230 WILD LIFE AND THE CAMERA 



My heart was throbbing vigorously as I cast again 

 and again with no effect. I was just about to 

 change the Jock Scott for a silver doctor, when the 

 water broke about the fly, which was well below 

 the surface. A ghmpse of a dorsal fin, then I felt 

 the line tighten, and instantly the reel began to 

 hum as the fish ran down stream before making its 

 first jump. The early morning sun, wliich had 

 just touched the pool, was shining with wonderful 

 briUiancy on the chff of snow-white gypsum rock 

 which formed the background to the scene, and the 

 light, reflected from the water, gleamed on the 

 silver scales of that fish as it flung itself in the air 

 several times in quick succession. Over the pool 

 we went, the fish tugging and jumping and in 

 every way opposing my efforts to bring hiin to 

 stiU water. There was no sulking ; whenever not 

 running, he jugged with such force that I doubted 

 whether we could ever see each other at close 

 quarters. But though a fierce fight, it was not a 

 long one. The end came after not twenty minutes 

 of the keenest excitement I have ever felt, and on 

 landing the fish, which weighed but eight pounds, 

 I must own to a sense of happiness that no other 

 sporting experience has ever given me. Hitherto 

 I had thought trout fishing about perfection, while 

 my friend had always considered the catching of 

 small-mouth bass as good enough for him, but — 

 well, we don't talk about going trout or bass fishing 

 next year. The Newfoundland salmon will suit us 

 perfectly. 



As a matter of education, the beginner who 

 aspires to salmon fishing should, before buying his 



