134 OBSERVATIONS ON A SALMON RIVER 



salmon-spearing blood. Before I could stop 

 him he made a frantic lunge at the fish with 

 his ten- foot gaff. That was the end; he 

 missed the fish, and cut my line in two. Our 

 long journey up-stream, past the narrows 

 which we had so successfully negotiated, was 

 a melancholy affair. I never got a sight of 

 the fish, and do not know how big he was. 

 I comforted myself with the reflection that 

 he may have been foul-hooked and not so 

 very large after all. 



Here is the story of what might have been 

 a tragedy, although the adventure had its 

 comical side. H. A. was fishing the Lime- 

 stone Pool; he hooked a good fish, and his 

 bow man proceeded as usual to haul in the 

 stone anchor. The rope broke, the anchor 

 went to the bottom, and the man fell out of 

 the canoe on the other side. The canoe up- 

 set, and H. A. and his two men found 

 themselves struggling in the water. They 

 could none of them swim, but were fortu- 

 nately close to the bank, and succeeded in 

 scrambling out. They were a long way 



