THE DOLLY VARDEN TROUT 69 



I was on the point of landing the imaginary quarry 

 when a red flash in the golden water of the Indian 

 river brought me back to the realities of things. 

 Simultaneously the reel recoiled with a protesting 

 growl, and the rod arched over my shoulders. I was 

 fast in a well-hooked fish. 



This trout was an excellent fighter. Wild as his 

 native stream, he rushed and plunged with all the 

 sense of a captivity that was novel. Here was a 

 curtailment of liberty which seemed to offer him 

 freedom, and mocked him when he essayed to take 

 it. This was maddening, and he wildly threw him- 

 self into the air. At length came the last shake of 

 his head in anger and he gave in, curving his broad 

 sides in the landing-net with the characteristic orange 

 spots that differentiate the species. 



The Dolly Varden has its rising seasons, during 

 which it feeds ravenously. I happened to stumble 

 on one of these. Mark pulled up the canoe, and I 

 set myself to watch the fish's movements. Close by 

 the opposite bank one rose two or three times in 

 succession. Would that cunning creation, the float- 

 ing dry fly, interest him ? I wondered. It is little 

 known in Canada, and less used, except on club 

 water. 



I mounted another cast, and tied on a Wickham 

 fancy. That that pattern should be selected was a 

 concession to weakness. The silver doctor had proved 

 the killer with the wet fly, and a Wickham was the 



