“THE SALMON LEAPED TWICE STRAIGHT UP INTO THE AIR.”
By V. R. Balfour-Browne.
In the words of one of the most experienced of fishermen, Mr. Horace G. Hutchinson: “There is one antic that a fish may perform which may, if you are unlucky, defeat you, however quick and skilful you are—that is, if he jumps and falls back on the cast. If you do not drop the point of the rod so as to let the gut go slack when he jumps, you are nearly sure to be broken if he falls back on it. If you drop quickly enough, it is bad luck if you are broken, but it is bad luck which sometimes does befall. If much of the reel line is in water, the drop of the rod top does not communicate slackness to the cast quickly enough; the fish may come on to it when it is tolerably taut—result disaster!”
Being a Highlander and therefore of a superstitious race, need I emphasise the fact that the day of this, the greatest, tragedy of my life as a fisherman was a Friday, and that Friday the 1st of April. In this connection it is worth recalling that no references to April Fools’ Day have been found in our earlier literature, and it seems that this country has derived the fashion from France, where April Fools’ Day is a very ancient institution, and where the dupe is known as “poisson d’avril.” The April fool in this story was the fisherman, not the fish. The following day, Saturday, I tried to make the most of my last chance and fished all day long, but without a sign of anything. Of course, there was a great discussion as to the probable weight of the fish, which had given both C. and myself several opportunities of forming some estimate on the subject. We both agreed that it could not have been less than 35 lb., and was more probably round about 40 lb. But my story has an interesting sequel. On the following Monday I returned to London; and on the Tuesday, when fishing the pool which was the scene of the catastrophe, my host made a discovery which I can best relate by quoting from a letter which he wrote to me on the following day.
“Yesterday afternoon,” he wrote, “when fishing your famous pool I found what I feel pretty sure were the mortal remains of your big fish. He had fallen a prey to an otter, which after your long fight with him is easy to understand. He lay on a rock just above the place where you hooked him, and considerably below where you parted company. A large ‘steak’ from the middle had been removed by his ultimate captor, but the head and tail portions were there. From examination of his head he had certainly been recently hooked firmly on the right side of the upper jaw. He was extremely thick, and must have been a most handsome fish of at least 35 lb. I took home two or three scales, and his age appears to have been between four and five years.”
I subsequently learnt that from its condition this fish had no doubt been killed some days before it was found, and as it seems highly likely it was the fish that had defeated me, it must somehow or other have got rid of the fly by rubbing it against the rocks, a feat which is generally believed to be by no means unusual and which in this instance would, no doubt, be rendered easier by the fact that the hook was a good-sized one, being about 2 in. long.
C., who was with my host at the time, said that he also felt sure that it was the same fish. So it would appear that the victory of the great fish was after all shortlived, and that he was probably captured by a far greater fisherman than any mere mortal man—let alone my humble self.
It is a very interesting fact that in the week before that in which I was fishing, among the salmon which were killed on the neighbouring beats were three, each of which weighed slightly over 41 lb. It seems not unlikely, therefore, that my fish may have run up from the sea in the company of these splendid fish, and have been much the same weight as they were.
Notwithstanding my great disappointment I heartily agree with the words of Arthur Hugh Clough in Peschiera:[2]