Forest and Stream 
$3 a Year, 10 Cts. a Copy, 
Six Months, |1.50. 
NEW YORK, SATURDAY, APRIL 12, 1913. 
VOL. LXXX.—No. 13. 
127 Franklin St., New York. 
Salmon Teasing 
T his mild-mannered March brings to the 
mind circles on the surface of the old- 
time pools where trout used to rise way 
down in Maine, and some are thinking of .A.pril 
upon the brooks in the lower tier of New 
Hampshire counties, and about the middle of 
that month trolling for lake trout will be lively 
on our large lakes in the central part of the 
State. 
But I have had my salmon rods varnished, 
fly-books refilled, casting leaders replenished 
and reels set in order for a seventh season in 
Newfoundland, 
Salmon fishing takes the “edge” oft’ brook 
trout sport in a measure,.and one reason is that 
trout keep diminishing in size, as well as num¬ 
bers, and stream fishing with flies is about the 
only place trout exhibit their full strength and 
spirit. On small ponds it is the same thing 
over and over, but in a strong current there is 
more surprise and variety. 
Salmon fishing in Newfoundland in 1912 
has been reported a little, but not as fully as 
usual. 
I arrived there on the Codroy River about 
July I, after hearing of great success in June. 
One rod in June took ten fish on one day of an 
average weight of about ten pounds. This is a 
good average weight and a remarkable day’s 
success, but the man behind the rod had too 
much of the record motive, working as though 
bushels of fish-flesh were the criterion of first- 
rate sport. 
There occasionally comes a day when sal¬ 
mon won’t allow flies to crease the water, but 
this is never to be expected, and an average of 
two a day is good fishing. In thirty-nine days 
of fishing I caught but fifty salmon and was 
thoroughly delighted. 
Sometimes you won’t get a fish for two or 
three days, and then, with the drop of the stream 
after a rain, you may get three to five in a 
single day. June is the best month on the 
Grand Codroy for numbers. But after the 
spring flood is settled down, the fishing comes 
mainly after rains on the drop of the high 
water. 
Fish of thirty to forty pounds’ weight are 
rarely good “risers” and not very numerous. 
They seem to have had episodes earlier in life 
that make them wary and reflective. I got two 
last year whose combined weight was thirty-six 
pounds, and one of them was taken after high 
water on the Little Codroy. He gave me about 
an hour’s constant fighting, and down the 
stream he led me with great excitement for a 
quarter of a mile. 
By G. B. F. 
It was “rough and tumble” on his part, out 
and in again, away off on the opposite side 
tugging down stream and running up, until all 
tired out he settled among some water grass 
and quietly awaited the wicked gaff. He was 
thirty-eight inches long, bright and fresh from 
the tide, and ought to have tipped twenty-five 
pounds, had he been fat and thick. 
Weight is an uncertain indication of the 
fighting force of salmon. The time the fish has 
been up from the sea, the condition of the 
stream as to coolness and current, the height 
of water and oportunity to rush about, are the 
main features that mark the prospect for a 
lively or unlively event. And the duration of 
the contest is usually governed by such condi¬ 
tions. However, one had better be expecting a 
most surprising episode almost any time, even 
after the fish has appeared to be quite tame 
or exhausted. 
Sometimes you have to cast when it seems 
as though no fish could see your fly. 
One day last season I was out in a perfect 
gale. The water was blown white into the air, 
and I was sensible of serious danger of my fly 
hitting me every cast in the back of my head 
or neck. The gusts would bring my cast back 
with a “swish” and away would go the fly on 
the white caps. All at once I had a big salmon 
on, and down around the bend he went to¬ 
ward the high waves of the brackish tide. I 
jumped into our boat and the wind took us 
along as fast as the fish ran. It looked as 
though the wide water was our goal, and that 
was rough and flying white. But the fish came 
to a sandy shoal and stopped for breath. Then 
I wound him back slowly until he was steering 
for a small bush near the shore. The guide got 
out, and just before Mr. Salmon was going to 
take the chance of a turn about that bush, he 
felt the cold steel of the gaff and came into the 
boat. We caught three in that gale 'with just 
about the same nerve-racking experience. 
You never can forget a salmon hooked in 
a gale. You will watch the cast, your hat just 
ready to blow off, your coat flying over your 
shoulders, your waders too short, your rod try¬ 
ing to get away from you, bending with the 
force of the wind and fish, and when the fish 
has been saved, you will think you could never 
do it so well again, but in five minutes you will 
go at the same hard conditions with renewed 
assurance. 
One day I got a twelve-pounder with every 
seeming chance of failure. The fly was on a 
little No. 8 hook. We use si.xes and eights 
mostly, although on that windy day I used a 
No. 4. The pool was about 200 feet long and 
twenty feet wide. The fish waltzed up and down 
and out until he seemed ready to give in, but 
no, down he went over the fall of two feet into 
rapid water and stopped in a hole with the line 
LITTLE CODROY RIVER. 
