A BOOK OF FISHING STORIES 



of a first draw on the salmon-line of a novice ! There is nothing 

 quite like it in all the after-years of fishing. And it came 

 within half an hour of the start. No doubt the line was 

 clumsily flung, but there was a strong convenient stream at 

 the head of the pool which kindly straightened the running 

 line, and gave the fly — I forget what fly it was — life and move- 

 ment in the water. There is a beneficent deity that, under the 

 law of compensation, watches over novices and duffers, and so 

 arranges the affairs of sport and life generally that experts 

 shall not have things entirely their own way. So, presently, 

 there was a draw upon the line, then an almost involuntary 

 strike or quick raising of the hand on my part, a tight line, a 

 bending rod, a screaming reel, and I was into my first salmon. 

 How those Norway salmon used to play ! Many a time has 

 my finger been cut, often to the bone, by the running line in 

 the first wild rush of a 20-lb. Orkla salmon. What happened 

 exactly in those delirious twenty minutes or so after hooking 

 that first fish in the strong, clear, rushing water of this Nor- 

 wegian river I do not clearly remember. Ole gradually worked 

 the boat back to the bank, shouting words of advice or encour- 

 agement to heedless ears. I remember well how once my 

 heart almost stood still, as, towards the end, Ole (or Lars) 

 missed his first attempt at gaffing, and another thirty yards of 

 line were snatched off the reel as the salmon rushed out, for 

 the last time, into mid-stream. Finally came the happy moment 

 when a 15-pounder, fresh from the North Sea, lay in all its 

 silvery beauty on the grass at my feet. These are incidents 

 that always live in the memory. 



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