even in trout angling, unless in case of an unusually lively and strong fish, it is at once commenced and ended. Indeed the most sprightly trout that ever was hooked, shows mere child's play in comparison to a fresh run salmon."—Sir Walter Scott.

"'I chose the largest fly I could find,' said the captain, 'because the water here is very deep and strong; and as the salmon lies near the bottom I must have a large fly to attract his attention; but I must not have a gaudy fly, because the water is so clear that the sparkle of the tinsel would be more glittering than anything in nature; and the fish, when he had risen and come near enough to distinguish it, would be very apt to turn short.'

"'You have it now, precisely,' said the parson; 'the depth of the water regulates the size of the fly, and the clearness of the water its colors. This rule, of course, is not without exceptions; if it were there would be no science in fishing. The sun, the wind, the season, the state of the atmosphere, must also be taken into consideration; for instance, this rapid we are going to fish now, is the very same water we have been fishing in below, and therefore just as clear, but it is rough, and overhung by rocks and trees. I mean therefore to put on a gayer fly than any we have used hitherto.'"—Rev. Henry Newland.

"I unhesitatingly assert that there is no single moment with horse or gun into which is concentrated such a thrill of hope, fear, expectation, and exultation, as that of the rise and successful striking of a heavy salmon. I have seen men literally unable to stand, or to hold their rod, from sheer excitement."—H. Choimondeley Pennell.

FLY CASTING FOR SALMON.

By George Dawson.

There is no essential difference between trout and salmon casting. The same general principles apply to both, and it only requires the careful application of the skill attained in 'the one to become equally expert in the other. The difference is simply the difference in weight. A twelve-foot trout rod weighs, say, eight ounces, and an eighteen-foot salmon rod, with reel, weighs two or three times as much. The one can be manipulated with one hand; the other requires both. With the one you ordinarily cast forty or fifty feet; with the other sixty or eighty; and with rods equally approximating perfection, it is as easy to cast the eighty feet with the one as the forty feet with the other. I do not mean to say that no more muscular exertion is required in the one case than in the other, but simply that with such slight effort as is necessary with either, it is as easy to place your fly where you wish it with the one rod as with the other. No great muscular exertion is necessary to cast with either. Indeed, the chief difficulty in casting is to get rid of the idea that a great deal of muscular effort is necessary to get out a long line. That coveted result is not to be attained by mere muscle. If you have a giant's strength you mustn't use it like a giant. If you do you will never make a long or a graceful cast with either trout or salmon rod. With both there must be only such strength used as is necessary to give the line a quick but not a snappy back movement—keeping up the motion evenly until the fly is placed where you desire it.

The most difficult attainment, in both salmon and trout casting, is to be able, with instinctive accuracy, to measure the distance traversed by the backward movement of your line. If you begin the return too soon your line will snap and thereby endanger your fly; if you are too tardy it will droop and thereby lose the continuity of tension indispensable to a graceful and effective forward movement. This essential art can only be attained by practice. Some attain it readily; others never;—just as some measure time in music with unerring accuracy, without a teacher; some only acquire the art after protracted drilling, and others never acquire it at all.

There is almost as perfect rhythm in fly-casting as in music. Given a definite length of line and the expert can measure his cast by his one, two, three, four, as accurately as a teacher can regulate the time of his orchestra by the movement of his baton. While this is true in casting with either rod it is most noticeable in easting for salmon. The heavy line, the massive springy rod, and the great distance to be traversed, render each movement—the lift from the water, the backward flight of the line, the return motion, and the drop at the point desired—as distinct to a quick perception as the beat of a bar in music.

But there are occasions when it would not do to cast by count. If the wind is strong in any direction the movement of the line is perceptibly effected; and if the wind happens to be at your back, it requires great skill and care to counteract its influence and secure satisfactory results. With such a wind, unless you are perfect master of the situation, you will be apt to snap off more flies in an hour than you will be likely to lose legitimately in a fortnight. Nine-tenths of all the flies I ever lost took their departure before I learned how to cast safely with a high wind at my back.

In many salmon rivers the pools are so placed and the general body of water is of such depth that you can always cast from your anchored canoe. As, under such circumstances, there are no obstructions behind you, less care is required in keeping your fly well up in its backward flight than when casting from the shore—as in some rivers you always have to do.

In the salmon season the water is usually well down in the banks, and in many rivers the slope from high water mark to the summer channel is considerable. In casting, as a rule, you stand near the water; unless, therefore, you cast high—that is, unless you keep your fly well up in its backward flight it will almost certainly come in contact with a stone or boulder of some sort and be broken. To avoid this mishap requires great care. You must keep the point of your rod well up always—several degrees higher than when casting on the water. My first experience in shore-casting where the banks had a precipitous slope cost me a great many pet flies; and I never got to feel really "at home" in casting under such circumstances. It detracts from the sport when your mind is occupied with the proper swing of the line. But enough of ecstacy remains to enable one to overlook this inconsiderable drawback. Only give the angler an opportunity to cast from any sort of standpoint and he will speedily discover the proper lift and swing to overcome any obstacle, and be happy.

Salmon casting—especially the frequency of the cast—depends largely upon the character of the water you are fishing. If the pool is straight and narrow and the current strong, and you are casting from a canoe, you can so manipulate your fly as to render frequent casts unnecessary—the important thing being not to let your fly sink, as it is not likely to do in such a current. In large pools where the current is sluggish, as is sometimes the case, frequent casts are necessary in order to touch it at every point with your fly on the surface. Where you are able to cast across a pool, if the current moves with a moderate force, you can sweep it at each cast by giving your rod the proper motion. This latter class of pools are those most coveted, because you can cover a great deal of ground with very little effort. If you fall in with a pool—as you sometimes will—where the current is so sluggish as to be almost imperceptible, frequent casts are unavoidable. Without them, not only will your fly sink, but your line will soon acquire a slack which not only gives one an uncomfortable feeling but is unsafe in case of a rise. The very first requisite in salmon fishing is a taut line. It is not only requisite for safety, but without it it is impossible to promptly and properly recover your line for a new