SALMON AND TROUT MEMORIES 



The balmy mountain breeze, nicely warmed and tempered 

 by the sun, had delightfully fanned our cheeks, and con- 

 veniently rippled the surface of the clear running pools. It 

 had been a pleasure, during the midday rest, to lunch and 

 smoke in comfort on the bank, soothed by the music of rip- 

 pling stream and murmuring wind. We were at peace with all 

 the world, and thankful to the clerk of the weather, knowing 

 full well from past experience how rude and stern and harsh 

 can Nature be at times, even in summer, in these northern 

 uplands, with apparently gratuitous occasional gales and rain 

 and cold and mist and turbid, flooded streams. 



Apart from, and in addition to, favourable weather, it is 

 difficult exactly and precisely to define in what lies the charm 

 of catching small mountain-trout on fine tackle in beautiful 

 scenery. But — for some of us at least — the irresistible charm 

 and attraction is there. To be thoroughly and completely 

 enjoyable, however, among other conditions, there should be 

 plenty of trout. Then, if the mind be at ease and the con- 

 science (reasonably) clear, with the nervous system soothed and 

 invigorated by mild exercise and the wholesome mental stimu- 

 lant of sport, all in magnificent and bracing air, a day so spent 

 will always linger fondly in the memory. For the benefit of 

 the humanitarian philosopher, I may perhaps mention that 

 our bag of trout, duly distributed, appreciated, and subse- 

 quently fried, tickled the palates of a wide assortment of British 

 visitors and Norwegian peasantry. On the other hand, if left 

 uncaught, these same trout would eventually and undoubtedly 

 have eaten one another. 



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