SALMON-FISHING 

 had the chance of doing. We were sitting at luncheon. At the foot of the 

 garden runs the Penkill, a mountain tributary of the Gree, much frequented 

 by sea-trout and occasionally harbouring an odd salmon or two. It was in 

 high spate at the time, and I volunteered to show them how the trick was 

 done. Accordingly, I borrowed a rod and tackle from my host and off 

 we set; but so slender did I deem the chance of meeting a fish that I did not 

 take a gaff with me. There is a pretty pool below a bridge in the garden. 

 I ought to have crossed the said bridge, for the bank is clear on the far 

 side with a strip of shingle; but I stupidly began casting from the near 

 bank over a thicket of rhododendron, with the stream rushing deep and 

 swift along the rocks below them. At the third or fourth cast up came 

 a nice little salmon of 9 lb. or so, and hooked himself. I was helpless, I 

 could not lead the fish downstream, for the trees grew close down to the 

 water edge. Forcing my way through the rhododendrons, I got down on 

 the rocks, and, when the fish was ready for the gaff I ought to have 

 brought, I brought him alongside repeatedly, but as often as I did so the 

 stream swept him away. Twice I actually had my hand on him, but could 

 not get a grip of his tail. At a third attempt, the hold gave way and my 

 fly was left dangling in mid-air. 



One autumn day's experience in the North Tyne ought to have con- 

 vinced me of the folly of going salmon -fishing without a gaff. The river 

 had been pronounced unfishable, being in high flood and discoloured. 

 However, being lodged in a small country inn without much resource of 

 recreation, I took my rod and went up alone to the Hargroves water for 

 a stroll. Seeing a fish rise at the edge of the Chalet stream, I put a big 

 fly over him, little expecting him to take notice of it. He not only took 

 notice, but he took the fly, and after becoming resistance, was tailed out. 

 This encouraged me to persevere; the streams were full of fish, so that, 

 despite the unpromising condition of the water, by nightfall I had tailed 

 out no fewer than ten fish weighing 90 lb., breaking my top joint 

 three times in doing so. It is impossible to calculate the amount 

 of time lost in playing the fish owing to the want of a gaff, and in 

 splicing the rod which the gaff would have saved from being broken; 

 the slain would probably have numbered half as many again but for my 

 carelessness. 



The observations in this chapter have been directed to salmon -fishing 

 in rivers; there remains but little to be said about fly-fishing for salmon 

 in lakes, because there are comparatively few lakes in which that branch 



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