CHAPTER IV 



SPORT AT CAMPBELL RIVER 



July 30th I looked forward to as a red-letter 

 day in my life, for was I not to have my first 

 chance for that 70 fb. fish, about which I had 

 dreamt for so many years ? 



The early morning (we were all up at 6 a.m.) 

 was spent in getting my tackle ship-shape, and, 

 most important of all, in engaging the services 

 of a good boatman — for on his strength and 

 willingness to " buck the tide," as they happily 

 term rowing against the strong tidal currents, 

 depends largely the chance of success. 



The man I selected was a fine boatman. 

 Keen on getting fish — jealous of all others of 

 his craft, and with a capacity for bucking about 

 himself, and what he had done and could do, 

 which I have seldom seen equalled. 



His command of strong and even highly 

 flavoured language was remarkable, but a little 

 of it went a long way. When I asked his name, 

 he replied, " Every one calls me Billy." No 

 one on the West coast seems to have a surname, 

 so" Billy " he was to me for all my fishing days. 



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