NORWAY AND ITS SEA TROUT 227 



on," of course, means shutting the mouth of that reel. 

 The House of Commons gag was never better applied. 

 Not five yards of line, in fact, go out after the first 

 rush, stopped with a firmness that amazes myself. But 

 I have to follow down, in stumbling cautiousness for 

 another ten yards, which bring me perilously near the 

 torrent of the pool's tail. Now it is the salmon or the 

 angler. And the fish responds to the insidious sideway 

 slanting of the rod, and is good enough to head, ever so 

 gingerly, up into the heavier water. Never no more, 

 Salmo Salar, unless something smashes not an inch, 

 be you of gold instead of silver. How the good man 

 gaffs the fish in the rough edge stream I know not ; 

 only he does it masterly, and with back and knees 

 trembling, and breath puffing hard and short, I drop 

 upon the moss in an ecstasy of silence. 



Yet it is only a salmon of 15 Ib. ; but that quarter of 

 an hour of " hold on " is the most intense thing, so far, 

 of my experience with salmon, not forgetting that 

 surprise, many a year back, when I killed my first 

 salmon with a No. I trout fly by the dorsal in the 

 Galway river. The split-cane rod comes out of the 

 fray as straight and happy as when new, and I notice 

 that, as I am recovering my equanimity, the gaffer 

 examines it closely, handles it fondly, and pronounces 

 it correct, in warm English words. The rod indeed 

 seems to have entered into the fun, and to say, " Get 

 up ; don't waste time." We therefore move off to 

 another pool, and in the course of a couple of hours, 

 after trying two or three different patterns in a bright 

 sun, I get a 12-lb. salmon on a Carlisle Bulldog, medium 

 size ; this, however, in a pool where we all have fair 

 play. 



On either side of a foss below that above mentioned 

 is one of the salmon traps peculiar to the country, built 



