record we all knew he would get some day. Four
hundred and sixty-three pounds! And he had the luck to kill this great
fish in short time. My friend Doctor Riggin, a scientist, dissected this
fish, and found that Boschen's hook had torn into the heart. This
strange feature explained the easy capture, and, though it might detract
somewhat from Boschen's pride in the achievement, it certainly did not
detract from the record.

That night, after coming in from the day's hunt for swordfish, Dan and I
decided to get good bait. At five thirty we started for seal rocks. The
sun was setting, and the red fog over the west end of the island was
weird and beautiful. Long, slow swells were running, and they boomed
inshore on the rocks. Seals were barking--a hoarse, raucous croak. I saw
a lonely heron silhouetted against the red glow of the western horizon.

We fished--trolling slowly a few hundred yards offshore--and soon were
fighting barracuda, which we needed so badly for swordfish bait.

They strike easily, and put up a jerky kind of battle. They are a long,
slim fish, yellow and white in the water, a glistening pale bronze and
silver when landed. I hooked a harder-fighting fish, which, when brought
in, proved to be a white sea-bass, a very beautiful species with faint
purplish color and mottled opal tints above the deep silver.

Next morning we left the bay at six thirty. It was the calmest day we
had had in days. The sea was like a beveled mirror, oily, soft, and
ethereal, with low swells barely moving. An hour and a half out we were
alone on the sea, out of sight of land, with the sun faintly showing,
and all around us, inclosing and mystical, a thin haze of fog.

Alone, alone, all alone on a wide, wide sea! This was wonderful, far
beyond any pursuit of swordfish.

We sighted birds, gulls, and ducks floating like bits of colored cork,
and pieces of kelp, and at length a broadbill. We circled him three
times with barracuda, and again with a flying-fish. Apparently he had no
interest in edibles. He scorned our lures. But we stayed with him until
he sank for good.

Then we rode the sea for hours, searching for fins.

At ten forty we sighted another. Twice we drew a fresh fine barracuda in
front of him, which he refused. It was so disappointing, in fact, really
sickening.

Dan was disgusted. He said, "We can't get them to bite!"

And I said, "Let's try again!"

So we circled him once more. The sea was beautifully smoo