This small volume is merely intended to give some idea of the fishing in British Columbian waters, from facts gathered in twelve years' experience of the province. It probably contains errors of commission, perhaps, as well as of omission, and makes no claim to be authoritative in scientific detail. But at least it contains some of that strange fish lore which can be only gained on the river bank and by intercourse with others of the same craft. It fairly represents what is at present known among the fishermen of the province, with almost all of whom I am personally acquainted. It is my sincere hope that someone better qualified will, in the near future, deal more ably with the subject.
The ordinary Englishman often appears to be under a strange delusion that British Columbia is situated in a part of the world which he vaguely alludes to as South America, and it is somewhat curious that the country is not better known, for it is a glorious land of great mountains, forests, streams, and rolling hill, in which game and fish are very plentiful, with a climate and conditions of life peculiarly suited to Englishmen, especially those who have the instinct of sport. An attempt has here been made to describe the fishing; but there is also fine big game shooting, for the interior fastnesses of Vancouver Island are the home of thousands of that finest of the deer tribe, the wapiti; in the northern forests and the mountains moose, sheep, goat, and bear are numerous; everywhere the large mule deer is common; ducks and geese abound in the waters.
The soil of the valley is very fertile; gold, silver, copper, lead, iron, and coal are among the natural products; there is an inexhaustible supply of the finest timber in the world.
Surely British Columbia is a splendid jewel—still rough-hewn and uncut, it may be, but one which will yet shine forth as one of the brightest stars in the Imperial diadem.
CHAPTER X.
TUNA FISHING AT AVALON, SANTA CATALINA ISLAND.
I go
To the island-valley of Avilion;
Where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow,
Nor ever wind blows loudly; but it lies
Deep meadow'd, happy, fair with orchard-lawns
And bowery hollows crown'd with summer sea.
The Passing of Arthur.