A HOME ON THE HIGH FJELD 183 



the result of the hottest and driest season known for 

 more than a decade. The farmers' loss was our gain, 

 for the road was still fringed with innumerable wild 

 flowers, and the mossy banks covered with delicious 

 wild strawberries ; a welcome delicacy as we walked up 

 the hills, or strolled ahead while the horse was resting 

 after our first stage. The rushing stream below us 

 dashed over the boulders, now in white rapids, now 

 in clear ultramarine pools. Here and there an angler 

 was trying his luck ; one we met strolling down with 

 his attendant bearing rod and gaff, and exchanged 

 experiences, parting with mutual wishes for good luck 

 and " tight lines." 



As we approached the bridge above Storfahle 

 we looked with curiosity at the scene of a remark- 

 able fishing incident which had recently been told 

 to us, so remarkable indeed that the narrator, in 

 view of the evil reputation of anglers for veracity, 

 prefers to remain anonymous. Immediately behind a 

 large and very deep salmon pool close below the road 

 the overflow in flood time has hollowed out a large 

 shallow backwater extending parallel to the river for 

 some distance. My friend who was fishing the salmon 

 pool was allowing his fly to trail idly behind him when 

 suddenly he felt a tug at the rod, and before he could 

 turn the line was singing through the rings. Turning, 

 he perceived that he had hooked an otter which had 

 actually taken his fly, probably mistaking it for one of 

 the frogs for which he was hunting in the pool. The 

 line was cut by a low fence at the end of the back- 

 water; and another fisherman of forty years' experience, 

 who had watched the incident from the opposite bank, 

 called out, "It is as well as it is, for you never had a 



