SPORTING SKETCHES. 255 



much as green-heart and gut will stand. Minute after minute 

 passes. Carefully you see that all is ready for the next move- 

 ment. Fifteen minutes pass, then a slight quiver, and then 

 away goes your fish straight down stream. Your men lose no 

 time in lifting the "Killick." You steady yourself against the 

 thwart of the canoe, ready for the first push of their pikes, over 

 the rapids and down into the next pool, where the fish stops to 

 have another tussle with you. He tries to take your line under 

 a sunken tree but your c ireful guides hold your canoe well over 

 him, and he turns up stream again, to the head of the pool with 

 a rush that makes your reel scream. Your line runs clear; 

 yonr hook r does not draw; all is right still. Then, away he 

 goes across the other side, gives another big leap, and again 

 down to the bottom of this pool. Five minutes' apparent 

 rest, but the full strain of the rod is tiring him ; a short run 

 across the stream, and then he shows his belly, rolls from one 

 side to another, lashes at your line with his tail and then look 

 out ! Indeed you must, for it requires the greatest care now, 

 and your guides know it. But he yields to the steady pressure. 

 Down across the stream he drops. Reeling in, you steadily 

 bring him nearer and nearer the carioe. The gaff is ready ; 

 another moment and you think he \vill be safe ; but no, not yet. 

 One more effort he is able to make, and he makes it. Once more 

 into the rushing water of the mid-stream and you are obliged to 

 give him line. One last leap and round he comes, slowly but 

 surely to the gaff; another moment and your guide has him 

 safely in the boat, a forty-five pounder until he is we'ghed, but 

 for the time fully that. Then, who shall describe the fisher- 

 man's feelings as his nerves and muscles relax. Once more at 

 rest, he sits on the lovely bank of the stream, the fish, his first 

 salmon, before him. Never, if he live to be a hundred, and kill 

 hundreds of fish as fine and finer, perhaps, will he ever experi- 

 ence what he does now. He has fought a good fight with that 

 fish, strained every nerve, and his arms ache after three-quarters 

 of an hour of such work. At every instant of that time any 

 imperfect knot in his casting line, any fault in the tying of his 

 fly, any tangle of his line on his reel, any mistake by the guides, 

 and that fish would not have been his. Well, the sun is getting 

 high. It's warm work. The fish is wet once more, but cannot 

 appreciate it. It weighed just thirty pounds. Not quite what 



