International photographer (Jan-Dec 1941)

somrh on a tuna clippER By Michael Doyle, Jr. On our way out of San Diego Harbor, i our ship was first stopped and boarded by a patrol boat from the cruiser "Louisville," the officer of which examined our papers and allowed us to proceed; then, almost being landed on by a Navy patrol bomber practising night landings in the harbor channel, we started south to the fishing banks off the southern coast of Lower California — four days' voyage. I had been commissioned by the studio to get scenes of tuna fishing in actual surroundings and after chasing around San Diego for a week, looking at a dozen boats, I received permission from Captain Luigi Guidi to make the trip on his boat, the "Kathryn," a diesel bait fisher of sixty-five feet; carrying a crew of eight. After waiting more or less patiently for a week for the Captain to decide to sail, he set the time for the next Sunday night. Saturday morning, at eleven, he called me at the hotel and told me that we would need passports to go down into Mexican waters and small photographs to go on the passports. We dashed out to the galleries. Every soldier at Camp Callan, every sailor at the naval base and every marine must have decided to have his picture taken that day. Several hours later, we had the undeveloped negatives wrapped in a package. Then began the hunt for a place to have them developed and printed. More hours passed. About to give up, we came to a man doing a gallery business over a drug store. He turned us down because he was too busy. Then someone mentioned movies. "Are you in the movies?" We answered "Yes." "Well," he said, "I used to work at Paramount, twenty years ago. Wait a minute, maybe I can squeeze your work in. Come back in half an hour." The Mexican Consulate was closed by then so our sailing date was postponed to Monday. That was fine but that Monday was a Mexican legal holiday, so the Consulate wouldn't be open till Tuesday. So, keeping our fingers crossed, we were to sail Tuesday night. We must have uncrossed them for a moment, because at 1 :00 P.M. it was discovered we didn't have permission of our local draft boards to leave the United States. Telegrams, long distance phone calls, biting of nails, and at 5:00 P.M. came the word. We had permission to leave for four weeks. So it was somewhat worn and a little limp when we realized we had passed Point Loma and Coronado and the boat began to roll. Sitting in the galley, it sounded as though the deck were awash; looking out, I was astonished to see that it actually was. The Captain informed me that it always was awash at sea from amidships aft and in heavy weather the stern wasn't v'sible. The boat acted like a cross between a submarine and a destroyer. Three days south, we put into Blanca Bay to seine for anchovies and sardines that were to be used as bait on the banks. We photographed this from every conceivable angle, from the top of the wooden awning over the bait tanks, down among the fishermen hauling up the net. And the Captain even put us over the side in a dory. That was a jollv little job, trying to keep the people in the finder, as the dory bobbed up and down with the swells. The boat cruised back and forth, the net piled in the stern, one end tied to the dory, ready to let go. The man in the crow's nest saw a disturbance on the water, the boat headed for it. the Captain yelled to the man in the boat who let go, the net payed out over the stern as the boat encircled the school; when the dory end of the net was handed up and rushed aft where all the men hauled it, hand over hand. When the sack of the net was close in board, an endless chain was organized, the bait was scooped from the net, passed to the deck to the bait tanks where it was emptied out, then clown the other side to a waiting hand who gave it to the scooper at the net. With the bait tanks nearly full, we started south again. The old man cautioned one of the men to be sure the bait tank lights were on. That was a new one to me. He explained that the lights were kept on constantly, one inside the tank under water and one overhead. That otherwise the bait, swimming constantly in circles, would go crazy in the dark and commit suicide bv dashing into the walls of the tank, or piling up and smothering. We reached the banks a day and a half later. Carl Gibson, the grip, had designed and put together an outrigger that would extend five feet over the rail of the boat. In between swells, Carl managed to lash the outrigger to the side and on this we put the Bell and Howell, uncovering only the lens and matte box long enough to shoot a scene. At that, the camera had to be completely dismantled after each shot and carried into the galley to be dried off before it could be unloaded. Every morning at 4:30, the crew was up Upper: Doyle and the swordfish he didn't catch. Lower: Port side astern. Racks lashed up during heavy weather. International Photographer for October, 1941