SALMON-FISHING 243 



as the Sod Ditch. There he dangled a Green Parson 

 in the stream, which kindly straightened his line for 

 him and gave to the fly an appearance of life. Next 

 moment it was seized by a heavy salmon, which at 

 first cruised gently about, as large fish will sometimes 

 do when first hooked, not quite knowing what had 

 happened. Pat, one of the best gaffers in Ireland, 

 waded out to a convenient ledge of rock, swiftly 

 tucked the steel hook into a broad silvery side, 

 3 feet below the surface of the water, and the next 

 moment a forty -one-pound fresh-run salmon from the 

 Atlantic lay kicking on the grass. It was the largest 

 salmon killed on Erne that year, and the angler had 

 not fished the water for an hour. 



Another youth once obtained leave to fish a stretch 

 of the Eden that I know well, about three miles from 

 Carlisle. He knew something of trout-fishing, but 

 had never killed a salmon. With a wisdom beyond 

 his years, he engaged a canny old fisherman, who knew 

 every yard of the water, to go with him, and drove 

 out in a hansom cab, which, with all the insolence of 

 youth, he kept waiting in the road, while, dressed in 

 ordinary city garb and a pot-hat, he went down to a 

 grassy bank to fish a well-known stream, then in 

 perfect autumn order. 



After a few casts there came a mighty boil in the 

 smooth-running stream, and the novice, raising his 

 hand too soon, snatched away the fly. Again another 

 cast and another boil, with the same result. For any 

 ordinary fisherman this would have settled matters. 

 The fish would have retired disgusted from the scene. 

 But, as the hero of this tale was a novice and techni- 

 cally a duffer, the fish of course came a third time. 

 The old fisherman now interposed, put his hand on 



162 



