18 SALMON FISHING 



steadily as I could, to the water's edge. What was 

 to be done next? The salmon were rising just in 

 front of me. I saw them. I had never seen so 

 many in one pool before, and I have never had such 

 a spectacle since. They were not leaping. Merely 

 they were constantly coming up, gently breaking the 

 water with their heads, and in some cases, as they 

 dropped, making swirls with their tails. They were 

 exactly like gigantic trout feeding in a well-stocked 

 pool. There was I standing gazing at them, inactive. 

 That, however, was not for more than a minute. 

 I knew that the discomfiting visage of the Highland- 

 man in the rear would be upon me, and that it was 

 not a white feather I held aloft. To work, then ! 

 Cautiously I let the long rod droop; unloosed the 

 very large fly ; with help from the torrent, let out a 

 good many yards of line; and was prepared for 

 action. I cast. It had been a sound intuition that 

 made me hesitate. A salmon rod, even if it be an 

 inheritance from times long gone by, is not of in- 

 supportable weight ; but if it be of the Shannon 

 build, heavier in the middle than at the butt, it calls 

 for a skill in balancing that is not yours by nature. 

 Just as I saw the fly about to fall into the thick 

 of the fish, about twenty yards out, I felt my bodily 

 equilibrium being not less disturbed than the mental. 

 The great rod, with the fat nob at the end wedged 

 against the pit of my person, was a lever. Head 

 first, I followed it into the river. As the pebble 

 bank was shelving, the water into which I went was 

 not deep. I remember wishing that it were. Death 



