230 AN OPEN CREEL 



came out with me and took me over the lower half 

 of the water. The river had risen a good deal, and 

 was rather thick. We fished cursorily down several 

 pools without result, and walked past others until we 

 came to the bottom of the water. Here is a long 

 narrow pool of good repute. It is, indeed, the 

 favourite beat on the fishery, and generally holds a 

 few salmon when there are any in the river. But 

 we fished it down carefully in turn without result, 

 and then took a rest, coming to the conclusion that 

 the water was now too thick for the fly. Then came 

 an instance of the uncertainties of salmon-fishing. I 

 took his rod down to the river just to try its action, 

 and got out a few yards of line. At about the third 

 cast there was a boil in the water, and a good fish came 

 up at the fly, a silver-bodied, turkey-winged creation 

 designed for the Tweed. We rested the fish, and then 

 Glendower went down over him with the same fly. 

 There was no response, but about twenty yards lower 

 another salmon came up in the same way. Both fish 

 had seen the fly before without apparently taking any 

 notice of it. After that we tried several other patterns, 

 but moved nothing, and at last we decided to go over 

 the pool with a small spoon and then make for home. 

 My friend went down first and did not get a touch. 

 I followed him after an interval, and had not covered a 

 third of the distance when I was into a salmon, a fairly 

 bright hen fish of sixteen and a half pounds, which my 

 friend gaffed out in splendid style after about ten 

 minutes' fight. Luck was never more in evidence, for 

 the fish must have seen the first spoon as well as 

 the second, both being of the same size and nature. 



