A MARCH SALMON 51 



for the actual casting. Never shall I forget 

 my first experience of sheer hard work and 

 constantly disappointed hopes by that river. 

 Salmon-fishing is always uncertain sport, how- 

 ever hard you work, and I put in about six 

 hours a day with a big rod and heavy line, 

 sometimes in gales of wind, sometimes with 

 the weather side of my face and body plastered 

 with snow, and that for twelve days, omitting 

 the two "Sabbaths." Never one fish did I 

 touch or even see in all that time, although 

 I obeyed the precept that the one secret is 

 to keep on at it, there being a better chance 

 of a salmon taking your fly when in the water 

 than when on the bank. Even luncheon was 

 eaten when walking (almost running) from pool 

 to pool. Then, on the eleventh day, the last 

 chance but one, I confess that I was worn out, 

 handed the rod to the gillie for a few minutes 

 while I sat on the heather to eat my luncheon, 

 and he had a fish in two minutes ! There 

 was some joy in playing it and meeting the 

 strength of a fresh-run salmon for the first 

 time, but the thrilling moment of feeling the 

 fish take, by far the best part of salmon-fishing, 

 had been missed, and the glamour of that 

 experience had been lost. Next day, the last 

 of the holiday, I did get a fresh-run fish myself, 



