VII 



ONE SALMON : A NOVA SCOTIAN SALMON STREAM IN 



SPATE 



THE scene is in Halifax County, Nova Scotia. The little river 

 is roaring hoarsely beneath the wooden bridge, in heavy spate ; 

 its dark swift current racing with a swiftness and fury which makes 

 our chances for a salmon indeed slim. We know that it is as much 

 as a fish can do to keep himself comfortable in some quiet nook 

 amid the foaming torrent, void of the least bit of ambition, or say 

 of superfluous energy, to waste in chasing the alluring tit-bits of 

 the fly-book. Silver Doctor, Yellow-leg, Black Dose or Durham 

 Ranger, even the latest fad of an Admiral tied with white wings 

 instead of turkey, will only too likely swim unheeded within the 

 ken of our intended victims, oaring the tumbling waters with tireless 

 fins, too busily occupied in holding their own against the rush of 

 water to give attention to aught else. And yet I feel very happy 

 and contented this glorious June evening as I listen to the height- 

 ened pulse of the dear stream where I have passed so many delight- 

 ful hours, in front of mine host's comfortable little cottage, as he 

 puts together my fifteen-feet steel- centred cane-built rod made by 

 Hardy of Alnwick, which has many a triumph to its record in the 

 series of pools which are for the most part in sight from my bedroom 

 window. For first of all I know that the ' cherry run ' of fish are 

 now due in the river and it is pleasant to know that the waters 

 are peopled with the gleaming beauties even if we cannot bring them 

 to the gaff. There are earlier runs but the ' cherry run ' (when the 

 wild cherry covers the hillsides with white sheets of bloom) is the 

 best of all, for the fish are sure to be in prime condition, ' game 

 fighters ', and to make the heaviest average on the scales. A 

 fortnight or so later the ' strawberry ' run will enter the river, 

 smaller fish and not so large a company due to begin when first 

 the wild strawberries sprinkle the pastures with shining dots of 

 crimson. After that the grilse. 



There is nothing harsh in the roaring of the waters : rather 

 is their cadence of a soothing character : ' a sound of balm and 

 solace '. One gets to regard his pet river as an intimate friend, 



