A CANADIAN RIVER 111 



We generally broke the journey half-way 

 at a well-known landing, where, by a smooth 

 sandy beach under the shade of an over- 

 hanging tree, an old shack afforded a cer- 

 tain amount of ready-made shelter. Here 

 we camped out for the night. Our sleeping 

 accommodation on these occasions was of 

 the simplest: our blankets were laid on the 

 top of a layer of freshly gathered spruce 

 twigs, carefully laid so as to afford a smooth 

 surface, supple and sweet-scented. On 

 such a couch we slept, as one sleeps in the 

 woods, and dreamt of forty-pounders. 



One word as to our mode of fishing. 

 Only the fly was permitted — prawn, min- 

 now, and other baits being absolutely 

 barred. During the early days of the sea- 

 son the fish would take almost any fly, and 

 a good large one was preferable; later, as 

 the river shrunk, they became more fastidi- 

 ous, and we had to wait until the evening 

 and use what we should in Ireland describe 

 as sea-trout flies. All the old standard 

 patterns answered well. One could never 



