OCTOBEE 195 



water. Below this rock salmon congregate, waiting for 

 a flood to carry them up; here the nets are plied 

 incessantly, and it is seldom that any large number 

 escape to the upper reaches. Nevertheless, being 

 lately at the shooting-lodge of Drynachan, on the 

 Findhorn, I started with very high hopes at the top of 

 one of the most attractive stretches of salmon water I 

 had ever beheld. My gillie was shy and taciturn ; he 

 gave me the idea of being sceptical about the presence 

 of salmon in the river, and too completely soured by 

 disappointment to encourage delusive hopes in others. 

 He had not even suggestions to offer as to the sort of 

 flies most likely to command success. 



Left to my own judgment, I mounted a large Durham 

 ranger, for the water was heavy and dark brown. 

 Before I had made a dozen casts in the top of the fine 

 sweeping stream at Ballycrochan, I was in a fish. 

 There was plenty of room for him to make a grand 

 fight, but the craven creature ran about in little circles 

 under the point of the rod, and soon yielded up the 

 ghost a brown fish of ten pounds. I hooked three 

 others in the same pool, and landed two of them 

 fourteen pounds and ten pounds all in little more 

 than half an hour. Thinks I to myself, I 'm in for a 

 big thing. Six miles of beautiful water lay below me, 

 without another rod on it, for the rest of the party 

 were driving grouse. My fish were not beauties to be 

 sure, for one was a red kipper, and the other two were 

 dark baggits ; but, after all, they were salmon, and I 

 observed airily to my gillie that his back was likely to 



