278 
FOREST AND STREAM 
Newfoundland Salmon in 1914 
This Season’s Report on Salmon Condition in Grand Codroy and Little Codroy Rivers 
By G. B. F. 
I suppose salmon may mobilize to multiply 
units of life, just as human beings may 
mobilize to sacrifice units of life. The fish 
seem to have the better of us on that point. 
Perhaps their natural instincts are better than 
our trained indifference to the destruction of the 
species. Or perhaps instinct is better than blind 
submission to the sovereignty of the few who 
obstruct the exercise of the humanity of the 
mass. 
This year the mobilization of the salmon to 
multiply fish life resembled Russian slowness. 
The fish came up the rivers of Newfoundland 
late, and without full ranks. It had been a cold 
spring, and the final banquets on capelan along 
shore 'were put off about three weeks. The 
bodies of the fish on the Grand Codroy were 
not fully nourished, and the average weight was 
below the ordinary. When June 14 arrived I 
was on that river expecting the height of the 
run to be up as far as Forks Pool, ten miles up, 
but I found very few fish that far up. The 
“slinks,” salmon belated in returning to the sea, 
were present in large numbers. These slinks, 
judging by their frames, were at least ten pound 
fish that had become reduced in flesh about fifty 
per cent. There should be a law compelling their 
return to the water since it is easy enough to 
determine before gaffing that they are slinks. 
They are not fit to eat and are wasted in feed¬ 
ing fox-ranches. 
The writer was on the Grand Codroy and 
Little Codroy Rivers from June 15 to Aug. 6, 
and estimates the season’s results to sportsmen 
as one-third below former years. This seemed 
to be due largely to the cold weather, conse¬ 
quent lateness of the run, and the going home 
of fishermen when the fish were still coming 
along in good numbers. There was one dis¬ 
couragement to longer staying, namely, the in¬ 
creasing reluctance of the fish to take the fly 
with vigor, so that they could be saved after be¬ 
ing hooked. They must have had an abated 
suction, carrying flies but little below their lips. 
I suppose it is like the relish with which a very 
thirsty man gulps down his beer in big swallows. 
When the salmon feels lazy he blows off the 
foam and sips, but when he feels lusty he 
doesn’t hesitate but puts his nose through the 
foam and greedily gulps his morning potion. 
Later on he is only interested in some exquisite 
fly, as choice as a few drops of creme de mint. 
Some say the fish rises to the fly because it an¬ 
noys him, but it would seem as if the larger the 
fly the greater the annoyance, whereas the small¬ 
er the fly, provided he can see it, the more he 
is disposed to “take.” In the case of high and 
■discolored water, he takes a large fly, probably 
because he does not readily see the small ones. 
It occurs to most of us fisherman that the sal¬ 
mon is only following a habit of rushing to 
what seems to be something fit to eat. He sucks 
down angle worms if they are lively and gets 
them down deep in his gullet. 
Salmon were coming up the Grand Codroy as 
late as July 19, but they were too late to be 
full fleshed, and that they took “gingerly” in¬ 
dicated that they had been hanging around the 
fresh water quite a time. There is not half the 
sport catching such fish that there is when their 
bodies are plump, their sides silvery bright, and 
their rushes on the express train time table. You 
can “rough” them in your handling early in the 
season, but your tension in the later runs must 
be very delicate, and even then is very hard to 
judge. 
On the Litfle Codroy the good fishing was 
The Proof of a Fishing Story is in the Picture — 
Here it Is! 
late, about the middle of July, and the fish were 
straggling along, just right to keep you in sport 
every day. And, withal, they were good, fat 
fish, “fit for a fight.” 
My catch of salmon on that stream averaged 
14 lbs., while that on the Grand Codroy aver¬ 
aged only 10 lbs. Observing the Little River for 
seven seasons, I think I never have seen so many 
big fish weighing from 14 to 35 lbs. as this year. 
Very few fall below n lbs. The largest caught 
down to Aug. 6 weighed 33 lbs. and came to the 
luck of E. J. Thompson, Lynn, Mass. Almost 
every sportsman had one of at least 20 lbs. to 
his credit. Ex-Judge James M. Morton, lately 
of the Massachusetts Supreme Court, killed one 
in the tidal water of 31 lbs. weight. 
You must get along with a superabundance of 
rods on that short river, and “catch as you catch 
can” for the lucky pool, but in the run of days 
your opportunity almost certainly comes. It 
calls for great patience and faith in the wheel 
of fortune, which for a time may seem fickle and 
without any pocket on your side. Then the big 
fish “know a thing or two” more than the young 
craft, yet they do forget after all. One day I 
cast all the day, off and on, without a rise un¬ 
til 4 o’clock, when I came back to my morning 
pool without any expectations and landed in suc¬ 
cession three of the respective weights of 21%— 
14 and 11 lbs., and lost one more for luck, of at 
least 12 lbs. ‘What the fish saw in me or my 
weapons less dangerous in the afternoon than 
in the forenoon I can’t decipher. 
When I came away Aug. 6 the salmon were 
plenty in the pools, but their propeller was not 
moving them toward flies very often. Then there 
were a lot of fish in the tidal water working up 
each day. None of these fish appeared to be 
stale. A small, lean bodied, skeleton-feathered fly 
excited the least suspicion, and it certainly made 
a wonderful difference what was the construc¬ 
tion of the fly. Orange colored bodies seem to 
be quite taking in August. Still a black bodied 
fly with tame colored wings worked well. 
I never knew the Black Fairy to do so well, 
nor the Inky Boy. The Black Doctor and Sir 
Richard were not much behind, and of all silver 
bodied flies when small number eight flies were 
the thing the Silver Gray was superior. 
How downcast it makes one after the fight is 
about all over to part thrills with a big fish! 
You have had all the tunes that the reel can be 
made to play, and everything but blood on the 
beach. You don’t need the flesh on the table 
and the fox-ranch ought not to have it. Still 
you want that royal fighter dead on the shoul¬ 
der of the gillie to gratify your vanity. “What 
fools we mortals are!” “Tickled with a rattle.” 
Comparing salmon angling with all other fresh 
water fishing, I always come to the same con¬ 
clusion, namely, if you are willing to be under 
the spell of the most absorbing fascination, to 
be dead in love with a sport, to be under the 
most terrible temptation to be envious, to be 
jealous, to be beyond perfect self-control, go 
salmon fishing where everybody is free to fish 
ahead of or behind you. You will have the great¬ 
est sport out of doors, and you will have the 
worst job you ever had to keep to those generous 
ways that you admire. It is a sport of danger¬ 
ous toils, but it is of high degree and worth the 
effort. 
