52 TRAVELS IN THE EIGHTIES. 



rapidly approaching the end of the lake, where the 

 river overflowed, and I had almost sunk into a pro- 

 found melancholy at the thought that we should have 

 to subsist on dried reindeer meat and barley bread, 

 when a series of sharp tugs at the line announced the 

 first lake trout of the season, and a very fine one he 

 proved to be. 



Landing quickly, I directed my Swedish bearers to 

 proceed with the luggage to the next lake, where we 

 expected to find an old boat drawn up, which would 

 enable us to cross and suffer less fatigue than if we 

 were to follow the shore on foot. 



The connecting stream between the two lakes was 

 but a hundred and fifty yards in length, and, by the 

 addition of numerous small tributary streams, had 

 become a very different one to that at Markness. In- 

 deed, it would hardly have been possible to cross it 

 now without wading breast high. Changing to a 

 drawn gut cast, for I was determined to know the 

 worst at once, and using a green midge and a fly with 

 an orange body, I cast with a long line into the middle 

 of the current where it left the lake. The result was 

 a violent tug and the departure of the cast and flies. 



Putting on a much heavier cast I tried again, and 

 landed eight large trout, which brought the scale 

 down at two pounds each, while thirty smaller ones 

 were dropped into a large sack before I consented to 

 leave, which was in half an hour. The next lake was 

 many miles in extent. The small farm hamlet where 

 I was to pass the night lay a good Swedish mile down 



