SOME FISH AND SOME FISHING 



The last day on the river that season 

 found me, after three days of heavy rain, 

 stormbound at a camp up stream, with all 

 the experts insisting that no fishing was 

 possible. 



The water had risen seven inches since 

 eight o'clock in the morning, and three feet 

 since the rain began, and it was still rising 

 at one when we started down stream. 



A heavy fog overhung the river and the 

 water was of the colour and consistency of 

 pea-soup, a combination of every adverse 

 condition possible for sport. 



I proposed stopping at a choice pool on 

 the way down stream, for, I said, I wished 

 to take a few fish home. 



I was laughed at by the canoemen but, 

 being more of a fisherman than an angler 

 and having no prejudices, I insisted. 



When we reached the pool we found the 

 water very high and running strong. I could 

 hear the small stones rolling along the 

 bottom of the pool, and the partly sub- 



[220] 



