would suggest to the reader
to make his stay on the fishing ground as long as he possibly can, so
that the journey may seem worth while. Justice cannot be done to
Norway, its fish, or yourself under a month. There is not much to
choose between the two routes, the one from Hull, the other from
Newcastle, but care must be taken to time the arrival at the chief
ports to suit the smaller steamers that traverse the fiords. The North
Sea passage has its caprices of weather, but it is not very protracted.
If you leave port on Saturday night, by breakfast time on Monday you
are threading between the rocks that introduce you to Stavanger. That
same night you are (wind and weather permitting) at Bergen, and thence
next day you are going up the beautiful fiords to the river of your
choice amidst surroundings that are nowadays the property of the
picture postcard.

In the short Norwegian summer great variations in weather must be
expected, and in the valleys I have experienced downpours of rain and
spells of heat equal to what I knew in the tropics. But as a rule the
angler has little to complain of. The warmer the air and the brighter
the sun the better in reason for the glacier-fed rivers, but let no one
wish for such floods as are caused by heavy rain in association with
warm winds. Out of my four visits one only was seriously marred by wet
weather, and that was nothing like so provoking as another year when
there was no rain, and yet no generous contributions to the rivers from
glacier or mountain. Even in July the rain is occasionally emphasised
by bitterly cold wind, and should your place that day be in a boat
there is little pleasure. An ordinary mackintosh is useless, and hours
of casting in solid oilskin and sou'-wester become irksome what time
the clouds press heavily down upon you and the rugged mountains frown
right and left.

The one consolation rendered imperative under such circumstances by
poetic justice is a continual carolling from the suddenly agitated
winch. Fishermen forget this sentiment when they denounce the clamour
of the check and lay all their money on the silent reel. After an hour
of swish, swish, without touch from a fish, the scream of a winch is
like hymns in the night. However, let that pass. The point is you
must be prepared for heat and cold, wet and dry. I remember one
morning when, going out of our snug farmhouse in the valley to
reconnoitre, I found three or four poor cottagers