288 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Aug. 19, 1911. 
all about us was the sense of a new world. Be¬ 
yond some fifteen miles of forest lay the ocean 
where we had watched flocks of duck and geese 
rise and fall on the swell. Over to the east of 
us great rocky hills and moss-covered barrens 
stretched away to the unexplored. For not half 
of this island has yet been trodden by foot of 
man, white or red. And all this was new to us. 
Without any guide save map and compass we 
had come resolved to see this wilderness for 
ourselves and in our own way. 
Not much did we sleep that night. Out in 
the distant hills the call of some wild creature 
came faintly. As I crept at midnight from the 
tent the moon was shining on two rivers one, 
the gurgling, lapping Codroy telling a strange 
story to the glacial rocks, the other a wreathing, 
opalescent mist river lying on every turn and 
twist of the Codroy. Here at my feet ran some 
wild creature, mink-like. From the forest fifty 
yards away something crashed off through the 
thicket, and then all was silent. Not a frog 
croaked; no chirp of night bird came; not a 
rustle save the quiet chatter of the river, and 
far off the soft hoot of an owl. We were on 
the border of unknown Newfoundland at last.* 
We stayed at Tidal Pool till we were con¬ 
vinced that the salmon were not there. And 
then a native appearing with news that there 
were plenty far up-country, we bent ourselves 
to the weary task of hauling up that roaring 
stream. This time we did not attempt to row 
or pole. Stripped to our flannels we waded in 
the icy water; foot by foot we hauled up the 
rapids, and painful work it was indeed, but by 
nightfall we had made three miles and camped 
at Overfall. 
Here, too, we fished faithfully, but no salmon 
appeared. Only one huge sea trout rose three 
times to my fly and three times merely flipped it 
with his tail, to disappear again in the foam. 
We covered every foot of that water carefully, 
but no salmon leaped and none appeared on the 
bottom, so we decided to explore and fish a 
brook that here fell into the river. 
Soon we came to a promising pool some 
twenty-five feet square, with a four-foot fall 
tumbling into it. For flies we used Parmacheene 
belle and Montreal, and as fast as we cast, trout 
rose; pretty ones, too, averaging half a pound. 
Then suddenly they stopped biting at flies and 
we tried bait. Two small worms, dug with much 
labor, netted two trout. Then I tried snails, here 
common on the rocks, and the trout took them 
greedily. Experimenting further with a spider 
I saw him disappear before he stopped kicking. 
Next I baited with a little roll of eggs, the 
cocoon of the spider, and caught trout on them. 
A red and yellow belly-fin proved a good bait, 
but the fresh red gill of a trout proved best 
of all. 
We had just thirty nice trout when the Lieu¬ 
tenant said: “Did you see that fish jump the 
fall?’’ Whatever there was about the day to 
make fish travel I do not know, but I never saw 
so many fish attempt a fall before. The thicket 
of swamp alder, birch and spruce grew in an 
almost impenetrable mass right down to the 
water, forming a great Gothic arch above tts. 
Through this foliage the sunlight streamed be¬ 
tween showers, and in the mist of the falls left 
•Two British Government engineers are at the time 
of this writing reported to be making the first extended 
survey. 
the light shattered by foam where the gleam 
from the green waters gave the scene a pecu¬ 
liarly spirituelle coloring. The foaming stream 
made the approach of the fish invisible, and the 
roar of the' fall prevented the sound of the 
leap being distinguished. But every few seconds 
a specter-like form flashed from the iridescent 
mist at the foot of the fall, rose in a dusky 
bow and disappeared in the turmoil of the spray 
half way up the ascent; or quivering, the trout 
would rise, curl and smite the polished water on 
the very green brink of the fall and disappear. 
Whether they actually got up we could never tell. 
But we were not the only ones interested. For 
as we stood thus watching, hidden in the thick 
foliage, a pair of kingfishers swooped silently 
past, so near that I could have touched one with 
my rod. As he picked up a trout he caught sight 
of us, dropped his fish, and with crest erect in 
terror, his dagger-like bill opened in chattering 
panic, fled to the dead trees on a distant hill. 
I had pictured Newfoundland as a dreary, bar¬ 
ren land lying well on to the regions of the 
sub arctic, but here were thickets of lovely 
flowers — Canterbury bells, pink and white 
orchids, and where some fire had burned a clear¬ 
ing, great patches of fire weed. Though the 
nights were cold, the days were often hot, and 
so dense were the forests of stunted trees and 
brush that without an axe it was almost impos¬ 
sible to go, save where the bare rocks or some 
natural clearing appeared. 
Here, too, we picked up rabbits or hare with 
the pistol. Grouse were so tame that they stood 
even till we came within easy pistol range, and 
everything we got in this way went at night into 
the stew. Yet so far we had not seen a single 
water animal except fish. Coming into camp I 
met a native and asked if there were any beavers 
up the -brook where we thought we had dis¬ 
covered an old dam. Said he: “The only one 
I ever saw, sir, was when I was a boy. Yes, sir, 
I was goin’ down through the pasture beyond 
there,” and he waved his hand southward, “when 
I see this critter in the dry brook bed. I says, 
‘Now I get ye’. So I pulled me a club and got 
him just as he was making for deep water. Dad 
didn’t know what he was, but mother had seen 
one in a show and knowed him the minute she 
set eyes on him. Say’s she, ‘It’s a beaver.’ ” 
“And you haven’t seen one since then?” 
“Nary one,” was the reply. Thus, having heard 
of the killing of the last beaver in those parts we 
inquired about the salmon we had come so far 
to see. “Oh,” said he, “there’s plenty o’ them, 
sir; plenty. Go further up the river and you’ll 
get barrels of ’em.” 
So up the river we went, dragging our loaded 
dory through five more weary miles of roaring 
rapids and shallows interspersed with small 
pools, till one evening we reached South Branch, 
the limit of navigation with a loaded boat. 
Weary, sun-scorched, footsore and fly-bitten we 
pulled our boat up on the rough cobbles and 
camped in a clearing. Yet so eager was I for 
a sight of the promised salmon that I walked 
along the pool to see what I might see. No 
rise came to my fly, but I saw one or two things 
which, if they were fish, were certainly whoppers ; 
just the backs, black and broad as back logs, 
rolled up silently and as silently sank. We had 
come up with the salmon at last. 
Early next morning we started in to fish. I 
had a big yellow May for leader and a small 
silver doctor for dropper, though usually only 
one fly is used. There was a good ripple on 
the water where I cast, recovering slowly each 
time. Then it was that the salmon fisher’s 
maxim came true — “salmon hook themselves,” 
for thinking that I had struck some rock I gave 
a smart pull, up leaped a glittering silver fish, 
quivered in the air, shook himself a moment and 
fell with a clatter in the spray. I was fast to 
my first salmon. 
“Put your boots on, Charlie, and wade out 
with the net,” called the Lieutenant. Mine 
was a five-ounce fly-rod, and it was bent almost 
double. The slender tip, not thicker than a 
match at the end, was trembling and jerking 
energetically. Again and again Charlie tried to 
net the fish, but the moment the net touched 
the water that salmon went away like a shot. 
There was no mistaking this for a trout. We 
could see him glitter as he leaped and see his 
red gills as he shook the spray from his spotted 
sides. “Keep your eye on him, Charlie,” the 
Lieutenant urged; “we musn’t lose the first one.” 
Thus we worked for half an hour; a dozen times 
the fish leaped and came down tail first with a 
smack. And when we landed him he looked 
bigger still, but the scales revealed only a five- 
pounder. 
I had not made twenty casts before I got an¬ 
other rise, then another, but these only nosed 
the fly. I was fishing now with a large Montreal 
fly, for the yellow May was chewed to useless¬ 
ness. So the fly flew and settled softly on the 
rapid water. Then it stretched out in the cur¬ 
rent, swept in a graceful curve, bobbed a 
moment, and disappeared only to rise in the 
air fast to the jaw of another salmon, this time 
a big one. 
It is useless to try to tell the catching of such 
a fish. That salmon leaped as I would never 
have believed such a heavy fish could. Only this 
motto of the salmon fisher I remembered: “Keep 
your rod straight up and always be polite; dip 
your rod when the salmon leaps.” For over two 
hours we wrestled with this one; now the fish 
would shoot down stream and through the rapids, 
forcing me to follow, which I did, stumbling, 
swimming, sputtering, and always when the sal¬ 
mon rose in a splash of silver and foam I 
feared he had gone. Still the tension of the 
slender tip was enough to tire him at last. Now 
I could gain a little; now I could work him up 
stream to the landing net. Soon I could see 
him rolling in the clear water—eyes, dots and 
fins showed plain. But to net hint was another 
thing. The least movement in that direction 
sent him shooting away till once all my line was 
out, and I followed with rod extended at arm’s 
length, praying that things would hold. But he 
stopped before that fine trout leader gave way, 
and at last I played him till he flopped and rolled 
in the shallow water at my feet. Even then I 
simply put the net down and guided him in. 
Then I made a scoop, trailed him along the sur¬ 
face, and “you may kiss the book on this,” I 
did not stop till I had him twenty feet from 
even a damp spot. Then Charlie weighed the 
fish and found he scaled a trifle over thirteen 
pounds. Twenty minutes later the Lieutenant 
and Charlie were handling a huge male of eigh¬ 
teen pounds, and when he came to the net his 
great hooked jaws snapped viciously. 
So greedy is the angler that even after this 
we tried for more, and got another. But it was 
