"He will not come again," I said, when
there was a long heavy drag at the line, followed by a shrieking of the
reel, as in Mr. William Black's novels. Let it be confessed that the
first hooking of a salmon is an excitement unparalleled in trout-fishing.
There have been anglers who, when the salmon was once on, handed him over
to the gillie to play and land. One would like to act as gillie to those
lordly amateurs. My own fish rushed down stream, where the big tree
stands. I had no hope of landing him if he took that course, because one
could neither pass the rod under the boughs, nor wade out beyond them.
But he soon came back, while one took in line, and discussed his probable
size with the trout-fisher opposite. His size, indeed! Nobody knows
what it was, for when he had come up to the point whence he had started,
he began a policy of violent short tugs--not "jiggering," as it is
called, but plunging with all his weight on the line. I had clean
forgotten the slimness of the tackle, and, as he was clearly well hooked,
held him perhaps too hard. Only a very raw beginner likes to take hours
over landing a fish. Perhaps I held him too tight: at all events, after
a furious plunge, back came the line; the casting line had snapped at the
top link.
There was no more to be said or done, except to hunt for another fly in
the trout fly-book.
Pages:
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111