A Vancouver Salmon 201 



thought. I had not knelt in one for a long year. 

 I said to my comrade : 



" W , old boy, we ought to have a paddle to- 

 gether; it'll be prime poking about under those 

 cliffs. What say you ? " 



W , good, kind, big-hearted W , was game for 

 anything and at once agreed. As we were turning 

 toward the boat-house, a tan-colored Siwash sped 

 past in one of their queer canoes. W said the 

 man was going fishing. 



" Going what ? " 



" Going trolling ; they catch any quantity of 

 salmon in the Narrows when the tide is right." 



" The mischief they do ! Why didn't you say so 

 before ? " 



" Thought you were a fly-fisher and wouldn't be 

 interested. These salmon won't take a fly; they 

 catch 'em with big spoon-hooks." 



" W , I'm going to catch a salmon. Why, I 

 haven't caught a fish for a whole week not 

 since the mountain trout at Harrison Springs." 



He was willing, so we hurried to the hotel and 

 borrowed a heavy line, to which was bent a plain 

 spoon, like a table-spoon, with a big hook soldered 

 to it. Armed with this doubtful-looking outfit, we 

 launched the canoe. She was a beauty, the paddles 

 were just right, and it was a treat to kneel upon a 

 handsome cushion in a spotless, richly carpeted craft, 

 and send her flying over that sleepy water. As we 

 neared the Narrows, other Siwashes in other queer- 

 looking canoes began trolling, meanwhile grinning 

 like wolves at our craft and evidently seeing some- 

 thing very funny about us. Presently one of them 



