When we arrived at the loch there was a good breeze blowing from the west, with no sun. We put a medium-sized “Jock Scott” on the salmon cast, while on the trout cast we put, as a tail fly, a queer, nondescript fly, which Sandy fancied, and, as a bob fly, a “March Brown.” These two latter flies were the ordinary medium-sized loch-trout flies, and we thought it wiser, as we knew that there were a lot of salmon in the loch, to put only two flies on the trout cast. My brother began fishing with the salmon rod in the stern of the boat, while I tried in the bow for trout. I very soon rose three or four trout, and managed to secure two, but my brother had no luck with the salmon. We had not been fishing for more than half an hour when the wind went down and the sun came out. The surface of the loch became absolutely calm, just like a sheet of glass, and fishing appeared to be hopeless. The salmon now began to jump in different parts of the loch, and, although Sandy said it was perfectly useless, we kept trying to cast over them. At length, however, we gave it up, and sat waiting for the breeze. Suddenly a salmon rose about twenty yards from the boat. I said, “Come on, Sandy, put me over that,” and, taking up the salmon rod, proceeded to cast over the place where the salmon had risen. With great difficulty I got the line out, as it was dead calm. I cast once, twice, and for a third time, and just as I was getting to the end of my cast on the third attempt, up came the salmon, rising apparently not with the intention of taking the fly, but with the intention of drowning it. I struck at him and hooked him, as we discovered later, by the tail, and a very lively time he gave me. He played for about twenty-five minutes, during which time he never showed himself, and we all thought he was much larger than he turned out to be. He was a nice clean fish about 9¼ lb. By the time we got him in the wind had risen, and we began to fish again, my brother taking the salmon rod, whilst I fished with the trout rod from the bow. I had not been fishing for more than a few minutes before I rose something which did not show itself. I struck, and exclaimed, “I’ve hooked him!” Away went the line off my reel for about thirty yards, and at the end of this run the fish, a salmon which looked considerably larger than the one we had already caught, jumped right out of the water, high into the air. Then began the longest and most exciting struggle I have ever had with any fish. The rod with which I was fishing was a light 11-feet trout rod; the cast was a medium-sized trout cast, and I had on my reel about forty to fifty yards of medium-sized trout-line. There is no doubt that I should have several times lost the fish had it not been for the extraordinary skill and speed with which Sandy followed him and managed the boat. Three times nearly all my line was taken out, and once I had only a few inches left on my reel. After his first rush the fish plunged deep down, and for