A RUN OF LUCK 233 



a Durham Ranger, a Thunder and Lightning, a Grey 

 Eagle, a fancy of my own with a gold body, red-brown 

 wing, gold topping, and red tail, and a local fly of sober 

 hue. I was glad to get that fish at last. On Tuesday 

 I found the river falling fast, but most of the pools 

 were still in order, and the weather was perfect for 

 salmon-fishing. I fished down six before luncheon 

 without a touch, though four of them were in perfect 

 condition, and looked as though they must yield. Then 

 I ate my sandwiches at the side of the seventh, a high- 

 water pool, which was much too low according to local 

 ideas. Still, it seemed to me worth a trial, as there 

 was enough stream at the head, and, having eaten, I 

 went down it with a medium-sized Thunder and Light- 

 ning. The proceeding was justified. A fish came at 

 the fly with a bang before I had covered thirty yards, 

 and gave me an excellent, though anxious, ten minutes. 

 By the horrid way he shook his head and his frequent 

 plunges at the top I knew he must be lightly hooked. 

 What is the correct procedure for an angler when his 

 fish shakes his head at him and sends cold shivers up 

 his spine ? The question occurred to me at the time, 

 as it seems to occur to everyone, but I could recall no 

 axiom of any merit ; I do not believe there is one that 

 covers the problem. I played that fish with the greatest 

 courtesy. If he wanted line, he had it, though he never 

 got any of it slack ; if he desired to move to another 

 part of the pool, he moved, and I moved with him ; 

 never was a salmon humoured more to his taste. At 

 last he chose to come slowly inshore, there to meditate 

 on some new departure. And this was the only 

 advantage I took of him. While he meditated, by no 



