4 A RIVER OF NORWAY 



the fly, that we kill our fish. In many of the 

 great Norwegian rivers, and especially in those 

 of the far North, casting is out of the question. 

 In those mighty waters you may fish a pool all 

 day, and never succeed in showing the fly to 

 a fish. And so the method is adopted of row- 

 ing a boat backwards and forwards across the 

 pool, each time a little lower down, with the 

 fly or bait hanging behind the boat, until the 

 whole of the water is covered. There is skill 

 in doing this properly, but it is the boatman's, 

 not the angler's. His function is confined to 

 beguiling the time with a book, or his thoughts, 

 until a fish strikes. And so, though he plays 

 the fish when hooked, he misses what some 

 regard as the supremest moment in the whole 

 range of sport the rise of a good fish to a well- 

 thrown and well-worked fly. To many men 

 of an active disposition such a procedure for 

 any length of time is intolerable. 



As early in the morning of June 1, 1903, we 

 steam up the fjord on the little steamer which 

 we have chartered for the journey of a hundred 

 miles from Bergen, to fish the river for the sixth 

 year in succession, we anxiously scan the higher 

 hills. Extraordinarily heavy snows are said to 



