THE LANU-LOCKEU SALMON. IO9 



some pretty casting from a steep, rocky beach past which a 

 strong eddy runs. Later on. when the water has fallen and 

 new eddies form immediately above the point, there will be 

 good fishing, either off the rocks or in the canoe, which the 

 men will hold in the very dividing-line between the main 

 current over the fall and that which sets in-shore. 



At luncheon, in a shady nook, a Wananishe a la brochc 

 gives us a chance to test the men's cookery. The fish, 

 split down the back and opened out like a kite, is skewered 

 with slips of red willow, well salted and peppervsd, inserted in 

 a cleft stick fastened with spruce-root or a withe of alder, 

 and then, stuck in the ground before a clear fire of drift-wood, 

 is broiled without any basting but its own fat. If you prefer 

 the flavor, you may skewer a piece of bacon to the upper part 

 of the fish. The delicate pink flesh is intermediate in flavor 

 between that of the Salmon and that of the Trout — richer 

 than the latter, less cloying than the former. Planked Shad 

 is not better. After luncheon the pipe and a chat, with a 

 bo7icanc to keep the flies off. The logs chafing and grinding 

 against the shore suggest to the men some reminiscences of 

 la drive and its perils. The artist gets a sketch for which 

 William poses. For another mile above, the rapid foams 

 white. That hill, covered with dark spruces, which divides 

 it, is the point of Isle Maligne — well named, for, surrounded by 

 heavy rapids pulsating in chutes through rocky gorges, it is 

 rarely accessible, sometimes not for several successive years, 

 and only one angler has ever cast a fly from its shores. 



In the evening we fly down in ten minutes what it took us 

 over an hour to mount. The roar of the Vache Cialle Rapid 

 swells like the sound of an approaching train. The bowman 

 stands up to look, says a word to his mate, then both settle 

 low on their heels, and two bits of rapid are run like a flash, 

 though the trees slipping past are the only sign of motion the 

 passenger feels. With the current setting out straight over 

 the fall, it is an ugly-looking place, but "« terre, eti masse,'' 



