the pools, and we take a
stroll by the stream that I may comprehend its points as an example of
a Norwegian river of the smaller size. It differs from other types,
hereafter to be described, but, like all of them, its headwaters are a
lake, and it is fed by a glacier. The salmon, however, are prevented
from reaching the lake by a foss, or waterfall, about a mile and a half
from the mouth: the fishing is therefore limited to a few pools. It
is, however, a real "sporting" river by reason of the turbulence of
many of the runs for which the fish generally make a direct dash, and
have to be followed and contended with in roaring rapids, what time the
angler makes the best running he may amid stones, brooks, and with many
a bush between him and the river.

It is the particular desire of the gentlemen who are looking on that I
should hook a salmon that will at once corroborate this theory by a
vigorous object lesson; equally sincere am I in my supplication that I
am not thus forced to make play for the Philistines. The chances are
as hopeless as they can be. But a slight cloud overcasts the sun by
and by, and I verily find myself well fastened in a salmon, with that
terrible threat of rushing foam at the tail of the pool; I make up my
mind to do the best, and mentally mark the point, near a footbridge
across a runnel, where I must probably come to grief. The salmon,
however, is no more inclined to give amusement to the spectators than I
am. He cruises about in a sullen humour, and acts as if he is rather
anxious than otherwise to come to the gaff. There is no difficulty, in
short, in applying the familiar time principle of a pound a minute, and
without a serious attempt to try escape per rapids, he comes to land, a
fish of 16 lb., that has been some time in the fresh water.

As I nave not yet seen the fiord end of the river, we cross down from
the other side, and our host of the day kindly points me to scenes of
exciting adventure, in which the difficulties of killing a hooked fish
virtually furnish sport which amounts to catching twice over. He
presses me to try a somewhat shallow and level run where sea trout love
to lie, and offers me his rod (mine being left behind) for the purpose.
About the twelfth cast the reel sings a sweet anthem, and I have a
delightful quarter of an hour with an unconquerable fish that leaps
again and again in the air, but that has to give in at last, and lie
beside the salmon eventually,