oulders of the rapids below.

There are circumstances, I have been told, under which salmon will rise
as well as at other times while logs are drifting, but our best pools
here are even-flowing and stately, reminding one often of the Tweed
between Kelso and Coldstream. The logs in such water are bad for fish.
The testimony of the local men is that the pools, from the piscatorial
point of view, are always unsettled while the logs are descending in
quantities, and that it is a rare thing at such times to induce a
salmon to take a fly. Moreover, with a thunderstorm spate of this
nature, and the operations of gangs of lumbermen hastening to set the
stranded stock on its way to port, the water is rendered very dirty; in
a word, until the muck has passed, and the river settled, the angler's
chances are poor indeed.

The danger to the angler's gear, and any fish he hooks, when he finds
himself amongst the logs, is well known. The tenant of the beat above
ours lost two or three good salmon in one day by collisions of this
nature. Down at Lovdal we fish mostly from one of the somewhat crank
boats of the country, and my first salmon was hooked from the stern of
one of them, at the moment when a score of logs that had been gyrating
in an aimless sort of way in a great dark backwater must needs hustle
one another in company into a corner where they were suddenly caught by
a strong undercurrent, and almost hauled out into the current,
unnoticed by my boatman. For myself I was engaged with a hooked fish,
and fortunately for me he was not large. The man had all he could do
to fend off the spars with his oars, and at that critical moment, when
the fish is either turned or allowed a new lease of life, we had the
honour of notice to quit from a spar on either side. Mr. Salmon,
without a fin-flick of apology, taking a mean advantage, darted under
the stick to the right, and at express speed made across stream. One
does not, however, use Hercules gut for nothing; the log was travelling
swiftly, and I ventured to clap my rod-top down to and under the
surface, thus saving my tackle, and being presently able to land and
gaff my 10-lb. fresh-run salmon without risk or hurry. This fish, I
may add, rose in the fiercest of sunshine in the forenoon, and some
logs were coming down, but only one here and there.

The river in fact had only then begun to rise briskly, and on
Wednesday, when the lumbermen were hard at work above, three salmo