SALMON-FISHING IN SONDHORDLAND. 73 
No. 1 rod first fished down the pool, then hurried for¬ 
ward to the next, while No. 2 tried it down a second 
time with a change-fly. True, this was fishing “ at 
a run ”—at top pressure; but it served a temporary 
purpose. Towards midnight we wished to send old 
Lars home, but he refused, saying, “ I am old in years, 
but young in spirit when sport is in view,” and the fine 
old Norseman did enjoy a nip of cognac, and curled 
himself on the rocks to snatch a few minutes’ sleep 
while we finished the pool. 
As the river fell in and its volume daily decreased, 
it was curious to observe the intense anxiety of the 
salmon to surmount the barrier of the Lilfos. The main 
foss still forbade all attempts; but among the broken 
rapids and minor falls below, were rock-pockets or 
cauldrons of seething water—half-way houses, so to 
speak, which the fish now eagerly occupied. It seemed 
almost incredible that any living creature could long 
maintain a position there, and avoid being dashed to 
fragments in that rush of disintegrated water. Yet 
the salmon were there; for by ascending the lateral 
rocks and “ trickling ” the fly on these cauldrons— 
that is, making the “ insect ” dance along the surface, 
skipping through the spray—it generally resulted that 
either the head or the huge tail of a salmon showed 
up almost under the rod-point, though we could never 
induce these impatient pilgrims to take a fly. Possibly, 
a spoon or “ angel” might have succeeded, but it did 
not occur to us at the time to try those lures. 
Occasionally, in the very focus of the best salmon 
pool, a trout of insignificant size would seize the fly. 
This was always a fatal omen, indicating that the 
