the next cast--ah,the pride of it,the regal splendor of it!the thrill that ran down from finger-tip to toe!then the water boiled.he broke for the fly and got it.there remained enough sense in me to give him all he wanted when he jumped not once,but twenty times,before the up-stream flight that ran my line out to the last half-dozen turns,and i saw the nickelled reel-bar glitter under the thinning green coils.my thumb was burned deep when i strove to stopper the line.
i did not feel it till later,for my soul was out in the dancing weir,praying for him to turn ere he took my tackle away.and the prayer was heard.as i bowed back,the butt of the rod on my left hip-bone and the top joint dipping like unto a weeping willow,he turned and accepted each inch of slack that i could by any means get in as a favor from on high.there lie several sorts of success in this world that taste well in the moment of enjoyment,but i question whether the stealthy theft of line from an able-bodied salmon who knows exactly what you are doing and why you are doing it is not sweeter than any other victory within human scope.like california's fish,he ran at me head on,and leaped against the line,but the lord gave me two hundred and fifty pairs of fingers in that hour.the banks and the pine-trees danced dizzily round me,but i only reeled--reeled as for life--reeled for hours,and at the end of the reeling continued to give him the butt while he sulked in a pool.