Our trolling lines, having at the end large hooks wrapped with white rag with a streamer or two floating an inch or two beyond them a device quite as good as bone, ivory, or a genuine fish if it only goes fast enough have been gliding through the water behind, but have captured nothing but a few shreds of floating seaweed. But there is no ground for despair. It is too early in the day, and the breeze is not yet strong enough for good speed. Two brown streaks in the water just behind the hooks, visible only to him who knows what they mean, tell us that fish are here. They are about two feet long and one and a half inch wide, and are a few inches beneath the surface. They are the backs of Barracuda inspecting the bait. As some hunters do not care to shoot a bird upon the ground, so these fish care nothing for the bait until on the wing. They will often follow it for one hundred yards without attempting to touch it. But let it go fast enough and they come with a rush and throw themselves half out of the water as they take it. On each side the ship-channel, beyond the bar, is a long bed of kelp, and it is often well to run into that and try still fishing until the wind reaches its full power at midday. The kelp-fish are different from those caught by trolling, and some are of fine flavor. In the kelp the surface is glassy, though the water rocks with a short, uneasy swell. But by letting down the sail, and making a rope fast to a bunch of the long brown leaves of the kelp, good anchorage is made. The tackle needed for these kelp-fish is simple. A long line with a sinker at the end, and a hook or two baited with meat, and attached several feet above the sinker, so that the hook shall not rest upon the bottom, but be near it, is thrown out, and down it goes full twenty fathoms to the bottom. The green tint the water wears outside of the kelp is gone. Here it is blue, yet so transparent that one can see almost to the bottom. Far below, the kelp can be seen reaching out its arms on every hand, and in the openings between them floats many a fish, as clearly seen as if in an aquarium. Some are lithe and trim, others thick and stubby. Some are grayish-brown upon the back and mottled with brown spots ; others olive-green, and others red. But a sudden tug upon your line interrupts your inspection of the blue depths. Up comes the line, bringing a lot of kelp leaves entangled within it, but at the end is a flapping mass of crimson. This is called the Red-fish (Pimelometopou Pulcher). It is about twelve inches long, broad and deep of body, and rounded upon the back, and is a bright crimson, shading toward flesh color underneath. Scarcely do you get him free of the hook before there is a tug upon the other line. Up it comes, bringing a larger fish, struggling and gathering kelp leaves around him before he clears the water. A good fish this {Heterostichus Rostratus), but not fascinating in appearance. It is about fifteen inches long, deep and broad like the last fish, pale, brownish gray in color, with leaden eye, and is commonly called kelp-fish, along with several other varieties.

And now comes a fish worth catching. He thrashes about with vigor as he is lifted over the edge of the boat; his eyes are full of fire, and the spines of his dorsal fin stand savagely erect. He is about a foot long, trimly built, has a large head, massive jaw, and is dotted with brown spots. This is the Rock-Cod (Sar-ranus Maculo Fasciatus), one of the best table fish upon the coast. Thus fish after fish comes struggling out, with an occasional greenish crab, mottled with brown, and carrying, perhaps, a few barnacles upon his back, until the fulness of the breeze advises that it is time to troll. Other boats and Chinese junks outside the kelp are rolling here and there over the heaving surface, and on the stern of each are men hauling in lines hand-over-hand and something flashes upon the end as it is hauled up the stern.

Though the water is still smooth, there is a decided increase in the breeze; the boat now leaves a foamy track, and the hooks ride so near the surface, with the increase of speed, that their white swathing is seen as they ride down the slope of each receding swell. And before they have passed many swells your line is twitched from your hand and a line of silvery light shines for an instant below the surface where the hook was just riding. From side to side the line cuts the water with a swish as you haul it in, and a long, bright, and slender fish jumps above or darts below with frantic rushes. You may have thought the tackle was clumsy and unscientific when you first saw it; but you now wish it were a trifle stronger.

There is no time to play this fish or drown it. It must be hauled quickly in, for a heavy splash at the end of your other line announces that there is plenty to do. In comes the prize, hammering the stern of the boat with its tail as it comes up, cutting all manner of figures in the air until drawn over the side. Arriving in the boat, it dances on either head or tail with equal facility, until you tighten the line, and begin to speculate upon the safest method of getting the hook out of the sharkish mouth. This fish is the Barracuda' {Sphyrna Argentea), one of the best fish of the Pacific Ocean. It is nearly a yard long, lithe and shapely, with pearly sides, and a dark line down the centre of each side. It has the appearance of a Pickerel, though brighter and clearer in color. It has the same ravenous jaws, with rows of serrated teeth, and the same trim figure, built for speed. But there is little time to examine the prize, for at the other hooks there is vigorous splashing and a confusion among the lines, which are carried across each other with a rush that betokens an interesting tangle among them. And there, too, the hook you have just taken from the mouth of the Barracuda and tossed again into the water is taken by a bright object darting from below, the instant the line is straightened and the hook is under full headway. Four fish are now dashing and flashing about on the ends of the four lines, and all the lines but the one last thrown out are in such a tangle that it is best to leave them and get in the last line before it, too, is added to the rope into which the other three are fast being spun. Be careful now of your fingers, for you have caught a fish stronger and more active than the Barracuda. The line runs from right to left and back again through the water, throwing up ridges of foam in its rapid course. But though slowly the line is taken up, each sidewise run of the fish is bent nearer and nearer the boat. It feels as if it weighed a hundred pounds; nevertheless, it is coming. And now, as he nears the boat, he darts about with frantic rushes of wondrous speed. Now he dashes away toward the boat's bow as far off on the side as the line will allow, laying himself over so that the light gleams in a band from his side of silver and gold. Now, downward into the green depths he goes ; away goes the line under the boat, and out he comes again behind, breaking from the water with an upward rush that throws him clear over the other three lines.

With much exertion, the four lines are finally hauled in all together, though our fingers smart well for it, as on the end of each line a fish goes tearing about. In a moment confusion reigns in the boat. There is a gay medley of heads and tails; of shining, throbbing sides and tangled lines; of hands vainly feeling for a secure hold, and feet vainly exploring for an anchorage upon bouncing vibrations of opalescence and pearl. For three Barracuda and one Spanish Mackerel are on the lines. This is not the Spanish Mackerel of the Atlantic, though called by the same name. This fish (Sharda Chilensis) is a little deeper and thicker than true Mackerel proportions demand, but has the unmistakable tail, mouth, and markings of the mackerel family. It is about two feet long, weighs about twelve pounds, and is lustrous with delicate shades of green, gold, opal, and pearl. Long after the Barracuda have ceased bouncing it hammers the deck with alternate strokes of head and tail, and if not secured will bounce itself overboard in a minute.

The lines are finally disentangled, the hooks need no baiting, and in a moment are floating away behind. No sooner are the lines fairly straightened and the hooks again under full speed, than there is a sudden swish and splash and two of the hooks are taken at one dash. Another swish and splash and the other two hooks are taken before we have the first two hauled one-fourth of the way in. There will now be little time to rest, for we are in the midst of a school of fish. But we may as well be calm. We shall get all the fish we need and have all the lime-burnt fingers that a successful fisherman requires. We may as well take in the lines and roll about for awhile on the long, tumbling swells. The weather is so soft and cool, the sky so bright, yet the sun so mild ; there never was such a day to lie down and smoke, to gaze upon the great shining plain upon the west, or on the long lines of dreamy blue mountains on the east, to listen to the ripple and thumping of the waters at the bow, and the fluttering of the streamer at the mast-head, to feel the little vessel careen as she goes sliding down the shorter slope of some great swell, righting herself as she climbs the long slope of the next one, yet feel all the time as secure as if taking a moonlight row on some lake where the winds are hushed for the day. But there is little rest for the angler in the midst of fish. Again the lines are tossed out, and in an instant we see that we are still in the school. Here a greedy Barracuda swallows hook, rags, and all, and before it is extracted from the ravenous throat another is tugging at the other line, and three or four brown backs lie close behind in the water awaiting a chance at the hook. Such is fishing in the Pacific.