The Country Gcntlcniaiis j\Iagazbic 



595 



y)tmting, Jjisliing, anti Shooting. 



MY FIRST -SALMON. 



I AM an old fisherman, and have caught 

 many " odd fish" in my day, of all shapes 

 and sizes, in different parts of the world. But 

 up to this very month I had never had a 

 chance of catching that prince of fishes the 

 salmon. A kind friend having invited me to 

 try my hand on the Tweed, in about the best 

 l^art of that lovely river, I waited impatiently 

 for a summons from his fisherman, who was 

 to let me know when the river would " fish." 

 At last, towards the end of September, came 

 the welcome tidings of a flood, and a speedy 

 ])rospect of sport. 



Twenty-four hours took me from Salisbury 

 Plain to the Tweed. Here I came to a new 

 world. I had left behind me all discourse of 

 greyhounds, foxhounds, " birds," and so forth, 

 and had entered upon a new circle of ac- 

 (|uaintance, gentle and simple, who talked 

 only of the Tweed and the salmon. Observe 

 here, in passing, the river is always she. Will 

 she fish to-day ? She has waxed 6 inches this 

 morning. She is drumly (thick), &c. The 

 fish, on the other hand, is always he. " There 

 he is," " There he looped," &c. Now, how- 

 ever many big fish a man may have caught 

 with' a fly in other countries, if he has never 

 tried his strength against a salmon, he is of 

 course set down as a mere novice by local 

 fishers ; his flies are thrown aside in disdain ; 

 his reel is put on wrong ; his rod is a foot too 

 short. At last he begins and gets his hand in. 

 There may be harder work than wielding an 

 1 8-foot salmon-rod on a warm day, but I have 

 never come across it. I had left home pro- 

 fessedly to catch a salmon, and had declared 

 very rashly that I would not return re infeda. 

 Day after day passed, the river was in flood, 

 and I got almost desperate. At last, on the 



5 th of this month, the water was declared in 

 order, but there was no wind and a bright 

 sun. I went to work with the energy of 

 despair, but my back ached so much that at 

 last, between every throw, I was inclined to 

 stoop, if not to squat down in my boat for 

 some relief About four the sun went behind 

 either a cloud or a hill, a light air breathed 

 on the water, and, when least expecting it, 

 there came a tug, the hook was well in, and 

 a big fish lashed its tail and floundered for a 

 moment on the top of the water. " He's a 

 sma' salmon," said Wullie Johnson, my boat- 

 man. " Not so very small, Wullie," replied 

 I, as the fish dived and went steadily up- 

 stream. After a few minutes of sulky struggle, 

 I landed and tried to come to better terms- 

 with him. Now came a series of rushes, until 

 the fish had some 60 or 70 yards of line out, 

 and seemed bent on crossing the river, and 

 going down stream and away. I had been 

 giving him the butt end of the rod to the best 

 of my power, but it now was plain enough that 

 I must either keep a tight hand upon my fish 

 or lose him. Every inch of line was of value, 

 every moment critical. At this instant, jam 

 went the reel. For the life of me I could not 

 wind it up. A few inches I could get in, then 

 came a hitch, and so on. It was like a wind- 

 lass with a foul anchor. The fish seemed to 

 feel his advantage, and made a fresh start. 

 " Ah, but he's a dour deevil," said an antient 

 fisherman, who had appeared at my back, 

 " Wind up your line or he'll beat you." " I 

 can't wind up," I replied. Wullie Johnson 

 being hard of hearing, I at last got him to put 

 his two hands to the reel, and to wind with 

 all his force when I nodded my head, and 

 pulled in line with my left hand when I could 



