Salmon ^Fishing. 427 



spring balance upon various rods showed that rarely is a strain of 

 three pounds put upon the fish, and, in fact, few rods can raise a four- 

 pound weight at the end of a line. 



As my fish became tired and slowly passed the gaffer, he tried to 

 gaff and missed. This goaded the fish to more desperate running and 

 plunging in the direction of a projecting tree-trunk lying upon the 

 water. If he. could have reached it, he would have run under and 

 then jumped back over it, leaving the line fast while he broke him- 

 self free. Soon his runs were shorter and his jumps less frequent, 

 and finally, from very weakness, he would turn upon his side. I 

 swung him gently toward the gaffer, who in his eagerness had waded 

 nearly waist-deep into the pool. In an instant the fish was strug- 

 gling at the end of the cruel gaff, making hard work for the man's 

 brawny arms, and in a moment more he was laid upon the shore, 

 where old William Patterson gave him the coup de grace with a 

 stout short stick carried for that purpose in every canoe. Just at the 

 moment of gaffing many fish are lost ; for if more strain is exerted 

 than usual, the hook breaks out of the well-worn hole in the jaw, 

 and if the strain is relaxed a moment before the gaff is in, the slack 

 line lets the hook drop out of the enlarged opening. 



My trip and trouble had not been in vain, as my first salmon 

 had been hooked and played to gaff without the slightest assistance. 

 Before putting him in the snow, I lighted my pipe and sat quietly down 

 to admire and talk to him. It seemed wonderful that the little thread 

 of silk-worm gut could have conquered so brave a fish. 



Finding but few fish in the lower pools, we broke camp on Mon- 

 day, and set out for House No. 2, at what is called the Big Salmon 

 Hole. The men assured us that it would be impossible to pole the 

 canoes with ourselves and provisions over the shoal rapids, and that 

 in several places they would have to unload and make a " carry." In 

 order, then, to favor our men, Mr. Lazell and I set out to walk the 

 distance, with the cook to show the way and carry our tackle. We 

 could risk the wetting of our extra clothing and provisions, but did 

 not care to have our rods floated down the stream, in case of an 

 overturn. Of itself, a twelve-mile walk is not objectionable, but 

 when one must climb over a dozen fallen trees at every hundred 

 yards, it becomes monotonous. Six miles from camp we came 

 to the North Fork, a roaring brook of perhaps eighteen inches 



