But, while thus pluming myself upon what I had achieved and experienced, fancying that I had reached the highest pleasure attainable from the art of angling, I learned that while I had done well I could do much better earlier in the season. And so I found; for by a combination of circumstances as fortunate as they were gratifying, my third season gave me the first "run" and such experience and sport as will for ever remain a golden memory.
III.
With a companion as venerable in years and as full of enthusiasm as myself, we set our faces toward the bay of Chaleur on as bright and beautiful a June morning as ever gladdened the world. Hitherto the journey had been tedious and circuitous—by rail and steamer. But, like the world in general, the Provinces are progressive, and on this occasion an "all-rail" route enabled us to do in two days what it formerly took six to accomplish, and the 10th of June found us encamped in a beautiful valley encircled by magnificent mountains, with a majestic river at our feet grandly marching to the sea, but in unwelcome volume and raging with frightful turbulence. The melted snow was pouring down from the hills in such torrents as to overflow banks and lowlands, and to preclude all hope of angling until an abatement of the flood. It only remained for us to imitate the patriotic Germans on the Rhine, and "watch and wait." And for ten days we watched and waited with such patience as we could muster, and with such diversion as could be found in casting for trout in a neighboring brook which found its way to the river in our immediate neighborhood.
IV.
It was the tenth day of our waiting, and while the river was rushing with such fury as to render holding a canoe in the current with any appliances at our command impracticable, that I succeeded in reaching an eddy caused by a huge bowlder still buried beneath the waters. I could not anchor, and my frail bark was kept in constant motion by the swirling eddy, when, after repeated casts, I had a rise. The fish leaped to such an unusual height, and with such seeming determination that the lure should not escape him, that I was startled and barely escaped a backward plunge in my anxiety to make a sure "strike." From the "feel," which ran like electricity from my submerged fly to the tips of my fingers, I knew that the hook had effectively performed its work, and was "fastened in a sure place." With this conviction I felt bold to begin the work resolutely, although I knew that if I succeeded in making a capture, I must do so under circumstances more difficult than any I had ever before encountered in any waters or with any fish. I was literally hemmed in. I dared not allow the monster to get outside the restricted circle of the eddy, for if he should reach the current, which was sweeping downward at the rate of ten miles an hour, I would be utterly powerless to check him, because it would be impossible to prevent him from rushing over the boiling rapids, which were thundering within fifty feet of the lower edge of the eddy. My only hope of fish or canoe was to hold both under the shelter of the rock which caused the eddy. To do this required a shorter line than it is ever wise to retain at the opening of a fight with a thirty-pound salmon. But everything—fish, rod, and line—had to be risked. It was hold all or lose everything; and with a shout which made the whole camp lookers-on, I began the fight; now hopeful, now in despair; now with the fish leaping within fifty feet of the canoe, and now lashing the water with the fierceness of a tiger; now dashing toward the current as if determined to break off or drag the canoe with him, and anon sullenly permitting himself to be reeled up to within ten feet of the gaff; now sinking and sulking, and now rushing and leaping as if he would twist off his own neck in his attempts to shake the cruel barb from his lacerated jaw; now at handsome holding distance, peaceful as a lamb, and seemingly ready for the coup de grace, and anon dashing hither and thither, as if looking for some open door to freedom; but all in vain. If his mettle was up, so was mine, and at that moment I would sooner have lost a fortune than that fish. I had kept him within bounds and well in hand; had got him within a foot of the gaff, sure of victory, and was shouting to my gaffer, "Now then, let him have it!" when, like a flash, he shot under the canoe, and would have smashed everything in a moment had not my watchful guide, seeing the situation and the danger in the twinkling of an eye, swung round our boat so that I could place the tip of my rod beyond the stern of the canoe, and thus escaped the greatest misfortune that can befall a salmon angler. It was quickly and skilfully done, and in five minutes more the first salmon of the season was gaffed, and the first victory achieved. The shout from my own canoe was caught up by the excited lookers-on, and we paddled to camp thrilled with the excitement of the contest, and happy as it is possible for an angler to be—and there are possibilities of happiness to anglers inconceivable to any who have never killed a salmon.
We accepted this first fish as the forerunner of the good time hoped for. And the good time came of which, for the delectation of those who have been or would like to be "there" themselves, I subjoin a few samples.
V.