SALMON-FISHING 



most part It is silent. The ploughs are busy on the cornland, but the 

 share turns the lea noiselessly; a man may pass a whole day beside 

 the river without hearing a sound betokening the presence of his own 

 kind, except, it may be, the barking of a distant collie doing its master's 

 bidding. Wading waist-deep in pursuit of spring salmon, I can hear 

 nothing but what he might have heard who first penetrated the solitude 

 of Strathspey at the close of winter — ^the humming of a nor'-easter among 

 the pines, the rushing of a swollen river, and the querulous piping of a 

 flock of brilliant oyster -catchers. 



Presently another and a very different note rises clear above the rum- 

 bling of the water. Far up on the opposite cliff a blackbird begins to carol 

 among the pines — the first of the season in this northern latitude. What 

 quality there is in the voice of that diminutive creature, causing it to be 

 heard clearly above the roar of the swiftest and most violent river in the 

 United Kingdom — a triumph of quality over volume of sound. And I hold 

 that the merle is distinguished among all British songsters by the quality 

 of its song. The throstle is more voluble, but its melody lacks the liquid 

 purity of the merle's; besides, it repeats the same passage so incessantly 

 as to become almost wearisome. The blackbird's song is not so well 

 sustained, but its variety is infinite. This train of thought was inter- 

 rupted by a sudden, violent wrench at the three-inch fly which I had been 

 flinging rhythmically and mechanically over the troubled waters for the 

 space of an hour and more. Bending greenheart and singing line — ^the 

 acme of an angler's desire — ^followed by tremulous speculation whether 

 the fish should turn out to be a springer or a kelt, presently to be solved 

 by the said fish throwing itself in the air at the end of a brisk run and dis- 

 playing the matchless shape and shining mail of a twelve -pounder fresh 

 from the salt water. Less than ten minutes suffice to end the contest in 

 favour of the biped, and another minute must be given to contemplation 

 of the lustrous prize. 



One never tires of admiring the exquisite form and colour of a new-run 

 spring salmon. No vertebrate animal displays a more perfect adaptation 

 of build to its mode of life — rapine by swift movement through strong 

 water. The strange thing about the salmon is that, unlike most vertebrate 

 creatures, it parts with all its comeliness on the approach of the nuptial 

 season. The beauty of other animals usually is enhanced at the pairing 

 time — the cock-pheasant raises a jaunty crest, his scarlet comb increases 

 in size and brilliancy, his plumage gains a fresher sheen than at any 



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