A HARD FIGHT. 301 



chase escapade had not the desired effect, and the 

 salmon, comprehending this, altered his plan of combat 

 and settled clown deep in the pellucid river, although 

 far from conquered. An occasion of this kind is a 

 trying ordeal, and often as dangerous to the tackle as 

 any stratagem that is put in practice ; in fact, I have 

 thought that it is pursued for the purpose of rubbing 

 their snout on the rocks or gravel, as frequently I have 

 found after killing a fish who had thus performed that 

 my fly was much frayed and worn. 



After waiting for many minutes, trusting that my 

 foe would change his mind and his quarters, I became 

 impatient, and believing my tackle to be good, put on 

 a little extra purchase ; this ruse was successful, for 

 with astounding velocity the fish started down stream 

 at racing pace for parts unknown. The reel fairly 

 yelled, and instead of the well-made sonorous click 

 being heard, a discordant screech was its utterance. 

 Close on a hundred yards of line rushed through the 

 heated rings before he slackened up, and a good twenty 

 yards more I had followed his course ; at the end of 

 this dash he broke water splendidly, causing the spray 

 to fly for many feet around. Again and again his 

 argentine flanks reflected brilliant radii in the sunlight, 

 and at each glistening reflection of the solar rays I 

 feared that we should part company without the 

 most remote chance of further or more closely re- 

 newing our acquaintance. Fortune and good tackle, 

 however, favoured me ; and I had the satisfaction of 

 turning his head for the source of the river, and pro- 

 bable birthplace of himself and relations. With the 

 greatest satisfaction I took in yard after yard, my 

 hopes rising as the body of my reel expanded ; at 



