164 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES 



length than five yards could be allowed. Every muscle 

 strained, I literally leaned back solidly against the bent 

 rod for a full quarter of an hour, the fish below mean- 

 time moving in circles or sulking. The gaffing was most 

 cleverly done by the good man who had never left my 

 side, and I staggered out, backed on to a mossy patch, 

 and sank to ground exhausted and panting. That 

 capture stands out as my most thrilling episode in 

 Norway. 



The more frequent occurrence is a foreshore of shingle, 

 much or little according to the volume of water, and 

 here wading trousers are indispensable, and I dare 

 venture to say they are to the majority of anglers wholly 

 delightful. In waders somehow you feel very good. 

 The opportunities for wading on many of the large 

 rivers are, however, limited, the boat being a necessity 

 for both salmon and sea trout. It is the only way of 

 casting over the fish. The boats are often too skittish 

 for comfort, though they are never so slight as the 

 Canadian canoe. You step ashore to finish conclusions 

 with your fish, and when your gaffsman is a village 

 worthy who leaves his ordinary occupations to gillie 

 the stranger, accidents are not uncommon. Does one 

 ever forget the swiping at the cast instead of at the 

 salmon by the honest fellow who so much tries to please 

 you, or the losses caused by sheer inexperience or 

 natural stupidity ? 



The finest sea trout of my life ought to have been 

 lost to me by this sort of blundering. I had, as I 

 thought, drilled the worthy cobbler at least into the 

 duty of keeping cool and combining vigour with delibera- 

 tion. I was casting from a grassy bank overhung with 

 alders, and the fish was well hooked on a Bulldog 

 salmon fly. He ran hard and far down-stream, but 

 was checked in time and reeled slowly up. After a 



