[2] "Sometimes while stealing along in a quiet deep channel but a few yards wide, worn through the rock, or between it and the green bank opposite, the spectator would marvel at the broad expanse of shingle or barren sand. Little would he wonder if, after a week's rain, he sought the same spot, when Tweed was coming down in his might, and every tributary stream, transformed for the nonce into a river, swelled the mighty flood. Then timber trees, sawn wood, dead animals, farming implements, even haystacks would come floating down, and the very channel of the river would be diverted, sometimes never to return to its ancient course. Sad was the havoc occasioned among the embryo spawn; torn from its bed, it would be carried down stream, to be devoured by the trout or the eel, or to perish amid the waste of waters. We felt on these occasions pretty safe. Our principal enemies were dispersed: the gulls sought worms in the ploughed uplands; the kingfisher and the solitary heron flew away to the smaller streams, where the less turbid water permitted them to see their prey. The cold, slimy, cruel eel, alone of all our enemies, was then to be dreaded. Crawling along at the bottom of the water, his flat wicked head pressed against the gravel, so as to escape the force of the stream, the wily beast would insinuate himself into every crevice or corner, where a small fish might have taken shelter, or a drowned worm be lodged, and all was prey to him." _The Autobiography of a Salmon._