SALMON-FISHING IN SURENDAL. 
93 
yards down-stream. Then, for the first time, we saw 
him. He jumped once only, barely clearing the water ; 
but the size and build of that fish astonished me. It 
was not merely his length (which rarely much exceeds 
four feet), but that he appeared near half as deep as 
he was long. And another thing—the spot where he 
jumped was fully thirty yards above where the line was 
pointing at the time. Such was the depth of that 
eerie pool, and such the force and volume of its current, 
that though the stiff fifteen-foot harling-rod was pretty 
well doubled up, yet the line was “bagged” to one- 
third of a circle. The defence of this fish was rather 
sullen and strong than dashing. He seemed to husband 
his strength; hence, at the end of half an hour we had 
hardly moved fifty yards further, and the end seemed 
as far off as ever. Then, in the midst of a slow, sullen 
run (line going off quite gently), with a jerk, the line 
parted. A long hissing “welt” curved far across the 
pool. Ivar and I looked at each other in mute, blank 
despair—he was gone 1 
