SALMON FISHING MADE EASY 



5o7 



tarpon line and put on my light silk line and 

 tried to get it out despite the wind. We 

 started out, and at 9 a.m. I got a rise and 

 hooked my fish on a small silver-gray fly, 

 which I had luckily bought over in North 

 Sydney on my way up. He made a rather 

 dull fight, for less than a quarter of an hour, 

 not jumping once. Jim gaffed him, and he 

 weighed just 9 pounds and measured 30 

 inches. 



The sky was overcast, the temperature 

 about 54, and wind southeast, blowing hard. 

 I tell you we were gentlemen in camp that 

 noon. 



After dinner and a nap, Jim suggested 

 trying the sandbar right opposite our camp, 

 where he had seen several fish leaping. 

 When possible, we preferred wading along 

 shore and casting out to midstream and 

 sweeping around down-stream, rather than 

 using the boats. So I fished down the sand- 

 bar and came up to try it once again to be 

 sure. I put on a middle-sized Jock Scott 

 and had scarcely cast out when a swirl and 

 a pull, followed by my instinctively tighten- 

 ing on it, told me I had hooked something. 

 And then a leap! What a fine onel How 

 heavy he was ! My rod bent well, yet nicely, 

 while the battle raged up and down the bar. 

 My reel sang and the silk line stung my 

 finger and thumb as I tried to check the 

 fish. Again he was up out of the water! 

 Now he came towards us, but as Jim, 

 armed with his terrible gaff, went near the 

 water the salmon was off again to mid- 

 stream. But he was tiring. 



"When his tail comes out like that he's 

 getting tired, sir." 



Again cautiously Jim sneaked to the 

 water's edge and I strained all I dared, lest 

 a joint snap or the fleshy hold of the hook 

 break away or something else rob me of my 

 coveted prize. But he was coming in. Jim 

 quickly jerked, but the gaff was too small — 

 so Jim said in excuse. Away went my fish, 

 but the singing reel and heavy pull showed 

 that he was still on that good little Jock 

 Scott. Again he came back, down-stream, 

 and slanted in, and again Jim waded into 

 the water, very roguishly, and again jerked. 



"Hah! Hoorah! Three cheers! He's a 

 fine one, sir." 



And a fine one he was, weighing 2opounds 

 and 38 inches long! You may be sure he 



was photographed, for he was a regular 

 artist's model. 



That fish fed five men for two days and a- 

 half. There was no trouble keeping it fresh 

 that long, as even the middays were not 

 very warm, and that night, June 29, we had 

 frost, and on the hills around were several 

 patches of snow still unmelted. The wild 

 cherries were just in blossom and the birch 

 leaves were only half-grown. Still I found a 

 sunny, sandy pool of shallow water and 

 got up courage to take a much needed bath. 



Next day, at 5 p.m., on a middle-sized 

 silver-gray fly, after two leaps, I landed a 

 fine fish — 13 J pounds. And at 10.30 p.m., 

 after a forty-five-minute fight, I killed a 

 9-pound salmon on a middle-sized silver 

 doctor. After this success I lost a little edge 

 of eagerness and the warm weather and 

 falling, clear river all led to my catching 

 no more fish till July third, when I took a 

 small one — 8} pounds. 



On July sixth I was fishing with a silver 

 doctor. Fish large and small were leaping, 

 but the sky was so bright and the water so 

 very clear that all day we had had no strike. 

 At a quarter before 9 p.m. I struck a fish 

 and it was a fight from the start. We were 

 out of fish and you may be sure I handled 

 that rise as carefully as I knew how. From 

 my stand out in the head of the pool I got 

 back to shore, as my (?) fish started 

 diagonally down the current. Safely I 

 stalked through the mud to the shore, and 

 half-stumbled over a tiny brooklet trying to 

 keep opposite the fish in his down-stream 

 course. He began to come in a little and 

 Jim came down to the bank, but the fish was 

 away in a flash, jumping, bucking, jerking, 

 slacking. Once I thought he was gone ; but 

 no. I got out on a flat, stony bar, a fine 

 landing place, and the last landing place in 

 sight. It was nine o'clock; the air was cool- 

 ing, the stars were coming out, the black 

 flies were yielding a little, but only a little, 

 to the mosquitoes. Still in the gloaming, 

 more by the strain and jerks of my rod than 

 by my sight, I knew I had a good fish 

 pretty well in hand. 



"His tail's coming up, sir!" whispered 

 Jim. 



The fish had jumped five times and made 

 a game fight, but my line had pretty well 

 filled my reel again. He was getting flappy. 



