A silver-gray fly with a barbed tail
darts out across the pool, swings around with the current, well
under water, and slowly works past the big rock in the centre, just
at the head of the rapid. Almost past it, but not quite: for
suddenly the fly disappears; the line begins to run out; the reel
sings sharp and shrill; a salmon is hooked.
But how well is he hooked? That is the question. This is no easy
pool to play a fish in. There is no chance to jump into a canoe and
drop below him, and get the current to help you in drowning him.
You cannot follow him along the shore. You cannot even lead him
into quiet water, where the gaffer can creep near to him unseen and
drag him in with a quick stroke. You must fight your fish to a
finish, and all the advantages are on his side. The current is
terribly strong. If he makes up his mind to go downstream to the
sea, the only thing you can do is to hold him by main force; and
then it is ten to one that the hook tears out or the leader breaks.
It is not in human nature for one man to watch another handling a
fish in such a place without giving advice. "Keep the tip of your
rod up. Don't let your reel overrun. Stir him up a little, he 's
sulking. Don't let him 'jig,' or you'll lose him. You 're playing
him too hard.
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