138 ROMSDAL 



rapid. While the weather was cold, nothing would tempt 

 these fine fellows to lay hold ; but, fishing there late 

 one evening, one of them came up twice to have a look 

 at my fly. Next morning the wind had gone to the 

 south. I went afloat upon the foss pool at seven o'clock. 

 The moment the fly passed into the swift glide at the 

 tail, it was violently snatched, and ' the band began to 

 play.' Instead of turning down stream, as I feared he 

 might, the salmon steamed slowly up into the deep water, 

 steady and deep, with savage wrenches at the line, after 

 the manner of big fish. For ten minutes or so he circled 

 thus round the pool. I caught sight of him once only, 

 but that once was enough to show that he was of no 

 common dimensions, and I trembled to think how slender 

 was the bond uniting us single gut only, for the water 

 was mighty clear. 



Suddenly, desperately, the fish changed his tactics. 

 His movements quickened ; he took a last rapid survey 

 of the pool, diving deep into the 'soda water' at the 

 top ; then away away, with resistless violence, he steered 

 straight for the rapid. To row ashore and pursue on 

 foot was a matter of thirty seconds, yet not before one 

 hundred and fifty yards of line had spun out line 

 athwart the stream, too, and every fisherman will under- 

 stand the risk in that. A few minutes more of breathless 

 anxiety and exertion. The rod still bends, but the weight 

 of line in those tossing green waves is so great that one 

 cannot guess what may be at the other end. This was 

 soon proved. Winding up tremulously, with aching arm, 

 I brought to hand neither fly nor fish. 



This was one of those moments of anguish upon which 

 it boots not to dwell. Rather would I muse upon the 



