3 8o 



77ie Story 

 of Kopseep 



white rips, just where we left him when we 

 sat down by the river to hear his story. 



We have "rested" him long enough now, 

 and have changed the number-six Jock Scott 

 to a number-eight of the same kind; and all 

 the while Kopseep is rising splendidly. A 

 subtile excitement creeps over you as the 

 long line shoots out from the springing tip, 

 farther and farther, till it falls straight across 

 the white turmoil below which the salmon is 

 lying. Swiftly the leader swings down and 

 straightens in the current; the tiny fly whirls 

 up and dances for an instant in the very 

 spot where you saw Kopseep's rise. There ! 

 a swift rush, the flash of heavy shoulders as 

 he turns downward. Don't strike now, as 

 you would a trout; for the spring of your 

 tip against the heavy plunge of that big fish 

 snap your leader as if it were made 

 cobweb. A ponderous surge at the 

 end of your rod, a light pull to 

 set the hook fast; then your heart 

 jumps to your mouth, and all your 

 nerves thrill and tingle and shout 



