SALMON-FISHING IN SONDHOBDLAND. 
71 
down the chaos of cataracts below. He fought gallantly, 
but his race was run. The strong stream helped me. 
After some anxious moments of desperate fighting 
amidst swirl and seething spray, the pressure told, 
and W. put in the cleek. Weight 26| lbs. ; duration 
of fight, nine minutes—smart work. During the tussle 
I had felt the sickening sensation of the hold dragging, 
and for the last minute had held him more gently. He 
proved to be lightly hooked in the lip ; the first hold had 
failed, and the faithful hook secured a second grip—good 
luck, that. 
This fish had been some ten days in the river. In 
those new-run, direct from sea, the broadside has the 
hue of burnished silver, except the narrow flat of the 
back; a week or two in fresh water, and a darker shade 
of steel-blue extends downwards, half-way to the median 
line. At the end of a fortnight the pristine silvery 
effulgence of the scales is also seen to be perceptibly 
tarnished. 
One morning after breakfast (we had already put 
in three hours’ work at dawn) a cloudless sky suggested 
“ nothing to-day but trout.” Then, just as we were 
setting out with single-handed rods, the wind, which for 
a week had been nailed to the north, shifted at last, 
flying right round to the south, and in half an hour the 
sky was overcast. Then two drops of rain, worth their 
weight in thrice-refined gold, were actually felt to fall— 
they were quite wet! Joy filled our hearts ; the weather, 
we felt sure, was breaking at last, and the mercury 
of hope ran up to the top of the scale. We had but 
a few days left, and we already feasted, in mental 
anticipation, on a grand finale. While Lars went to 
