CASUAL VISITS TO NORWAY 173 



out-of-the-world valley, and you can always lift your 

 eyes to the eternal hills that look so near, yet are so far, 

 and smile at the thought of how very small you are. 

 The head gillie here is a Norsker, who makes nothing 

 of dashing into a whirlpool to gaff a salmon, and he 

 once followed a fish to whom the rod had been cast 

 under a bridge where the torrent madly swirled, came 

 out safe on the other side, and triumphantly killed in 

 the open. My friend had many a story to tell of his 

 smartness and knowledge, born of a true love of sport. 

 He once hooked a salmon at dusk, the man standing 

 by with the gaff. With one impetuous rush the fish 

 raced down the pool, through a long rapid and round 

 a promontory, taking out line until little was left. The 

 angler held on grimly in the dark, and the man, after 

 grave cogitation, struck a match, leisurely made him- 

 self acquainted with the angle of the line, and without 

 a word moved away. Possessed by an afterthought 

 he, however, returned, struck another light, and ex- 

 amined the quantity of line left upon the winch. Then 

 he walked off, and was heard climbing rocks and 

 forcing his way through the alders. After a time the 

 line slackened and my friend reeled up ; but the fish 

 was safe enough on the grass a long distance round the 

 promontory. The man had made his observations 

 (literally throwing a light upon the subject), concluded 

 therefrom behind what particular rock the salmon was 

 taking refuge, groped and waded his way to the spot, 

 and gaffed the fish at the first shot. Such an at- 

 tendant, who knows every stone, so to speak, in the 

 river, is invaluable. 



