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CHAPTER V. 
SALMON-FISHING IN SONDHORDLAND. 
I. Our First Day on Etne. 
Our chartered steamer, brilliant in bunting, came 
alongside as the mail-boat anchored in Bergen harbour. 
Rod boxes and baggage were transhipped, and in half 
an hour we were speeding merrily down the fjords, 
where already, on May 21st, terns dashed headlong on 
the shoals of sand-launce, where tysties splashed and 
stately eider-drakes paddled aside, while porpoises, with 
an occasional whale, rolled heavily in the wavelets till 
the ping of an express bullet disturbed their day¬ 
dreams. 
The Etne river, in Sondhordland, lies eight hours’ 
steaming south of Bergen, and by 7 p.m. we were on 
the riverside. At midnight we returned homewards 
empty-handed, having tried several of our best pools 
without moving a fin, though the water was in splendid 
order. Not pride, but hope had suffered a fall, and 
terrible anxieties oppressed our minds: while deep 
doubts of our powers and skill forbade all sleep that 
night. Moreover, having caught no fish, we had nothing 
for breakfast. 
A word here as to our quarters. Our four-roomed 
