JULY 163 



Labouring heavily over the rocks, I come to an impasse : 

 a big alder stands well out in the water, and unless I can 

 get round it there must be a smash. Nothing for it but 

 to take the water. Luckily it is not more than waist- 

 deep; the obstacle is circumvented, and once more fish 

 and fisher are on terms. Fifty yards more and we reach 

 a pool where the issue must be fought out : Angus makes 

 clever use of a chance with the gaff', and draws up on the 

 heather not a salmon after all, but, much to my surprise 

 and chagrin, a sea-trout. A good one, it is true, scaling 

 5| lb., but still only a sea-trout, which, as every angler 

 will admit, is inferior quarry to Salmo solar, and not 

 worthy of being recorded by a notch on the gaff handle. 



At spes infracta! There was plenty of good water 

 before me one pool, especially, called par excellence the 

 Salmon Pool. Here the Guseran gathers all its dignity 

 to form a fitting theatre for the angler's triumph. 

 Between cliffs thirty feet high the water pours through a 

 narrow gorge for fifty yards, then spreads into a smooth, 

 foam-flecked pool, with a steady current through it the 

 very ideal of a salmon cast. It was in perfect order this day, 

 and the only anxiety which haunted me was lest the fish 

 which I was about to hook should disturb the whole 

 premises; for it is an awkward place to work, casting 

 being only possible from the top of the cliffs. In the 

 very choicest bit of the water a salmon of 10 lb. or there- 

 by made a pretty rise, not at my fly ; but I cast over him 

 in perfect confidence. Nothing happened! no thrill of 

 tightening line, no flash of turning fish : there was a spell 

 on the river ; clearly it was bewitched. Not only in this 

 pool, but in every other for the rest of that day, was the 

 result the same. The midores came out in their millions 



