urrent; but, so far as my
flies were concerned, they might as well have been in the Yukon. One
could not fish from the opposite shore--there was no room for a back
cast, and the current was too deep and swift for wading--and on the
shore where the salmon were there was no place to stand. If I had had a
couple of good Indians, I might have dropped down to the head of the
swift water and fished, while they held the canoe with poles braced on
the bottom; but I had no two good Indians, and the one I did have was
unwilling to take the risk. So we went hungry, almost within sight and
sound of the plunge of heavy fish, fresh run from the sea.

One day, in following a porcupine to see where he was going, I found a
narrow path running for a few hundred yards along the side of the cliff,
just over where the salmon loved to lie, and not more than thirty feet
above the swift rush of water. I went there with my rod and, without
attempting to cast, dropped my fly into the current and paid out from my
reel. When the line straightened I raised the rod's tip and set my fly
dancing and skittering across the surface to an eddy behind a great
rock. In a flash I had raised and struck a twenty-five pound fish; and
in another flash he had gone straight downstream in the current, where
from my precarious seat I could not control him. Down he went, leaping
wildly high out of water, in a glorious rush, till all my line buzzed
out of the reel, down to the very knot at the bottom, and the leader
snapped as if it had been made of spider's web.

I reeled in sadly, debating with myself the unanswerable question of how
I should ever have reached down thirty feet to gaff my salmon, had I
played him to a standstill. Then, because human nature is weak, I put on
a stronger, double leader and dropped another fly into the current. I
might not get my salmon; but it was worth the price of fly and leader
just to raise him from the deeps and see his terrific rush downstream,
jumping, jumping, as if the witch of Endor were astride of his tail in
lieu of her broomstick.

A lively young grilse plunged headlong at the second fly and, thanks to
my strong leader, I played him out in the current and led him
listlessly, all the jump and fight gone out of him, to the foot of the
cliff. There was no apparent way to get down; so, taking my line in
hand, I began to lift him bodily up. He came easily enough till his tail
cleared the water; then the wiggling, jerky strain