Pumping, reeling, pumping, reeling, a little at time, I was gaining, and the fly line was in sight through the clear water below, re-energizing my effort. Finally, there it was, with the luster of a pearl, still 70 feet down, slowly gliding in a long arch. It was near the end of its resistance. I looked at my hands that I could not feel and willed them to turn the reel handle a few more times. The glimmering tuna came out from under the stern and leveled off near the surface. I could plainly see its big eye, and finally, the tuna was hoisted over the gunwale onto the deck, still fighting back.