NORWAY AND ITS SEA TROUT 225 



3^ Ib. and i| lb., some compensation for a wet, cold, 

 blustering day. 



The next day is hard, clear, exhilarating. The snow 

 has spread out rather than melted, and encroached 

 still farther down the hillsides, but the sun waxes 

 strong as we drive to the upper water, and the bolder 

 mountains up at the lake are in dazzling splendour, 

 and apparently close. There is a wire across the 

 stream, an easy means of crossing for the ladies and 

 gentlemen who inhabit the handsome fishing lodge 

 built by an English gentleman on the very edge of a 

 grand salmon pool. The stalwart Norsk gillie who 

 attends him found it a trifle too easy yesterday, for it 

 gave way and let him into the river. The house-party 

 were making ready to leave, however, and the young 

 ladies, who had been doing well with the salmon, had 

 the concluding excitement of their favourite henchman 

 floundering in the water to take on board the steamer 

 as a final remembrance of their visit. The foss by 

 which the lake water escapes is a magnificent commo- 

 tion of white roaring water, tossing at first sheer over 

 huge rocks, then tumbling headlong down a broken 

 slope. Just below is a deep hole, always, however, 

 in a state of froth, upheaval, thunder, and spray. Away 

 races the water in a turbulent pool about fifty yards 

 long, rough and uproarious on either side, but more 

 reasonable in the middle. Below are the rapids again. 

 The game is to kill a salmon in this pool. There is not 

 much difficulty in finding him, for there are always fish 

 there, and they take well when the humour is on them. 

 By every right, human and otherwise, Hooper should 

 take first toll of this ticklish maelstrom ; it is called 

 by his name, but, as usual, he insists upon his guest 

 making or marring the chance, and leaves me for other 

 pools bearing the names of brother anglers, members of 



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