CASUAL VISITS TO NORWAY 165 



quarter of an hour's play he was under the rod point, 

 Johan all the while dancing with the excitement of the 

 keen sportsman. I kept him off till the fish was spent 

 and feebly gyrating at my feet. Then I gave the sign, 

 and he swooped at him with a ferocious stroke, falling 

 backward in the rebound. Just one word I uttered 

 (spell it with three, not four, letters), and implored him 

 to be calm. Then he hit the fish on the head with the 

 back of the gaff. In the silence of despair I resigned 

 myself as he smote again ; he actually now gaffed the 

 fish, but seemed too paralysed to lift him up the low 

 bank. However, I dropped the rod and snatched the 

 gaff out of his hands, to discover that the strangest 

 thing in my experience had happened. The fish was 

 gaffed clean through the upper lip. The point of the 

 gaff lay side by side with my fly, the only difference 

 being that the former was clean through and the latter 

 nicely embedded in the mouth. It was a sea trout 

 a fraction over 13 Ib. 



An unkind fate declines to give me the month of 

 August in its entirety for a holiday ; and the best I 

 can do is to catch the steamer on Saturday night, 

 August 19. Salmon, so late as this, are not always to 

 be reckoned upon, and the best part of the sea trout 

 run might be over before I reach my destination. Cer- 

 tain data with the talisman " Brevkort Gra Norge " 

 had come to hand during that tropical fortnight under 

 which London experienced a wondrous spell of melt- 

 ing moments. They were cheery messages of good 

 sport and rosy prospects upon the salmon and sea trout 

 rivers of Norway, all sound material for hopeful 

 musing in the pleasant run from Hull to the Norwegian 

 coast. 



The visit on which I invite the reader to share my 

 introduction to the country was very memorable. 



