98 
THE GOLDEN RIVER. 
strange scene, remote and exotic, and I seemed 
out of place, with my civilised clothes and my 
modern reel and rod. However, there was 
splendid water before me, and fishing to be 
done. 
He who has not made a cast into an absolutely 
untried river has missed a pure ecstasy of life. 
It was glorious to see the spoon sail through the 
air and disappear into the unknown. Glorious 
too was it to feel it immediately caught and 
swept by that rushing water, and to experience 
that jolly tug on the finger given by a cleanly 
spinning spoon. Soon, however, came a tug of 
a very different sort. There was a heavy pull, 
and that impression of quivering solidity only 
given by a very big fish; and the next second I 
was yoked to something unseen but mighty 
which tore irresistibly down stream. There 
was plenty to do. The canoe had to be reached 
as soon as possible, and yet the fish must be 
held hard so that he did not get out too much 
line. So along that steep and sticky bank I 
shambled and squelched, breathing a sigh of 
relief on reaching the boat. We pushed off and 
drifted down, and it was possible to take stock 
of things. 
The first mad rush was safely over. The rod 
had taken control. It appeared to be a question 
only of time and fortune. My companion 
reached out and put the gaff handy. All seemed 
going well. Suddenly, however, there came 
