168 
WILD NORWAY. 
One evening our old friend, the farmer, brought two 
large trout, caught in some diabolic trap, for which he 
asked a kroner. My basket was nearly full, but it is 
best to pay one’s footing when fishing like this is free, 
and for all I knew, I was trespassing on the kindly old 
gentleman’s property and rights. 
It is, in my opinion, the trout of rather under the 
pound that affords the best sport on a light rod. Your 
three-pounder, it is true, pulls hard and fights in his 
own dogged way. But his tactics leave him little real 
chance; it is a case of “ hold him hard ” for so many 
minutes, and one seldom sees him till ready for the net. 
The lighter fish, on the contrary, is here, there, and 
everywhere; beside himself with fury, he performs a 
dozen somersaults in as many seconds, takes line in 
spite of one, brings one’s heart into one’s mouth as he 
races towards the “ snags,” and after all his frantic 
efforts is still fresh for another burst when he gets a 
first glimpse of the net. 
In colour the Maane-elv trout were pale — light 
green, with silvery sides, and but lightly spotted. One 
fine fish was an exception, being all red and orange, like 
a char; even the fins and tail were red, and the latter 
spotted throughout. An incident occurred here which 
is unique in my experience. As the flies swept over 
one of these rock-ledges, there ensued a tug and a com¬ 
motion that led me to expect something exceptional; 
yet there followed no far rush, and on getting round 
the point and working the quarry into a quiet bay, I 
found I had three trout fast, one on each fly. “ Doubles ” 
are everyday affairs, but a treble with three large trout, 
graded in size, the heaviest at the end, was a novelty. 
