FISHING 79 



a mile of water. I and my ghillie were left at 

 the top pool, the other rod going farther 

 down. It was agreed we should meet at the 

 third and best pool for luncheon, to compare 

 notes. 



As I had once or twice tried for salmon in 

 an almost fishless river, I had handled a 

 salmon rod, so the 15 ft. one lent me was not 

 altogether a new weapon in my hands. The 

 river was in such perfect order that standing 

 out on the stone jetty it did not require a very 

 long line to cover the pool. I had on the good 

 old Jock Scott, and I had not been casting 

 more than twenty minutes before splash, 

 rrrrrrr, bump, the last noise being my own 

 heart against my ribs. I can feel it all now, 

 at the distance of fifteen years, the rush and 

 swirl of that first salmon, my pulses keeping 

 pace with his runs. The ghillie, a fine fisher- 

 man, knew that a novice was at the butt end, 

 but being a man of few words he gave me only 

 such instruction and advice as did help and 

 did not fluster me. ' Haud up the pint o' the 

 rod." " Let him rin." " Reel up now and 



