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.I never forgot that nine-hour battle.Then last winter I had my recordencounter with one of these grand game fish.It lasted over four hours andended in calamity.I had hooked three black Marlin in New Zealand waters, allof which had actually outwitted me.They appeared to be incredibly fast;strong, sudden and resourceful.Captain Mitchell averred that nothing butsheer luck saved both this fish.The larger black Marlin took all his line inone run and stopped with only a few yards left on the reel.He testified tothe bewildering suddenness of their change of tactics, though fortunatelyneither of his fish darted under the boat.If my boatman had deliberately keptfar away from this last black Marlin I hooked, we might have caught it.But wecould not foresee such an apparently impossible move.It taught me, mostbitterly, that no skill on the part of angler and boatman was equal to thesupremest sagacity and rapidity of this wonderful black Marlin.We were fishing around Bird Rock a day or two afterward.The swells weremountainous; and to troll in such a sea was futile.Nevertheless we made theattempt and showed perseverance worthy of a better cause.Captain Mitchell took to drifting with live bait, and I followed suit.Thechange was restful, as the boat rode the long slow swells with ease and grace,Page 45 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.htmland the motion grew exhilarating.After a time we saw a dark fin cutting thewater close to the Captain's boat.His men saw it, for they waved withgestures of deprecation, meaning the fin belonged to a hammer-head.But reallyit belonged to a mako, which most assuredly showed its preying nature bycharging my bait.I saw the fish in the top of a clear green swell, its sharp,vicious nose, prominent eyes, strange bullet shape, green and gold, and themotion of a tiger on the spring.This mako was the largest I had felt.He astonished me.His burst out of aswell, straight across the deep hollow into another swell, was somethingelectrifying and most beautiful to see.We were far behind time in trying tophotograph him.But we made ready for a second jump.As he shot off with myline I knew neither Frank nor Peter would cover him with camera if again heleaped.Suddenly out he shot, not high, but low, straight across the sea in along greyhound leap.My line went slack.Upon reeling it in I found my leaderbitten off as cleanly as if it had been done by nippers."That was a big one.Four hundred!" Peter ejaculated."Dod gast it! Thatfellow you wrote about, who said you were the most unlucky fisherman in theworld, had it right-o!"One other boat besides ours was fishing there; and it contained two boatmenwho had no angler for the day and were fishing for themselves.Evidently theywere enjoying it.When quite some distance away from us they hooked a fish andproceeded to run out to sea.Presently they came back; and we did not need tobe told they had lost it.I had seen this identical thing happen many times.As the passed us one of them yelled lustily, spreading wide his hands:"Big black Marlin! He rolled up once; wide as a door!"It was simply impossible for me to evade the shock that was equivalent to ahurt.The thought of another grand swordfish breaking away from that flimsytackle, with a triple gang hook in its stomach, made me positively sick.Howmany times had that identical thing happened in the half dozen years of NewZealand swordfishing? Hundreds, no doubt! Not one of those large Marlin hadever been captured on the kind of tackle used, and not one ever would be.While succumbing to despair I could only hope that time would educate theseanglers to the futility of such method.That incident took the heart out of the afternoon, and I was glad when the seagrew so rough we had to quit.At camp Captain Mitchell expressed himselfvigorously, and when he said, "What a pity you couldn't have had that strike!"I threw up my hands."Never mind, old man, you're going to get your black Marlin," he addedfeelingly.That night the strong wind beat the flaps of my tent, the titrees moaned, andthe flags rustled.The tide surged in to the bank, low, sullen, full ofstrange melody.And it seemed to me that an old comrade, familiar, but absentfor a long time, had returned to abide with me.His name was Resignation.Daylight next morning disclosed gray, scudding clouds and rough, darkenedwater.We remained in camp and tried our hands at the many odd jobs needful todo but neglected.After a while the sun came out, and at noon the windappeared to lag or lull.The thing to do was to go fish.I knew it, and I saidso.Out at Bird Rock we found conditions vastly better than we had expected.Theschools of bait, white and frothy, were working everywhere, with the sea gullsscreaming over them.High swells were rolling in, but without a break or acrest.Four boats besides ours were riding them.The clouds had broken andscattered, letting a warm sun shine.We trolled around the rock, to and fro past the churning foamy schools ofkahawai, and out farther, long after the Captain had taken to drifting.Aslast we raised a large striped Marlin.He was so quick that he got hold of ateaser.That made him wary, and though he at last swam off with my bait, hesoon let it go.After such treatment we took to drifting.Pretty soon Frankcalled:"They're waving on the Captain's boat."Page 46 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html"Sure enough," I said."Guess he must have a strike or have seen a fish."But when Bill appeared waving the red flag most energetically I knew somethingwas up.It took us only a moment or two to race over to the other boat,another one for me to leap aboard her, and another to run aft to the Captain.His face was beaming.He held his rod low.The line ran slowly and freely offhis reel."Got a black Marlin strike for you," he said with a smile."He hit the bait,then went off easy.Take the rod!"I was almost paralyzed for the moment, in the grip of amazement at hisincredible generosity and the irresistible temptation.How could I resist?"Good Heavens!" was all I could mumble as I took his rod and plumped into hisseat.What a splendid, wonderful act of sportsmanship--of friendliness! Ithink he realized that I would be just as happy over the opportunity to fightand capture a great black Marlin as if I had had the strike myself."Has he showed?" I asked breathlessly."Bill saw him," replied Captain."Hell of a buster!" ejaculated Bill.Whereupon, with chills and thrills up my spine, I took a turn at the dragwheel and shut down with both gloved hands on the line.It grew tight.The rodcurved.The strain lifted me.Out there a crash of water preceded a whirlingsplash.Then a short, blunt beak, like the small end of a baseball-bat, stuckup followed by the black-and-silver head of an enormous black Marlin.Ponderously, he heaved.The water fell away in waves
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