CHAPTER XI 



SALMON-FISHING 



IT was in the Orkla River, in Norway, that I killed 

 my first salmon thirty -two years ago ; and I have 

 been a devoted disciple of the ' gentle art ' ever since. 

 There is a mysterious fascination about a bending 

 rod and a whirring reel, and a thin line cutting the 

 clear water of loch or stream or river, while the 

 creature of another element, felt, but only occasionally 

 seen, is fighting for its life, that is somewhat difficult 

 to explain to the uninitiated, and is occasionally 

 out of proportion to the results obtained. But this 

 fascination holds sway, all the same, over a large 

 class of all sorts and conditions of men, from the 

 rustic angler, pond-fishing with a bait, to the member 

 of the Santa Catalina Tuna Club, who may have killed 

 his two-hundred-pounder after a ten hours' fight in 

 the waters of the Pacific. 



Generally the sport appeals strongly to the gambling 

 element in human nature. The Thames punt-fisher 

 sits for hours without a bite. But any moment the 

 bite may come. The salmon-fisher may flog a rushing 

 river for hours or days without a rise. But at every 

 cast the thought recurs that now the big fish of his 

 dreams may take the fly. The thrill of an uncertain 



