(A writing to Dewey Gillespie from a very respected friend
The dry spell means miserable time for the salmon. The rivers dwindle and the
riverbeds become bleakly bright with bare rocks glistening powder dry in the
sun. The salmon huddle at the heads of pools where the little bit of current
can be found, or they crowd against one another to feel the soothing flow of
cooler water from a trickle that was once a feeder brook. They leap little in
such times, and few, if any, of them will move to chase a fly.
In a dry spell, fishing for salmon is “Loves Labour Lost” – a wooden
dog seducing a football.