUT--THE LAST SLOW HEAVE]
[Illustration: HAULED ABOARD WITH BLOCK AND TACKLE]
XI
SEVEN MARLIN SWORDFISH IN ONE DAY
San Clemente lies forty miles south of Santa Catalina, out in the
Pacific, open to wind and fog, scorched by sun, and beaten on every
shore by contending tides. Seen from afar, the island seems a bleak,
long, narrow strip of drab rock rising from a low west end to the
dignity of a mountain near the east end. Seen close at hand, it is still
barren, bleak, and drab; but it shows long golden slopes of wild oats;
looming, gray, lichen-colored crags, where the eagles perch; and rugged
deep canons, cactus-covered on the south side and on the other indented
by caves and caverns, and green with clumps of wild-lilac and
wild-cherry and arbor-vitae; and bare round domes where the wild goats
stand silhouetted against the blue sky.
This island is volcanic in origin and structure, and its great caves
have been made by blow-holes in hot lava. Erosion has weathered slope
and wall and crag. For the most part these slopes and walls are
exceedingly hard to climb. The goat trails are narrow and steep, the
rocks sharp and ragged, the cactus thick and treacherous. Many years ago
Mexicans placed goats on the island for the need of shipwrecked sailors,
and these goats have traversed the wild oat slopes until they are like
a network of trails. Every little space of grass has its crisscross of
goat trails.
I rested high up on a slope, in the lee of a rugged rock, all
rust-stained and gray-lichened, with a deep cactus-covered canon to my
left, the long, yellow, windy slope of wild oats to my right, and
beneath me the Pacific, majestic and grand, where the great white
rollers moved in graceful heaves along the blue. The shore-line, curved
by rounded gravelly beach and jutted by rocky point, showed creeping
white lines of foam, and then green water spotted by beds of golden
kelp, reaching out into the deeps. Far across the lonely space rose
creamy clouds, thunderheads looming over the desert on the mainland.
A big black raven soared by with dismal croak. The wind rustled the
oats. There was no other sound but the sound of the sea--deep,
low-toned, booming like thunder, long crash and continuous roar.
How wonderful to watch eagles in their native haunts! I saw a bald eagle
sail by, and then two golden eagles winging heavy flight after him.
There seemed to be contention or rivalry, for when the white-headed bird
alighted the others swooped down upon him. They circled and flew in and
out of the canon, and one let out a shrill, piercing scream. They
disappeared and I watched a lonely gull riding the swells. He at least
was at home on the restless waters. Life is beautiful, particularly
elemental life. Then far above I saw the white-tipped eagle and I
thrilled to see the difference now in his flight. He was monarch of the
air, king of the wind, lonely and grand in the blue. He soared, he
floated, he sailed, and then, away across the skies he flew, swift as an
arrow, to slow and circle again, and swoop up high and higher,
wide-winged and free, ringed in the azure blue, and then like a
thunderbolt he fell, to vanish beyond the crags.
Again I saw right before me a small brown hawk, poised motionless,
resting on the wind, with quivering wings, and he hung there, looking
down for his prey--some luckless lizard or rat. He seemed suspended on
wires. There, down like a brown flash he was gone, and surely that swoop
meant a desert tragedy.
I heard the bleat of a lamb or kid, and it pierced the melancholy roar
of the sea.
If there is a rapture on the lonely shore, there was indeed rapture here
high above it, blown upon by the sweet, soft winds. I heard the bleat
close at hand. Turning, I saw a she-goat with little kid scarce a foot
high. She crossed a patch of cactus. The kid essayed to follow here, but
found the way too thorny. He bleated--a tiny, pin-pointed bleat--and his
mother turned to answer encouragingly. He leaped over a cactus,
attempted another, and, failing, fell on the sharp prickers. He bleated
in distress and scrambled out of that hard and painful place. The mother
came around, and presently, reunited, they went on, to disappear.
The island seemed consecrated to sun and sea. It lay out of the latitude
of ships. Only a few Mexican sheep-herders lived there, up at the east
end where less-rugged land allowed pasture for their flocks. A little
rain falls during the winter months, and soon disappears from the
porous canon-beds. Water-holes were rare and springs rarer. The summit
was flat, except for some rounded domes of mountains, and there the
deadly cholla cactus grew--not in profusion, but enough to prove the
dread of the Mexicans for this species of desert plant. It was a small
bush, with cones like a pine cone in shape, growing in clusters, and
over stems and cones were fine steel-pointed needles with invisible
hooks at the ends.
A barren, lonely prospect, that flat plateau above, an empire of the
sun, where heat veils rose and mirages haunted the eye. But at sunset
fog rolled up from the outer channel, and if the sun blasted the life on
the island, the fog saved it. So there was war between sun and fog, the
one that was the lord of day, and the other the dew-laden savior of
night.
South, on the windward side, opened a wide bay, Smugglers Cove by name,
and it was infinitely more beautiful than its name. A great curve
indented the league-long slope of island, at each end of which low,
ragged lines of black rock jutted out into the sea. Around this immense
bare amphitheater, which had no growth save scant cactus and patches of
grass, could be seen long lines of shelves where the sea-levels had been
in successive ages of the past.
Near the middle of the curve, on a bleached bank, stood a lonely little
hut, facing the sea. Old and weather-beaten, out of place there, it held
and fascinated the gaze. Below it a white shore-line curved away where
the waves rolled in, sadly grand, to break and spread on the beach.
At the east end, where the jagged black rocks met the sea, I loved to
watch a great swell rise out of the level blue, heave and come,
slow-lifting as if from some infinite power, to grow and climb aloft
till the blue turned green and sunlight showed through, and the long,
smooth crest, where the seals rode, took on a sharp edge to send wisps
of spray in the wind, and, rising sheer, the whole swell, solemn and
ponderous and majestic, lifted its volume one beautiful instant, then
curled its shining crest and rolled in and down with a thundering,
booming roar, all the curves and contours gone in a green-white seething
mass that climbed the reefs and dashed itself to ruin.
* * * * *
An extraordinary achievement and record fell to my brother R. C. It was
too much good luck ever to come my way. Fame is a fickle goddess. R. C.
had no ambition to make a great catch of swordfish. He angles for these
big game of the sea more to furnish company for me than for any other
reason. He likes best the golden, rocky streams where the bronze-back
black-bass hide, or the swift, amber-colored brooks full of rainbow
trout.
I must add that in my opinion, and Captain Danielson's also, R. C. is a
superior angler, and all unconscious of it. He has not my intimate
knowledge of big fish, but he did not seem to need that. He is powerful
in the shoulders and arms, his hands are strong and hard from baseball
and rowing, and he is practically tireless. He never rested while
fighting a fish. We never saw him lean the rod on the gunwale. All of
which accounts for his quick conquering of a Marlin swordfish. We have
yet to see him work upon a broadbill or a big tuna; and that is
something Captain Dan and I are anticipating with much pleasure and
considerable doubt.
August 31st dawned fine and cool and pleasant, rather hazy, with warm
sun and smooth sea.
The night before we had sat in front of our tents above the beach and
watched the flying-fish come out in twos and threes and schools, all the
way down the rugged coast. I told the captain then that swordfish were
chasing them. But he was skeptical.
This morning I remembered, and I was watching. Just at the Glory Hole my
brother yelled, "Strike!" I did not see the fish before he hit the bait.
It is really remarkable how these swordfish can get to a bait on the
surface without being seen. R. C. hooked the Marlin.
The first leap showed the fish to be small. He did not appear to be much
of a jumper or fighter. He leaped six times, and then tried to swim out
to sea. Slow, steady work of R. C.'s brought him up to the boat in
fifteen minutes. But we did not gaff him. We estimated his weight at one
hundred and thirty pounds. Captain Dan cut the leader close to the hook.
I watched the fish swim lazily away, apparently unhurt, and sure to
recover.
We got going again, and had scarce trolled a hundred yards when I saw
something my companions missed. I stood up.
"Well, this starts out like your day," I remarked to my brother.
Then he saw a purple shape weaving back of his bait and that galvanized
him into attention. It always thrilled me to see a swordfish back of the
bait. This one took hold and ran off to the right. When hooked it took
line with a rush, began to thresh half out, and presently sounded. We
lost the direction. It came up far ahead of the boat and began to leap
and run on the surface.
We followed while R. C. recovered the line. Then he held the fish well
in hand; and in the short time of twelve minutes brought the leader to
Dan's hand. The Marlin made a great splash as he was cut loose.
"Say, two swordfish in less than half an hour!" I expostulated. "Dan,
this might be _the_ day."
Captain Dan looked hopeful. We were always looking for that day which
came once or twice each season.
"I'm tired," said my brother. "Now you catch a couple."
He talked about swordfish as carelessly as he used to talk about
sunfish. But he was not in the least tired. I made him take up the rod
again. I sensed events. The sea looked darkly rippling, inviting, as if
to lure us on.
We had worked and drifted a little offshore. But that did not appear to
put us out of the latitude of swordfish. Suddenly Captain Dan yelled,
"Look out!" Then we all saw a blaze of purple back of R. C.'s bait. Dan
threw out the clutch. But this Marlin was shy. He flashed back and
forth. How swift! His motion was only a purple flash. He loomed up after
the teasers. We had three of these flying-fish out as teasers, all close
to the boat. I always wondered why the swordfish appear more attracted
to the teasers than to our hooked baits only a few yards back. I made
the mistake to pull the teasers away from this swordfish. Then he left
us.
I was convinced, however, that this was to be R. C.'s day, and so, much
to his amaze and annoyance, I put away my rod. No sooner had I quit
fishing than a big black tail showed a few yards out from R. C.'s bait.
Then a shining streak shot across under the water, went behind R. C.'s
bait, passed it, came again. This time I saw him plainly. He was big and
hungry, but shy. He rushed the bait. I saw him take it in his pointed
jaws and swerve out of sight, leaving a boil on the surface. R. C. did
not give him time to swallow the hook, but struck immediately. The fish
ran off two hundred yards and then burst up on the surface. He was a
jumper, and as he stayed in sight we all began to yell our admiration.
He cleared the water forty-two times, all in a very few minutes. At the
end of twenty-eight minutes R. C., with a red face and a bulging jaw,
had the swordfish beaten and within reach of Captain Dan.
"He's a big one--over two hundred and fifty," asserted that worthy.
"Mebbe you won't strike a bigger one."
"Cut him loose," I said, and my brother echoed my wish.
It was a great sight to see that splendid swordfish drift away from the
boat--to watch him slowly discover that he was free.
"Ten o'clock! We'll hang up two records to-day!" boomed Captain Dan,
as with big, swift hands he put on another bait for R. C.
[Illustration: R. C. ON THE JOB]
[Illustration: 304 POUNDS]
[Illustration: R. C. GREY AND RECORD MARLIN]
"Do you fellows take me for a drag-horse?" inquired R. C., mildly. "I've
caught enough swordfish for this year."
"Why, man, it's the day!" exclaimed Captain Dan, in amaze and fear.
"Humph!" replied my brother.
"But the chance for a record!" I added, weakly. "Only ten o'clock....
Three swordfish already.... Great chance for Dan, you know.... Beat the
dickens out of these other fishermen."
"Aw, that's a lot of 'con'!" replied my brother.
Very eloquently then I elaborated on the fact that we were releasing the
fish, inaugurating a sportsman-like example never before done there;
that it really bid fair to be a wonderful day; that I was having a great
chance to snap pictures of leaping fish; that it would be a favor to me
for him to go the limit on this one occasion.
But R. C. showed no sign of wavering. He was right, of course, and I
acknowledged that afterward to myself. On the instant, however, I racked
my brain for some persuasive argument. Suddenly I had an inspiration.
"They think you're a dub fisherman," I declared, forcefully.
"_They?_" My brother glared darkly at me.
"Sure," I replied, hurriedly, with no intention of explaining that
dubious _they_. "Now's your chance to fool them."
"Ahuh! All right, fetch on a flock of swordfish, and then some
broadbills," remarked R. C., blandly. "Hurry, Dan! There's a fin right
over there. Lead me to him! See."
Sure enough, R. C. pointed out a dark sickle fin on the surface. I
marveled at the sight. It certainly is funny the luck some fishermen
have! Captain Dan, beaming like a sunrise, swung the boat around toward
the swordfish.
That Marlin rushed the teasers. I pulled all three away from him, while
R. C. was reeling in his bait to get it close. Then the swordfish fell
all over himself after it. He got it. He would have climbed aboard after
it. The way R. C. hooked this swordfish showed that somebody had got his
dander up and was out to do things. This pleased me immensely. It scared
me a little, too, for R. C. showed no disposition to give line or be
gentle to the swordfish. In fact, it was real fight now. And this
particular fish appeared to have no show on earth--or rather in the
water--and after fourteen leaps he was hauled up to the boat in such
short order that if we had gaffed him, as we used to gaff Marlin, we
would have had a desperate fight to hold him. But how easy to cut him
free! He darted down like a blue streak. I had no fair sight of him to
judge weight, but Captain Dan said he was good and heavy.
"Come on! Don't be so slow!" yelled R. C., with a roving eye over the
deep.
Captain Dan was in his element. He saw victory perched upon the mast of
the _Leta D._ He moved with a celerity that amazed me, when I remembered
how exasperatingly slow he could be, fooling with kites. This was
Captain Dan's game.
"The ocean's alive with swordfish!" he boomed. Only twice before had I
heard him say that, and he was right each time. I gazed abroad over the
beautiful sea, and, though I could not see any swordfish, somehow I
believed him. It was difficult now, in this exciting zest of a record
feat, to think of the nobler attributes of fishing. Strong, earnest,
thrilling business it was indeed for Captain Dan.