A flock of gulls were circling low, perhaps over a school of tuna.
When I think of Sam I think of tuna—those torpedoes of the ocean.
We have tried to introduce principles of the Tuna Club of Avalon.
His tail was big like that of a tuna, and his head sharper, more wolfish than a barracuda.
Not only had I stopped the tuna, but soon I had him coming up, slowly yet rather easily.
A tuna fights on his side, with head down, and he never stops.
If the angler rests the tuna will not only rest, too, but he will take more and more line.
When the tuna is raised so high he will refuse to come any higher, and then there is a deadlock.
There lives no fisherman but what there lives a tuna that can take the conceit and the fight out of him.
To hold what gain I had on the tuna was at these periods almost unendurable.