106 
THE GOLDEN RIVER, 
his rush. I now held him harder still. He 
was not really big; slowly, fighting every yard, 
he allowed himself to be dragged into the 
deeper water, where after the usual boring he 
was hauled by main force up to the gaff. We 
never moved the boat. He weighed twenty- 
three pounds and a half. 
There was nothing else in that stream. My 
companion, who is a long caster, fished it for 
some distance. In streams of this sort, strong 
and turbulent, dorado do not lie all over. They 
are near, but not at, the very top : they lie 
usually on the edge, but still in the fast water : 
you may begin to expect them ten or fifteen 
yards from the actual head, and from there 
onwards, for about the same distance, you are 
certain of a pull if they are feeding. They lie 
very close together. The rest of the stream is, 
in my small experience, unlikely, and the tail 
most unlikely of all. They like shallow water 
running over rocks, but best of all do they love 
the smooth racing water above where the stream 
breaks. 
Back we went, across to the stream at which 
we started. I advised my companion to let 
Pedroso get the boat as far over as he could, 
so that the spoon could reach the glassy water 
between the streams. He did so, and we 
jammed the canoe up against a rock, out of the 
current. It was a long throw even from there; 
but the spoon soared out on a fine parabola and 
