Digitized by tine Internet Arciiive 
 
 in 2007 with funding from 
 
 IVIicrosoft Corporation 
 
 littp://www.arcliive.org/details/fisliingtravelinsOOgallricli 
 
FISHING AND TRAVEL IN SPAIN 
 
BY THE SAME AUTHOR 
 
 FISHING IN WALES 
 THE STORY OF SEVILLE 
 PRACTICAL HINTS ON ANGLING 
 TALES FROM THE WESTERN MOORS 
 LIKE STARS THAT FALL 
 
'-• «•':.»•;• •** 
 
 
 NETTED. 
 
 Frontispiece. 
 
FISHING AND TRAVEL 
 IN SPAIN 
 
 H 6ttlbe to the Bnoler 
 
 BY 
 
 WALTER M. GALLICHAN 
 
 ('GEOFFREY MORTIMER') 
 AUTHOR OF • FISHING IN WALES ' 
 
 IV/TN EIGHT JLLUST'^Affbm 
 
 LONDON 
 
 F. E. ROBINSON & CO. 
 
 20 GREAT RUSSELL STREET 
 
 1904 
 
Jf.i:. 
 
 TO 
 
 MY WIFE 
 
 MY FISHING PUPIL AND COMPANION 
 • TH?S''*Bb6K IS AB'FECTIONATELY 
 '* •* *i '. .. '. /•'iN^RIBED 
 
PREFACE 
 
 There are more ways than one of seeing a fresh 
 country. One may make a lightning tour through 
 some of the chief towns, race through the picture- 
 galleries, and glance at the buildings of interest. 
 The traveller does not learn very much of the 
 country and the people by flying along the beaten 
 track and staying in conventional tourist hotels. 
 When I wander, at home or abroad, I choose for 
 preference a cross-country line. The hills, the 
 rivers, and the forests, appeal to me quite as 
 powerfully as the cities, cathedrals, and works 
 made by hands. With the rustic person every- 
 where I have a sympathy. I love the open air 
 and those who dwell where there is calm and 
 breathing-space. 
 
 Our journey in Spain and Portugal was rendered 
 varied and instructive by combining the recreation 
 
vi Preface 
 
 of trout-fishing in the wilder regions with visits to 
 the towns and their museums of art. In this 
 chronicle I have written chiefly upon the days 
 spent by lonely streams and in little rough 
 hamlets of the mountains. Few anglers visit 
 Spain expressly for the pursuit of their sport. 
 This is because so few fishermen know where to 
 go and how to fish in that delightful country. I 
 went, I saw, and I was not disappointed. When 
 opportunity offers I hope to go again, equipped 
 with the experience of my first itinerary. It is not 
 true that all the Spanish rivers are * poached to 
 death,' that the trout are small, and that poor 
 sport awaits the angler in the Peninsula. I have 
 shown in these pages that some of the rivers teem 
 with trout of a sport-giving weight. These streams 
 are free, and they will compare with waters in 
 Great Britain which can only be fished at a high 
 charge. I might even say that they will contrast 
 with them to the decided advantage of the Spanish 
 rivers. The reason for my faith will be found in 
 this narrative. 
 
 Some of the matter forming these chapters 
 appeared first in the columns of the Field. With 
 
Preface vii 
 
 the kind permission of the editor of that journal, I 
 have incorporated portions of the articles in this 
 volume. I also beg to thank the art editor of the 
 Illustrated Sporting and Dramatic News for leave to 
 reproduce some photographs which formed the 
 illustrations to my wife's account of a lady angler's 
 adventures in Spain. 
 
 WALTER M. GALLICHAN. 
 
 The Crimbles, 
 youlgreave, 
 Bakewell, 
 
 Aprils 1904.^ , 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. EN PASSANT - - - - I 
 
 II. A WEEK ON THE BIDASOA - - 7 
 
 III. TROUT-FISHING ON THE RIO ASON - 22 
 
 IV. A GOOD DAY - - - "37 
 V. TROUT AND TRAVEL IN THE PROVINCE 
 
 OF SANTANDER - - - - 47 
 
 VI. THE RIVER AT RENEDO - - - 58 
 
 VII. TWO DAYS ON THE GUADALQUIVIR - 69 
 
 VIIL FROM ANDALUSIA TO CASTILE - - 82 
 
 IX. STREAMS IN Le6n - - - 88 
 
 X. THE WILD LIFE OF SPAIN - - 98 
 
 XI. OUR HOME IN THE GORGE - - 105 
 
 XII. IN THE KINGDOM OF GALICIA - - II3 
 
 XIII. AT PONFERRADA - - - - 121 
 
 XIV. THE HAMLET OF MATAROSA - - 130 
 XV. BY THE WILD SIL - - I40 
 
 XVI. DOWN THE MINHO - - - 1 54 
 
 XVII. THE SHAD OF ARb6 - - - 164 
 
 ix 
 
X Contents 
 
 CHAPTER PAGB 
 
 XVIII. AROUND TUY - - - - 171 
 
 XIX. JUNE DAYS IN LUSITANIA - - 177 
 
 XX. TROUT STREAMS AND COARSE FISH RIVERS 1 92 
 
 XXI. A MIXED CREED OF PRACTICALITIES - 205 
 
 XXII. THE SPANISH FISHERY LAW - - 215 
 
 INDEX - - - . . 225 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 NETTED - - - - 
 
 THE RIO RIDASOA IN NAVARRE - 
 A RUN ON THE ASON 
 
 A BREAKWATER ON THE GUADALQUIVIR 
 ON THE BANKS OF THE RIO SIL 
 A SPANISH VENTA, OR WAYSIDE TAVERN, 
 WITH THE HOSTESS, HER DAUGHTER, 
 AND GRANDCHILD AT THE DOOR 
 ESTANISLAS : A NATIVE FISHER-BOY 
 
 BOTTOM FISHING IN THE MINHO 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Frontispiece 
 
 
 >i 
 
 12 
 
 » 
 
 44 
 
 R- 
 
 78 
 
 »» 
 
 no 
 
 J> 
 
 130 
 
 )} 
 
 152 
 
 Toface 
 
 168 
 
Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 EN PASSANT 
 
 * Look at those droll English people ! Wherever 
 they go they take fishing-rods with them,' said 
 one Frenchman to another as we boarded the 
 packet at Newhaven. 
 
 The sea was calm as an inland pool, and we 
 had a quick passage to Dieppe. At last my wife 
 and I were on the way to Spain. The plan of 
 travel had been discussed for months, during a 
 winter sojourn among the Norfolk Broads, and 
 preparations made for an unconventional tour 
 of the Peninsula. And now we were really upon 
 the road to the land of sunshine and vines, the 
 country of Cervantes and Velazquez, the home 
 of the mingled races of the East and the North, 
 the romantic Iberians. We were going to leave 
 the beaten path whenever it was possible, to stay 
 
 I 
 
2.V -i, ♦;Fislung. and Travel in Spain 
 
 y^.: i^', **: \' ' * V- . " 
 
 in mountain villages, to explore the river gorges 
 with our fly-rods in our hands, and to study the 
 manners and customs of rural Spain in the re- 
 motest regions of the kingdom. 
 
 Perhaps it was that delightful book *Wild 
 Spain,' by Chapman and Buck, that first turned 
 my thoughts toward the possibilities of sport with 
 the rod in the Peninsula. It is true that these 
 authors devoted most of their time to shooting ; 
 but a part of their volume treats upon trout- 
 fishing. Their account of angling in Spanish 
 rivers of the northern provinces is not highly 
 encouraging to the fisherman. The writers 
 appear to have fished occasionally by way of 
 passing a few hours, when there was no oppor- 
 tunity for bustard or partridge shooting, or in the 
 summer months when the gun was laid aside. 
 They had a rather doleful experience of some 
 much-poached rivers. Upon this subject I have 
 something to say in my pages. At any rate, in 
 spite of Spanish poachers, and the assertion of 
 a London fishing-tackle dealer, who said that 
 the trout of Spain were very small and not too 
 plentiful, we resolved to see the rivers, fish in 
 them, and judge for ourselves concerning their 
 sport-giving capacity. 
 
En passant 3 
 
 The * Angler's Diary' gave a more hopeful 
 account of fishing in Spain. I learned from 
 this annual that one might travel cheaply in 
 the Basque Provinces, Asturias, and Galicia, and 
 obtain in some parts very good fishing from the 
 end of February until the close of the season. 
 There was also the probability of salmon and 
 sea-trout-fishing in certain of the Biscayan rivers. 
 Some articles in the Field were useful in the 
 information which they gave upon several streams 
 of the North of Spain. But, as I had arranged 
 to contribute an account of my Spanish fishing 
 experiences to that journal, I determined to seek 
 new waters, and to furnish a fresh narrative of 
 sport. 
 
 Only the keen fisherman can sympathize to the 
 full with the zest with which one seeks adventures 
 upon a new river. The pleasure is great when 
 the angler finds himself for the first time on the 
 bank of an untried stream in his own country. 
 It is an even greater enjoyment to roam by a 
 riverside in a new land, and to test one's skill 
 with the trout of foreign waters. The complete 
 change in one's environment is in itself fascinating ; 
 and there is a charm in the thought that trout, 
 uninstructed through long generations in the arts 
 
 I — 2 
 
4 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 of the wet-fly, dry-fly, minnow, and clear-water 
 worm anglers, may await you in sequestered pools 
 of wild and, perchance, unexploited streams. 
 
 Speculation of this kind occupied my thoughts 
 as we rolled slowly in the train through the green, 
 monotonous levels of France to the first glimpse 
 of the majestic Pyrenees. Beyond this rocky 
 barrier was Spain, the country of our dreams. 
 We crossed the Nive and Nivelle, streams that 
 looked likely for the fly-rod, and soon the wide 
 estuary of the Bidasoa, the first Spanish river, 
 came in sight. This stream of mountain birth 
 waters a series of beautiful valleys in the province 
 of Navarre, till it merges into the tidal waters 
 between Hendaye, the last town in France, and 
 Irun, the first town within Spanish territory. 
 
 My wife took the bundle of rods, which had 
 aroused the mirth of the Frenchmen at Newhaven, 
 and I carried the two bags to the Customs office. 
 The officials rummaged the contents of the bags, 
 and paid marked attention to the fishing-gear. 
 
 * What is it ?' I understood the officer to 
 say. 
 
 * Canas para pesca ' (Rods for fishing), I replied, 
 timidly uttering my imperfect Spanish. 
 
 He handed me back the bundle, and a porter, 
 
En passant 5 
 
 in a striped blouse and a blue Basque cap, inti- 
 mated that he would carry our luggage to the 
 fonda (hotel). We stepped out of the railway- 
 station, and scented the salt water of the blue Bay 
 of Biscay. The porter gesticulated, and talked 
 in his native tongue. A group of loungers stared 
 curiously, wondering whether we were French or 
 English folk ; and we came to the fonda, odorous 
 of garlic and olive-oil, with a dimly-lighted dining- 
 room. 
 
 It was early March and chilly. The sole 
 means of warming the house was a copper 
 brazier of smouldering charcoal on the staircase 
 landing. A real caballero was pacing up and 
 down, wrapped in his capa (cloak). Yes, and 
 there was the tinkle of a guitar in the street ! 
 We were indeed in Spain. A gleam from the 
 setting sun rested upon a gray peak of the 
 Pyrenees. We sat down to our first Spanish 
 dinner. There was red wine upon the table and 
 a dish of green olives. 
 
 After the meal, I questioned the landlady's son 
 about the fishing in the Bidasoa. He spoke 
 French, and told me that we must take the coach 
 for several leagues up the river, to the town of 
 San Esteban. There were trout there in abun- 
 
6 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 dance. Some were as long as your hand ; others 
 were almost as long as your forearm. For his 
 part, he had never fished; but he knew that 
 English people and a few French came to fish 
 in the Bidasoa.f 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 A WEEK ON THE BIDASOA 
 
 As I have said, the Bidasoa is the first Spanish 
 river which one crosses upon entering the Pen- 
 insula from Bordeaux. Its lovely valley will 
 dwell long in my memory. Most Englishmen 
 know of the Bidasoa through its association with 
 the Duke of Wellington's famous crossing of the 
 river with his troops during the Peninsular War. 
 Only a few of my compatriots have heard of the 
 stream as one yielding sport to the fisherman ; 
 but among those few are two or three Britons 
 who travel in the spring from their wintering 
 places in the South of France to revisit favourite 
 lengths of the charming river. 
 
 At Irun the Bidasoa widens to a fine estuary. 
 There is nothing to detain the fisherman in Irun, 
 though, if he has journeyed from Paris, he will be 
 glad to rest for a night at the hotel in the plaza. 
 Before starting up the river, let him communicate 
 
 7 
 
8 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 with the Marques Eugenio Uztdriz, at the Palacio 
 Reparacea, Oyeregui, Provincia de Navarra, Spain, 
 who receives paying guests in a fine old mansion 
 on the left bank of the Bidasoa. The palacio 
 contains several bedrooms, but now and then in 
 the fishing season there is a run of visitors. It 
 is therefore advisable to engage a room before- 
 hand. 
 
 I found these comfortable quarters by an 
 accident. Upon leaving Irun by the diligence, 
 it was our intention to stay at a riverside inn 
 about sixteen miles up the valley. But the only 
 room in the venta was occupied by an English 
 angler, and the hostess informed us that there 
 was no other accommodation for travellers for 
 several miles on the road. Fortunately, one of 
 our fellow-passengers in the coach proved a friend 
 in need. He was an officer of artillery and a 
 native of Navarre. ' If you will ride on for three 
 hours,' he said, * I will find you lodging in a 
 palace where they are used to English people.' 
 The prospect of staying in a palace was certainly 
 alluring, though I must confess that such fortune 
 seemed at first unlikely to fall to our lot after 
 setting out in the hope of obtaining quarters in 
 a rough roadside inn. However, our companion 
 
A Week on the Bidasoa 9 
 
 assured me in Spanish and French that he would 
 undertake to find us bed and board for as long as 
 we chose in a well-appointed house. And not 
 only this : he engaged to send on a messenger 
 from the next village, where the coach stayed an 
 hour, to announce our coming to the hostess at 
 the palace. 
 
 My courteous friend was as good as his word. 
 When the diligence drew up in the dark at the 
 Palacio Reparacea, two servants took possession 
 of our baggage, and the proprietor himself appeared 
 to conduct us to an enormous dining-room. A 
 quarter of an hour after our arrival we sat down 
 to a well-served dinner of five courses. By what 
 process of conjuration these preparations were so 
 speedily accomplished I am quite unable to relate. 
 The bedroom was ready, warm water was pro- 
 vided, and a neat and comely Basque girl, named 
 Maria, showed us every attention at the table. 
 The bedroom, by the way, was that wherein the 
 Iron Duke slept in the stirring days of the 
 fighting in this part of the Bidasoa Valley. 
 
 In the long room I found a visitors' book with 
 several English names in it, and some notes on 
 the fishing. A bookshelf had upon it several 
 novels with famiHar British titles. So much 
 
lo Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 for the quarters, which I can only speak of in 
 praise and remember with pleasure. As to the 
 terms per day, it is no secret that we were asked 
 the modest price of 5 pesetas — i.e., about 3s. 6d. 
 in British money. 
 
 And now for the trout -fishing. Soon after 
 breakfast next day we went out to the river, 
 which almost washes the walls of the palace, and 
 began to fish a sharp run of rough water. My 
 first capture was a samlet. I cast again, and 
 hooked a trout, a quarter-pounder, on a blue dun. 
 It was my first Spanish trout. I looked at him 
 curiously and lovingly. He was clean, plump, 
 and prettily spotted, with nothing to distinguish 
 him from our British trout. But he fought more 
 lustily than our half-pound trout ; indeed, in all 
 the Spanish waters the fish ^are surprisingly 
 strong. 
 
 We spent a very pleasant mid-day on the length 
 near the palace. The day was soft and rather 
 dull, and the trout were taking the natural flies 
 with their spring avidity. Beautiful woods sloped 
 to the river, and above them were outlying peaks 
 of the Pyrenees. The scene resembled a Scotch 
 glen. Primroses dotted the banks, and in a gleam 
 of sunshine hibernating butterflies fluttered by the 
 
A Week on the Bidasoa ii 
 
 river. During a lively rise from about twelve till 
 two I caught sixteen trout, and hooked and 
 released a number of samlets. Here, for the first 
 time, I met a Spanish rod fisherman. He spoke 
 the Basque language and a little French. His rod 
 was made of maize stalks, with a hazel switch 
 for the top, his cast was coarse, and his flies 
 clumsy and big. Still, he was keen and clever, 
 and he knew all the good runs in the river. 
 Another native, who watched me one morning 
 when I was pricking or catching a trout at every 
 cast, wrung his hands and uttered strange cries in 
 sheer excitement. 
 
 That morning gave me really fine sport for 
 about half an hour. I noticed several rises to 
 blue duns in a nice swift glide close to the 
 opposite bank. Wading in almost to the tops of 
 my waders, I was able to cast over the rising 
 trout. A jerk at the top joint of the rod and 
 a screech from the reel followed almost every cast. 
 One after another, without moving more than 
 a few yards downstream, I brought trout to the 
 net. Nine fish, weighing from 6 ounces to J pound, 
 and three fish lost, was my score in that memor- 
 able half-hour. Then suddenly the blue duns 
 vanished, and not a trout would move. I went 
 
12 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 further down the river, and took four more fish in 
 a short time. One of them was f pound, and, 
 though I held him hard, it was five minutes before 
 I could bring him to the net. 
 
 We spent a delightful week at the Palacio 
 Reparacea, and if the rain had not refused to fall 
 we should have prolonged our stay in that hospit- 
 able retreat. The river was somewhat low and 
 clear when we arrived, and each day the water 
 became lower and the weather brighter. 
 
 During a mild wet spring the Bidasoa may 
 be relied upon as a sport-giving river. I had 
 quite enough success to make me long for a few 
 days upon its banks during the coming season. 
 Sumptuous board and lodging, attention and 
 kindness, good fishing, and grand scenery, are the 
 attractions of this length of the Bidasoa. There 
 is no charge for fishing beyond the five-peseta 
 license, which must be stamped by a provincial 
 Governor. The civil guards are quick to notice a 
 strange angler on the river, and the license should 
 be obtained before beginning to fish. If the 
 license cannot be stamped at Irun, the diligence- 
 driver will bring one from Pampeluna. 
 
 For some miles above the palace the Bidasoa is 
 very rough, with stretches of tumbling water and 
 
THE RIO BIDASOA IN NAVARRE. 
 
A Week on the Bidasoa 13 
 
 many rocks in the stream. I fished upstream 
 one day, but found the exertion of scrambling too 
 severe to set against the resultant sport. For 
 wading, the best water is between the two bridges 
 near the palacio, and as far down as the little 
 town of San Esteban. Below this point I did not 
 venture. Judging by my observation during the 
 diligence ride from Irun, I should say that there 
 are several miles of fishable water between that 
 town and Oyeregui. 
 
 After my article on the Bidasoa had appeared in 
 the Field, a disappointed angler, who adopted the 
 lugubrious nom de guerre of * Caught Nothing,* 
 wrote to that journal declaring that the river had 
 been mercilessly poached during the summer 
 following my visit to the Palacio Reparacea. 
 'Considering that the rivers in Spain,' wrote 
 this fisherman, * have been poached, dynamited, 
 night-hned and netted since prehistoric times, with- 
 out being restocked, is it reasonable to expect fish 
 of any size ?' To this pertinent query I will offer an 
 affirmative answer. I have seen, caught, handled, 
 and eaten, trout up to 2 pounds in weight from these 
 * depleted ' rivers. Other anglers have had the 
 same tangible experience, and on the authority of 
 the well-known * Angler's Diary ' published at the 
 
1 4 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 Field office, we learn that the river Sil (afterwards 
 the Minho) in GaHcia, contains trout as large 
 as those of almost any river in the world. 
 
 Wherever trout are found, there also will 
 poachers pursue their arts. Let that always be 
 accepted as an axiom, and accepted with philo- 
 sophic patience, though not with indifference. 
 We need not travel to Spain to find the illicit 
 fisherman. The records of salmon-poaching in 
 the United Kingdom during the exceptionally 
 good seasons of 1903 and 1904, as set down in 
 the newspapers, are sufficient proof that the illegal 
 taking of spawning fish is a widespread and 
 profitable industry. It is useless to blink this 
 plain evidence, and to suppose that the reported 
 cases of poaching represent one-half of the full 
 extent of the depredations. 
 
 Most poaching is undetected. It is success- 
 fully conducted throughout Christendom and 
 elsewhere. The receivers and organizers in our 
 orderly and law-abiding nation are often among 
 the * respectable ' members of the community. I 
 am myself in a position to mention the names of 
 a doctor, a solicitor, and a schoolmaster, who are 
 * in ' with a powerful and well-managed syndicate 
 of salmon-poachers. The ignorance of riparian 
 
A Week on the Bidasoa 15 
 
 owners, members of boards of conservators, and 
 fishermen generally, concerning the nefarious de- 
 struction of fish in their own districts is pathetic. 
 How often I have heard this formula : * Oh no, 
 there's no poaching here ! The rivers are too 
 well watched.' Now, grant that two keepers, 
 both alert and able-bodied, are told off to watch 
 a four-mile length of a river : is it possible for 
 these men to guard every pool of that stream by 
 day and night during every season of the year ? 
 You may preserve, restock, scrupulously observe 
 the size limit, kill all coarse fish, and employ a 
 small regiment of water-bailiffs ; but there will 
 still be poaching more or less. 
 
 My friend * Caught Nothing ' asserts that the 
 Spanish rivers have been poached almost to the 
 extermination of trout, and he maintains that the 
 Bidasoa will be * troutless' in two years. Why in 
 two years ? The Bidasoa has suffered this alleged 
 depleting process for centuries. No doubt during 
 every dry summer for 300 or 400 years the 
 natives have netted, night-lined, groped, and what 
 not. And yet in 1902 anglers could still contrive 
 to make a very fair basket of trout on any favour- 
 able day during the spring months. 
 
 No one will say that the famous Dove is a 
 
1 6 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 doomed river. It is true that the trout are ten- 
 fold more wary than their ancestors of Izaak 
 Walton's day ; but the stream still produces its 
 millions of fry every year, and there are fishermen 
 who know how to lure the wily trout of that 
 classic river. Yet I am told, on very good 
 authority, that the upper reaches of the Dove 
 were systematically poached all the year round in 
 the days of our grandfathers. You can diminish 
 the number of fish in a stream by netting and 
 other illegal methods, but depletion is another 
 matter. Even the use of dynamite will not 
 deplete rivers with big and deep pools, such as 
 alternate with shallows on the larger streams of 
 Spain. 
 
 All the deplorable and abominable practices of 
 the poachers of Spain or any other country work 
 great harm, and threaten the angler's right to 
 enjoy his inoffensive recreation. But the greater 
 evils are river pollution and the modern system 
 of field drainage. From these destructive forces 
 trout cannot escape. Spain is, happily, almost 
 free from poisoned and contaminated waters. 
 Some of the rivers in the mining districts of the 
 North are polluted and fishless ; but in the well- 
 watered Peninsula there are thousands of miles of 
 
A Week on the Bidasoa 17 
 
 pellucid and beautiful streams, with no factories, 
 works, mines, or big cities, within leagues of their 
 lengths. Such a river is the Bidasoa in its course 
 from the mountains of Navarre to its first meeting 
 with the tidal waters. Its numberless hill tribu- 
 taries are the natural hatcheries of trout, and the 
 river possesses all the proper qualities for the pro- 
 duction of fish-life. 
 
 There are rivers in Spain that contain much 
 bigger trout. My heaviest fish was f pound, and 
 I saw none that appeared heavier, though I was 
 told that pounders are fairly common in some of 
 the rivers. The conclusion of the whole matter, 
 so far as my experience goes, is that the Bidasoa 
 gave me as much sport as I should expect in one 
 of the Welsh or Yorkshire streams of repute 
 during a week of average March weather. And 
 as regards the question of cost, the Bidasoa 
 certainly has it for cheapness when compared 
 with the most moderate of our subscription and 
 ticket waters. The fishing is free, except for 
 the license, costing about 3s.; and the charges 
 for board and lodging are certainly lower than 
 one pays in England for the less dainty cookery 
 and indifferent accommodation provided by the 
 average fishing hostelry. 
 
 2 
 
1 8 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 The venta, or roadside inn, at Yanci, lower 
 down the river, has one room to spare for fisher- 
 men. I am told that the place is clean and the 
 food presentable. An English gentleman, whose 
 name is associated with the turf, has been the 
 guest there more than once after wintering in the 
 South of France. I do not think that this angler 
 would visit Yanci if there were no trout there. 
 
 Before our departure from Oyeregui, a gentle- 
 man, with the title of Chevalier, and his wife, 
 arrived on fishing bent. He had learned about 
 the Bidasoa from a fishing-tackle manufacturer in 
 the North of England, and had travelled from 
 St. Jean de Luz to Irun by rail, and on to the 
 palacio by diligence. The new-comer gently re- 
 proved me when I told him that I had given a few 
 artificial flies to the local anglers. 
 
 * You'll teach them to fish,' he said. 
 
 * That is my intention,' I answered. ' Infect a 
 man with the passion for fly fishing, and you make 
 him a sportsman. I hope that the natives, who 
 have seen that trout can be caught by fair and 
 interesting methods, may be persuaded to become 
 fishermen instead of poachers.' 
 
 But the Chevaher was sceptical. 
 
 One afternoon my fellow-traveller, the artillery 
 
A Week on the Bidasoa 19 
 
 officer who had shewn us so much kindness on the 
 road from Irun, paid me a visit. My stock of conver- 
 sational Spanish was scantier then than at the end 
 of my six months of wandering. Still, we contrived 
 to talk upon several subjects, helping one another 
 with phrases in English, French, and Spanish. Our 
 visitor was a handsome man, with blue eyes and a 
 fair beard. In his blue boina, a cap resembling 
 the tam-o'-shanter, he looked like a * braw Scot * 
 from Perthshire. He told me that his favourite 
 sport was quail-shooting. I questioned him con- 
 cerning the wild animals and the game of the 
 district, and I learned that sangres wild-boars, 
 were preserved for hunting on an estate not far 
 from the palacio. Deer were also found in the 
 neighbourhood. 
 
 * Are there still brigands in Spain ?' I asked. 
 
 The officer smiled, and replied : 
 
 ' Yes, a few. Show me your map.* 
 
 I gave him a map of Spain, and, opening it, he 
 put his finger down near to Toledo, and then upon 
 Granada. 
 
 My friend was not a fisherman (pescador), but he 
 liked trout to eat. I offered him my morning's spoil, 
 which, with pressure, he accepted. He wished 
 that he could speak English fluently ; he had taught 
 
 2—2 
 
20 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 himself enough of the language to translate a book 
 upon botany for his daughter. With French he 
 had a perfect acquaintance, and, being a Basque by 
 birth, he spoke that strange old tongue, as well as 
 the pure Castilian Spanish. 
 
 Long live the Basques ! They are a charming, 
 hospitable, sturdy, and honest race. Their country 
 is one of noble mountains, rocky gorges, and 
 shaggy hills, wilder than Scotland's Highlands, 
 but not unlike them. In their hardiness and 
 integrity the Basques are Scottish ; in their gaiety 
 they are Irish. Their frames are usually spare, 
 and they move with a lissome grace. Treat them 
 as caballeros, and they will show you every kind- 
 ness. One of their foibles is ' patriotism.' The 
 love of one's country is everywhere commendable ; 
 but an exaggerated patriotic sense often manifests 
 itself in nations, including our own, in a prejudice 
 which is perhaps most fitly described as parochial. 
 I will say no more. The Basques are a lovable 
 folk. They have the virility and the native 
 intelligence that make for progress. Long live 
 the brave Basques in the glorious region for which 
 they have striven against foes since the time of 
 the Moors ! 
 
 We left the delightful old palacio and its 
 
A Week on the Bidasoa 21 
 
 courteous owner with reluctance. The hostess 
 hoped that we would come again. Maria took 
 our fishing-rods and bags, and a diminutive lad, a 
 foundling in the service of the Marqu6s, staggered 
 down the broad staircase under the leather trunk. 
 It was too heavy a load for those narrow shoulders 
 and thin legs. I took the trunk, in spite of 
 Maria's protests and amazement, and carried it to 
 the venta to await the coach. 
 
 A soldier on Excise duty drew near and eyed us 
 closely. I gave him a military salute, which he 
 returned. Then came the clatter of six mules' 
 hoofs upon the dusty road, and the jangling of their 
 harness bells, and the rocking, swaying vehicle drew 
 up at the door of the inn. Our traps were placed 
 on the roof of the coach, and we took our seats in 
 the interior. Maria waved her hand, the little 
 crowd of rustics smiled a farewell, the driver 
 cracked his formidable whip and cursed a mule 
 named Tia (Aunt), and we started on the long stage 
 to the venta at the head of a lonely and steep pass. 
 
 As we ascended, rain began to patter on the 
 roof of the diligence. It had come too late. I 
 sighed and thought of the freshened river, and the 
 sport that I might have enjoyed had I remained 
 for a few more days in the lovely vale of Oyeregui. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 TROUT-FISHING ON THE RIO ASON 
 
 During March, 1902, the weather throughout 
 Europe was more than usually variable. In 
 Northern Spain one day was as warm as mid- 
 summer in England, and the next cold, with a 
 north-easter blowing, and snow falling in the 
 higher regions. At Oyeregui we had a week of 
 warm weather, and upon one day, at least, the 
 heat was oppressive at noon. When we left 
 Bilbao, en route for the Rio Ason, the day was 
 gray, with tokens of rain in the sky. 
 
 I would warn fishermen not to waste their time 
 in fishing the streams in the immediate vicinity of 
 the manufacturing town of Bilbao. Ironworks 
 and mines mar the scenery near this port, and the 
 rivers are mostly polluted. On the authority of 
 the British Consul at San Sebastian — a beautiful 
 watering-place a few miles to the west of I run — 
 I learned that the river there gives no sport to 
 
 22 
 
Trout^fishing on the Rio Ason 23 
 
 the rod fisherman. The coast fishing, however, 
 should be good. Sea-bream and other fish are 
 very abundant off the rocks, and there are plenty 
 of small boats on hire. In the estuary at San 
 Sebastian I saw large shoals of fish at low-tide, 
 which looked like gray mullet. A Spaniard told 
 me that they were difficult to catch with the rod 
 and line. There is rod fishing at this place, for I 
 saw a woman collecting small crabs for bait, and 
 long lines hung along the quay to dry. 
 
 Between San Sebastian and Bilbao several 
 streams flow into the Bay of Biscay. The river 
 most noted for trout is the Deva, and while run- 
 ning by its side in the train I saw several rises on 
 one pool, and the usual fishing-nets hanging on 
 walls. A day or two might be spent on the Deva, 
 if the angler's route lies that way, as it will if he 
 travels from Irun to Bilbao. 
 
 From Bilbao to Santander is a rail way- journey 
 of a few hours. The train travelled in the sedate 
 manner to which we were growing accustomed, 
 and we were soon in a lovely valley, with rocky 
 hillsides and hamlets built on ledges. As we 
 proceeded the scenery became even finer. We 
 crossed a few streams, and drew near to a range 
 of gray, snow-capped mountains. Our com- 
 
24 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 panions were mostly Basques of the working 
 class. The men wore the customary striped 
 blouses, boinas, and cloth trousers, and for their 
 foot-wear shoes of canvas, adorned with red or 
 scarlet worsted, and soled with hemp. 
 
 There we had our first view of the Ason in its 
 upper lengths. The river rushes impetuously in a 
 series of narrow gorges, to widen into deep pools 
 and spread over gravelly shallows. It seemed 
 an ideal water for trout. Near to one of the little 
 stations we saw a pescador with a long, clumsy 
 rod, which he was using with both hands. 
 
 About a league above the tidal water of the 
 Ason, in the province of Santander, is the village 
 of Ampuero, with its stone bridge, large weir, and 
 tributary brook hurrying from the mountains. 
 Here we left the train on this dull March day, 
 bent upon fishing and research concerning the 
 rivers of this wild district of Northern Spain. 
 Most of the villages in the Peninsula possess a 
 posada, or inn, but we were dubious as to the nature 
 of the hospitality which Ampuero provides for the 
 stranger. Our doubts were, however, dispelled 
 when we ascended a broad staircase to a light 
 and clean dining-room, with large windows and 
 balconies, and encountered an elderly and most 
 
Trout-fishing on the Rio Ason 25 
 
 courteous seiiora and her pretty niece, who at once 
 made us understand that we were not the first 
 English anglers to stay in the house. Our hostess 
 then proceeded to enumerate the dishes which 
 she could provide at a cost of 5 pesetas a day, the 
 menu including fowl, meat, fish, eggs, wine, coffee, 
 and liqueurs. No one but a gourmand could 
 possibly grumble at such fare, while the price was 
 less than the cost of the poorest board and lodging 
 in an English fishing-village; so we at once de- 
 cided to take a room in the Posada Gabriele and 
 to dine at the general table. 
 
 In the afternoon a soft rain began to fall, when 
 I put on my wading-stockings and started for a 
 trial hour with the trout below the weir. The 
 weather had been hopelessly bright and fine for a 
 fortnight at least, and we had already noted the 
 clearness of the water. But there seemed the 
 likelihood of sport in the sharp stream, and, 
 putting on a cast with a March brown and a blue 
 dun, I opened the campaign, and immediately 
 caught a smolt in its silvery mail. This proved, 
 at any rate, that there were salmon in the Ason, 
 and the capture of half a dozen samlets in a few 
 minutes led one to suppose that a considerable 
 number of fish ascend the river to spawn. A 
 
26 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 deeper run yielded the first trout, one of 6 ounces, 
 which fought like a Scotch three-quarter-pounder. 
 The rain now pattered down steadily, but the 
 more it rained the better the trout rose, and for 
 twenty minutes I rose, pricked, and caught fish 
 with rapidity. One trout, which escaped by 
 leaping, was a two-pound fish, and I lost another 
 after a short fight in the rough water. 
 
 My wife had not unpacked her rod. While she 
 watched me from the bank, a group of village 
 children gathered around her. They were amazed 
 to see me standing up to my knees in the river. 
 My wife's fishing-coat of mackintosh greatly in- 
 terested them. They had never seen such a 
 garment. I learned from these youngsters that 
 there were salmon in the pool which I was fishing 
 — salmon of an extraordinary size, judging by the 
 children's estimate of their length. I carried 
 six trout back to the inn at dinner-time. The 
 biggest was just upon f pound, and the smallest 
 about 6 ounces. A steady rain set in with nightfall. 
 
 I rose early the next morning, and found that 
 more snow had fallen on the mountains, though 
 it was not lying in the valley. The river was 
 swollen and discoloured, and, worst of all, tainted 
 with melting snow. 
 
Trout^fishing on the Rio Ason 27 
 
 We went out after breakfast and tried the fly. 
 It was a hopeless case. The Ason seemed to be 
 rising, and even the worm was refused by the 
 trout. But the next day was genial, and the 
 river, though high, was in fair order for fly fishing. 
 Seiiora Lopez, of the fonda, gave us a prodigious 
 luncheon. There were three big mutton-chops, 
 half a yard of white bread, four hard-boiled eggs, 
 a piece of cream cheese, a packet of biscuits, 
 some oranges, and a pint bottle of red wine. 
 When I had carried this weight of provender, and 
 my wading-stockings, brogues, mackintosh, rod, 
 and landing-net, a couple of miles on this warm, 
 moist spring morning, I wished that our hostess 
 had been less liberal with the contents of her 
 larder. 
 
 We followed a well-made highroad, up the left 
 bank of the river, for nearly three miles. The 
 river flows close to the road, and at a pretty bend, 
 where the stream forms a series of sharps and 
 shallow pools, we crossed a meadow to the water- 
 side. Birds were twittering in the budding trees 
 fringing the stream. I saw a few blue duns sail 
 by while we arranged our tackle. One might have 
 been in Yorkshire instead of in Spain, for this 
 part of the Ason reminded me of a length of the 
 
28 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 Ure near Hackfall. No one was in sight. The 
 river was our own for the nonce. 
 
 We began to cast with three flies, a blue dun on 
 point, an orange dun for the second dropper, and 
 a March brown as an upper dropper. The orange 
 dun was a hackle ; the other flies were winged. A 
 samlet came up at my first cast, hooked himself 
 firmly, and was back in the water in a few seconds. 
 The first trout of the day fell to my wife. He 
 took the orange dun, and made a short, brave 
 fight before I netted him. We put him on the 
 spring-balance, and he weighed a little over 
 ^ pound. 
 
 Soon after this capture I took a brace of small 
 trout in a little run near the bank, and turned 
 over a bigger fish. A half-pounder took the blue 
 dun, and sundry samlets were caught and returned 
 to the river. It was now noon. We waded 
 across to an islet near a weir, and sat down among 
 the osiers to eat our luncheon. While we sat 
 there, a salmon, weighing between 8 and lo pounds, 
 leapt out of the water a few yards from the bank. 
 I was soon upon my feet, trying to lure him with 
 a sea-trout fly. But he was not to be tempted. 
 
 The afternoon gave us better sport. While 
 making a long cast across a turbulent run into the 
 
Trout^fishing on the Rio Ason 29 
 
 quieter water on the other side, I felt a fish. 
 In an instant he turned his head downstream, 
 entered the foaming run, and rushed away at a 
 tremendout pace. Nearly 30 yards of line left 
 the reel before the fish checked. My wife waded 
 in, took the landing-net, and anxiously watched 
 my bent rod, while I recovered line foot by 
 foot. 
 
 * Have you seen him ?' she whispered. 
 
 * No, but he feels Hke a four-pounder in this 
 stream,' I said, trying to work the fish towards the 
 bank. 
 
 Presently the trout jumped. He was a big 
 golden creature, but not 4 pounds in weight. 
 I judged that he would need careful holding with 
 my drawn cast and small hook. 
 
 This was one of the wildest trout I have ever 
 played. It may seem absurd, but it was nearly 
 ten minutes before I brought him into the dead 
 water near a sandy beach. At no moment in the 
 struggle was I able to get below my fish. If I 
 pursued him, he went further down the stream, 
 and threatened to take me out of my depth. The 
 river - bed was rough, and there were some 
 treacherous holes. The trout jumped more than 
 once ; in short, he tried every trick known to an 
 
30 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 intelligent fish. At last I drew him gently on to 
 the sand and seized him. He was very brilliant, 
 clean, plump, and in the pink of condition. He 
 weighed ij pounds. 
 
 Stimulated by this success, we went up the river 
 to another run, where we found both trout and 
 samlets on the rise. The latter were certainly 
 more abundant than the trout, but a few more 
 half-pound fish were dropped into the bag. By this 
 time the sun was low and the rise was over. So 
 we took our rods to pieces, drank the last glass of 
 the thin, sharp wine, and started for Ampuero 
 along the right bank. This is the most picturesque 
 side of the stream. A little path rises and sinks 
 along the rough hillside, where many beautiful 
 ferns grow among the rocks and bogs. In some 
 parts the walking is not too safe, for the path is 
 narrow and slippery, and there are sombre deep 
 pools below the cliff. 
 
 Our catch of trout was spread out for the 
 inspection of the senora, her son and niece. They 
 expressed astonishment at our skill. ' Did the 
 senora catch the big one ?' My wife said * No.* 
 But was she not the first mujer pesca (woman 
 fisher) who had ever been seen or heard of in 
 Ampuero ? Had not her reputation already 
 
Tfout^fishing on the Rio Ason 31 
 
 reached the surrounding villages ? Of course, 
 it was the senora who caught the biggest trout. 
 * Bueno ! bueno !' The good hostess patted my 
 wife's cheek. We presented the landlady with the 
 big trout and some of the others. The remainder 
 were fried for ourselves. 
 
 The average weight of the trout in the Ason is 
 J pound, but the strength and gameness of the 
 fish are astonishing, and I would rather catch 
 these lively half-pounders than fish of double 
 their weight in certain English and Welsh rivers. 
 Possessing every natural advantage for the plenti- 
 ful production of trout, the Ason is well stocked 
 with fish, and it is lucky that the river is pro- 
 ductive, for the natives have no notion of preserva- 
 tion. The chief injury to the river is caused by 
 the use of nets in some of the salmon-pools, and 
 by the capture of immature fish in poke-nets 
 during low-water in the summer. Nevertheless, 
 I know subscription waters in Great Britain that 
 are considered good lengths, and yet yield no 
 better baskets than the Ason, which is free to 
 everyone. We were often followed along the 
 riverside by a group of excited spectators, who 
 greatly coveted our English -made tackle, and 
 sometimes begged for moscas — i.e., flies. 
 
32 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 The Spanish angler pursues his sport under 
 such disadvantages that it is no great wonder if 
 if he adopts nefarious modes of fish-catching. A 
 fly-rod can hardly be bought in Spain, and no 
 artificial flies are made, except those home-made, 
 badly-tied lures employed by the village fisher- 
 men. It is, therefore, easy enough to treble the 
 take of the native angler, who flogs the streams 
 with a piece of cord tied to a maize-stalk, and 
 uses a coarse cast armed with an impossible fly 
 on a big hook. During a week's fishing we met 
 four or five fishermen, but the best bag any of 
 them could show was a brace of trout. They 
 catch a large number of samlets, which, needless 
 to state, go into their baskets. 
 
 This destruction of salmon-fry may cause the 
 angler to inquire whether salmon-fishing with the 
 rod is worth a trial in the Ason. In spite of the 
 utterly irrational system of netting in the river, 
 a very fair number of salmon are taken with a rod 
 and Une. We were too early for a good run of 
 fish, but a few salmon had been caught before our 
 arrival, and one leapt from the water one day in 
 a pool which we were fishing for trout. 
 
 The only sporting angler of the district, a very 
 courteous Spanish gentleman, informed us that he 
 
Trout^fishing on the Rio Ason 33 
 
 sometimes caught both salmon and sea-trout later 
 in the season. He recommended big flies for 
 salmon, and said that many of 25 pounds were 
 taken in the nets, and occasionally on the rod. 
 The salmon - rights on about four miles of the 
 river above Ampuero are owned by the Alcalde, or 
 Mayor, of the little town of Gibaja. This gentle- 
 man sold the right of fishing with nets by auction 
 three years ago, and it was acquired by four 
 residents in Ampuero. One of these is the son 
 of our hostess at the Posada Gabriele, and from 
 him I learned that the best runs of salmon are 
 during the summer months. 
 
 Now, although four speculators consider it 
 worth their while to pay about ^^40 a year for 
 the fishing -right on this length, they express 
 extreme astonishment at the folly of returning 
 samlets to the river, and apparently take no 
 interest in preserving the water. Whenever the 
 villagers saw us throw in samlets, they implored 
 us not to waste fish, and held up their hands in 
 wonderment at our stupidity. Stranger still, the 
 aforesaid senor of the inn was quite unmoved 
 when his mother begged us to bring home all the 
 samlets for the larder. Truly, all that is fish 
 comes to the net of the Spanish pescador. My 
 
 3 
 
34 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 readers will doubtless imagine that the result 
 of such wasteful practices is decimation of the 
 salmon, but it is not so. A great number of 
 salmon spawn in the river, and samlets literally 
 swarm. In a few hours one day I caught sixty- 
 five samlets in a short length of the Ason. When 
 I told the people of the inn that I had returned 
 all the pequenos, or little fish, to the water, their 
 disappointment was almost pathetic. It was 
 useless to attempt to convince them that they 
 were foolish to rent a part of the river, and at 
 the same time to encourage the destruction of 
 immature fish. 
 
 They left a note on the table after breakfast one 
 day, begging us to bring all fish to the house. It 
 was Easter week, and fish was in demand for the 
 table. 
 
 There was a tobacco- shop in the village, kept 
 by a senora. This woman was much interested in 
 our movements. 
 
 * Do you sell your fish ?' she inquired. 
 I shook my head. What eccentricity, to spend 
 eight hours of the day, standing for the most of 
 the time up to one's thighs in a swift stream, 
 in early spring, catching a few trout purely for 
 recreation ! The senora could not understand 
 
Trout^fishing on the Rio Ason 35 
 
 such madness. And then we actually threw in 
 the pequenos. Ah, what waste of good fish, when 
 there were so many pobres (poor folk) about. 
 Nevertheless, we appeared to be harmless in our 
 lunacy. She called her son, a fair-haired youth 
 with blue eyes, and seemed pleased to observe 
 that, like the English senora, he was blond and 
 not swarthy. Fair-haired Basques are not very 
 common. 
 
 A few miles below Ampuero is the village of 
 Limpias, on the right bank of the Ason. The 
 tide is felt as far up as this point, and a mile or so 
 down the river expands to a beautiful estuary. 
 We took train to Limpias one day, and fished 
 upstream. It was bright and warm, with a glare 
 on the water, and I only succeeded in hooking a 
 few samlets. 
 
 The run below the bridge at Ampuero, for about 
 a mile down, is full of good trout. I rarely failed 
 to rise and catch fish in this length, which has 
 a firm gravel bed and is free from overhanging 
 boughs. Unfortunately, the hungry samlets will 
 not allow the trout to take your flies on certain 
 days, but these pests are not always on the feed. 
 
 With grief I relate that many good fish in this 
 river and in others of Northern Spain are alive 
 
 3—2 
 
36 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 to-day through the fact that my small hooks 
 would not hold them in their frenzied rushes in 
 heavy water. Misled by the counsel that only 
 the smallest flies and lightest casts will kill trout 
 in Spanish rivers, I had brought a stock of brook- 
 trout flies and fine gut for brown trout, and bigger 
 flies and stouter casts for salmon and sea-trout. 
 What I lacked was medium -sized blue duns, and 
 these were not to be obtained in the country. 
 Again and again big trout broke away from my 
 tiny hooks, and twice I lost fish of over 3 pounds, 
 after a painfully cautious humouring towards the 
 net. Until fresh flies arrived from England I 
 endured a dreary repetition of these defeats, and 
 only in the interest of brother anglers do I point 
 out the fact and the cause of failure. Catching a 
 chalk -stream trout with a midge fly and a gos- 
 samer cast is one thing, but playing a two-pound 
 Spanish trout with the same tackle in runs that 
 almost carry you off your legs is a very different 
 matter. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 A GOOD DAY 
 
 The shrieks and groans of the ungreased axles of 
 an ox-cart awoke me one morning during our stay 
 on the Ason. I went on to the wooden balcony, 
 and noted that the soil in the garden had been 
 darkened by a night's rain. A soft westerly breeze 
 was blowing. It was a fishing morning. 
 
 About nine o'clock we started up the river by 
 the rough path on the right bank. The drenched 
 earth had an aromatic scent. Birds were singing 
 in the tender green of the foliage on the slopes. 
 We sat down and put on our wading-stockings by 
 the side of a long pool. A trout rose repeatedly 
 under a bough near the bank, and I was impatient 
 to throw a fly over him. 
 
 To-day I put on a medium cast, such as would 
 scare a trout in the Derbyshire Wye or Dove, for 
 I had suffered much through breakages of my 
 
 37 
 
38 Fishing and Travel Hn Spain 
 
 fine-drawn gut. I saw the feeding trout rise once 
 again, and with some difficulty I let my point blue 
 dun swim down to the bough that dipped to the 
 stream. There was a tiny dimple on the water, a 
 tightening of the line, and I was playing a fish. 
 He was soon beaten and brought to the net, a 
 trout of about lo ounces. 
 
 * A good beginning,' I said. 
 
 We proceeded about a quarter of a mile, and 
 reached a run flowing into a swirling pool. The 
 bank on our side was pebbly, and there were no 
 trees to interfere with casting. On either side of 
 the tumbling water were oily-looking glides. The 
 river had an amber stain in it. 
 
 I began to cast, and very soon pricked a fish. 
 Then came a grievous mishap. At the end of the 
 run one of my droppers, an orange dun, was seized 
 by a huge trout. When I struck he bounded into 
 the air, a glorious yellow and brown fish, looking 
 almost as big as a salmon. I gave him line, and 
 he bored across the river towards the opposite 
 bank. At this point in the fight he began to tug 
 viciously. Something snapped. I wound in a 
 limp line and muttered grimly. The fine gut of 
 the orange dun had given way ! Well, such is 
 the uncertainty of human destiny 1 I had lost a 
 
A Good Day 39 
 
 record trout. Perhaps he weighed 4 or 5 pounds. 
 At the least he was a three-pound fish. 
 
 Meanwhile my wife had risen several trout and 
 caught a small one. Evidently the trout were 
 hungry. I lost no time, put on another fly, and 
 cast again. And again, in a few seconds, I was 
 playing a trout almost as heavy as the one that I 
 had just lost. The fight was short and furious. 
 I saw my fish roll over in the foaming water 
 and disappear, while my line sank slack in the 
 stream. At this second defeat I was too per- 
 turbed to even mutter. I sat down, took a sip 
 of wine, and smoked a pipe of the coarse, dry 
 Havana tobacco that they sell in Spain. Pipe- 
 smokers are rare in that country. 
 
 Never mind : there are more trout in the run. 
 Why not try them with a big fly? I found a 
 partridge and green sea-trout fly in my book, and 
 put this upon point. Casting upstream, I carefully 
 worked the edges of the run. I may mention here 
 that we always fished with the wet fly in these 
 turbulent rivers. In a few minutes I was re- 
 warded. A pretty pounder was in the net. I con- 
 tinued to cast in the same run, and in ten minutes 
 or so I had netted six trout, varying in weight 
 from J pound to i pound. I also lost a pound fish. 
 
40 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 The sea-trout fly did splendid execution that 
 day. If ever I am fortunate enough to fish the 
 Ason in a spring freshet, may I have a good store 
 of the partridge and green with me! It killed 
 more fish than all the March browns, blue duns, 
 olive duns, and other flies, put together. The 
 trout took it with a bang and a splash, and 
 followed it with intense curiosity. Alas! I had 
 but one of these flies in my book. I am not an 
 advocate of that sometimes deadly lure called 
 the Alexandra, but I fancy that the Ason trout 
 would find it irresistible. The Devon minnow 
 brought no success in this river, though I found 
 it kill well in the Leon rivers. I rolled over one 
 fish with the minnow in the A«on, but the trout 
 seemed such free risers, in suitable weather, that 
 I kept to the fly. 
 
 Samlets and smolts gave us very little trouble 
 this day. The trout were in a charming humour 
 for about three hours. Then the rise was over. 
 I cannot account for the reason, but the fish 
 ceased to feed, and during the afternoon we 
 caught very few. The big run, where we had 
 such a lively morning, is about two miles up, 
 and is best fished from the left bank. It is not 
 necessary to wade there. The bank is an ideal 
 
A Good Day 41 
 
 casting-place. There is another fine stream, full 
 of trout, just above the railway-bridge. It can be 
 fished from either bank. On the left bank is 
 a projecting rock above some circling deep water. 
 Standing on this point, my wife and I caught 
 several good trout one afternoon. While my 
 wife was playing a fish, two caballeros hurried 
 from the road across the strip of sward, and 
 stood to watch the sport. They had never seen 
 a woman fishing. 
 
 * Bravo, bravo, senora!' exclaimed one of the 
 spectators, a handsome Basque of the swarthy 
 type. 
 
 He applauded with his hands, and, raising his 
 hat, made a graceful bow. My wife presented 
 him with the trout which she had just netted. 
 The caballero beamed, bowed again, and accepted 
 the fish con mucha gracias. If he knew nothing of 
 angling, he had learned how to carry a trout, for 
 he cut a twig and inserted it in the fish's gills and 
 out at the mouth. It seems that fish are carried 
 in this way in all parts of the globe, either upon 
 a string or twig. 
 
 Upon this good day on the Ason we caught 
 over two dozen trout, including eight or nine of 
 about a pound in weight. I will say no more of 
 
42 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 our lamentable losses of bigger fish. We also 
 returned quite a dozen small trout to the water. 
 Could we have afforded more time, I have no 
 doubt that our sport on the Ason would have 
 been far better. Just as we were beginning to 
 know the river, it was time to move on to a fresh 
 district. We had some hundreds of miles to 
 travel during our tour, and, as we wished to gain 
 a general view of delightful Spain, our sojourns 
 were necessarily brief. 
 
 I saw no coarse fish in the Ason, except min- 
 nows. These are fairly common near Ampuero, 
 and no doubt they help to fatten the big trout. 
 The worst enemy of the fish of this grand river is 
 man. Happily, the stream is mostly unnetable, 
 but small nets doubtless work mischief in the 
 tributaries in dry summers. Still, what a fine 
 trout river it is ! It is better than any ticket 
 waters known to me in Great Britain, and can 
 hold its own with many rented lengths of our 
 noted rivers. 
 
 My opinion is that the Ason would rank high 
 among the rivers of Europe if a system of intelli- 
 gent preservation were adopted. Many English 
 salmon-anglers would willingly pay the rent of 
 the fine length at Ampuero only for rod fishing. 
 
A Good Day 43 
 
 Fortunately, the Spanish law protects salmon 
 during the spawning season, and also inhibits 
 the abominable custom of killing the fish with 
 dynamite. But there are too many nets, both in 
 the estuary and, worse still, in the middle length 
 of the river, while samlets are entirely unpro- 
 tected. As it is, the chances of sport for the rod 
 fisherman are fair, for with a heavy push of water 
 netting is out of the question, and many fish get 
 up the river during floods. If the salmon-fisher is 
 on the spot at the right time, he may reckon on 
 catching salmon below either of these weirs on 
 this length of the Ason. 
 
 Permission was granted to me to fish for salmon 
 on the condition that I gave up all fish taken. 
 No angler could object to these terms, as the 
 fishing costs nothing, and the sport is as good 
 as one can expect in some highly-rented waters 
 of the United Kingdom. Sea-trout begin to run 
 in March, but they are not very plentiful. My 
 Spanish friend, who, by the way, was the proud 
 possessor of a complete rig-out of English tackle, 
 said that he had taken sea-trout of 5 pounds. 
 He also informed me that the biggest brown 
 trout rise freely early in February, and during 
 the first mild days he caught many good fish. 
 
44 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 Our success with the trout of the Ason would 
 have been better if snow had not fallen and thawed 
 on the mountains during our stay at Ampuero. 
 The river was more or less tainted with snow- 
 broth every day, and for one day it was in high 
 flood and very turbid. Still, we enjoyed quite as 
 good sport as one can hope for in English water 
 with a high reputation, even under favourable 
 atmospheric conditions. Whenever the sky was 
 dull and the wind blowing from the west, the 
 trout rose very readily to the fly. We seldom 
 caught fish of less than 6 ounces, while half- 
 pound fish could always be counted upon in any 
 of the runs, and bigger trout were by no means 
 scarce. I was glad to find that the meshes 
 of the salmon-nets were large enough to allow 
 trout up to J pound to escape. It may be 
 supposed that the nets account for many trout, 
 but that is not the case. These strong trout 
 frequent the heaviest streams of the river, which 
 are never netted for salmon, and we caught our 
 best fish in the roughest water. 
 
 The Ason is a beautiful river, recalling many 
 romantic streams of Scotland and Wales. The 
 river must be waded with caution. Some parts 
 of the banks are very overgrown with tall, dense 
 
A RUN ON THE ASON. 
 
A Good Day 45 
 
 heath, alders, and briars, and certain runs are 
 almost unapproachable. But there are many 
 wide shallows which afford perfect water for 
 the fly fisher. The whole length of the Ason 
 is free to trout - anglers who provide them- 
 selves with a fishing license, costing 5 pesetas 
 (about 3s.). 
 
 I gathered from the good people at the inn 
 that there is excellent sea-fishing along the coast 
 to the north and north-east of Ampuero. Santona, 
 Laredo, and Castrourdiales, are little towns upon 
 the sea, all within reach of the village. Ampuero 
 and Marron are twin villages on the Ason between 
 Bilbao and Santander. They are in the east of 
 the rugged and well -watered province of San- 
 tander, amongst the Cantabrian Mountains. 
 
 I tried to buy some artificial flies in Bilbao. 
 Fishing-tackle of a sort is to be purchased at a 
 toy-bazaar in that town. I purchased a few flies 
 from curiosity. They were of French make, big, 
 and shockingly dressed. Each fly was mounted 
 on a piece of cardboard, with its name printed 
 beneath it, and the month of the year and time of 
 the day when it would prove most fatal to trout. 
 I have not used these flies. They might attract 
 bass, and possibly unsophisticated chub. As to 
 
46 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 the time of the twenty-four hours when they 
 would be most likely not to terrify trout, I should 
 say between eleven and twelve on a dark, windy 
 night. In discoloured water they might be pos- 
 sibly mistaken for small fry by an exceptionally 
 hungry pike. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 TROUT AND TRAVEL IN THE PROVINCE OF 
 SANTANDER 
 
 We were by this time growing accustomed to the 
 ways of Spanish people. Patience and politeness 
 are two qualities that the visitor to Spain should 
 carefully cultivate. Do not suppose that the host 
 of the hotel intends to slight you when he sends up 
 your dinner an hour after the time at which it was 
 promised. Punctuality is not considered a virtue 
 of extreme importance in Spain ; therefore always 
 allow plenty of time * for grace.' Your train may 
 start five minutes before the advertised time, or it 
 may arrive half an hour later. It is a safe plan 
 to be at the railway-station at least thirty minutes 
 before the time announced for the departure of a 
 train. 
 
 Before we had been many weeks in the country, 
 we began to sympathize sincerely with those un- 
 happy royal personages who endeavour to avoid 
 
 47 
 
48 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 the curiosity and the acclamations of crowds by 
 traveUing as plain Mr. Brown or Mrs. Smith. 
 To use an Americanism, we were * as good as a 
 circus' to the rural folk. The chief interest 
 centred in my wife, who was known as * mujer 
 pesca' — i.e., fishing- woman ; but, of course, I 
 shared in the reflected glory. We encountered 
 so much kindness and courtesy that it seems 
 ungracious to complain of the amused curiosity 
 which we aroused. I will say, however, that there 
 are parts of the United Kingdom where a woman 
 in wading-stockings would have to endure down- 
 right rudeness from the populace. 'Arry and 
 his companions, when enjoying *a jolly Bank 
 Holiday ' in their characteristic rational and re- 
 fined manner, have even found my waders and 
 fishing-hat a cause for loud and prolonged 
 laughter. 
 
 If a woman wishes to sin by attiring herself in 
 a costume adapted to the pursuit of angling, she 
 will, on the whole, meet with more charity in 
 Spain than in Great Britain. The reason is 
 obvious. In the remoter regions of the Peninsula 
 of Spain and Portugal, the apparition of a lady 
 who wears a hat, a plain tweed skirt cut short, 
 and boots with decent soles to them, is so ex- 
 
Trout and Travel in Santander 49 
 
 tremely rare that wading-stockings and a fishing- 
 rod only put the finishing touch, as it were, to an 
 extraordinary guise. The sheer audacity of the 
 wearer of such habiliments almost disarms rude- 
 ness of comment. It is terribly unconventional 
 for the Spanish woman of the middle and upper 
 classes to appear abroad without powdering her 
 features. She may upon appropriate occasion 
 wear a hat, if she is in the fashionable set, but it 
 must be a floppy Parisian hat, and not one of the 
 general utility type, such as British and American 
 ladies wear while travelling in country parts. 
 
 An Englishwoman is, therefore, sure to be re- 
 garded as an eccentric personage, let her dress 
 how she will. My wife and I wore boinas when 
 we were fishing, but it was impossible to conceal 
 the fact that we were foreigners. The very curs 
 could not be tricked, and I believe that the 
 grave, suffering, patient draught oxen, with their 
 sagacious brown eyes, knew us at once for sham 
 Basques. 
 
 It was sometimes necessary to observe a close 
 secrecy concerning our movements. We pre- 
 ferred to fish where there was no risk of hooking 
 an interested seiiora in her dusky hair, or playing 
 a lively chico (boy) with a blue dun fast in his 
 
 4 
 
50 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 blouse. One day when I was wading in the 
 Ason, a lad watched me throw in several samlets. 
 Presently he took off his boots, rolled up his 
 trousers, and came up to within a few feet of 
 where I was standing, begging me to give him the 
 samlets. As he was an intelligent and keen boy, 
 who sometimes fished with an enormously long 
 home-made rod, I gave him my light, ten-foot 
 fly-rod, and allowed him to fish the run. To his 
 great enjoyment, he caught a small trout at the 
 first cast, and getting amongst a shoal of samlets, 
 he had lively sport for a few minutes. I en- 
 deavoured to instil a few ideas upon sportsmanlike 
 angling into his callow mind, but I am afraid 
 that he is still catching samlets for his mother's 
 frying-pan. 
 
 The importunity of an old peasant man, who 
 followed us one day, was somewhat annoying. 
 He chiefly favoured my wife with his attentions, 
 and whenever she hooked a samlet or undersized 
 trout, the expression of his wrinkled countenance 
 changed from hope to dread, and from dread to 
 bitter chagrin, when she returned the fish to the 
 river. * Aqui, aqui !' (Here, here !) he cried, when 
 a wriggling samlet was being taken from the 
 hook. And, holding out both hands, he implored 
 
Trout and Travel in Santander 51 
 
 the senora not to waste good fish by throwing 
 them back into the river. 
 
 I noted in one of the Spanish newspapers that 
 a shopkeeper of San Sebastian was prepared to 
 supply customers with * apparatus for the lawful 
 taking of salmon.' This should be a sign that 
 there are some fishermen in Spain who prefer the 
 rod and line to poaching appliances for the capture 
 of salmon. I hope their number will increase. 
 The State is not yet alive to the advantages that 
 would result from a more stringent enforcement 
 of the ley de pesca, or fishing law. In a few years 
 several of the overpoached rivers of Spain might 
 be improved so as to excel almost any river in 
 Great Britain. It would be difficult, in any 
 country of the globe, to find finer natural con- 
 ditions for the production of salmon, sea-trout, 
 and brown trout, than in the Peninsula of Spain 
 and Portugal. 
 
 Although nets of various kinds are employed in 
 all the rivers, trout still teem in many of their 
 lengths. The deep, strong Ason, for example, 
 holds more fish than many streams in our own 
 country, whereon the charge for a day's fishing is 
 half a crown or five shillings. Even the Besaya 
 and Saja, two rivers condemned by the authors of 
 
 4—2 
 
52 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 * Wild Spain,' still yield quite as good sport as 
 one may expect to find in the average open, or 
 even the ordinary ticket, water in England. This 
 is not optimism, but plain evidence derived from 
 the careful observation and experience of one 
 v^ho has fished in Wales, Yorkshire, Derbyshire, 
 Devonshire, and Scotland, in streams good, bad, 
 and indifferent. I think that, if the reader will 
 bear with me to the end, he will agree that 
 Spain has great fascination for the angler, and 
 that when the people learn the real value of their 
 splendid salmon and trout rivers, the country 
 will be able to vie with Norway as a fishing- 
 resort. 
 
 Our next river was the Besaya, which waters 
 the central district of the province of Santander. 
 At the little town of Torrelavega, where we stayed, 
 the Besaya is joined by the Saja, the former river 
 being called by the natives el Rio Grande, or 
 the Big River. Trap nets are set in almost 
 every run of these streams in the neighbourhood 
 of Torrelavega, and big sweep nets are employed 
 in the pools by the native pescadores. There are, 
 however, stretches of heavy water that baffle the 
 netsmen, and here it is possible to catch a few 
 good trout with the fly or minnow. In one of 
 
Trout and Travel in Santander 53 
 
 these runs I hooked a very big trout, which looked 
 about 4 pounds in weight when it jumped from 
 the water. But at the second rush it broke the 
 gut of the dropper fly, and gained its freedom. 
 The result of a day's steady fishing was meagre 
 — seven trout from J pound to f pound. I may 
 state that the weather was hot, the sky cloud- 
 less, and the river very clear. Still, the outlook 
 is not very encouraging at Torrelavega, though 
 the Besaya is worth a trial if it happens to lie on 
 the fisherman's route to other waters. There is 
 a decent fonda in the town, within ten minutes' 
 walk of the confluence of the rivers. The host 
 speaks French and a little English. 
 
 I must say, however, that we only spent two 
 days at Torrelavega, and that both days were 
 unsuitable for successful fly fishing. We are in- 
 doors at the time of the evening rise, when no 
 doubt we might have taken a few more trout. In 
 one of the pools of the Saja, I saw several big 
 trout rising, and my wife hooked and lost a very 
 big fish, possibly a salmon, in a swirling place 
 between two rocks. 
 
 The river scenery in this locality is of a softer 
 character than that of Ampuero ; but it is far from 
 tame, and the pueblo of Torrelavega is exceedingly 
 
54 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 picturesque. Higher up, these streams may be 
 less harried by the netsmen. They have all the 
 characteristics of trout rivers, and v^ould probably 
 repay exploration, and afford some baskets of fish 
 early in the season. There appeared to be a large 
 number of samlets in the Besaya. 
 
 From Torrelavega we went by rail to Renedo, 
 a queer little village on the Rio Pas, which has a 
 course parallel to that of the Besaya, and flows 
 into the Bay of Biscay, a few leagues to the east 
 of the latter river. Renedo is easily reached from 
 Santander by the railway. I can speak highly of 
 the Pas as a trout river. Both above and below 
 Renedo the river abounds with trout. Fish are 
 perhaps more abundant upstream than below the 
 weir near the railway-bridge, but there is no 
 scarcity of trout in any part of the stream that we 
 visited. Quarter-pound trout swarmed on some 
 of the shallows, and the big runs were full of fish 
 up to I pound. 
 
 Our arrival with bags and fishing-rods created 
 the same keen interest as that which attended 
 our advent at other villages in Northern Spain. 
 ' There is no inn here,' explained an obliging 
 cavalry officer, who was waiting for the diligence 
 which runs to a spa some leagues up the river. 
 
Trout and Travel in Santander 55 
 
 At any rate, there was the prospect of a meal, for 
 the station was provided with a small restaurant, 
 so we sat down in the little room and ordered 
 dinner. Thanks to the officer, the good dame, 
 Amalia Macorra, who kept the fonda, was per- 
 suaded to give us a room in her house, and to 
 supply us with meals at the station, an arrange- 
 ment that served us admirably, and in spite of 
 the asseverations of the cavalry Captain that we 
 might expect the privations of a campaign, we 
 were comfortably housed and well fed during our 
 stay at Renedo. 
 
 The river was in half-flood and discoloured on 
 the following day. I put on rather large flies, 
 and soon began to rise trout. The first fish was a 
 half-pounder, and several trout were in the bag 
 before luncheon-time. We fished upstream, and 
 came to some pretty shallows and runs full of fish, 
 which were taking the newly-hatched blue duns 
 very freely. The trout seemed more plentiful 
 than in the Rio Ason, but they were smaller. 
 We caught no trout over 10 ounces that day, 
 though two or three heavier fish fought free in 
 the rushing water. Although there were a few 
 March browns over the water, any other artificial 
 fly proved more attractive than our March browns. 
 
S6 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 The deeply-stained water was not altogether 
 favourable for fly fishing. For the first time in 
 Spain, I determined to try thoroughly the worm 
 on Stewart hooks. But we had no worms, and it 
 was some time before I had collected about a 
 dozen from the roots of a plant growing in a 
 swamp. They were, of course, very soft and un- 
 clean. However, as soon as I dropped one of 
 them into a run I felt a trout. He made a 
 plucky struggle for a fish just over ^ pound. 
 Spanish trout are hard fighters, as I have already 
 said. 
 
 Alas ! had I possessed a bag of well-scoured 
 red worms that afternoon, I am certain that our 
 catch would have astonished Seiiora Macorra of 
 the fonda. There was no doubt that the trout 
 were * on ' worms. As quickly as I threw in, I 
 hooked a trout on the Stewart hooks, baited with 
 a very unpresentable grayish worm. At length I 
 grew tired of grubbing up roots with my fingers 
 to search for bait, so the fly cast was again 
 attached to the line, and we sought an undisturbed 
 length of the river. 
 
 Absolute loneliness favoured us this day. The 
 folk of Renedo were holding their Sunday fiesta, 
 and dancing to the pipe in the village. The 
 
Trout and Travel in Santander 57 
 
 day was dull, and clouds drooped to the distant 
 mountains. We took a rest at mid-day by a 
 lovely bend of the Pas, where the river was broken 
 by islets and rocks. Birds were singing all 
 around. Now and then a trout jumped from the 
 water. The river was losing its muddy stain, and 
 changing to a tint of amber. 
 
 In one swift, narrow run I both caught and lost 
 several good trout. It was an enjoyable day, and 
 the trout were plentiful and in a rising mood. 
 Towards evening an old man joined us. I could 
 understand but little of his dialect, but he drank 
 a glass of our wine, and apparently tendered 
 advice upon fishing. We nodded, pantomimed, 
 and expressed good fellowship, and then the old 
 fellow disappeared among the underwood. I was 
 sorry that dinner called us away from the charming 
 river and the rising trout. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 THE RIVER AT RENEDO 
 
 Upon our return to the fonda one evening, we 
 were visited by the village doctor, who informed 
 us that he fished for trout with the fly, and ap- 
 peared anxious that we should have good sport 
 upon the next day. From the friendly medico we 
 learned that a fair number of salmon ascend the 
 Pas in the spring, and that English anglers from 
 the coast towns occasionally visit Renedo for the 
 salmon-fishing. He had taken salmon with the 
 rod, but they were small, the average weight being 
 about 8 pounds. We saw no signs of salmon during 
 our expedition, although the doctor stated that 
 there were fish below the weir by the railway- 
 bridge. 
 
 There are fewer nets in this part of the Pas than 
 in the lower reaches of the Ason, but we saw both 
 boats and nets ready for use in the bigger pools. 
 On some of the shallows there are traps for trout, 
 
 58 
 
The River at Renedo 59 
 
 built up of loose stones in a horseshoe shape, with 
 a small inlet, A few trout enter these traps, and 
 are scooped out with a poke-net, or driven into an 
 open sack stretched across the inlet ; but the traps 
 work comparatively little mischief, and they are 
 not numerous. The Pas is a productive river for 
 trout, and the length at Renedo contains a quantity 
 of fish. The river-banks are less rough than those 
 of the Ason, and wading is practicable almost 
 everywhere, except in time of flood. 
 
 Our best day on the Pas was in the fine reach 
 of broken water about two miles downstream 
 from Renedo. Here the trout are bigger, and 
 some three-quarter-pounders, that rose madly to 
 the fly, gave us excellent sport for a couple of 
 hours. In this part of the river we caught no fish of 
 less than J pound. The afternoon was sunny and 
 warm, and it was necessary to use fine tackle and 
 to fish far off. On a cloudy day in spring-time 
 these runs ought to yield a fine basket of trout. 
 There is also some pretty fly water close to the 
 railway-bridge. 
 
 The river widens in a broad strath below the 
 weir. There are gravelly shoals for some distance, 
 then a series of deep pools and another weir. 
 Below this second weir are some islands, and the 
 
6o Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 stream is divided into several sharp rapids. There 
 are big trout in these runs. I was broken by a 
 fish in the first of them, on the right bank, and 
 here I took trout up to f pound apiece. The 
 olive dun was the favourite fly, a fair-sized one of 
 the winged pattern. 
 
 These waters are almost too big in the spring 
 for small hackle flies, such as one would use in the 
 Wharfe or Ure. Hackles will be found service- 
 able later on in the season, when the rivers are 
 lower and the water fine. In March and April 
 you need flies that can be seen by the trout amid 
 the broken water of these impetuous and powerful 
 rivers. 
 
 The scenery of the Pas gains in beauty as it 
 leaves the strath for a narrower dale below the 
 second weir, which is about two miles from 
 Renedo. There are but few houses near the river. 
 Field-labourers, men and women, looked up from 
 their work as we passed by. They greeted us 
 with a * Con dios !' (* God be with you !') or with 
 a steady gaze of wonderment. Who were these 
 strange people, with leggings and fishing-rods, 
 who suddenly appeared at the riverside ? No 
 doubt we afforded them a subject for speculation 
 and discussion. 
 
The River at Renedo 6i 
 
 At one run we were having plenty of rises, till a 
 peasant rode his horse through the middle of it 
 and scared away every trout within a hundred 
 yards. In this length I caught a smolt in his sea 
 spangles, but samlets were less attentive to our 
 flies on the Pas than on the Ason and Bidasoa. 
 We made no trial with the artificial minnow in 
 this river. Who would spin when trout can be 
 lured with the fly ? But I fancy that a gilt Devon 
 would tempt a fair number of good trout from 
 those little eddies among the rocks. 
 
 We saw very few rises on the Pas. This counts 
 for little, however, for there are many well-stocked 
 rivers whereon one notes scarcely a rise an hour 
 during certain seasons of the year. 
 
 One evening we were entertained by the station- 
 master, who sang us Basque songs to the accom- 
 paniment of his guitar. Our hostess and her 
 family danced in the characteristic fashion of the 
 district, and every effort was made to render the 
 visit of * los Ingleses ' enjoyable. Any angler who 
 makes a fishing visit to the North of Spain during 
 the spring months should not neglect Renedo on 
 the Pas. The lodging is not luxurious, but the 
 hostess is an excellent cook, and the boarding 
 terms are only 5 pesetas a day, including wine 
 
62 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 and coffee. The salmon and trout fishing is free, 
 but the chances in favour of catching salmon are 
 not high. 
 
 The cavalry officer said that there were trout to 
 be caught all the way up the river. Judging by 
 the number of fish in the Renedo length, it may 
 be safe to say that trout are quite as plentiful 
 further up the stream, for the country is thinly 
 populated, and netsmen do not appear to ply their 
 business as diligently as the Pescadores of the 
 Besaya and Saja. 
 
 Often, when we laid down our rods and sought 
 the shade of the trees by the brawling river, we 
 compared the scene with familiar valleys in Scot- 
 land and Wales. How curiously scenery repeats 
 itself in different quarters of the earth ! I have 
 read that there are stretches of hill and dale in 
 Central Africa which recall the district of the 
 Brecon Beacons in South Wales. Here and there 
 an orange-tree or a vine reminded us that we were 
 in the genial South ; but the pine-clad slopes, the 
 waving osiers, the rustling aspens, the river racing 
 between ferny banks, the song of the blackbird, 
 and a flight of blue duns over the stream, lent all 
 the details of a mind picture of dearly-loved haunts 
 in our own country. 
 
The River at Renedo 63 
 
 The climate of Northern Spain is not wholly 
 unlike that of Great Britain. There is more sun- 
 shine, that goes without saying ; still, in one week 
 during March we experienced noon heat that was 
 truly sultry, heavy rain, and a thunderstorm, while 
 snow fell upon the highlands. Such variety should 
 satisfy even an Englishman. But who shall de- 
 scribe the sunshine of Spain ? Even in this 
 northern region the atmosphere is steeped with 
 golden sunlight, and the sky is of the deeper blue 
 which we only see in the height of an unusually 
 fine summer. 
 
 No smoke canopy hangs over the towns. The 
 thin blue vapour from wood and charcoal fires 
 rises almost imperceptibly. Even in populous 
 Seville, you must needs look for smoke if you 
 would note it from the highest stage of the Giralda 
 Tower. The aspect of London, when we returned 
 to the rechy city after six months of smokeless, 
 pure sunshine, was almost one of gloom and twi- 
 light, even on a fine day. 
 
 It rains heavily in Spain, for which one is 
 thankful in the hot months. We were soaked to 
 the skin more than once in the Basque provinces. 
 In half an hour the river was in spate ; the red, 
 marly roads were thick with slush, and the 
 
64 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 runnels came down the hillsides in turbid torrents. 
 Sometimes the sun peeped out while the rain was 
 falling ; then wonderfully vivid rainbows spanned 
 the river valley. 
 
 Fishermen, like farmers, are addicted to plaints 
 against the weather. I often wished that it would 
 rain, when day after day closed with a red sunset, 
 betokening a morrow of brilliant sunshine. A 
 glittering day in England is not in the favour of 
 the fly fisherman. In Spain it is almost impos- 
 sible to take trout during a dazzling noon. Up 
 to ten in the morning there is the chance of 
 catching a few fish during such weather ; but it is 
 as well to emulate the Spanish example, and to 
 enjoy a siesta at mid-day. The evening rise at 
 the close of a hot day is frequently a fruitful time. 
 
 The rivers of Spain are subject to sudden floods, 
 or avenidas. This is especially the case in Anda- 
 lusia, where the rain is often tropical. In the 
 North, and in the mountainous districts generally, 
 the streams rise rapidly after heavy rains ; but they 
 soon subside, and while they are fining down, trout 
 frequently exhibit great eagerness in taking the 
 fly. The worm fisher, with his coarse line and 
 clumsy rod, has his opportunity when the streams 
 are in spate. Minnow fishing is not practised 
 
The River at Renedo 65 
 
 among the native anglers. * Creepers ' and the 
 live stone-fly are used by a few Pescadores of the 
 kingdom of Leon and in Galicia. 
 
 At Renedo we were free from the attentions of 
 the small crowds that occasionally accompanied 
 us at Ampuero. One day a priest displayed a 
 languid interest in our operations, but he soon 
 retired, with a pitying smile upon his features. 
 Upon another occasion, as we were wading from 
 the islets to which I have referred, I noticed three 
 men, with a big, savage-looking dog, awaiting us 
 upon the bank. The men were not ruffians, 
 though their appearance was that of stage brigands. 
 They were herdsmen, with olive-wood staves, upon 
 which they leant in a picturesque pose. 
 
 Not a word was uttered by them as we strug- 
 gled through the swift water. As we scrambled 
 up the bank the dog emitted a menacing growl. 
 But a word from one of the peasants silenced 
 him. And with courteous bows the men inquired 
 if we had caught many truchas. I showed them 
 the contents of the bag, and they nodded, and 
 examined our flies with much interest. After a 
 short parley they bowed again, and we went on 
 our way. 
 
 I was told before leaving England that it was 
 
 5 
 
66 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 folly to go without a revolver in the rural districts 
 of Spain. As it was, I neglected the counsel, and 
 upon no occasion was there the least need for such 
 a means of protection. There may be an element 
 of danger in travelling through the rough, unbeaten 
 regions, especially if one has an imperfect know- 
 ledge of the language and the habits of the people. 
 Twice we were stoned from a distance while we 
 were fishing. The first time that this happened 
 was at Oyeregui. A lad on the road had begged 
 for a centime, and we had ignored his prayer. 
 We descended a wooded slope to the river and 
 began to fish. Presently stones came hurtling 
 and crashing amongst the underwood. None of 
 the missiles touched us. I scrambled up the slope 
 in pursuit of our invisible assailant. Before I 
 gained the road the boy had disappeared entirely. 
 At Matarosa, on the Sil, we were pelted with 
 stones flung by a couple of muleteers on the road. 
 Our guide, who was not with us at the time, 
 described this conduct as mere playfulness. He 
 explained that fishermen are a laughing-stock in 
 Spain, and that it is considered an excellent joke 
 to throw stones into the river close to where they 
 are fishing. I know, from my own experience, 
 that this boorish diversion is not altogether 
 
The River at Renedo (^1 
 
 unheard of in Great Britain. There is a singular 
 likeness between the louts of all nations of the 
 West. 
 
 These annoyances were trivial, and are scarcely 
 worth mentioning. The spontaneous kindness 
 that we experienced from the peasants vastly out- 
 weighs the instances of discourtesy. Beggars are 
 a pest throughout Spain, but they are far less 
 troublesome in the country than in the towns. 
 Now and then our tips (propinas) for services 
 rendered were refused by poor folk, and they were 
 always accepted gracefully by those who felt them- 
 selves entitled to remuneration. A polite saluta- 
 tion and the gift of a cigar will often insure you 
 willing assistance in this country of courtesy. A 
 present of trout is always valued. In Portugal 
 we bartered an artificial fly for a quantity of fresh 
 ripe cherries. The lad who proposed the exchange 
 was delighted with his bargain. 
 
 It would be good policy on the part of the 
 English fisherman to carry a surplus supply of 
 artificial flies with him. The offer of a few 
 moscas will win the heart of the local piscador, 
 whose advice as to the haunts of trout may be of 
 much service, and prove a saving of time. A 
 northern Spaniard, or a Castilian, will not abuse 
 
 5—2 
 
68 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 your kindness. He is a man of his word, with 
 the virtue of impulsive generosity. If he likes to 
 receive, he is also fond of giving. Treat him as a 
 caballero, and he will serve you out of pure good- 
 nature. When you leave the place, there will be 
 the sincerity of real regret in his handshake and 
 good-bye. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 TWO DAYS ON THE GUADALQUIVIR 
 
 Affairs unrelated to angling obliged us to spend 
 some time in the sunny southern capital of Seville. 
 It was well on in the month of April, and already 
 the heat and the mosquitoes of Andalusia proved 
 somewhat trying. The atmospheric contrasts in 
 Spain are remarkable. We encountered all sorts 
 of weather in the North, from snow-showers to 
 thunderstorms. In Seville the days were hot, 
 under the glittering blue of the matchless Anda- 
 lusian sky. Once or twice we had showers, and 
 then the rain roared down from purple clouds, 
 and flowed in turbid rivulets along the street 
 gutters. 
 
 When a lull came in our busy inspection of the 
 city's monuments and works of art, my thoughts 
 turned to *the sport sae entrancing.' I knew 
 little or nothing about the fish of the Guadalquivir. 
 Richard Ford, in * Murray's Handbook for Spain,' 
 
 69 
 
70 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 refers, I believe, to the shad of that brown, swirl- 
 ing river. We had shad at the hotel, and the 
 head-waiter said that it came from the Rio 
 Guadalquivir. 
 
 * Can one catch shad with the rod and line ?* 
 was my reflection, as we roamed one afternoon in 
 the shady promenade by the river. 
 
 Pescadores with big nets were at work on the 
 flood right under the Golden Tower, and before 
 long I saw one of these men catch a silvery 
 fish, which probably weighed a couple of pounds. 
 Continuing my ramble, I observed a rod fisher- 
 man seated at the waterside. He had a long, 
 heavy bamboo rod, a line of coarse cord, and 
 a short length of thick gut armed with a big hook. 
 His bait was a piece of cooked meat. He was 
 not a communicative mortal. When I asked him 
 if there were many fish in the river, he replied, 
 *Poco' (Few). 
 
 Further on I met another angler with the same 
 primitive tackle and a morsel of meat for a bait. 
 * Poco ' was also his formula. Then I noticed 
 two rowing-skiffs coming down the stream, on 
 either side of it. Presently the men in these 
 boats began to haul up a sort of cross-line made 
 of thickish rope. The line bristled with big hooks, 
 
Two Days on the Guadalquivir 71 
 
 and attached to one of them was a shad of about 
 a pound. This curious mode of fishing is common 
 on the Lower Guadalquivir. It does not seem to 
 be highly profitable, for I saw very few shad taken 
 by this method. However, the Pescadores spend 
 long days in drifting down the river, dragging the 
 sunk cross-line behind their skiffs. 
 
 Chance threw us one afternoon into a meeting 
 with a young Spaniard, who keeps a little refresh- 
 ment-booth on the quay, where the ships for 
 England are loaded with iron ore. Jose is his 
 name, a dark-haired, olive-skinned fellow, in white 
 drill clothes and a cap. He speaks English, and 
 so does his handsome younger brother. 
 
 ]os6 served us with lemonade, and began to 
 chat in our own language. He had been a sailor, 
 and had touched several British ports. 
 
 * Good country, England ; much gold !' he said, 
 showing his white teeth when he smiled. 
 
 * Fish in the river ?' 
 
 * Yes, some, but more lower down,' replied Jos6. 
 'You like to catch them, I go with you in boat 
 one day.' 
 
 I closed with the offer, and we arranged to fish 
 upon the following Sunday morning, that being 
 Josh's holiday. Jos^ promised to provide a boat 
 
^2 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 and some bait. We were to meet him at his 
 pavilion at six o'clock. 
 
 On Sunday we left the hotel for the rendezvous 
 with Jos6. I carried two rods and the bag, and 
 my wife had the landing-net. We were con- 
 spicuous objects for the mirth of those SeviUian 
 citizens who were abroad at that early hour. 
 Loud guffaws saluted our approach, and a merry 
 party in an open carriage gave vent to explosions 
 of derisive laughter. What in the name of Santa 
 Maria were those mad English people about to 
 do? 
 
 The morning was heavy, the air moist and still. 
 There was a sweet scent of orange-blossom. In 
 the brushwood bordering the Guadalquivir hosts 
 of nightingales were singing. Jos^ greeted us. 
 He could not leave his booth. However, his 
 brother was ready to accompany us. No, he had 
 not found any worms, but there were plenty in 
 the plantation of orange-trees. We poked about 
 with a borrowed fork, and found sundry big lob- 
 worms. Then Jos^ junior bargained with a 
 boatman for the hire of a huge leaky tub, with 
 enormous oars. We put off, and rowed down the 
 river to some stakes forming a breakwater to protect 
 the soft banks of reddish earth. Here young Jos6 
 
Two Days on the Guadalquivir 73 
 
 moored the tub. I put on a paternoster, with 
 three hooks baited with lobs. A rather heavy 
 lead was necessary in this strong current. My 
 wife tried a float tackle. 
 
 Half an hour passed without a twitch to our 
 lines. Young ]os6 entertained us with stories of 
 his experiences aboard British ships. An hour 
 went by, and still no bites. 
 
 ' Big fish here,' remarked ]os6 junior. 
 
 ' I wish they would bite,' said I. 
 
 A cloud burst over us. The rain came down 
 with a loud patter on the boat. My wife and 
 our gilly sought what protection they could find 
 against the downpour. 
 
 * Fish no eat ?' asked Jose junior, when the 
 rain ceased. 
 
 * No,' I answered. 
 
 *We go other place,' suggested our young 
 friend. 
 
 So we moved down a few hundred yards and 
 tried another swim. The nightingales sang louder 
 after the shower, and the orange-blossom was 
 more odorous. Our lad begged a fifty-yard length 
 of water-cord that I had in the bag. 
 
 * I show you how catch fish,' he said. 
 
 He tied on several eyed hooks, baited them, 
 
74 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 attached a heavy lead to the line, and let it sink 
 near some piles. 
 
 * Wait little while, and you see,' observed Jos6 
 junior. 
 
 We waited perhaps an hour. Meanwhile no 
 shad attacked our baits. 
 
 * Me see now,' said the boy. 
 
 He pulled in the line. Every hook was bare, 
 but there were no shad upon any of them. 
 
 ]os6 junior rebaited the hooks and flung in 
 the line. The next time he hauled it in some of 
 the hooks were again bare. 
 
 * Dam !' said the lad. 
 
 My wife then reminded me that we had not 
 eaten much breakfast. It was time to return to 
 the hotel. We rowed the clumsy junk back 
 against the stream, paid the boatmen and young 
 ]os6, and left the riverside. Our progress through 
 the streets again provoked the sallies and mirth of 
 the people. I was not favourably impressed with 
 the Sevillian manners. 
 
 ' Nada ?' (Nothing ?) said the waiter. 
 
 I shook my head. He smiled and brought our 
 soup. No doubt he thought it well that we were 
 not dependent upon the spoil of our rods for 
 luncheon. 
 
Two Days on the Guadalquivir 75 
 
 George Borrow, who spent some time in Seville, 
 indulges in a rhapsody on the beauties of the city 
 when viewed from the banks of the Guadalquivir. 
 There is, perhaps, a note of exaggeration, an 
 artist's overtone, in Sorrow's high-flown diction, 
 and the confession that the scene moved him to 
 * tears of rapture.' Still, the brown river has its 
 charm, even in its course between Seville and the 
 transpontine suburb of Triana. Lower down, 
 where the banks are thickly grown with bushes, 
 the river is more beautiful, but the wide levels on 
 either side are of a featureless character, and the 
 muddy shores at low -tide do not pleasurably 
 attract the eye. 
 
 On the right bank of the Guadalquivir is the 
 little town of Coria, which lies among orange 
 orchards under a rocky bluff. A small steamboat, 
 which starts daily from the Triana Bridge, or 
 Puente de Isabel II., makes the journey to Coria 
 in about two hours. The boat returns in the 
 evening of the same day. Jos6 senior advised 
 us to try the fishing at Coria. He said that 
 many Sevillians went there on holidays to fish 
 with the line. 
 
 We started before the sun was high, on a lovely 
 May morning. ]os6 was at the landing-stage. 
 
^() Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 While we were waiting for the boat to start, we 
 saw two netsmen haul in a net containing one 
 small shad. The sky was a glorious blue, and 
 the sun's rays were warm. Although we steamed 
 at a fair pace out of Seville, the heat was con- 
 siderable in spite of the swift motion through the 
 morning air. On, between banks of verdure, the 
 little steamboat panted down to the first pier. A 
 merchant vessel, making for the port of Seville, 
 passed us, and we saw several Pescadores at work 
 with their nets. On we steamed upon the broad 
 turbid river. 
 
 Jos6 said we could obtain plenty of worms for 
 bait at Coria. When we landed at the curious 
 little pueblo, which is inhabited almost entirely 
 by gipsies, we enlisted the services of a pair of 
 bronze-skinned Romany urchins, who were soon 
 grubbing for worms in a damp ditch near the 
 river. A tribe of children followed us to the 
 shore of the Guadalquivir. They stood a few 
 yards away while we made our preparations for 
 bottom fishing. Then a man came, and began to 
 put questions to Jose about us. He was much 
 interested in my wife's hat. Such headwear had 
 never been seen in Coria, where the working 
 women do not even put on a mantilla. 
 
Two Days on the Guadalquivir "j^ 
 
 I fastened a leger to my running line, and 
 baited the hook with a big worm. We fished a 
 small bay, between two wooden breakwaters. 
 The tide was ebbing, and the muddy verge of the 
 river began to show. It was not long before I felt 
 a pluck at the line. I struck, but there was no 
 fish on the hook. The bait had been gnawed. 
 My wife also felt several nibbles at her bait. 
 Were we at last amongst a shoal of shad? 
 Niggling bites followed in quick succession, but 
 when we struck, the lines came back slack. 
 
 Jos6 was of the opinion that little fish were 
 playing with our baits. I proposed another pitch, 
 and we went into the underwood, and followed a 
 grassy path through the scanty but grateful shade. 
 This was one of the hottest of days that we ex- 
 perienced in Andalusia. The fiery sun scorched 
 our faces and hands to soreness of the skin, and 
 made my wife feel faint. A glared heat was upon 
 the water, and a haze of fire quivered on the 
 land. We clambered on to the slippery stakes 
 of a breakwater, and threw in our legers. The 
 children still formed a retinue. They annoyed Jos6. 
 * If you will not go away,' said he, ' I'll hit you 
 over the head, and then throw you in the river.* 
 The threat had its effect upon the juveniles. 
 
78 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 They retreated, uttering a few impertinences. 
 Presently a man in a seedy uniform, with a sword 
 at his side, pushed through the bushes and con- 
 versed with ]os6. Our gilly explained that the 
 man was a river-keeper on the watch for smugglers 
 and other offenders. 
 
 Where were the shad ? Not a nibble rewarded 
 our patient endurance of the fierce heat. My 
 wife retired to the shade. Jose reclined with his 
 head under a bush. At last I felt a tug, then 
 another, and another. I struck with force, and 
 felt a responsive jerk. The fish began boring, 
 and I gave him line. Then he made for the 
 piles, and I had to check him. I called to Jose 
 for the landing-net. In a second his head was 
 out of the bush, and he came at a perilous run 
 along the beams of the slimy breakwater. 
 
 * I get him !' he cried, hanging head down- 
 wards and brandishing the net. 
 
 * Quietly, quietly !' I said, reeling in the line. 
 
 I saw a swirl on the water. Jose made a wild 
 plunge with the net, swore in English, and missed 
 the fish. 
 
 ' Now, then !' I said, as something silvery 
 showed near the surface. 
 
 This time Jose made better aim and netted the 
 
Two Days on the Guadalquivir 79 
 
 fish. In doing so, he nearly took a header into the 
 muddy water. It was an eel, a wriggling, slimy 
 beast of about 2 pounds. Fortunately, he had 
 not gorged the hook. We soon freed him, and 
 put on a fresh bait. My wife faced the heat 
 again, and went on to another breakwater. 
 
 ' You catch more now,' said the sanguine Jose. 
 
 I soon felt another twitch at the line. Was it 
 a shad this time ? I could not say, for I missed 
 the fish. 
 
 A boy came down the river in a rowing-boat. 
 He sang a loud, monotonous air, with a sort of 
 prolonged guttural trill. It was quaint, if not 
 musical. 
 
 Jose laughed contemptuously. 
 
 * Spanish singing,' he remarked. * No good !' 
 
 This fishing in the Guadalquivir was certainly a 
 new experience. The sport was undoubtedly in- 
 different ; but we enjoyed the afternoon, in spite of 
 the hot sun. Only small eels came to hand after 
 the first capture. As for the shad, they stubbornly 
 refused our dainties in the way of cold meat and 
 lobworms. We reeled up at about five o'clock, 
 and Jose and I smoked our cigarettes under the 
 bushes, while my wife photographed a bright, pic- 
 turesque family group of Andalusians, who were 
 
8o Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 picking up sticks for fire-lighting. They were 
 delighted to stand for their portraits. 
 
 In the cool of the evening we returned in the 
 steamboat to Seville. The setting sun gave a 
 golden tone to the tawny river. Nightingales 
 warbled from the banks. At one of the wooden piers 
 an Englishman and his wife came aboard. There 
 was no mistaking the gentleman's nationality. 
 He unfolded that eminently insular sheet, the 
 Daily Mail, and pored over it till we came in 
 sight of the Golden Tower. 
 
 I gave the eel to Jos6. It was already half 
 baked by the sun, and looked like one of those 
 dried fish that one sees in the foreign comestible 
 shops in Soho. As we crossed the quay, an officer 
 with a sword pounced upon us, and demanded 
 an inspection of the fishing-bag. I opened it, 
 displaying the tackle. He bowed, and flourished 
 his arm. There was nothing dangerous nor 
 dutiable in the tan haversack. We were neither 
 Anarchists nor contrabandists. Pursued by the 
 giggles of senoritas out for their evening parade, 
 we walked to the Fonda de la Victoria in the 
 Plaza de San Fernando. 
 
 ' Hambre ' (Hunger), I said to the obliging head- 
 waiter. 
 
Two Days on the Guadalquivir 8i 
 
 ' Oil right,' he answered, uttering the only 
 English words that he knew, and hurrying with 
 the plates. 
 
 After dinner we confessed to a Spanish gentle- 
 man, who was in the lounge of the vestibule, that 
 we felt tired. 
 
 ' Tired !' he said in Spanish, with a laugh. 
 * Tired — impossible ! English people are never 
 tired.' 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 FROM ANDALUSIA TO CASTILE 
 
 Does the Guadalquivir contain no other fish save 
 shad and swarms of eels ? Surely there must be 
 plenty of fish in those long, unfrequented reaches 
 of swirling, umber- coloured water between Cordova 
 and Seville. I looked from the window of the 
 railway-carriage upon the Moorish Wad-al-Kebir, 
 and the Baetis of the Romans, that curious, muddy, 
 Oriental-looking river winding, sometimes slowly, 
 between banks of yellow soil, or washing pebbly 
 shores as it spread itself over the shallows with a 
 swifter flow. One would not have experienced 
 great surprise at the spectacle of a crocodile 
 sunning itself on one of those beaches. The cold, 
 sad cactus showed here and there on the banks. 
 And at the approach of the rumbling train storks 
 took wing slowly from the lonely pools. 
 
 On either side spread the olive-groves up to the 
 rocky spurs of the wild sierras. The rail-track 
 
 82 
 
From Andalusia to Castile 83 
 
 was gay for miles with myriads of scarlet poppies. 
 We were going to Castile, land of wide plains, 
 desolate mountains, and forests of ilex. The 
 region of Andalusia, with its perennial sunshine, 
 orange-gardens, and waving fields of wheat, was 
 behind us before twilight, and the cooler air of 
 the gray-green, shadeless plains blew through the 
 windows of the carriage. Upon these great flats 
 herds of fighting bulls stood out distinctly in the 
 fading light. The beasts grazed contentedly; 
 the herdsman, with his striped shawl upon the 
 shoulders and a conical felt hat upon his head, 
 listlessly watched the passing train. We were 
 in Don Quixote's country — sun-burned, wind- 
 searched La Mancha. 
 
 I shall not here describe wonderful Toledo, with 
 its ancient walls, noble cathedral, and alleys of 
 sombre houses, where one looks for romance and 
 adventure at every turn. We laid our rods aside 
 at Toledo. There are fish in the Tagus, or Rio 
 Tajo, that flows deep down in a rocky ravine 
 below the city. I saw nets, and I noticed men 
 with fishing-rods perched on the rocks. The 
 river is turbid, like the Guadalquivir. Below the 
 city it spreads out, and curves through a scorched 
 plain dotted with a few trees. 
 
 6 — z 
 
84 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 An Englishman at our boarding-house could give 
 me very little information about the fish in the 
 Tagus. He knew that there were fish in the river; 
 they were big and edible, and he had tasted them. 
 Perhaps they are shad. We were not very keen 
 upon another essay of paternostering for shad. 
 
 It was May when we arrived in Avila. This 
 weird and fascinating town is nearly 4,000 feet 
 above the sea-level, on the slope of a rocky upland. 
 We reached Avila at midnight, and the air was 
 frosty. The cold pierced us after the semi- 
 tropical warmth of the South. We shivered in 
 the long stone corridors of the hotel, which sug- 
 gested a Castilian palace, whence the glory of old 
 days had long departed. How keen blew the 
 north-easter across the plain from the sierras ! 
 Even when the sun was high, and the great green 
 lizards, longer than one's arm, crept out to bask, 
 there were teeth in the breeze that whistled among 
 the rocks of this exposed tableland. 
 
 The little Adaja glides in a silvery streak through 
 the only strip of fresh green which can be seen 
 from the ancient walls of the town. We found 
 our way to the river. It was clear, on a sand and 
 gravel bed, with weeds here and there, and sharps 
 that looked like the haunts of trout. Such a swift, 
 
From Andalusia to Castile 85 
 
 clean little stream ought to produce fish of the 
 Salmo family. One afternoon I left the hotel with 
 my fly-rod. No one was abroad. It was the time 
 of siesta. I made my way to the glittering river, 
 and arranged my tackle, putting on a fine cast 
 and one little hackle fly. Scour after scour was 
 carefully cast over, and every likely corner tried. 
 I had no rises, and saw not a sign of a fish. The 
 river was perfect ; only the fish were wanting. 
 
 Presently I came to a mill and an overflow. It 
 was a pleasant spot for a lounge. I filled my pipe, 
 and reclined on a sward, watching the racing 
 stream, the goats that nibbled the herbage, the 
 woman washing linen, and the distant walls and 
 towers of the marvellously beautiful town. Then 
 I fell asleep. So passed the first and only day of 
 attempted fishing at Avila. 
 
 There are no trout in this part of the Adaja. 
 If you want plenty of trout and cheap quarters in 
 a wild, mountainous district, inquire of the land- 
 lord of the Fonda del Ingles, who will give you 
 particulars about the coach journey and the 
 accommodation. I met two Castilian fishermen 
 on the Adaja. One was a postman. He brought 
 letters to the fonda, and I gave him an English 
 roach float. His own float, like the rest of his 
 
S6 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 tackle, was rude, and highly insulting to any self- 
 respecting fish. 
 
 I accompanied these Pescadores one afternoon. 
 They were dignified, courtly Castilians, with a 
 fellow-feeling for a brother of the rod. I did not 
 trouble to bring my own tackle, for the dace of 
 the Adaja average about ten to the pound, and do 
 not appear to abound. Yet these anglers were 
 extremely keen. They tramped miles to and from 
 their swims, and seemed well pleased if they 
 returned with three or four brace of these diminu- 
 tive dace. Their bait-box was a curious entomo- 
 logical surprise packet — an olla-podrida. It con- 
 tained worms, grubs, caterpillars, beetles, and 
 live flies. They fished the little eddies near the 
 banks, where the water was about 2 feet in the 
 deepest part. One of them had a cotton-reel on 
 a nail for a winch, and his line was thick enough 
 to tow a punt. The gut was * medium salmon,' 
 and the floats fashioned out of goose-quill and 
 bottle-corks. 
 
 Honest anglers ! I respect them. They fished 
 for a love of the sport, and not for the larder. 
 Who could dream of the larder when the basket 
 never contained anything but a few fish of medium 
 sardine size? No, they were true fishermen: 
 
From Andalusia to Castile ^7 
 
 patient, observant, fond of the open air and the 
 riverside. They deserved a better stream for the 
 pursuit of their simple and wholesome recreation. 
 I can see them now. One was a stout man in a 
 frogged coat, with fur collar and cuffs, and a 
 sombrero. The postman was tall and thin, with 
 a sober, olive-tinted countenance. We soon be- 
 came amigos. I felt flattered. It is a great 
 credit to one to be accepted as the friend of a 
 native of Old Castile. 
 
 Everyone in Avila has an air of romance. 
 Remember that this is a town of Old Castile, 
 where Romans conquered, Moors came into posses- 
 sion, and Christians finally prevailed. 
 
 It is the birthplace of the remarkable Santa 
 Teresa. The very beggars are proud Castilians 
 in their mien. I often dream of Avila. It is a 
 wonderful place. But you need not unpack 
 your fishing-tackle until you reach the mountain 
 streams beyond the valley of the Adaja. 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 STREAMS IN LEON 
 
 After several weeks spent in sight-seeing in the 
 towns, we continued our peregrination northwards 
 to the district that may be described as the 
 Scotland of Spain. We left the dry heat of the 
 central plains for the mists, rain-showers, and 
 cooler atmosphere of the wild and beautiful 
 kingdom of Leon. The chief province of the 
 kingdom bears the same name, and in it is the 
 ancient city also called Leon. In the north-east 
 this province juts to that of Santander, and on the 
 east it is bordered by Palencia, while to the north 
 lies the kingdom of Asturias, oddly misnamed * the 
 Asturias ' by some English writers. 
 
 Leon is mountainous on the west and north. 
 From the capital southwards and eastwards the 
 country is of a fairly level character, watered by 
 the Orbigo, the Esla, and numerous minor 
 streams. Most of the rivers of the mountain 
 
 88 
 
Streams in Lc6n 89 
 
 districts contain trout, and there are some lakes 
 at a high altitude which abound with heavy fish. 
 These lagunas are not easy of access. They are 
 far up among the peaks, but some of them can be 
 approached by pack-mules. It is necessary to 
 carry a camping outfit, for there are no habita- 
 tions near to the tarns providing accommodation 
 for the stranger. I have met one angler who has 
 spent a pleasant time in these solitudes, where 
 days pass without the sound of a human voice. 
 Bears still range almost unmolested upon these 
 sierras, and wolves and wild-cats are by no means 
 scarce. In severe winters wolves have been 
 known to range almost to the gates of the city of 
 Le6n. The best time for fishing in the lakes 
 of Northern Spain is from June to August, when 
 the snow has melted upon the lower slopes. Snow 
 crowns all the higher summits throughout the 
 year. 
 
 We crossed the Douro, and by a slow and 
 tedious railway -journey travelled to the north- 
 eastern corner of Leon. Lofty mountains are 
 reared in savage peaks and ridges above the rocky 
 slopes of the river valleys in this remote territory. 
 The Penas de Europa rise to a height of nearly 
 9,000 feet, and the Pena Espiguete and the Prieta 
 
90 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 are almost as high. These peaks are only rivalled 
 in loftiness among the Spanish mountains by two 
 or three summits in the Pyrenees. 
 
 Most of the rivers of the well-watered kingdom 
 of Leon flow in a southerly direction, and join 
 the wide Douro. A typical Leonese river is the 
 tributary that rises in the Asturian Mountains and 
 waters a narrow hill valley down to the little town 
 of Bonar, on the railway from Bilbao to the city 
 of Leon. The journey from Bilbao is slow but 
 highly interesting, as the train makes many 
 curving ascents, and runs along the slopes of wild 
 mountains, across gorges, and through charming 
 glens. We came to Bonar, by way of Leon, on 
 a day of great heat. Upon our arrival a polite 
 native of the town offered to escort us to the 
 hotel. Leaving our baggage to be brought on in 
 a cart, we accompanied the stranger, who proved 
 to be the landlord of the principal inn. He gave 
 us such a good account of the trout-fishing in the 
 neighbourhood that we were inclined to suspect 
 him of drawing the long-bow. 
 
 While dinner was being prepared the sky 
 darkened, and there were distant growls of 
 thunder. I went out to look at the river, which 
 was rather low and extremely clear. In a shallow 
 
Streams in Leon 91 
 
 pool below the bridge I noticed several trout 
 rising, and wished that I had brought my rod with 
 me. A number of flies were sporting over the water, 
 and in spite of the thundery weather the fish were 
 feeding hungrily. In ten minutes I saw at least 
 thirty rises in this single pool. 
 
 My observations were interrupted by a sudden 
 downfall of rain. A cloud had drooped to the 
 hill-tops on either side of a fine gorge, and overhead 
 the purple pall was riven with a streak of forked 
 lightning, followed by an alarming crash of 
 thunder. I retreated hurriedly for the inn. When 
 I reached the plaza the rain was running in 
 rivulets through the street, and the violence of the 
 storm had increased. During such tempests as 
 this the village priests of this district sometimes 
 ascend the towers of the churches and pray to 
 Santa Barbara to still the thunder and to stay the 
 disastrous lightning strokes. 
 
 As we dined upon the usual omelettes, steak, 
 cheese, and oranges, the rain pelted down, flood- 
 ing the road 2 inches deep, and filling the 
 brook with foaming, turbid water. In the morn- 
 ing the heat had returned. At eight o'clock 
 the sun was shining fiercely, and the sky was 
 cloudless. 
 
92 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 Was there any hope of sport with the fly upon 
 such a brilliant day ? I remembered those rises 
 in the pool by the bridge. The river seemed full 
 of trout, and I longed to try my skill with them. 
 We held council, and decided to go fishing. A 
 chico was soon found to act as our gilly. He was 
 a bright lad of about fourteen, in a boina, a 
 canvas blouse, and canvas shoes braided with blue 
 worsted. We gave him the wading-stockings and 
 brogues, and he led the way with an air of 
 importance, with his chin well up, exhibiting 
 pride in the performance of a new and mysterious 
 duty. 
 
 Our hostess had given us a luncheon of hard- 
 boiled eggs, meat, bread and cheese, and the usual 
 pint of wine. We attracted but little notice in 
 the street. At the riverside our chico surveyed us 
 with solemn curiosity as we put on our wading- 
 stockings and made ready our tackle. Two old 
 men stared at us from the bridge. 
 
 At the first sight of the river I realized that 
 fishing was almost hopeless. The storm had 
 brought down a flood from the mountains. The 
 slow pool, where I had seen the trout rising on the 
 previous evening, was like a rapid, and the water 
 was a dark yellow colour. We began to spin 
 
Streams in Leon 93 
 
 Devon minnows in the eddies close to the bank, 
 and fished upstream till we came into the gorge. 
 Neither of us touched a trout. Then we tried the 
 worm on Stewart tackle, and finally, towards 
 evening, when the water had cleared somewhat, 
 we put on our fly casts. One diminutive fish of 
 the boga variety rewarded our steady perseverance. 
 I shall have more to say of bogas anon. They are 
 a kind of dace. 
 
 The chico shouldered our traps, and strode off 
 to the town. He apparently experienced a con- 
 tempt for us, and for our foreign notions of 
 fishing. But he gratefully acknowledged his silver 
 coin, and went off triumphantly with the remains 
 of the luncheon. The landlord was sympathetic. 
 * Dios ! how could one expect to catch fish with 
 the river in such flood ? But patience ! to-morrow 
 we would be well rewarded.' In the clubroom 
 adjoining the inn I was subjected to a close 
 questioning after dinner. Why had I come to 
 this out-of-the-way corner of Spain ? Was I 
 prospecting for mines, like all the English ? Did 
 I sell my fish ? If not, why did I spend so many 
 hours in fishing ? Did the water penetrate those 
 things I wore on my legs ? etc. A gentleman who 
 was staying in this mountain retreat for his 
 
94 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 health advised me to use the worm, and shook his 
 head at my flies. All the Pescadores of this part 
 used the worm. A priest who was among the 
 company expressed the hope that I was a good 
 Catholic, and asked me many quaint questions 
 about England. 
 
 After dinner we went for a ramble up a rough 
 lane leading to the mountains. Thunder was 
 again brewing. The clouds were purple, edged 
 with copper, and the air heavy and oppressive. It 
 was the worst kind of weather for fishing. 
 Presently a few big drops of rain fell ; then 
 thunder rumbled in the distance. Before we 
 reached the fonda forked green lightning was 
 darting in the clouds that lowered upon the 
 mountain-peaks. It was a grand sight. But the 
 disturbed condition of the atmosphere boded ill 
 for sport with the rod. 
 
 On the morrow the river was in better order. 
 The weather was still bright, and the heat almost 
 too great for fishing during the hours between 
 10 a.m. and 5 p.m. I saw plently of trout rising, 
 but my flies would not tempt many of them. 
 Better fortune awaited us in the evening. A 
 fresh breeze sprang up at sunset, and the sky 
 grew cloudy. The fish began to feed with a 
 
Streams in Ledn 95 
 
 furious hunger. A shallow which had seemed 
 deserted by trout in the early part of the day 
 was now ringed all over with rises. Every cast 
 brought a tug at the flies, and though the trout 
 were as nimble in dropping the fly as they were in 
 seizing it, we had an exciting time until darkness 
 set in. The length of the stream close to the 
 town at Bonar appeared swarming with trout that 
 evening. I did not see a better rise after sunset 
 on any other Spanish river. 
 
 We kept a lookout for nets, horseshoe traps, 
 and other indications of fishing, at Bonar, but saw 
 nothing that would lead one to suppose that the 
 trout are thinned out by these means. There is a 
 professional fisherman in the little pueblo, who 
 appears to make a living by catching trout with 
 the rod and line. He is a bottom fisher, like the 
 majority of those who fish to sell. 
 
 A more charmingly varied trout-stream than 
 this at Bonar would be difficult to find. The 
 banks are mostly open near the town, and runs 
 alternate with gliding stretches of deeper water. 
 Were I arranging a fishing tour in Spain, I would 
 certainly revisit this picturesque valley in Le6n. 
 The lodging at the fonda is not luxurious, but 
 the place is clean and the landlord obliging. 
 
96 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 Fishing may be varied with mountain climbs 
 and the exploration of the surrounding wild 
 country. 
 
 The trout that we caught were none of them 
 over J pound apiece, and I should think that 
 the average weight is less than that. Still, 
 quantity makes up for weight when trout are 
 strong, and there is no question that the trout 
 at Boiiar give capital sport for their size. In the 
 gorge, especially high up, there are pools holding 
 much bigger trout. I was advised to fish this part 
 of the river, and to hire a vehicle to take me 
 about five miles upstream, where the trout are 
 said to be still more plentiful. Unfortunately, 
 after our evening's sport another thunderstorm 
 broke over the mountains, and a deluge of rain 
 again flooded the river. We were sorry that our 
 engagements would not allow us to stay at Bonar 
 till the stream fined down again. The river was 
 so well stocked that we would have no doubt 
 repeated the success of that evening. But as 
 it was still raining when we awoke the next morn- 
 ing, and the river was rising, we resolved to start 
 for Bilbao. 
 
 The chico's mother, a handsome woman in 
 picturesque dress and wooden shoes, came to 
 
Streams in Leon 97 
 
 the railway-station to bid us farewell. She was 
 much interested in the queer English people 
 who went fishing for amusement. A group of 
 peasant women joined her, and we departed 
 amid the farewells of these friendly, honest Leon 
 folk. 
 
 Bonar is en route for the Sil and the other rivers 
 of the North-west of Spain, which I shall describe 
 in other chapters. It should not be missed by 
 the angler. The river is an ideal one for fly 
 fishing, and there are plenty of fish in it. For 
 this stream, as for other waters in Spain, the 
 flies should be fairly large. I killed most trout 
 on sober-coloured flies, such as the olive dun. 
 Let the fisherman take a good stock of flies 
 with him, as most of the flies procurable in Spain 
 are of French manufacture, and badly tied. 
 Madrid and Bilbao were the only towns where I 
 found fishing-tackle shops. I was often questioned 
 as to the prices of English rods and tackle and 
 asked for the addresses of makers. 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 THE WILD LIFE OF SPAIN 
 
 Most fishermen are more or less naturalists. 
 Those who do not observe the wild life of the 
 riverside miss one of the chief pleasures accompany- 
 ing the sport of angling. Moreover, the observant 
 fisherman, the one who has trained his eyes to see 
 and his brain to retain impressions, is usually the 
 most successful wielder of the fly-rod. * How do 
 the blackbird and thrassel with their melodious 
 voices bid welcome to the cheerful Spring,' writes 
 Izaak Walton, * and in their fixed months warble 
 forth such ditties as no art or instrument can 
 reach to !' 
 
 We began our fishing itinerary just as the buds 
 were opening and the birds beginning to sing. It 
 was a new pleasure to watch the birds of a strange 
 country, and to hear their voices in the tender 
 green of the woods. For the first time we listened 
 to the melodious, haunting piping of the golden 
 
 98 
 
The Wild Life of Spain 99 
 
 oriole, a rare visitant in England, and watched 
 the brilliant bird flit from tree to tree as he called 
 to his mate. I noted down the date of the first 
 flight of swallows, and I find that we saw these 
 migrants on March 29, by the Ason. 
 
 Along the Bidasoa I noticed the familiar 
 common wagtails, wrens, robins, thrushes, and 
 chaffinches. Hawks of several kinds abound in 
 the mountainous parts of Spain. Buzzards, 
 circling in companies, were often to be seen high 
 over the rocky summits of the Cantabrian Range 
 and along the wooded lower slopes of the Pyrenees. 
 On March 13 lizards came out in large numbers to 
 sun themselves. We often heard the cry of the 
 owl at twilight, especially in Portugal. 
 
 The North of Spain abounds with bird-life. In 
 Castile the foolish destruction of the trees has 
 almost banished the birds. The farmers cut down 
 the timber because trees harbour birds, and 
 birds eat seeds. Around Madrid the State, realiz- 
 ing the folly of denuding the exposed and wind- 
 swept land of all foliage, has made many big 
 plantations. In the north there are mighty forests 
 of pine and chestnut, haunted by many kinds of 
 birds. Quails and partridges are fairly numerous 
 in some districts. We saw a number of partridges 
 
 7—2 
 
loo Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 around Toledo, and here only were hares at all 
 common. 
 
 The marismas, or marshes, of the tidal Guadal- 
 quivir teem with all kinds of wild-fowl. Snipe are 
 fairly plentiful on the flats by the Minho estuary 
 in Portugal. We saw many storks. One had made 
 her nest, which had young birds in it, on the top of 
 a church-tower at Avila. Storks may often be seen 
 sailing high over the city of Seville, and there is a 
 colony of small brown hawks upon the roof of the 
 cathedral. 
 
 The swamps and ponds in the neighbourhood of 
 rivers swarm with bright green frogs. They are 
 larger than our English frogs, and they pass most 
 of their time in the water. On a still night you 
 may hear their peculiar croaking a mile away. It 
 is a monotonous and constant rumble, and one can 
 scarcely believe that the sound is emitted by frogs. 
 The legs of these green frogs are a table delicacy 
 in parts of Spain. They are cooked in batter, 
 and form a course at some of the fondas. Quite 
 unwittingly we ate these dainties at one of the 
 comidas (dinners) in Le6n. We were a little 
 puzzled at the dish. The tender legs were like 
 those of birds, starlings or wheatears, and it was 
 not until we had eaten them that we learned that 
 
The Wild Life of Spaizi\L ;:io>; • ;\? 
 
 we had tasted frog! Perhaps in this case * 'tis 
 folly to be wise!' 
 
 We had not the fortune to encounter any of the 
 larger fauna of Spain, though we were often near 
 the haunts of boars, wolves, and deer. At one 
 hamlet on the Rio Sil, I was offered the loan of 
 a gun to go in quest of a hind and her calf that 
 had been seen once or twice in a neighbouring 
 vineyard. I am not a deer-stalker, and if I were I 
 would certainly not choose to murder a female 
 deer and her young in June. 
 
 That fine wild creature the ibex still ranges the 
 peaks amid the eternal snows. Interesting accounts 
 of adventures in pursuit of Spanish ibex will 
 be found in Messrs. Chapman and Buck's * Wild 
 Spain,' and in Lord Walsingham's contribution to 
 the volume on * English Sport.' Boars are hunted 
 with hounds in the South of Spain, and in the 
 neighbourhood of Gibraltar Senor Larios and his 
 friends pursue the fox in the British style. Foxes 
 are very plentiful in the wild parts of the country, 
 and the wild-cat is far from scarce. The marten is 
 also found. 
 
 The otter is fairly distributed, and is rarely 
 molested in the Peninsula. I have never heard of 
 otter-hunting with hounds in Spain. The sport 
 
IQ3 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 has been introduced into France. There are 
 rivers in Spain and Portugal that would provide 
 splendid otter - hunting from February until 
 October. 
 
 An intelligent farmer from Asturias, v^hom v^e 
 met on a coach ride in Leon, said that bears 
 v^ere still fairly common in the mountains of his 
 part of the country. A friend of his had shot one 
 during that year. I was told that bears haunt the 
 mountains near Reinosa. 
 
 I saw no snakes in Spain except vipers. These 
 were very common along the rocky banks of the 
 Rio Sil above Orense. You could scarcely walk 20 
 yards without seeing one or two of these hand- 
 some, venomous animals. At first I made a 
 circuit of a few yards to avoid these viper-haunted 
 spots, but in a few days I grew accustomed to 
 vipers, and occasionally trod on one of the reptiles 
 by design or accident. Our gilly shunned them 
 as ' muy malo ' (very bad). 
 
 As for the fish, I shall write of them as we 
 proceed. Two species, the boga and a bigger, chub- 
 like fish, were quite new to me. The shad of the 
 Minho also interested us. I have not read any 
 modern Spanish work on ichthyology. Walton 
 speaks of *an ingenious Spaniard,' one John (or 
 
The Wild Life of Spain 103 
 
 Juan) Valdesso, whose * Hundred and Ten Con- 
 siderations ' were translated into English in 1638. 
 Valdesso remarks that * Rivers and the inhabitants 
 of the watery elements were made for wise men to 
 contemplate, and fools to pass by without considera- 
 tion.' Who was this Valdesso ? And are his 
 'Considerations' always upon beasts, birds, and 
 fishes, or upon matters in general ? I cannot find 
 his name in the admirable * Bibliotheca Piscatoria,' 
 1883 edition, though other Spanish names are 
 given in the volume. 
 
 Among the trees of the country we saw the palms 
 of Andalusia, which were probably introduced by 
 the Moors. The ilex abounds in the forests between 
 Avila and Madrid. Chestnuts clothe the slopes 
 of many of the rivers, and afford pleasant shade 
 from the scorching noonday sunshine. The 
 orange, olive, myrtle, and almond, flourish almost 
 everywhere. 
 
 In Navarre the woods resembled those of 
 our country. There we saw primroses and 
 daffodils, the former in profusion along the 
 Bidasoa. We were not fortunate enough to come 
 into the habitat of the Spanish iris, which is 
 exported in such large quantities to England. In 
 Castile we passed through thousands of acres of 
 
I04 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 wild-lavender. These great patches of purple give 
 beauty to the plains, and the odour of the flower 
 fills the air. A species of heath grows to the 
 height of 4 or 5 feet in some parts of Spain and 
 Portugal, and forms impenetrable jungles. In 
 Portugal we could not walk by some of the rivers 
 without treading upon the beautiful osmunda fern. 
 It is as common as our English bracken in many 
 parts of the Peninsula ; in fact, when we wanted 
 ferns to cover our fish from the sun we were 
 obliged to use the osmunda, for there was often no 
 choice between that and any other. We noted 
 many varieties of ferns throughout the North of 
 Spain. 
 
 The ornithologist and botanist will find a fertile 
 field of observation in Spain. In the semi-tropical 
 area of the South many interesting species of birds 
 frequent the river marshes and the forests, while 
 the sterner North affords the study of other 
 varieties, both familiar and scarce. Amid the 
 luxuriant vegetation of Portugal, and upon the 
 plains and mountains of Spain, the student of 
 plants will discover innumerable kinds of curious 
 flowers, ferns, and mosses. 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 OUR HOME IN THE GORGE 
 
 At times we had to endure some amount of dis- 
 comfort. One of our trials was hunger. In most 
 of the fondas of the Basque Provinces, and in the 
 towns, we had very fair board, but in Leon our 
 diet was sometimes Hmited to eggs, leathery, lean, 
 and tasteless beef, hard, stale bread, and thin wine. 
 There is not sufficient sustenance, for those leading 
 an active outdoor life, in white bread, without 
 butter, and omelettes or boiled eggs. We some- 
 times longed for a good, plain substantial English 
 dinner of joint, vegetables, and pudding. The 
 Spaniard's breakfast consists of a cup of chocolate, 
 or coffee, and a piece of dry bread. One cannot 
 start for a day's fishing on such a slender repast. 
 At most of the inns we bargained for eggs with 
 our breakfast. 
 
 One misses butter, farinaceous food, and vege- 
 tables in Spain. Strange as it may seem, in this 
 105 
 
io6 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 fertile land table vegetables are not abundant. 1 
 never saw a cooked cabbage, a dish of green peas 
 or beans, carrots, or turnips, on a Spanish table. 
 Here and there we could obtain salad, and some- 
 times globe artichokes. Some of the dishes reeked 
 of garlic, others of malodorous oil. A crust of 
 decent bread and a piece of Cheddar cheese would 
 have been a luxury. The bread was too white to 
 be nourishing, and the cream cheese was sour. 
 Sometimes we fared really well, but now and then 
 we had a week of very indifferent and inadequate 
 meals. Once or twice my wife had to smoke 
 cigarettes to stay the sense of keen hunger by the 
 riverside. 
 
 A gentleman in Wales wrote to inquire whether 
 he could take his daughter on a fishing tour in 
 Spain. Was it a suitable country for ladies ? I 
 flinch at such a question. So much depends on 
 the ladies. For the sake of travel, experience, 
 and sport, some women will endure extreme dis- 
 comfort with fortitude. A woman who cannot 
 bear changes in climate, long rail way -journeys, 
 cramped travelling in coaches, fasting, midge- 
 bites, rough quarters, and social intercourse with 
 labourers and muleteers, will not enjoy a fishing 
 excursion in the wilder parts of Spain. Dainty 
 
Our Home in the Gorge 107 
 
 and fastidious lady anglers may be advised to stay 
 at a first-class hotel in Scotland, where there are 
 warm baths, lifts, downy beds, a good table, and 
 refined company, and to avoid the rough inns and 
 the hardships attending an unconventional tour in 
 Spain and Portugal. 
 
 On the other hand, women who are not bound 
 hand and foot and soul itself, as some are, by a 
 hundred conventions, precedents, traditions, and 
 prejudices, and who possess fair health, will gain 
 pleasure and knowledge of the world by a journey 
 through the remote districts of the Peninsula. 
 They will find that Spanish bed-linen rivals our 
 own in cleanliness and whiteness. Let me give 
 them a word of advice. If tea is essential to their 
 comfort, as tobacco is to mine, let them take a 
 spirit-stove in their bags. Horniman's tea in tins 
 can be obtained in most of the Spanish towns. 
 So even that direful institution, afternoon tea, is 
 not impossible in the rudest parts of Spain. 
 
 A few miles above the town of Orense, on the 
 railway, is the grand gorge where the river Sil 
 joins the Minho. A third stream from the moun- 
 tains of Galicia flows into the Sil at this point, and 
 at the junction of the three waters is the remote 
 village of Los Pearas, where the natives depend 
 
io8 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 chiefly for a livelihood upon their vines and 
 chestnut-trees. We arrived at the station of Los 
 Pearas late at night. Inquiry for a casa de 
 huespedes (house of hospitality) brought us a 
 guide, who lit a lamp, shouldered our bags and 
 tackle, and conducted us along the railroad and 
 across a crazy footbridge to a cluster of houses. 
 Our porter knocked at the door of one of the 
 houses, and a woman's voice was heard within. 
 ' They cannot take you in,' said our guide. There- 
 upon we held a conference. Was there another 
 house for strangers ? It was nearly midnight, and 
 we were tired and hungry. The prospect was 
 somewhat dispiriting. Should we be forced to 
 spend the night on the mountainside ? 
 
 But just as we were turning away the door was 
 opened, and we heard a man's voice. To our 
 great surprise, he spoke in perfect English. 
 * Come in,' he said. * They will put you up. I 
 had no idea you were English.' We entered a 
 quaint apartment, half kitchen and half village 
 shop, and were very cordially received by the 
 worthy host and hostess. The Englishman was 
 a boarder in the house, a sportsman and keen 
 angler, who spends the greater part of the year in 
 this mountain retreat. We congratulated ourselves 
 
Our Home in the Gorge 109 
 
 upon our good fortune, and in a short time we 
 were sitting to supper at the table of the hostess, 
 and Hstening to the English angler's report upon 
 the river. He held out no promise of brilliant 
 sport with the fly, but he spoke of * twenty-pound 
 baskets of trout ' made by spinning the natural 
 bait. It was morning before we retired to our 
 little bedroom, for the chance of talking with an 
 English sportsman was not an event of everyday 
 occurrence. Mr. L. had fished the Sil during 
 several seasons, and he knew every pool for a 
 dozen miles up the river. His reputation as a 
 fisherman was the talk of the natives, and many 
 dishes of trout were given by him to figure upon 
 the table at local fiestas. 
 
 We lay down to sleep lulled by the cry of the 
 wild foaming river. It was a queer little room, 
 clean, but not sumptuous. The morning was 
 chilly, but gloriously bright. Martins were hawk- 
 ing by the window of our room. A scent of coffee 
 mounted the staircase, and we heard Mr. L. 
 whistling as he dressed. 
 
 We had breakfast the next day on a big balcony 
 overhanging the turbulent river. At ten o'clock 
 Mr. L. proposed that we should try the fly until 
 luncheon-time. He took us to some likely- 
 
no Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 looking water, which we fished for an hour with- 
 out rising a fish. In the afternoon we obtained 
 some bogas for bait, and spun with them. Luck 
 was, however, against us during our visit to 
 Los Pearas. 
 
 I will relate some of the experiences of our 
 English friend, whose skill in spinning from the 
 Nottingham reel, and knowledge of the where- 
 abouts of big fish, insure him excellent sport in the 
 deep, rough pools of this wild river. Mr. L. often 
 catches from three to four trout in a day, occasion- 
 ally weighing together about 20 pounds. He has 
 caught fish in the Sil up to 10 pounds, and he has 
 seen a trout weighing as much as 30 pounds, 
 which was killed by a peasant with a digging-fork 
 in the shallow water of a tributary. There is no 
 doubt that there are trout of huge proportions in 
 these great pools of the Minho and Sil at Los 
 Pearas. The local anglers, who have learned to 
 work a spinning boga, after a fashion, occasionally 
 lose very big fish. My friend uses a stiffish spin- 
 ning rod, a salmon-line, a strong flight, with 
 swivels, and for bait a boga of about 4 inches. 
 He casts from a wooden reel without a check, and 
 spins off the tail of the broken water where it 
 tumbles into a pool. 
 
ON THE BANKS OF THE RIO SIL. 
 
Our Home in the Gorge m 
 
 These Sil trout fight Hke salmon. They tear 
 the line off the reel, leap repeatedly, and some- 
 times sulk. A long reel-line is necessary, and the 
 tackle must be as strong as that used for ferox in 
 Scotland. The trout are beautifully shaped and 
 coloured. They can rarely be tempted by spinning 
 artificial baits. The boga appears to be their 
 staple food, and they will not take a fly. I caught 
 a few small trout with the fly in the tributary, but 
 I could not rise a fish, except bogas, in the main 
 river. 
 
 I asked Senor Sastre, our host, if he had ever 
 seen any English anglers on the river besides 
 Mr. L. and ourselves. 
 
 * Yes, many years ago,' he said, *two English 
 gentlemen came, and set up a tent across the 
 river there.' 
 
 The senor was an important man in these parts. 
 He kept the only tienda, a general store where 
 one might buy anything — from a dozen eggs to a 
 pair of boots. His wife was young, gentle, and 
 amiable, with a refined, sensitive face. She was 
 a perfect hostess. We fared excellently. Good 
 roasted joints decked the table ; the fowls were 
 tender, and the wine of the district bright and 
 free from logwood. We had most of our meals on 
 
112 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 the big balcony, with the cool air blowing upon us 
 from the mountains. The children romped around 
 — little girls with olive skins and dark hair. My 
 wife soon won their confidence. It was an ideal 
 Spanish country home. 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 IN THE KINGDOM OF GALICIA 
 
 One hot afternoon I went up the little stream 
 that flows down to the Sil through a deep and 
 delightful glen. The chico of the house accom- 
 panied me. Mr. L. was entertaining some Spanish 
 visitors, including two of the Guardia Civil, who 
 had come to look for certain highway robbers who 
 were causing terror among the natives of the 
 hamlet in the gorge. We followed a track up the 
 glen, among vineyards. The grapes were small, 
 and in green clusters on the riotous vines. Below 
 us the burn murmured in its rocky channel, and 
 above were wild hills devoid of foliage. 
 
 The chico talked in Spanish. He thought I 
 would understand him better if he raised his voice, 
 so when I was at a loss to catch his meaning he 
 shouted the phrase in a louder tone. I gathered 
 that the little river had been badly poached. My 
 companion pointed to a herb growing by the 
 113 8 
 
114 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 waterside. It resembled our wild hemlock, and 
 had yellowish leaves and flowers. A few handfuls 
 of these poisonous leaves, bruised and thrown 
 into a small pool, will bring all the trout to the 
 top, gasping for breath. The action of this plant 
 upon fish seems as fatal as that of lime. I uttered 
 a malediction upon the herb and those who use it 
 for the wholesale murder of trout. 
 
 The glen was even wilder and more beautiful 
 as we proceeded. No trace of a path was to be 
 seen. We scrambled over rocks and through 
 undergrowth, and came to a scour that looked 
 tempting for a trial of the fly. I fished upstream, 
 casting as well as I could among the rocks, and 
 trying to avoid the overhanging boughs. Not a 
 fish rose to my fly. The sun's rays penetrated 
 the boscage, and the rocks of the stream were 
 burning hot. It was too bright for fly fishing, 
 and, moreover, I doubted whether the poachers 
 had left a single fish in the burn. 
 
 I sat down and smoked a pipe, while the chico 
 reclined on the grass. The beauty of the little 
 ravine cannot be described. It was a veritable 
 fairyland. Masses of boulders rose in chaos from 
 the verge of the stream ; the wooded slopes were 
 impenetrable, and there was a long strip of deep 
 
In the Kingdom of Galicia 115 
 
 blue sky above two high cHffs that seemed to bar 
 the passage of the burn. From below the gray 
 cliffs came the rumble of falling water. 
 
 I wandered on in this enchanted glen, and 
 came to the cliffs. The stream rushed in a white 
 torrent between the banks, and fell into a clear 
 pool. * Surely there must be trout here,' was my 
 reflection. I took off the fly cast, and put on a 
 small gilt Devon minnow. At the very first spin 
 there was a yellow flash in the water, as a trout 
 darted out from beneath a flat, sunken rock. He 
 hovered, saw me, and shot back to his holt. * At 
 any rate, I have seen one trout,' I said. 
 
 The chico joined me, and watched my operations 
 with interest. Presently I was actually fast in a 
 trout. My rod was bending to the plunges of a 
 fish, and I saw my prey as he rushed up the pool. 
 I turned his head, and netted him as he came 
 down. This was the only trout that I caught 
 during about two hours of careful spinning — a fish 
 of less than | pound. 
 
 We returned on the other side of the stream, 
 and before I went indoors I made a few casts 
 with the fly over a dammed-up pool near the house. 
 Here I hooked a few small bogas and rose one 
 trout. 
 
 8—2 
 
ii6 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 The next day Mr. L. started for a village several 
 miles away over the mountains. The priest of the 
 aldea had invited him to attend a fiesta. We 
 were sorry to lose his company. His man started 
 early to carry his traps, and after breakfast Mr. L. 
 set out on foot, and cHmbed the steep, winding 
 path to the open summit. With the good little 
 chico as our guide, we went up the main river to 
 spin for trout. Our gilly had provided several 
 bogas for bait. 
 
 We went up and down along a narrow, stony 
 path by the wide foaming river. Vipers glided to 
 cover at our approach. Every fresh bend of the 
 river seemed to open out a finer, more savage 
 prospect. The roar of the water at some of the 
 falls was almost deafening. Our lad led the way 
 nimbly, jumping from rock to rock. We reached 
 a pinnacle, and gazed down upon the powerful 
 flood surging among the boulders. These deeps 
 of the Sil are almost horrible to look upon, as they 
 swirl and eddy beneath the crags and banks of 
 scree. 
 
 After a pleasant repast in the shade we began 
 to spin. The chico said that Mr. L. had caught a 
 five-pound trout in this very pool a few days before 
 our coming. We hoped that such luck would fall 
 
In the Kingdom of Galicia 117 
 
 to us. Alas! the desire was not to be realized. 
 Pool after pool was tried, and two spinning tackles 
 lost among the rocks. I pricked one trout. He 
 came out from under a boulder, plucked at the 
 bait, and then fled. This fish looked as though 
 he might weigh a couple of pounds. 
 
 * Hard lines, but it can't be helped,' I said, as 
 we threw ourselves down to rest below a huge 
 mass of dislodged rock. 
 
 I took out my dictionary to look for a Spanish 
 word. When I had found it, the chico asked if 
 he might have the book. I gave it to him, and 
 he turned over the pages with intense interest. 
 Presently he found a word that excited his 
 orthodox indignation. * Cismdtico ' was the word 
 of terror. ' Cismdtico malo, malo !' he murmured. 
 I suppose that from the boy's point of view a 
 schismatic is a very dangerous and immoral person. 
 Good little chico ! there are many things undreamt 
 of in your philosophy. How odd that the child 
 should have chanced upon that word * cismdtico ' ! 
 
 Shad ascend the Sil, and spawn in these higher 
 reaches of the river. They are netted in some of 
 the pools, and even taken in long-handled nets in 
 certain parts. A few salmon, no doubt, come up 
 as high as this reach at Los Pearas ; but the over- 
 
ii8 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 netting in the estuary, and, in fact, all the way 
 along the Minho and Sil, has ruined the salmon- 
 fishing for anglers. Ford speaks of the Minho as 
 a productive salmon river. It may have been so 
 in his day. At the present time only a few salmon 
 can escape the nets that are always at work in the 
 lower reaches at Caminha and Tuy. Yet what a 
 grand salmon river it might be ! Water that can 
 produce trout up to 30 pounds in weight ought to 
 be capable of providing mighty salmon. As for 
 the shad, they come up in large numbers, as I 
 shall show in another chapter. 
 
 We saw nothing grander in Spain than this 
 lonely, rugged gorge of the Sil at Los Pearas. It 
 is a scene of beauty and majesty mingled with the 
 terrific. The rolling, roaring river is cruel in its 
 might, fierce and remorseless in its wild flow. It 
 has claimed many victims. The loud cry of its 
 tumbhng, tossing waters lingered long in our ears. 
 My wife was haunted with tragic dreams of this 
 strange, fear-inspiring flood. 
 
 George Borrow refers to the Minho in his 
 'Wild Wales,' in writing upon Monmouthshire. 
 Monmouth is named after * the river Mynwy, or 
 Minno,' as Borrow has it. This tributary of the 
 Wye is more commonly called the Monnow, and 
 
In the Kingdom of Galicia 119 
 
 it is a good trout stream. * There is a river of 
 much the same name, not in Macedon, but in the 
 Peninsula,' says Borrow, * namely, the Minho, 
 which probably got its denomination from that 
 race cognate to the Cumry, the Gael, who were 
 the first colonizers of the Peninsula, and whose 
 generic name yet stares us in the face, and salutes 
 our ears in the words " Galicia " and ** Portugal."' 
 
 According to Dr. Isaac Taylor, in his valuable 
 'Words and Places,' gal is a Celtic root. It is 
 found in Gall-ia, Gal-way, Done-gal, and other 
 place-names. Dr. Taylor says * the inhabitants of 
 Gal-icia and Portu-gal possess more Celtic blood 
 than those who inhabit any other portion of the 
 Peninsula.' 
 
 In appearance they bear a certain resemblance 
 to the Welsh Celts. They have a hard struggle 
 with Nature in these rocky regions ; but they are 
 thrifty and shrewd, and very little seems to suffice 
 for their wants. Every bit of soil that can be 
 cultivated in the Valley of the Minho is planted 
 with vines, potatoes, and other vegetables. The 
 Galicians are hardy, like most mountaineers. 
 They love their savage, romantic land, and they 
 fought fiercely to beat back the Moorish invaders. 
 
 The Gallegos, as they are called in Spain, have 
 
I20 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 their own tongue, their own customs, songs, and 
 dances. Their women wear bright bodices and 
 shawls, and they are fond of big earrings. Upon 
 their heads they tie gaily-coloured handkerchiefs. 
 They work in the fields with the men, and work 
 as well as their husbands, brothers, and sons, 
 turning the soil with forks, training the vines, and 
 garnering the chestnuts and grapes. The life of 
 the Gallegos recalls a passage in ' Don Quixote,' 
 where the Knight resolves to turn shepherd : 
 
 *"The oaks, the cork-trees, and chestnut-trees 
 will afford us both lodging and diet, the willows 
 will yield us their shade, the roses present us their 
 inoffensive sweets, and the spacious meads will be 
 our carpets, diversified with colours of all sorts ; 
 blessed with the purest air, and unconfined alike, 
 we shall breathe that, and freedom ..." 
 
 ' ** Sure enough," quoth Sancho, *' this sort of 
 life suits me to a hair." ' 
 
 The Gallegos do not care to roam far from their 
 country. They are said to possess so great a love 
 of their native land that home-sickness is with 
 them a true malady. 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 AT PONFERRADA 
 
 Before leaving Los Pearas, let me say that the 
 best water for the heavy trout is a league or 
 more up the river. Some of the pools are 40 feet 
 in depth. Here and there the river rushes with 
 tremendous force between great boulders, or falls 
 in cascades of 5 feet or 6 feet in height. Very 
 little of the water can be waded. Spinning from 
 the rocks is the most successful mode of fishing. 
 These big fighting trout afford magnificent sport. 
 Mr. L. is often compelled to play a fish for half an 
 hour. An apparently beaten trout will sometimes 
 make another great rush for the opposite side of 
 the pool. These upper pools of the Sil and Minho 
 may be said to produce the largest trout in Europe. 
 The rivers are poached in various ways, but these 
 huge deep pools baffle the illicit fishermen, who 
 devote their attention to the shallows and tribu- 
 taries. 
 
 121 
 
122 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 We were sorry to leave the good Sastre couple 
 at the end of a week's pleasant sojourn. A long, 
 slow railway-journey brought us to Ponferrada at 
 two in the morning. The fonda omnibus was out- 
 side the station, and two or three sleepy passengers 
 left the train. We entered the vehicle, which 
 rattled and bumped us through the silent streets 
 of the little town. At a kind of sentry-box the 
 omnibus drew up, and a man in uniform, holding 
 a lantern, peered into the coach. 
 
 * Turistas, Ingleses,' I said to the officer. 
 
 He muttered something to the driver, and the 
 pair of scraggy horses started at a gallop up the 
 street, and over a bridge spanning the Sil. A 
 steep serpentine road led us to the plaza and the 
 fonda. The senora was up to receive guests, and 
 she led us to a room at the back of the house. 
 
 I stepped on to the balcony. Daylight was just 
 stealing over the mountains, and a snowy crest 
 was tinged with pink and gold. The moon was 
 shining above a grand escarpment of rock, and 
 daybreak had not yet paled the brilliant stars. A 
 loud crow issuing from a fowl-roost was the only 
 sound besides a low murmur of flowing water. I 
 could hardly leave the balcony. The scene was 
 enchanting. 
 
At Ponferrada 123 
 
 Ponferrada is amongst imposing mountains, and 
 situated on a hill over 1,600 feet above the sea. 
 It has quaint buildings, and commands a splendid 
 view of the Sil, which issues from a gorge about a 
 mile upstream, and flows through the town. The 
 place can boast of a fishing association, and holds, 
 therefore, the esteem of the angler. The members 
 are rod fishermen, with a detestation of dynamite. 
 The ley de pesca (fishing law) prohibits the 
 employment of explosives for killing fish, but in 
 these lonely valleys it is no easy matter to discover 
 poachers, and a large quantity of fish is destroyed. 
 
 I am glad to say, however, that trout are 
 increasing at Ponferrada. Since my visit I have 
 received a letter from a local fisherman, who tells 
 me several heavy trout, some of over 6 pounds, 
 were taken with the fly during the spring of 1903. 
 The bogas are also more numerous than they were, 
 which should show that both trout and coarse fish 
 are multiplying through the efforts of the associa- 
 tion to suppress the use of infernal dynamite. 
 
 You can even buy artificial flies in Ponferrada. 
 The maker is a professional fisherman and tackle- 
 maker named Gancedo. He has fished the Sil for 
 many years, and his son is also an angler. 
 Gancedo's flies are big hackles, with plain, sober 
 
124 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 dressing. The gut is coarse, and the flies are 
 rough. But they kill fish in the Sil, as I shall 
 show presently. Altogether the outlook is hopeful 
 at Ponferrada, and I trust that English fishermen 
 will not forget to contribute to the association. 
 
 There is a choice of two hotels at Ponferrada. 
 We chose the one in the plaza, and paid 5 pesetas 
 per diem for moderate accommodation. The 
 weather was anything but favourable, but upon 
 the day after our arrival I engaged an attendant to 
 carry my bag, brogues, and wading-stockings, and 
 started out at ten in the morning to fish up the Sil. 
 Antonio, my companion, was a good-humoured, 
 attentive lad, with merry blue eyes. He told me 
 that he had been out fishing once before with an 
 Englishman, who ' caught nothing.' 
 
 A young chum joined Antonio before we were 
 out of the town. The day was fiery hot and dead 
 still. No ripples showed on the clear green pools. 
 I fished several runs with the fly. 
 
 We came to a long shallow with enough stream 
 for a wet fly, and I waded in and began to cast. 
 For half an hour I fished without rising a single 
 trout. In the gorge, half a mile further up the 
 river, I was more successful. I rose several fish 
 and caught a brace. Then the natural flies 
 
At Ponferrada 125 
 
 disappeared and the trout ceased to rise. As 
 Antonio declared that there were trout as long as 
 his forearm in the pool, I put on a small Devon 
 minnow, and tried spinning close to the rocky 
 bank. This failed to tempt a fish, so I put on the 
 fly cast again and went up to some broken water. 
 Here I took another trout of about ^ pound, and 
 rose a fish here and there. 
 
 On a dull day I think the pool would yield 
 some good trout. I saw several big fish near the 
 surface, but the glare was so intense that one 
 could not cast without putting them down. A 
 three-pounder jumped in one of the runs further 
 up, and I saw enough rises to satisfy me that there 
 are a very fair number of trout in this length. 
 
 Antonio's friend departed at mid-day, after 
 sharing the contents of the luncheon-bag. My 
 gilly was a jewel. He was inexperienced in fishing, 
 but he knew instinctively what was required of him, 
 and he seemed at once to understand the queries 
 that I put to him in imperfect Spanish. Antonio 
 told me that bears, wolves, wild-cats, and foxes, 
 inhabited the mountains of the district. He spoke 
 of a laguna, several miles from Ponferrada, full of 
 very big eels and no other fish. 
 
 I was much impressed by the intelligence of the 
 
126 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 Spanish rural working class. These people have 
 a rare native v^it, and are without the stupidity 
 and apathy often associated with the terms * rustic' 
 or * bucolic' Here was an ostler at a country inn, 
 who could converse in an entertaining fashion 
 with a foreigner who possessed a meagre acquaint- 
 ance with the language of the country. What is 
 more, Antonio often read my thoughts before I 
 uttered them. When education spreads among 
 the people of Spain, we shall hear less dismal 
 prophecy of her downfall. She will be born again 
 before many years have passed. 
 
 Antonio and I had the river to ourselves. We 
 met not a solitary peasant throughout the day. 
 I was casting over a pool, when my attendant 
 uttered a cry and began to strip off his clothes. 
 He pointed wildly to the river, and in the middle 
 of the stream I saw a floating fish. Antonio 
 was into the water in a trice. He swam with 
 a powerful stroke, retrieved the fish, and came 
 ashore with a look of pride. The fish looked 
 like a chub of about a pound in weight. I did not 
 handle it, for it was a * demmed unpleasant 
 body ' to look upon, and possessed a powerful 
 odour. 
 
 The lad threw the fish away, and was into his 
 
At Ponferrada 127 
 
 clothes almost as quickly as he had disrobed him- 
 self. I had a mind to follow his example, and to 
 take a plunge into the deep, cool water ; but I was 
 too tired and lazy to take off my brogues and 
 wading-stockings. 
 
 This was an enjoyable day, though my bag only 
 contained six trout at five o'clock. I might have 
 waited for the evening rise, but I had promised 
 my wife that I would be at the fonda by the 
 dinner-hour. We had a long, rough walk before 
 us. Antonio proposed a short-cut. There is a 
 Spanish proverb, translated by George Borrow, to 
 the purport that ' He who takes short-cuts makes 
 more labour for himself in the long-run.' A stiff 
 climb in the broiling sun brought us to a long 
 rocky ridge over the river. The effort of climbing 
 was rewarded by a wide and glorious view of the 
 mountains stretching away into Asturias, the course 
 of the Sil below Ponferrada, and the snow-capped 
 summit which had met our first gaze from the 
 balcony on the morning of our arrival. It was 
 indeed a most noble panorama of grim mountain 
 grandeur, green fertile plain, and silvery stream. 
 
 Upon the following day I went alone by an 
 early train to Toral de los Vados (the Chief of the 
 Fords), a village situated on the right bank of the 
 
128 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 river, a few miles below Ponferrada. Antonio 
 looked greatly disappointed when he saw me start 
 alone. However, I had no especial need for his 
 services. At Toral I took a glass of red wine 
 at the fonda, and asked the hostess if she could 
 provide sleeping accommodation. She answered 
 that she would be pleased to do so. 
 
 ' Good/ I said ; * if there are many trout here, I 
 will come with my wife.' 
 
 A tributary joins the Sil at Toral de los Vados. 
 The main river flows through a wider valley than 
 that of Ponferrada, and spreads itself over gravelly 
 shoals. Better water for wading and fishing the 
 fisherman could not desire. I looked up at the 
 ardent sky. There was not the slightest sign of a 
 change in the weather. The river was clear as 
 crystal. Well, perhaps I might entice a few trout 
 from the rough water. There is nothing like 
 trying. 
 
 I fished down the tributary to the big river. 
 Plenty of troutlets darted away from the banks of 
 the little stream, and I caught one of them on the 
 orange dun. Then I came to the Sil, and found a 
 fine tumbling run, which seemed a likely place. 
 The truth is not always interesting. I must, 
 however, honestly confine myself to dry fact. No 
 
At Ponfcrrada 129 
 
 fish, except the fingerling and one small boga, 
 came to hand that day. I hooked one good fish. 
 I saw him turn in the water, but in a second he 
 was firee, and I was lamenting. 
 
 Most of the day was spent in the shade of a 
 grove near the river. The heat was tremendous, 
 and there was no breeze to cool the air of the 
 valley. I saw two men building up fish-traps with 
 stones, and one solitary and sun- scorched herds- 
 man tending some cows and goats. At about four 
 o'clock I had to catch the train for Ponferrada. 
 The train was crowded with harvesters, hundreds 
 of Gallegos in the costume of their country. They 
 crowded at the windows and filled all the seats. 
 I was glad that the journey would only be one of a 
 few minutes. Antonio was at the station. 
 
 * Many?' he asked. 
 
 * Nada' (Nothing), I replied. 
 
 He offered sympathy, and I got into the 
 ramshackle omnibus. 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 THE HAMLET OF MATAROSA 
 
 We found agreeable company at the fonda. The 
 registrar of the town was a constant guest, and he 
 showed us great politeness. This caballero was 
 an educated man, with a refined face and pleasant 
 manners. We also made friends with the Mayor 
 of a pueblo amongst the mountains, about twenty- 
 five miles from Ponferrada. He said that if we 
 would go up into his country we should * catch 
 trout enough.' Was not the river full of fish ? 
 Why, there were men living there who made it 
 their business to catch trout for the Madrid 
 market. They lived by fishing. 
 
 * Do they use nets ?' I asked. 
 
 * Not so much,' the Mayor replied. ' They 
 have canas (rods) like your own.' 
 
 One evening the registrar said : ' Senor, I have 
 seen to-day a man who speaks English, and 
 knows much about fishing.' 
 130 
 
A SPANISH VENTA, OR WAYSIDE TAVERN, WITH THE HOSTESS, 
 HER DAUGHTER, AND GRANDCHILD AT THE DOOR. 
 
The Hamlet of Matarosa 131 
 
 * Bueno — many thanks,' I returned. * I would 
 like to meet him.' 
 
 'You shall do so this evening,' said the regis- 
 trar. * His name is Angel Gancedo, and he 
 is a waiter at the casino of which I am a 
 member.* 
 
 After dinner, the registrar, the Mayor, and 
 another caballero escorted us to the club. Great 
 respect was shown to the English senora, who was 
 still unmistakably English, though she wore a 
 black mantilla. I cannot say whether Spanish 
 ladies visit the clubs. At any rate, my wife's entry 
 caused no astonishment. We all sat down to a 
 table, and the Mayor called for coffee. Then 
 Angel Gancedo appeared. He is a young man of 
 about twenty-eight, the son of Gancedo the fisher- 
 man of Ponferrada. 
 
 ' So you speak English ?' I said. 
 
 * Oh yes,' he replied, with an apologetic shrug 
 of the shoulders. ' I was servant to an English 
 family at Rivadavia, and I have travelled with an 
 English merchant.' He mentioned a name well 
 known in Covent Garden. 
 
 * You are also a fisherman ?' 
 
 * I have fished all my life, and my father before 
 me.' 
 
 9—2 
 
132 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 Our Spanish hosts listened to the English tongue 
 with smiling interest. 
 
 * Is it good English that he speaks ?' asked one 
 of them. 
 
 ' Very good,' I said. 
 
 Angel rose at once in the estimation of the 
 company. He was actually able to carry on a 
 long conversation with the English strangers. 
 Bravo, Ponferrada ! Even in Seville there are few 
 men who can speak the English language. 
 
 We arranged that Angel should accompany us 
 up the river, to act as our guide and interpreter. 
 He proposed to bring his rod, and some mysterious 
 bait, which he had found very deadly for trout. 
 We agreed to meet at the fonda upon the following 
 morning. After an exchange of civilities with our 
 friends, we left the casino. 
 
 Angel arrived at the hotel at about nine in the 
 morning. The diligence did not leave Ponferrada 
 until one o'clock, but our guide had resolved to be 
 punctual. We strolled about the town, and Angel 
 showed me his house. He is a married man with 
 one child. The house was purchased from the 
 proceeds of transactions in the way of exports 
 with the gentleman in Covent Garden. It was 
 strange to hear a native of this out-of-the-way 
 
The Hamlet of Matarosa 133 
 
 corner of Spain talking of Covent Garden. Angel 
 had never been to England. 
 
 Then my companion proposed that we should 
 drink a glass of white wine. We entered a wine 
 tienda, sat down, and exchanged cigarettes. The 
 landlady questioned Angel about me. Who was 
 I ? English or French ? A fisherman for pleasure ! 
 Caramba ! how queer ! Well, no doubt the 
 English are a curious people. When we returned 
 to the fonda, a very important person was standing 
 in the portico. He saluted me by raising his 
 sombrero, and I lifted my boina. I gathered from 
 Angel that the gentleman was a Deputy-Governor 
 or some other official of rank. He wished to see 
 my artificial flies. I handed him my fly-book, and 
 he turned over the leaves. 
 
 * Bonita !' (Pretty !), he remarked. * But they 
 are small, very small.' 
 
 Compared with the huge moscas used by the 
 Leon anglers, my flies were certainly small, though 
 in Yorkshire or Derbyshire they would be de- 
 scribed as big. The senor gave me back the fly- 
 book with a gracious bow. I raised my boina, 
 and he went his way. 
 
 Angel's infallible bait was the live stone-fly. 
 He had a tin box containing a number of these 
 
134 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 insects. His rod was about 20 feet long, made of 
 bamboo, with a switch for a top. Attached to 
 this was a length of cord, and a cast of stout gut, 
 strong enough to hold a twenty-pound salmon. 
 This was all the luggage that he carried. 
 
 The coach was supposed to leave at one o'clock. 
 It was about two before we started. Angel and 
 the Mayor occupied the interior, and my wife 
 and I sat by the driver. There was a mixed team 
 of gaunt mules and bony horses, six in number, 
 each with jangling bells around his neck. The 
 jehu started his steeds with the customary yells 
 and oaths. They broke into a lolloping canter 
 along a straight dusty road, and the coach swayed 
 from side to side. 
 
 Before we had gone a couple of miles, the flanks 
 of the half-starved beasts were wet with sweat. I 
 knew what was coming. The man took up his 
 whip, and began to butt-end the ribs of the 
 wretched creatures. Whack! whack! whack! 
 Every blow seemed to fall upon us, to sting our 
 flesh. I could not endure it. I longed to fling 
 the fellow from the box. 
 
 'No, no !' I cried, as the driver was dealing a 
 fearful blow at one of the horses. 
 
 I held his arm firmly. 
 
The Hamlet of Matarosa 135 
 
 * Oh, please don't beat them,' begged my wife. 
 * We are going quite fast enough.' 
 
 The man looked astounded. A frown crossed 
 his face, and I feared that we might have a quarrel 
 and a scene. However, he put the whip down 
 without uttering a word. No doubt he regarded 
 us as lunatics. His beasts were not Christians ; 
 they had no souls. The Holy Church had never 
 forbidden him to beat them. Ah, this cruelty to 
 animals, it is a sad blot upon Spain ! 
 
 Our remonstrances had some effect upon the 
 coach-driver. For the rest of the stage he used the 
 lash less freely, and never the handle of the whip 
 to thrash his skinny jades. We were glad when 
 we reached the halfway house, and the horses and 
 mules were led away to a stable. Poor animals ! 
 their legs shook beneath them, and their coats 
 were reeking. The roadside venta stood at the 
 foot of a pass, a lonely hovel, one bare room with 
 earth for the floor. Angel said that robbers had 
 broken into the house one night, bound the 
 proprietor to a chair, and stripped him of his 
 belongings. It was the kind of den where one 
 might expect to meet with adventures. 
 
 The fresh team started at a gallop up the steep 
 ascent. A new cochero held the reins, and 
 
136 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 cracked his long whip over the ears of the leaders. 
 Jingle-jangle we went up the hill, which was 
 almost as steep as the upper part of the Pass of 
 Llanberis. Our driver stamped his feet, shouted, 
 raved, swore, and brandished the whip. He 
 behaved in this fashion until the team broke into 
 a canter along one of the few level stretches of the 
 road. Gray mountains bounded the valley. The 
 country was sterile and the grass parched. Thick 
 dust lay upon the highway, and trailed behind the 
 wheels of the rumbling diligence. 
 
 The district is sparsely populated. We passed 
 only one village, a primitive place on the rocky 
 bank of the Sil, with squat houses, picturesque 
 peasants, and an air of poverty. We stayed here 
 for a few minutes, and then went bowling along a 
 lovely vale, with wooded slopes below rocky peaks, 
 and the river foaming deep down in its rugged 
 channel. 
 
 * Matarosa,' said the driver, pulling up at the 
 door of a small stone-built posada. 
 
 The Mayor alighted, and we were introduced to 
 the host and hostess of this very humble tavern. 
 Mountains, rocks, fir-trees, a bridge over a deep 
 pool, the Sil, a few squalid houses by the roadside, 
 and a boy in a sheepskin coat — such was our first 
 
The Hamlet of Matarosa 137 
 
 glimpse of Matarosa. Daniel Perez was our 
 host's cognomen. He was a burly, swarthy man, 
 in a blouse and boina. The hostess was plump. 
 She carried a baby in her arms, and wore a short 
 green skirt of many pleats, a bright bodice, and a 
 pink handkerchief upon her head. We bargained 
 for boarding terms, and agreed to pay 4 pesetas 
 each by the day. 
 
 Then Perez led us to his wine-shed, and we 
 tasted wine from a huge cask while his dame 
 prepared a meal. We dined in a room which 
 would be described as a * tap ' in England. The 
 table was of rough wood ; the seats were wooden 
 benches. Behind a small counter were a few big 
 sausages, a tub of pickled trout, and sundry 
 bottles of wine and spirits. There was no glass 
 to the window. You passed through a covered 
 courtyard, where mules were stabled, to enter this 
 apartment. The place was undoubtedly rustic, 
 and the fare was plain. 
 
 Muleteers, herdsmen, and wayfarers formed 
 the company at this tavern. They were rough- 
 looking fellows, but all of them picturesque, and 
 none of them uncivil. Angel had had some 
 misgivings concerning our reception at the 
 hamlet. 
 
138 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 ' These are good people,' he whispered. * It is 
 all right.' 
 
 * Good appetite attend you, gentlemen,' said an 
 old man from the doorway. 
 
 He sat down and began to question Angel. The 
 old peasant was a fisherman, and he made his own 
 flies. I have some of them in my desk as I write 
 — big hackles, with bodies of string, on large 
 hooks. 
 
 * He says we shall catch trout to-night,' 
 interpreted Angel. 
 
 The old fisherman looked at my flies. Santa 
 Maria ! they were pretty enough. But, man, how 
 could I catch big trout with those little hooks? 
 And the rod, it was too short, too slender — a mere 
 toy, fit only for children. He jerked his thumb 
 to the road, where his 20 feet of bamboo rested 
 against the balcony. That was the sort of cana 
 for the trout of the Sil. A group of open-eyed 
 peasants, men, women, and children, stood in the 
 doorway while we talked. I addressed them in 
 English, and they smiled and laughed. We were 
 the first English folk seen in their hamlet. They 
 talked in a dialect which was wholly unintelligible 
 to me, and sometimes baffling to Angel. We were 
 among the people : there was no doubt about it. I 
 
The Hamlet of Matarosa 139 
 
 wonder whether they were as interested in us as 
 we were in them. 
 
 There were still two hours of daylight. We 
 started up the river, accompanied by the old 
 fisherman's son. The glen was beautiful in the 
 fading sunlight. Angel and the native took one 
 side of the stream, and we fished from the other 
 bank. 
 
 * A rise,' I said, as the water was troubled close 
 to my point fly. 
 
 * I have him !' cried my wife. 
 
 She had hooked a trout just off a wild rush of 
 water among rocks. There was no doubt that the 
 fish was a good one, for the little greenheart rod 
 bent like a sickle, and the line flew out of the reel. 
 But fish and hook soon parted company. Never 
 mind: this was an earnest of sport to come. 
 That evening, however, not one of us brought 
 a single fish to the bank. I rose at least a dozen 
 fish, and pricked some of them ; but luck was 
 against us. We went back to incur the banter of 
 the landlord. Four rods and no fish ! Perhaps 
 he muttered the Spanish equivalent for * duffers.' 
 We were, at all events, satisfied that the river was 
 well stored with trout. The evening was passed 
 in conversation with Angel. 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 BY THE WILD SIL 
 
 'Another burning, cloudless day,' I said, step- 
 ping on to the balcony of the inn. 
 
 It was half-past seven, and the sun was high 
 over the mountains. Two Civil Guards, with 
 their rifles under their arms, came down a path 
 on the opposite side of the Sil, and crossed the 
 bridge. They had been scouring the mountains 
 during the night. Were they in search of brigands 
 or of contrabandists? The Guards saluted as 
 they passed the house. 
 
 * Good-day, senor ; I hope you are rested.' 
 These exchanges of courtesy in Spain are 
 
 pleasant. They make the stranger feel at home 
 in a foreign land, and show that the people are 
 kindly disposed towards one. 
 
 ' Yes, many thanks. It is very hot.' 
 
 * Si, senor. God be with you.' And the men 
 passed on, the sun gleaming upon their glazed, 
 
 140 
 
By the Wild Sil 141 
 
 black, three-cornered hats and the barrels of their 
 rifles. 
 
 At the end of the balcony was a heap of bed- 
 ding and blankets. Perez and his wife, good 
 souls, had vacated their own bedroom, and slept 
 on the balcony, so that the English people might 
 have the best apartment that their posada could 
 afford. 
 
 ' What shall we do ?' I said to Angel. * This is 
 not a good fishing-day.' 
 
 * Yes, it is a good day for my bait,' he responded. 
 
 * Well, we shall see,' I said. * It seems to me 
 that we had better wait till the sun is low.' 
 
 *No, it is better when the sun is high,' pro- 
 tested Angel. 
 
 We went out into the glare, and followed a 
 path along the right bank of the river. Angel 
 chose to stay at a deep pool where the water was 
 suitable for his style of fishing. My wife and I 
 proceeded up the river, and came to a broad 
 shallow, broken with a few rocks. Wading was 
 safe here, and the water was perfect for fly 
 fishing. A few small trout were bagged, and one 
 good fish broke the gut of a dropper fly. 
 
 In a deeper length, where the water eddied near 
 the bank, a trout of | pound came at the orange 
 
142 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 dun, and was duly netted. This eddy was full 
 of fish. They were rising everywhere ; but the 
 water was clear, and it was difficult to prevent 
 one's shadow from falling upon the pool. How- 
 ever, the eddy yielded two more trout, and we had 
 several rises. Then I went down to Angel's pool, 
 to see what he was doing. He had twice risen a 
 big trout with the stone-fly, but the fish had 
 refused the infallible lure. 
 
 * It is too bright,' I said. 
 
 ' No, it is good for my fishing,' asserted Angel. 
 
 I left him to his dapping, perched on a rock 
 over a pool about lo feet deep. It was just the 
 spot for a big trout ; but the sun-glare was power- 
 ful on the clear water, and every standing fish 
 could see his shadow. 
 
 My wife had to retire to the shade. The 
 heat was exhausting, and the glitter of the swift 
 water tired our eyes. I wished it would rain. A 
 little real English weather would have been a 
 grateful change. There had been no rain for at 
 least a fortnight. In England our friends were 
 grumbling at the incessant downpour and the low 
 temperature. * We envy you,' they wrote. Well, 
 the sunshine was glorious ; we had been warmed 
 through and through with it since the beginning 
 
By the Wild Sil 143 
 
 of March, and our faces were well tanned. Still, 
 I wished that it would rain. Here was a grand 
 river, full of trout that would rise to the fly, but 
 the sunshine proved a serious hindrance to sport. 
 
 We decided to return to the inn and take a 
 siesta until six o'clock. At that hour the sun 
 would be hidden by the higher peaks of the moun- 
 tains. Angel had not met with success. The 
 infalHble stone-fly had been refused with disdain, 
 and our little hackles had done more execution. 
 Some peasants were eating their mid- day meal in 
 the tavern. One of them was a fine handsome girl, 
 named FeHcia Gonzalez. * Strapping' is hardly 
 expressive enough as an adjective to convey her 
 proportions. She was a veritable giantess, and 
 her age was only fourteen. Felicia appeared to 
 be quite twenty years old. She was fair-haired, 
 with a golden-brown skin, blue eyes, and refined 
 features. I cannot describe her costume. It was 
 a wealth of colour from her head-kerchief to her 
 green stockings. She was a goat and cow keeper, 
 and one of the best singers and dancers in 
 Matarosa. Felicia's meal consisted of a foot of 
 bread and a piece of fat bacon. How she enjoyed 
 it ! For our part, we could scarcely swallow our 
 soup and stewed fowl. It was too hot to eat. 
 
144 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 A team of mules pulled up at the door, and the 
 driver entered. 
 
 * Good-day, gentlemen ; a good appetite attend 
 you.' 
 
 Perez fished up a couple of trout from the pickle- 
 tub, cut off a hunk of bread, and poured out a 
 glass of red wine for the hungry muleteer. 
 Naturally, the new-comer asked who we were, 
 and what we were doing at Matarosa. Angel 
 gave him the information. Having finished her 
 luncheon, Felicia took her staff and stalked out 
 of the inn, the soles of her wooden shoes clacket- 
 ing upon the road. The muleteer and Angel lit 
 their cigarettes, and we retired to sleep until the 
 evening. 
 
 It was cloudy towards the late afternoon. 
 Rain was actually threatening. A fresher breeze 
 came down from the pine-covered hills, and 
 whirled the dust on the road. We were refreshed 
 by our siesta. Estanislas, the boy in the sheepskin 
 coat, was waiting to accompany us up the river. 
 He had brought his long, heavy bamboo rod 
 and on his back was a basket something like an 
 ordinary creel, but without a lid to it. We made 
 our way up the river. 
 The water was no longer dazzling bright, for 
 
By the Wild Sil 145 
 
 the gathering clouds cast a shadow over the narrow 
 valley. I determined to try the minnow in some 
 wild, rushing water that afforded plenty of har- 
 bourage for trout among the rocks. To my 
 delight, I pricked a fish at the first cast. I dis- 
 tinctly dislike pricking trout with the ghastly 
 array of hooks on an artificial minnow, but I 
 was pleased to find that the minnow so quickly 
 attracted a fish. This pricking and missing 
 is the worst part of minnow fishing. I think 
 that the flying triangles are to blame. It is not 
 often that one loses a fish hooked on the tail 
 triangle. 
 
 Meanwhile, Estanislas was pulling out trout 
 with his formidable bamboo rod. He cast with a 
 loud switching noise across the stream, and let 
 his dozen big flies swim down in the broken water. 
 At each cast the weight of the rod nearly toppled 
 the little fellow into the whirling current. But 
 this chico is a good angler. He catches quite as 
 many trout as the men. My wife took a photo- 
 graph of the boy casting over a pool, near the 
 bridge at Matarosa. I continued to spin off the 
 rough water close to the bank. Presently a 
 number of stones came rolling down the slope 
 behind me. They were either set going by some 
 
 10 
 
146 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 mischievous person, or dislodged by goats. When 
 a second volley rattled by me I put down my rod, 
 looked up the cliff, and roared out threats of the 
 Guardia Civil. No more stones were thrown. I 
 do not wish to think that the missiles were aimed 
 at me by a native. They may easily have slipped 
 from the feet of a wandering flock of goats high 
 up in the gorge. 
 
 The next trout that came at the minnow was 
 well hooked. He was a stubborn fighter, and the 
 reel sang as he made downstream in the rushing 
 white water. I drew him sideways from the 
 rapids, and worked him to slower water, where 
 he gave a leap. His golden sides showed for an 
 instant in the air. I saw that he was a good fish. 
 After a few minutes of give and take I tired him 
 out, and slipped the net under him. He weighed 
 2 pounds. 
 
 I failed to take another trout in this troubled 
 length, though I am sure that there were many 
 fish in it as big as the one that I had caught. 
 Coming to a quieter reach, I put on the fly-cast, 
 and rose two or three fish in midstream. Near 
 the bridge I turned over a very fine trout, but he 
 escaped. A few small trout were taken and 
 returned. It was now almost dark, and as the 
 
By the Wild Sil 147 
 
 rain began to patter down we returned to the 
 hamlet. 
 
 Reflecting upon the day's adventures, I arrived 
 at the opinion that the natives were right when 
 they condemned our flies as too small, and our 
 casts as too fine. Most of the fish that I had 
 pricked and lost made at once, upon feeling the 
 hook, for the foaming, heavy water. Say what 
 you will about skill and fine quality gut, it is very 
 easy to lose a fish in these tumbling rivers. The 
 strain is tremendous when a trout of 2 or 3 
 pounds weight rushes into these seething white 
 runs and gets out of hand. You need a fairly 
 powerful rod, a medium loch cast, and a hook 
 with a good barb, to get on even terms with these 
 wild, strong fish. I would undertake to rise and 
 prick three times as many trout as the fishermen 
 of Matarosa, by using small flies and drawn 
 casts. 
 
 The natives leave the pools alone unless they 
 are discoloured by flood-water, and fish only in 
 the broken streams. On the pools I rose and lost 
 a number of good trout. This pricking and 
 missing became intolerable. At last I threw all 
 my British prejudice to the winds, bought a cast 
 of the local flies — about eight in number — and 
 
 10 — 2 
 
148 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 followed the examples of the Pescadores. I used a 
 fourteen-foot rod with both hands, a grilse line and 
 reel, and the aforesaid thick cast and enormous 
 flies. The result was that I rose fewer fish, and 
 only scared them in the pools ; but those that I 
 rose in the runs I almost invariably brought to 
 the net. 
 
 The sense of power that this heavy tackle gave 
 me was remarkable after using a light, whippy, 
 ten-foot rod, a thin line, and fine cast. I feared 
 none of those terrific rushes into the boiling runs 
 and tossing rapids. A hooked trout was held 
 hard, soon played out, and brought to the bank. 
 After all, it is senseless to lose good trout through 
 a bigoted fealty to the tradition that it is un- 
 sportsmanlike to use tackle that gives one two 
 chances instead of one in combat with fish. 
 
 In big rough waters of the main rivers of the 
 Peninsula, small flies, such as one would use in 
 Devonshire or Derbyshire, are almost useless. It 
 stands to reason that a trout must be very near 
 the surface, and keenly on the alert, to notice a 
 tiny olive dun hackle-fly amid the swirl and wash 
 of a heavy run. If he sees the fly and takes it, 
 the chances are that he will fight free ; for besides 
 the strength of a fish bred in strongly-flowing 
 
By the Wild Sil i49 
 
 water, and accustomed to fighting the streams, 
 you have to contend with a great strain upon the 
 cast caused by the push of a wild run. I am no 
 advocate for tackle that will yank a pounder out 
 without any play ; but I have proved the futility 
 of fishing too * fine ' in such strong rivers as the 
 Ason, Minho, and Sil, where it is quite within 
 the bounds of probability that you may at 
 any moment have to try your cunning and 
 the strength of your cast with a three-pound or 
 four-pound fish in a tremendous force of tumbhng 
 water. 
 
 With my long rod and strong cast, bristling 
 with the local flies, I was able to catch more trout, 
 though I am sure that I could have obtained more 
 rises in the slower water with my light rod, 
 fine gut, and small flies. However, the fish 
 fought well enough on the stronger tackle, and I 
 was often compelled to let them run out the line 
 and to humour them to the net. 
 
 After the rain there was a tinge of colour in the 
 Sil. I tried the minnow again, and had many 
 runs, beside taking trout up to a pound apiece. 
 As the water was fining, we had some sport with 
 the fly. Still, the local anglers easily excelled us 
 in the number of their captures. For one reason, 
 
150 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 they had the good sense to begin fishing at about 
 three in the morning, while we were soundly 
 asleep. They also had the advantage of knowing 
 all the best runs up and down the river for several 
 miles, and their clumsy flies were of the right 
 pattern for the trout of this productive water. 
 At Matarosa, for the first time in Spain, we had 
 to confess ourselves beaten by the native anglers. 
 They brought back fine baskets of fish almost 
 every night, ranging from half - pounders to 
 pounders, and sometimes heavier trout. Just as 
 we were beginning to know the river, it was time to 
 move on, for we had planned a long peregrination. 
 All things considered, however, we were gratified 
 with our experiences at this queer little hamlet on 
 the higher Sil. 
 
 The river here is unquestionably very productive 
 of trout. It was seldom that the old fisherman 
 and his son returned with less that 7 pounds 
 of trout on the brightest days, and their catch was 
 often 10 pounds in more favourable weather. 
 Catches of this weight are not out of the common 
 in parts of the United Kingdom. But the dry-fly 
 angler who can match these takes in weight from 
 the much-fished streams of Derbyshire must be 
 remarkably expert. 
 
By the Wild Sil 151 
 
 On the Wye, for example, in the length from 
 Bakewell to Rowsley, a ten-pound basket would 
 be considered highly extraordinary 
 
 Writing on the Derbyshire rivers in the Fishing 
 Gazette^ August 29, 1903, Mr. J. Paul Taylor says : 
 *An occasional good day may be had (my best 
 was four brace of fair trout 7 ounces to 9 ounces 
 each), but it is balanced by many days averaging a 
 brace or so.' 
 
 Half a mile of the Darenth is reckoned to be 
 worth anything from £2^ to ^^30 for the season. 
 No doubt the trout are big. But there are 
 heavier trout in the Sil, and more fish, and you 
 may angle in fifty miles of the river for two 
 months at a less cost than the rent of a half-mile 
 length on the Kentish streamlet. The actual 
 expenses of fishing are restricted to the purchase 
 of tackle ; the cost of living is about 25s. a week, 
 and the rest of the expense is in railway travelling. 
 Unfortunately, one cannot run down to the Sil for 
 a week-end. What would this length at Matarosa 
 be worth in England ? Here is an advertisement 
 from the Field of March 5, 1904 : * Six miles 
 of excellent trout-fishing on the Don. £^0 to the 
 end of April.' 
 
 You must be content with rough lodging if you 
 
152 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 go to Matarosa. The fare is the best that the 
 house can provide, and it is hardly up to the 
 standard of a wayside inn in Great Britain. 
 However, the big peas (garbanzos) are very 
 nourishing, to say the least ; and if the hens are 
 tough, they are still fowl. Eggs, goats' milk, 
 bread, and wine, complete the menu, though I must 
 not forget the cold pickled trout. I asked Perez 
 to show hospitality to any of my compatriots who 
 might visit Matarosa. He promised to do so, 
 though he shook his head, and said : * I do not 
 think any English will come.' Who can tell ? 
 Perchance the tavern at Matarosa may grow into 
 an anglers' hotel. We have a nomadic tribe of 
 fishermen in England who will travel any distance 
 in quest of trout. 
 
 During our last night at Matarosa I felt a 
 distinct tremor of earthquake, which awoke me. 
 In the Spanish newspapers of the following day I 
 read that shocks had been noted in several parts 
 of the Peninsula. 
 
 We left the hamlet with the goodwill of the 
 people. A group assembled to bid us * adios ' when 
 the coach drew up at the door. Estanislas was 
 delighted with a few centimos. We drank the 
 last glass of red wine, and Angel fastened his long 
 
ESTANISLAS : A NATIVE FISHER-BOY. 
 
By the Wild Sil 153 
 
 rod along the roof of the vehicle. * Adios, adios !* 
 We waved our hands to the smiling group. Our 
 cochero began to rave at his team, and to thump 
 the footboard with his feet ; and off we started 
 down the noble valley of the Sil for Ponferrada. 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 DOWN THE MINHO 
 
 The noble Rio Minho rises in the north of the 
 kingdom of Galicia, in the province of Lugo. Its 
 source is among the mountains of Meira, to the 
 south-east of the town of Mondonedo. Flowing 
 southwards, and receiving numerous tributaries, 
 the Minho passes the town of Lugo, and, watering 
 some lovely valleys, enters the province of Orense 
 at Los Pearas. Here, as I have said in a former 
 chapter, the Sil joins the Minho, and the united 
 streams form a wide, swirling, unnavigable river 
 down to Tuy and the tidal water. My readers 
 who know the fine limestone ravine of the Derby- 
 shire Wye, between Monsal Dale and Miller's 
 Dale, can gain a mind-picture in miniature of the 
 Minho in its course above the town of Orense. 
 
 In the neighbourhood of Rivadavia the gorge 
 of the river is magnificent, though stern and 
 desolate. It is the ravine of the Wye on a mighty 
 154 
 
Down the Minho i55 
 
 scale. The rocks are steeper, grander, and more 
 fantastic than those of Miller's Dale, and they are 
 warmer in tone than the Derbyshire limestone. 
 For leagues the Minho pursues an eager course 
 through these lonely rugged glens. Here and 
 there, one notes a few huts and signs of cultiva- 
 tion on the stony banks ; but as the train runs on 
 you enter another and wilder gorge, without any 
 token of life save the hovering kite or roaming 
 stonechats. In these unfrequented reaches of the 
 river, far from human haunts, there must surely 
 be a good store of fish. The migratory shad 
 certainly abound in the Minho during the summer, 
 and a few salmon come up to spawn. Mighty 
 trout, as we have seen, lurk in the deep pools, and 
 in the tributaries are shoals of troutlets and 
 bogas. Another fish of the Minho is the escalo, 
 which suggests a cross between a chub and a 
 dace. Mr. Oswald Crawfurd, in * Round the 
 Calendar in Portugal,' notes that the Spanish and 
 Portuguese dace * is not the same as the dace of 
 England, but is Lenciscus aula, or, to be quite 
 correct, a Peninsular variety of L. aula,' 
 
 I have seen escalos of a pound in weight, and 
 they may be taken heavier. These fish rise to the 
 fly with avidity, and though they have not the 
 
156 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 pluck of the brown trout, they do not tamely yield 
 to the fisherman. I shall presently relate our 
 experiences with escalos. As for the shad of the 
 Minho, they are apparently proof against any sort 
 of bait that is offered to them. I cannot say why 
 this is the case, for our English shad are not so 
 disobliging to the angler, and I have described 
 how the sabalo (shad) of the Guadalquivir are 
 caught on baited drag -Hues. But more of the 
 shad presently. Besides the species above enume- 
 rated, there are swarms of eels in the Minho. 
 
 Following this grand river downwards, we broke 
 our rail-journey at the town of Orense. The day 
 was rainy, and the weather cooler than it had been 
 for many weeks. We were driven into a caf6 to 
 shelter from a heavy shower. Some youths were 
 playing billiards. When the rain ceased, we 
 roamed about the town, and met a man with a 
 fishing-rod. I saluted him as a brother pescador, 
 and he showed me his flies. They were home- 
 made, but neater and smaller than those tied by 
 the anglers of Matarosa. The man was not very 
 communicative, but perhaps he could not under- 
 stand my Spanish. 
 
 By the river, which is wide at Orense, flowing 
 rather sedately over a gravel bed, we saw some 
 
Down the Minho 157 
 
 men baiting lines, which they threw out into the 
 stream. I asked them what they caught, and they 
 repHed : * Principally eels.' 
 
 Our next halt was at Rivadavia, a queer little 
 town on a hillside, at the confluence of the Avia 
 and Minho. An electrical engineer who was 
 staying at the fonda could speak some English. 
 This gentleman knew very little about the fishing 
 in the neighbourhood, but he said that trout 
 could be caught in the Avia. This charming 
 river rises in the north-east of the province of 
 Orense. I cannot, however, recommend it from 
 any other point of view but the scenic. We had 
 one day along its pretty, verdant banks, but it 
 was blank so far as the fishing was concerned. In 
 appearance the stream is very alluring. It is 
 shallow, clear, and abounding in runs that ought 
 to be full of trout. We soon arrived at the view 
 that the stream had been poached to the decima- 
 tion of trout. Not a rise was seen to our flies 
 after five hours' fishing upstream. I fear that the 
 Avia — in its lower lengths, at any rate — is a ruined 
 river. At a ferry a boatman hailed us, and I asked 
 him if there were any fish left in the stream. 
 
 * Very few,' he said, shaking his head regret- 
 fully. 
 
158 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 And I gathered that the net had been used for 
 years past. Still, the beauty of the river tempted 
 us on, and we had our repast upon a green islet in 
 a charming reach, with Rivadavia in the distance 
 perched on its hillside. 
 
 As we were skirting a cultivated field, two girls, 
 who were at work with hoes, suddenly caught 
 sight of us. With a scream they flung down their 
 tools and ran as though for their lives. We stood 
 to watch their flight, wondering at the cause of 
 their scare. Possibly they fancied that we were evil 
 spirits. The Galicians are very superstitious. 
 Our fishing costumes no doubt enhanced their 
 terror, for they had never seen the human form in 
 such fantastic attire. 
 
 It was useless to remain at Rivadavia if we 
 wished to catch fish. Therefore we paid our score 
 at the fonda the next morning, and took train to 
 the village of Arbo, a few leagues lower down the 
 Minho. Arbo has a station overhanging the rush- 
 ing river, whose torrent here is almost deafening 
 in its roar. A very rustic inn and a few houses 
 cluster around the railway- station. Across the 
 river are groves and a few cultivated fields below 
 the gray mountain ranges of Northern Portugal. 
 It is a lovely retreat in the midst of some of the 
 
Down the Minho i59 
 
 grandest scenery on the Minho. I think we were 
 asked about half a crown each for a day's board 
 and lodging. I know that these were the cheapest 
 quarters that we found in the course of our 
 wanderings in Spain and Portugal. 
 
 The room commanded a grand panorama of the 
 mountains and the river-valley. We made shift 
 with a few hardships, for the people were kind and 
 attentive, and the scenery compensated for the 
 roughness of the lodging. Moreover, we had a 
 good day with the trout of a lovely tributary 
 which joins the Minho about a mile above the 
 hamlet. Mr. L., our friend at Los Pearas, had 
 fished there some years before, and the hostess 
 remembered him. 
 
 * Yes, he was the English caballero who threw 
 in all the little truchas, and only kept the big 
 ones.' 
 
 I think the landlady feared that we might lose 
 ourselves in the Galician wilds, for she insisted 
 upon our being accompanied by her daughter of 
 fourteen. The girl was small for her age, dark- 
 eyed, olive-hued, and intelligent. She attired 
 herself in festal costume, and had an exceptionally 
 bright handkerchief upon her head. Her meal 
 was wrapped in a handkerchief. She was soon 
 
i6o Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 joined by a ragged boy, who assisted in carrying 
 our wading-stockings and brogues, and played the 
 cavaHer very prettily to the daughter of the inn. 
 
 We reached the stream at its meeting with 
 the Minho in a charming shady glen. Vines were 
 trellised along the banks of the burn, and the 
 chestnut-trees cast their shadow over the golden 
 shallows. In a pool below a fall I saw several 
 small trout rise to flies, and bogas were snapping 
 at every insect that floated down. We caught no 
 monsters in this fairy glen. The trout were 
 nimble and golden, but the biggest that I saw 
 would probably not weigh more than J pound. 
 We caught some quarter-pounders and a number 
 of troutlets and bogas, much to the delight and 
 excitement of our young friends. The scenery was 
 exquisite beyond description. We rested by a 
 waterfall beneath the trees, close to a quaint mill. 
 Women were washing clothes in a tributary 
 brook. It was a delightful picture. The children 
 dabbled barefooted in the river ; the gay colours of 
 the girl's dress gave life and beauty to the scene 
 of gray rock, drooping boughs, and tumbling 
 water. 
 
 The heat at mid-day was almost insupportable. 
 We were glad to escape for a time from the sun's 
 
Down the Minho i6i 
 
 scorching rays, and to rest in the inn until the 
 shadows of the mountains fell across the Minho. 
 Then we went down to the mouth of the tributary. 
 The evening was peaceful, and a lingering golden 
 light rested upon the Minho. We forded the burn 
 near its mouth, and made our way by the brawling 
 main river, by whirling rapids and weird, sombre 
 pools, till we reached a kind of weir, built of stone. 
 There were narrow channels for the current to 
 flow through, and in each of these was a fixed bag- 
 net, shaped like an eel-basket. These traps were 
 set for the sabalos, or shad. 
 
 Below the weir was a shallow glide, broad 
 and fairly swift, with trailing weed growing from 
 the gravel. This seemed a likely haunt of trout. 
 I cast upstream. A rise ! I cast again and 
 hooked a fish. He swam for the weeds, and fought 
 bravely, though not with the strength of a trout. 
 When I brought him to the bankside, I saw that I 
 had caught an escalo of about | pound. He was 
 a coarse, dull-looking fish, not unlike our British 
 chub. 
 
 A shout from my wife brought me to her side. 
 She was wading in a sharp scour, and had hooked 
 a heavy fish. I have never seen the little greenheart 
 
 II 
 
1 62 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 rod bend as it did at that moment. The fish had 
 rushed into midstream. 
 
 * Let him run !' I cried. * He's a grand fish, 
 whatever he is !' 
 
 The rod still bent almost double, though the 
 line was flying from the winch. A splash broke 
 the water 20 yards away, a splash that set our 
 hearts beating. Mercy, what a fish ! Was it a 
 salmon, a shad, or one of the mighty Minho trout ? 
 We shall never know. The rod flew back to the 
 straight, and the line came mournfully limp 
 to the bank. A grand fish lost ! My wife was 
 breathless. 
 
 I returned to my run below the weir. The 
 escalos were madly on the rise. They came up two 
 and three at a time, and contended with each other 
 for my flies. I pulled them out as fast as I could 
 cast, escalos of i pound, and bogas weighing 
 rather less. The bank was strewn with them ; 
 the stream bubbled with rises. I believe I could 
 have filled a sack with these rapacious fish had 
 I stayed for an hour at the weir. But my wife's 
 adventure with the big fish stimulated me to try 
 the fly over the scour below. 
 
 Darkness was creeping over the hills. The weird, 
 sombre pools were black. I fished down to the 
 
Down the Minho 163 
 
 ford across the burn, picking up bogas and escalos 
 as I went. From the small stream I took a few 
 trout. None of them were more than J pound. 
 
 It was almost too dark to see our flies upon the 
 water. We tried to ford the tributary, but our feet 
 sank in the ooze, and we had to retreat to the bank. 
 
 Where was the crossing-place ? It was difficult 
 to find it in the gathering gloom. At last we had 
 to tramp up to a railway-bridge that spanned the 
 river. We found the track through the trellises of 
 vines that led to the terraced highroad. Owls 
 called from the chestnut glades, and large dusky 
 moths flitted by. We could still see the peaks of 
 the mountains of Portugal. The night breeze 
 brought the cry of the river, and as we neared the 
 dim lights of the hamlet of Arbo, we heard a 
 peasant trolling a GaHcian ditty. He sang of the 
 joys of the bandit's life. Truly, we were in a 
 country of beauty, adventure, and romance. 
 
 II — 2 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 THE SHAD OF ARBO 
 
 Shad-fishing in inland waters is still a flourish- 
 ing industry in the Valley of the Minho, and 
 every riverside hamlet has its Pescadores, who 
 live by netting and snaring the fish during the 
 warm months of the year. We spent several 
 days among the fisher-folk of the upper lengths of 
 the Minho, and watched their modes of capturing 
 shad. 
 
 At Arbo there is a little colony of shad fisher- 
 men, who have erected solid stone piers, about 
 a yard apart, across the Minho, with channels 
 between them for the passage of fish. In each of 
 these artificial channels, or guts, a trap-net with 
 a large aperture, and tapering almost to a point at 
 the end, is set and secured by chains. 
 
 One of these trapping - places on the Spanish 
 side of the river had three piers, built at a height 
 of about 10 feet above the green, rushing water. 
 164 
 
The Shad of Arbo 165 
 
 It was the fishery of the village padre, who spent 
 many hours of each day upon the piers, smoking 
 scores of cigarettes, and occasionally raising one 
 of his traps to see whether a fish had entered it. 
 
 The priest was one of the most successful fisher- 
 men in the village. Now and again he caught a 
 brace of shad in one net, and it was interesting to 
 watch him lift out the great silvery fish on to the 
 pier, skip nimbly with his burden over the stones, 
 and lay his captures in the shade of a big tree. 
 Surveying the shad with an expression of delight, 
 he would light another cigarette, wash his hands 
 with sand and water, and return to his platform, 
 to lower the net again, and to await the advent of 
 another shoal of migratory fish. 
 
 My friend the padre knew the ways of shad, and 
 held the opinion that the mouth of the net should 
 be concealed partially by a green bough. He was 
 always careful to adjust the bough before sinking 
 the trap ; and as he appeared to take more fish 
 than his neighbour on the Portuguese bank of the 
 river, this precaution may have been the secret of 
 his success. 
 
 He told me that the green branch looked like a 
 water-weed to a travelling shad, and that the fish 
 swam without suspicion through the twigs and 
 
1 66 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 into the net. I noticed that in most cases the 
 shad were dead when taken from the trap. No 
 doubt the pressure of the powerful current, com- 
 bined with their inability to open freely their gills 
 in the small end of the bag-net, soon suffocated 
 the struggling fish. 
 
 The padre, and a carabinero who was on the 
 watch for contrabandists from Portugal, were 
 much amused when I said that I would like to 
 take a photograph of two freshly-caught shad to 
 show to my friends in England. 
 
 No bait has been yet discovered which will 
 lure shad from the Minho. I asked the natives 
 whether anyone had ever caught a shad with any 
 sort of natural or artificial bait. * No, nada, 
 nada I' There is apparently no known bait for 
 the Minho shad. But in the Guadalquivir, at 
 Cordova and Seville, these fish will take various 
 baits. 
 
 Shad can be attracted to the surface by bright 
 lights used at night. As the fish come up, dazed 
 and off their guard, they are scooped out in large 
 landing-nets. I should say that the sabalos of the 
 Minho average about 4 pounds in weight, but 
 they are taken up to 12 pounds. May and 
 June are the months when the shad most 
 
The Shad of Arbo 167 
 
 resort to the upper pools of the river. We had 
 shad for dinner at Arb6 and elsewhere. The flesh 
 is of a delicate flavour, but one must exercise 
 caution to avoid swallowing the small bones. 
 Sabalo is a favourite dish in Spain and Portugal. 
 It is served up cold, with sliced onions and 
 spices. 
 
 It requires some agility to skip from one of the 
 piers to another. They are only about a yard 
 or 4 feet apart, but the wild current flows deep 
 and swift between them, and a false step or a 
 stumble would send the luckless fisherman into a 
 fierce rush of water, that would buffet and toss the 
 most powerful swimmer, and probably suck him 
 down. It makes one almost giddy to stand on 
 one of these towers or piers, watching the hurry- 
 ing torrent that breaks against them, and flows 
 through the channels in a green shoot of water. 
 Lowering and raising the trap-nets are opera- 
 tions attended with peril. The nets are secured 
 to the stonework with chains. These piers are 
 made wedge-shaped, to break the force of the 
 stream. 
 
 As I have never seen an English shad, I can- 
 not say whether the shad of Spain differ in any 
 way from our own. The Welsh name for the 
 
1 68 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 fish is ysgadan, i,e,, herring ; for shad are very near 
 relatives to the herring, if they are not actually 
 the same fish. The two kinds of shad that 
 frequent parts of our coast, and ascend some of 
 the rivers to spawn, are known as the twaite and 
 the allice. Now, twaite are taken with the rod and 
 line, and it is curious that the shad of the Minho 
 cannot be tempted with baits. If I lived by the 
 banks of that stream, I would spend some time in 
 endeavouring to lure sabalo to the hook. Surely 
 there must be some dainty morsel or another that 
 would induce shad to overcome their indifference. 
 The sport with these Minho shad would be 
 exciting. I handled a brace of sabalo taken from 
 the padre's net, and one of them was between 
 8 and g pounds, while the other was about 
 10 pounds in weight. In these heavy waters such 
 big fish would make a mighty struggle for liberty, 
 when hooked by an angler. 
 
 I tried lobworms on a leger, one hot afternoon, 
 at Arb6. The rocks by the Minho were so scorch- 
 ing that I believe one could have fried bacon upon 
 them. There was not a stray breath of wind 
 moving, nor was there any shade by the big pool 
 below the village. The strain of the current on 
 my line bent the middle and top joints of a 
 
BOTTOM FISHING IN THE MINHO. 
 
The Shad of Arbd 169 
 
 salmon-rod, and a very heavy bullet was needed 
 to keep the bait on the bottom. I had not 
 waited for many minutes, when there was a sharp 
 jerk at the rod-top. Seizing the butt, I struck 
 sharply. But I was too late; the fish had 
 dropped the bait. I threw in again, and kept 
 the line between my finger and thumb. Another 
 tug ! I struck again, and felt the plunging of a 
 fish. 
 
 ' It can scarcely be a shad,' I thought as I 
 wound in the line. 
 
 It was not a shad. Our experience of attempted 
 shad-fishing on the Guadalquivir was renewed. 
 My capture was an eel, weighing about J pound. 
 I threw the wriggling beast to a boy who was 
 watching me, and put on a fresh lobworm. Eels, 
 nothing but eels, came to my hook. I could have 
 caught a dozen or so of these small eels. How- 
 ever, three contented me. There seemed no likeli- 
 hood of catching a shad. My seat on the shelving 
 rock was almost as hot as the grill of a West End 
 restaurant. 
 
 I went panting to the shade, and flung myself 
 upon the green grass. Bogas were rising to flies 
 in the bay before me. Swifts skimmed to and fro. 
 Beyond the roaring, swirling, foaming Minho, the 
 
ijo Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 stern mountain heights of Portugal seemed to 
 touch the burning blue sky. The padre stood 
 on his tower in the river, watching his nets, 
 and the soldier was at his lookout, smoking a 
 cigarette. It was our last afternoon at beautiful 
 Arbo. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 AROUND TUY 
 
 TuY is a small picturesque town on the Spanish 
 bank of the Minho, about fifteen miles from what 
 George Borrow would term 'the disemboguement ' 
 of that river into the ocean. As * disembogue ' is 
 used by the classic Addison, we need not quarrel 
 with the word, which is certainly a goodly one 
 upon the tongue and a long one to write. Before 
 disemboguing itself, the Minho flows in a serener 
 mood through a fertile valley, bounded by the hills 
 of Pontevedrain Spain and the ranges of Northern 
 Portugal. 
 
 Tuy has a grand position for a view of the river 
 and the hills. Richard Ford says that the town 
 is a fishing-place. It is certainly well supplied 
 with netsmen, but the Minho at Tuy does not 
 invite the rod fisherman. 
 
 A few letters were awaiting us at the post-office. 
 The official was gracious and attentive. 
 171 
 
172 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 * You have much correspondence,' he said, with 
 a bow. 
 
 If the receipt of three or four letters constitutes 
 a claim to social distinction, we were certainly 
 persons of importance. I dare say the good man 
 mistook me for another rich mining speculator, 
 fresh from opulent Britain, and all agog to buy up 
 a mountain-side. Let it be said, however, that 
 had he known us for two literary folk, the post- 
 master would have shown us no less respect. 
 Spain is one of those lamentably improgressive 
 and uncommercial countries where the artist, the 
 author, and the journahst, be they even unable to 
 keep a gig or a motor-cycle, are still esteemed as 
 worthy and profitable members of the community. 
 Time may correct this tendency towards misplaced 
 respect. 'Literature, reading!' sneered a Jew 
 merchant of London in my hearing. * My friend, 
 the best reading for me is on cheques and five- 
 pound notes ! ' Well, such frank Philistinism as that 
 is superb. In Spain, by the way, the paper-money 
 bears the portraits of men of letters and painters. 
 
 Our reception at the fonda of Tuy was less agree- 
 able than the interview with the postmaster. 
 Perhaps the hostess and her daughters suspected 
 us for Portuguese immigrants. They do not love 
 
Around Tuy 173 
 
 their neighbours in Tuy. At any rate, we were 
 refused luncheon to take out with us on a fishing 
 excursion. Such an innovation was appaUing. 
 Dios ! we must be mad to ask for such a favour ! 
 However, there are caballeros and sefioras in Tuy. 
 I found a very poHte Civil Guard in a cafe. 
 
 * Sefior,' I said, ' I am an English stranger, and 
 a fisherman for recreation. Can you tell me where 
 I can catch trout hereabouts ?' 
 
 The officer reflected for a moment. 
 
 * Yes, certainly I know where there are truchas,' 
 he replied. 
 
 We were counselled to follow the highroad to the 
 east, for a mile or so, until we reached a bridge 
 over a stream. That was the river for trout. The 
 designation Civil Guard is a fair one. These smart, 
 intelligent, and obliging custodians of life and pro- 
 perty are a credit to Spain. They are ex-soldiers 
 of high character, trained to arms, and used to dis- 
 cipline. By their efforts the country has been 
 almost freed from the terror of a powerfully organ- 
 ized brigandage. These guards often showed us 
 kindness and rendered ready service. Upon the 
 only occasion when I offered one of them a * tip,' 
 he politely replied that it was against the rules to 
 accept any reward from the public. 
 
174 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 Upon the morning of the day following our 
 arrival at this curious little border town, we went 
 out early to find the stream to which the Civil 
 Guard had directed us. Although the hour was 
 eight, and the sun had not reached its highest 
 point in the dazzling sky, the heat was great, and 
 the exertion of walking and carrying our fishing 
 paraphernalia was not wholly enjoyable. The 
 road lay straight and glaring before us, and there 
 was no shade on either side. We were glad to find 
 ourselves in a bosky glade by the green banks of a 
 singularly limpid stream. The verdure was fresh 
 and restful to the eyes. Chestnut and aspen trees 
 formed a forest in a secluded vale. There was 
 no track by the river. We made a path through 
 ferns and sedgy swamps, and looked for an open 
 length of the translucent stream whereon we might 
 cast a fly. But the banks were thickly grown with 
 trees and plants, and there seemed very little chance 
 of fly fishing. However, with short lines, we cut in 
 under the trees, and fished upstream. 
 
 The omnipresent boga rose at once, though not 
 in a ravenous manner. On a golden shoal, a few 
 fish flashed to the bank before I could cast. They 
 may have been trout. I cannot say that I saw a 
 single trout in this delightful little river, though it 
 
Around Tuy 175 
 
 was well adapted for the nimble trucha. Besides 
 bogas, we noted some red-finned fish that looked 
 like roach. But even these were easily scared by 
 our approach, for the river was one of the clearest 
 I have ever seen, and the sunshine through the 
 boughs revealed every stone upon its bed. 
 
 Golden orioles were numerous in this wooded 
 vale. We heard their voices on either side of the 
 stream. Wood doves cooed softly in the tall trees, 
 and a kingfisher shot down the water's edge. Jays 
 screeched an alarm note as we invaded the solitude 
 of this lovely woodland, and plunged into its most 
 secret dingfes. 
 
 Fishing was futile. The sky was of the deepest, 
 hottest blue, and the heat was increasing. We sat 
 down on the sward close to the stream and listened 
 to the golden orioles and the doves. Suddenly I 
 observed a swelling wave in the clear, shallow pool 
 at our feet. The wave sped across the river and 
 lapped the bank. Then up came the head and 
 shoulders of a large otter. He looked us full in 
 the face for an instant, and with a plunge, he sank 
 back and swam rapidly away under the water. No 
 doubt he had intended to land on our side of the 
 stream, for he came straight across from the 
 opposite bank. The presence of an otter in the 
 
176 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 stream proved that it held fair-sized fish, though 
 probably the creature's chief prey would be eels 
 and frogs. 
 
 * A blank day, but a pleasant one,' I said as we 
 turned away from the river. * Times have changed 
 for anglers at Tuy since Richard Ford wrote his 
 " Handbook for Spain." ' 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 JUNE DAYS IN LUSITANIA 
 
 Bright sunshine accompanied us into Portugal. 
 We were nearing the longest day, and the weather 
 was hopelessly * settled.' Think of it, luckless 
 Londoners, in the murky alleys east of St. Paul's ! 
 While you were languishing for warmth and sun- 
 light we were inclined to rail at the clear skies and 
 the benignant sun. Well, the fates were rather 
 cynical. As soon as we reached a big town, 
 such as Oporto, for example, down came the rain 
 steadily, and we had visions of freshened rivers 
 alive with rising trout. When we returned to the 
 wilds, the weather changed at once to fair and 
 cloudless, the rivers ran down to a low level, and 
 became finer every day, and trout hid themselves 
 and were coy. 
 
 North Portugal is Paradise. We speak of it as 
 we found it in this golden June weather. And, 
 honestly, is there any other part of Europe where 
 177 12 
 
178 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 the mass of the people enjoy a serener life ? I am 
 told that the Italians are more gay. The capacity 
 for exuberant joyousness is not so manifest in the 
 Portuguese race. But in the enjoyment of a quiet, 
 even happiness the rural folk of Portugal appear 
 to be the most highly blessed among the peasantry 
 of the Continent. This is, perhaps, not the occa- 
 sion for tracing the source of this sweet content- 
 ment. It is due to climate, environment, tempera- 
 ment, and, by no means least, to the system of 
 land tenure. These people are yeomen, stout, 
 independent, and cheerful in the tilling and 
 improving of a soil in which they realize that they 
 possess a share. If anyone wishes for a sunny 
 picture of the peasant proprietor's life, he will find 
 it in the province of Entre-Douro-e-Minho, to the 
 north of Oporto. 
 
 We entered Portugal at Caminha, at the mouth 
 of the broad Minho. The chief river is joined 
 here by several minor streams, which flow down 
 from the mountains on either side of the noble 
 estuary. Barmouth and the Mawddach estuary 
 will give an idea of the view at Caminha on a 
 smaller scale. Salmon, shad, and other fish are 
 netted here to a considerable extent. The salmon- 
 fishing is, however, decaying, and I think that 
 
June Days in Lusitania 179 
 
 the cause must be sought in the overnetting, 
 the destruction of parr by netsmen and rod 
 anglers, and the depredations of poachers in the 
 higher pools of the river. Pollution of the water 
 is certainly not accountable for the diminution 
 of salmon, for the Minho is pure from its source 
 to the sea. Few rivers in Europe could vie with 
 this in the production of salmon if proper preserva- 
 tion was enforced. 
 
 At the railway-station, as we stepped from the 
 train, two women took possession of our bags and 
 fishing-rods. One of them was a perfect example 
 of Portuguese loveliness. She had dark brown 
 hair under her pink head-kerchief, a pair of merry 
 and tender brown eyes, an olive, golden skin, 
 neither ruddy nor sallow, and well-shaped features. 
 I felt ashamed when these women, who are 
 employed as porters, poised our bags on their 
 graceful heads and strode off to the town. It is 
 difficult to overcome one's prejudice against heavy 
 labour for women. And yet these Portuguese 
 women certainly do not appear to suifer in health, 
 nor to lose their physical charm, through active 
 muscular exertion. I tried to take the rods from 
 one of the women. It was of no use ; they would 
 not allow us to carry a single article. Walking 
 
 12 — 2 
 
i8o Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 swiftly and gracefully on their shapely bare feet, 
 they preceded us up the road, laughing and 
 chatting together. 
 
 We learned that the beauty was a sailor's wife. 
 The good man was on a long voyage to South 
 America. Was she dependent upon her earnings 
 as a porter ? She seemed well nourished and 
 cheerful. As I spoke not a word of Portuguese, I 
 left the women to use their own judgment in 
 selecting a fonda. They led us to a house in the 
 main- street of sleepy-looking shops, and went up 
 a staircase. The hostess could not speak much 
 Spanish, but we contrived to make terms, and I 
 paid the porters. The handsome woman said 
 something to the hostess, and I gathered that she 
 was offering to take us to the house of a British 
 resident. We agreed to this, but informed the 
 landlady that we would like a meal as soon as 
 possible. 
 
 The Portuguese fare better, on the whole, than 
 their Spanish neighbours. After crossing the 
 border from the plains of Salamanca, and through 
 the stony defiles of the Douro, one is struck 
 by the richness of the vegetation in Northern 
 Portugal. It is almost like entering the tropics. 
 The sheltered vales are green, the slopes are 
 
June Days in Lusitania i8i 
 
 grown with vines and fruit-trees, and the gardens 
 are well tilled and productive. Fruit was ripe in 
 the orchards. We feasted upon huge strawberries 
 and beautiful cherries. 
 
 The Portuguese bed is a curiosity. It is about 
 a foot from the floor, very spacious, and as hard 
 as a stone. The bedding seems to be stuffed 
 tightly with sawdust or chaff, and the pillows are 
 unyielding. No doubt such couches are the most 
 healthy, but they are not luxurious. One arises 
 with a bruised sensation in the muscles. It is 
 different in Spain, where the spring-beds are 
 exceedingly comfortable. 
 
 After dinner we found our guide waiting to 
 conduct us to the house of the British resident. 
 She led us along the main-street to a side- 
 thoroughfare of good houses. The street was 
 clean and bright, and the dwellings were pictu- 
 resque. A charming lady received us, and spoke 
 in our own tongue. How strange it seemed to hear 
 English spoken ! Her husband was not in, but he 
 would be pleased to see us. We were invited to 
 return later on in the evening. 
 
 We ascended a hill, and saw the sun sinking in 
 the ocean. It was a serene summer's evening, and 
 the sea was blue and still as far as the eye could 
 
1 82 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 reach. Shadows lay in the coombs sloping 
 down from the stern hills, and across the salt 
 flats, where cattle were roaming. The air was 
 perfumed with wild-thyme and the salt odour of 
 the sea. We could trace the Minho from a dark 
 gorge to its meeting with the ocean, and on the 
 wide estuary were the craft of fishermen. The 
 burden of a plaintive song reached us from a 
 cottage below the knoll. 
 
 The evening was spent in the company of the 
 British resident, his family, and the family of an 
 English Protestant missionary. Everyone spoke 
 in English, and we passed a pleasant time. The 
 world goes very well at Caminha. There is no 
 bustle, no sordid strife to grow rich, and no 
 palpable want among the poorer people. One 
 could live very contentedly at Caminha with a 
 sailing boat, a gun, and a fishing-rod. There are 
 several trout-streams within reach of the little 
 town, besides sea-fishing. The estuary would 
 afford fine sailing, and the roads are very fair for 
 cycling. There is wild-fowHng in the district, and 
 rough shooting on the mountains. 
 
 As for the climate, it is never very cold, and the 
 heat at midsummer is tempered with breezes from 
 the Atlantic. There is a fair rainfall in North 
 
June Days in Lusitania 183 
 
 Portugal, which tends to keep the country fresh 
 and green. The rain is heavy while it falls, and 
 the weather soon clears. It is not * chronic,' as 
 an Englishman remarked, when describing the 
 rainfall of our country during 1903-4. Then, the 
 air ! It is enticing, odorous, and health-giving, a 
 happy blend of sea and mountain breezes. 
 
 The Romans were completely reconciled to 
 their existence in this peaceful region of Lusitania. 
 They found a land like to their own, a land flow- 
 ing with wine and glowing with sunshine. The 
 conquerors settled in the happy vales, and felt no 
 yearning for the country of their birth. Bacchus 
 and his friend Lusus came here and founded a 
 colony. The juice of the grape ran from the press 
 in a purple stream ; they discovered an elysium, 
 and called it Lusitania, the land of Lusus. Mr. 
 Oswald Crawfurd tells us that the Portuguese 
 have preserved the traditions, the legends, and 
 the speech of the Romans. * Sonnets have been 
 written in Portuguese that will pass for Latin,' 
 says this author. 
 
 But I have wandered from the gathering ot 
 British compatriots in the house of Mr. F. at 
 Caminha. Our host was in charge of the Atlantic 
 cable off this coast. He told us of the breakages 
 
184 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 that sometimes occur, when the mighty wire link 
 between the continents is not strong enough to 
 resist the ceaseless assault of *the multitudinous 
 seas.' Our imagination could scarcely convey an 
 idea of the tedious and difficult operation of 
 repairing this girdle round the earth. It was 
 altogether too big a matter for our lay intelligence. 
 The men who lay cables, and build railways, and 
 construct viaducts, seem to me almost superhuman 
 beings in their daring and skill. One should be 
 humble in their presence. 
 
 A few years ago, there lived at Caminha a 
 gentleman who held the post of British Vice- 
 Consul. He was a keen angler. I had heard of 
 him in Avila, and we hoped to make his acquaint- 
 ance. Unfortunately, he had left Portugal. Mr. 
 F. knew him well, and described his enthusiasm 
 for trout-fishing. He related how Mr. S. would 
 tramp many miles to throw a fly on one of the 
 numerous clear streams that water this glorious 
 territory. There was no one who knew more 
 about the fishing in the neighbourhood than Mr. S. 
 
 One day this angler was fishing a stream, a few 
 leagues from Caminha, when a wild-boar thrust 
 his head over a projecting crag, and had a good 
 steady stare at the invader of his solitary domain. 
 
June Days in Lusitania 185 
 
 Mr. S. wished that a gun instead of a rod had 
 been in his hand at that moment. 
 
 To the south of Caminha is the port of Vianna 
 de Castello, at the mouth of the Rio Lima. Mr. 
 Edward Dodgson, who has left very few corners 
 of the Peninsula unexplored, tells me that he has 
 walked the whole length of the beautiful Lima 
 Valley. He describes the scenery as enchanting. 
 There are trout in the river. The boys of the 
 villages spend their summer days in the pastime 
 of diving for trout. Now, diving for pearls is one 
 thing, but pursuing trout under water, after the 
 fashion of the otter, is another affair. My readers 
 will tax me with drawing the longbow, and 
 attempting to palm off travellers' tales upon them. 
 Well, Mr. Dodgson was disposed to discredit the 
 story of these human otters, until he saw them 
 with his own eyes. And if further evidence is 
 necessary, let me refer the curious to an interest- 
 ing account of this mode of fish-capture contained 
 in Mr. Oswald Crawfurd's * Round the Calendar 
 in Portugal,' pp. 24, 25, and also to an illustration 
 of this primitive trout-fishing in the same volume. 
 
 These amphibious Portuguese peasant lads are 
 just expert trout-ticklers, plus a cultivated capacity 
 for remaining many seconds under the water. 
 
1 86 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 Any fairly strong diver can bring up half a dozen 
 stones from the bottom of a pool lo feet deep. 
 An adept at trout-groping can secure his fish 
 during an equal lapse of seconds. The scared 
 trout make for the ledges, and holts under 
 boulders, and the diver deftly tickles and catches 
 them. 
 
 Between Caminha and Vianna are the villages 
 of Ancora, Affife, and Arcosa, all upon the railway. 
 Each of these places is beautiful. The coast is 
 bright, with reefs, sandy bays, fishermen's cots, 
 and vineyards and grain-fields down to the verge 
 of the ocean. From the shore rise heathy hills, 
 and bold bluffs project to the sea. At the villages 
 are boarding-houses, which provide lodging for 
 summer visitors from Oporto. The limitless 
 ocean thunders along this coast in stormy 
 weather, changing its colour from violet to blue, 
 and from blue to green. Many a fisher-lad has 
 gazed across the foam, and yearned to follow in 
 the track of the bold adventurers of old, whose 
 passion for exploring built up the prosperity of 
 Portugal. 
 
 In the river of Ancora there are big trout. It 
 is a clear stream, flowing through a district of 
 woodland, orchard, and vineyard in its middle and 
 
June Days in Lusitania 187 
 
 lower lengths, while its upper waters run between 
 uncultivated slopes and open banks. Mr. F.'s son 
 kindly offered to accompany us to the Ancora 
 River, where he had fished once or twice. It 
 was a favourite stream of the aforementioned 
 Vice-Consul. 
 
 We took train to Ancora on a hot afternoon, 
 carrying our waders with us. A young man of the 
 village was engaged to bear our traps, and we 
 threaded our way through luxuriant vines and 
 fruit-trees to the sparkling river. I was soon 
 wading in a pool below a weir, where a few small 
 trout rose lazily to my flies. Blazing sunlight 
 fell upon the river, and fish could be seen darting 
 from the shallows. My wife made photographs 
 of two picturesque peasant women as we roamed 
 along the well-cultivated banks. At a farm we 
 bought about a dozen oranges for a copper 
 coin, and slaked our thirst with their grateful 
 juice. 
 
 We came to a swift, narrow shallow, with high 
 banks on either side. Some good trout were 
 rising here. I cast over them, and hooked a small 
 one immediately. Then I played and lost a nice 
 trout of quite a pound in weight. After this 
 mishap the run only afforded bogas, which rose 
 
1 88 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 hungrily. A little further up the river we caught 
 two or three more small trout. 
 
 A boy came down the stream, and bargained for 
 an artificial fly in exchange for a quantity of 
 cherries. Our guide had already gathered a 
 number of cherries from an orchard, after obtain- 
 ing the ready permission of the woman who owned 
 it. We had fruit galore that afternoon. We were 
 not so fortunate in obtaining trout. The sunshine 
 was remorseless, and the fish were exceedingly 
 shy. Nevertheless, the Ancora River should 
 show good sport in favourable weather, and I 
 believe that there are plenty of fish in its higher 
 lengths. 
 
 It was growing dark when we returned to 
 Ancora, whence we decided to follow the high- 
 road to Caminha. Our gilly diverted us on the 
 way back by his rigorous endeavour to save us 
 the annoyance of being followed by inquisitive 
 urchins. Whenever a boy left his play and his 
 companions to join our party, the vigilant youth 
 promptly dealt him a stroke with the handle of the 
 landing-net. One after another these youngsters 
 dropped back, with their sleeves to their eyes, 
 uttering loud wails at the attack of our body- 
 guard. I must say that we were not willing 
 
June Days in Lusitania 189 
 
 accessories to this assault and battery. The 
 offence was not serious enough to merit chastise- 
 ment. But it appeared to be done in our service 
 and for our comfort, like the charge of police to 
 clear the roadway when a pageant is approaching. 
 
 After leaving Ancora we met several parties of 
 field-labourers, men and women, returning from 
 their day's toil. How gay and artistic was their 
 dress, and how comely were the wholesome tawny 
 and olive faces ! They stopped their singing to 
 wish us good-night, and resumed the ballad as 
 they strode on, their voices dying away at a bend 
 in the road. This is a land that makes one glad, 
 a climate that inspires to song. Almost every lad 
 can play on the guitar or the mandolin, and all the 
 swains and lasses know how to dance gracefully. 
 Perhaps the England of Herrick's day was like 
 this, ' a nest of singing-birds,' a country with a 
 peasantry of whom it might without satire be 
 written in the words of Gray : ' How jocund did 
 they drive their team afield !' 
 
 We went on, in the growing darkness, by the 
 sound of the waves, through gloomy fir-woods, 
 where the gnome-calls of owls aroused the heavy, 
 brooding stillness. The sky quivered with the lights 
 of millions of stars. From the swamps came the 
 
I90 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 continuous rumbling chorus of the big green frogs, 
 and in the thickets night-birds lifted a few sweet 
 treble notes to this sonorous bass. What a rare 
 and beautiful night ! It seemed sinful to leave this 
 loveHness to the stars, and to shut out the scene 
 from our room. When shall we revel again in the 
 witchery of a midsummer night in Lusitania ? 
 
 But we were tired from the heat and the exertion 
 of the long day. The last mile seemed lengthy, 
 and we were glad to see the lights of Caminha and 
 the dark broad estuary under the starry sky. 
 
 The tributary that joins the Minho on the left 
 bank at Caminha is tidal in its lower length. For 
 a mile or two it winds through salt-marshes, the 
 resort of snipe in the winter, but higher up it flows 
 through a wild ravine, and forms several fine falls. 
 The pools below these cascades are full of trout. 
 They can hardly be reached on foot, but vehicles 
 can be hired cheaply in Caminha. 
 
 We did not fish the Lima, but I heard it well 
 recommended as a trout-stream. In its lower 
 reaches this river is navigable. The Lima rises in 
 Spain, in the province of Orense, near the town of 
 Sandianes, where there is a large laguna. It enters 
 Portugal at Lindoso, and at Ponte de Lima the 
 angler will find quarters. The scenery of this 
 
June Days in Lusitania 191 
 
 river- valley is superb, and the people are hospitable 
 and very picturesque. A number of streams flow 
 to the sea between Caminha and Oporto, and in 
 most of them the fly fisherman may expect sport. 
 South of Oporto is Oliveira, a little town in a well- 
 watered region. There are several trout-streams 
 within reach of Oliveira, which is mentioned as a 
 fishing-resort in ' Round the Calendar in Portugal ' 
 by Mr. Oswald Crawfurd. 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 
 TROUT STREAMS AND COARSE FISH RIVERS 
 
 Oporto is one of the most beautiful cities in 
 Europe. It has won from Camoens the title of 
 * the Proud,' and it deserves the distinction. The 
 position of the city is romantic, at the widening of 
 the gorge of the wild Douro, and commanding 
 wide prospects of the Atlantic Ocean, purple 
 mountains, and luxuriant vineyards, grain-fields 
 and groves. Terrace rises above terrace on the 
 sides of the ravine, and a handsome suspension- 
 bridge spans the brown river. 
 
 We spent three days in the Wine City, and 
 made a trip to the sea at Sao Joao da Foz, a 
 village recalling the minor watering-places of our 
 own South Coast. The day was stormy, and the 
 waves broke high at the perilous bar at the mouth 
 of the Douro, while black clouds broke at intervals, 
 and rain fell with a roar upon this wind-beaten 
 shore. 
 
 192 
 
Trout Streams and Coarse Fish Rivers 1 93 
 
 Our fishing-tackle had suffered considerable 
 dilapidation during our tour. Four months of 
 hard wear had worn holes in my canvas brogues, 
 which were well seasoned at the beginning of our 
 peregrination, having done much work in Wales 
 and Yorkshire. At Seville I took the brogues to 
 a shoemaker in the Plaza de la Constitucion, who 
 announced on a sign, in English, that boots were 
 ' repaired with invisible patches.' This son of St. 
 Crispin was an excellent workman. He put the 
 neatest of patches on the canvas, stitched up the 
 leather soles, and pipe-clayed the brogues. The 
 leather parts he painted and varnished. I suppose 
 the good man thought that these shoes were for 
 street and park wear, a new style in English 
 footgear, for he took great pains to make the 
 worn-out brogues look smart. When I told him 
 that they were for use in the water, he shook his 
 head in utter mystification, and remarked that he 
 'could not understand.' His charge was most 
 moderate, and he actually insisted upon presenting 
 me with a pair of old wooden lasts upon which he 
 had carefully stretched the brogues. 
 
 I tried to make good some of our losses in tackle 
 while we were in Oporto. There is tackle on 
 sale at a toy-shop in one of the chief streets. 
 
 13 
 
194 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 Fishing-tackle and toys go together in the 
 Peninsula, which suggests that the angler is 
 regarded as a child needing a plaything rather 
 than as a sportsman requiring serviceable para- 
 phernalia. The selection of fishing-tackle in 
 Oporto was of the poorest description. Who 
 dumps this inferior tackle into Spain and Portugal ? 
 It is not made locally. One might suppose that 
 gut is plentiful, good, and cheap in Spain. I can 
 only say that the fisherman will regret it, if he 
 fails to take his own casts and flies into the 
 country. Most of the gut used throughout the 
 world is produced in Spain, where its manufacture 
 is a big and thriving industry. Yet I could not 
 buy a decent cast in the country. You see hanks 
 of gut displayed occasionally in the windows of 
 grocers' shops in the large towns. It is coarse and 
 of inferior quality ; there is apparently no local 
 demand for medium and fine gut. The hooks 
 that I bought in Spain and Portugal were about 
 No. 5 size, according to the new scale, and 
 mounted upon gut strong enough to lift a five- 
 pound fish. These are supplied for trout-fishing. 
 They are useless in a clear river, and too big under 
 any conditions. The high quality of our English- 
 made fishing-tackle excited the admiration and 
 
Trout Streams and Coarse Fish Rivers 1 95 
 
 envy of the Pescadores in all parts of the 
 Peninsula. More than once I was asked if I 
 would sell some flies. 
 
 The fisherman can enjoy all-round sport in 
 Portugal and in some parts of Spain. From Oporto 
 he can reach by the railway many trout-streams, and 
 rivers abounding with barbel, bogas and escalos. 
 The Douro is perhaps the finest river for barbel- 
 fishing to be found in Europe. The Spanish and 
 Portuguese barbel is somewhat different from our 
 barbel of the Trent and Thames. It is a hand- 
 somer fish, and not so coarse. You see barbel 
 exposed in many of the markets, and they are 
 fairly good eating. When freshly caught, the 
 Spanish barbel is more golden in colour on the 
 underside than our own, and the scales are less 
 thick. I am unable to give the Latin name for 
 the barbel of Spain and Portugal. 
 
 In travelling from Salamanca to Oporto the 
 railway ride is through the Valley of the Douro. 
 This swirling brown stream teems with barbel in 
 many of its lengths. At the frontier town of Barco 
 d'Alva, where one's luggage is examined, we were 
 detained for about one hour at the little station in 
 the savage ravine. Two officers searched our 
 bags, and when they looked at the rods in their 
 
 13—2 
 
196 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 cases, they began to discuss with each other in an 
 animated manner. By dint of a little Portuguese 
 and a few phrases in Spanish, I learned from these 
 gentlemen that the river below abounded with 
 heavy barbel. They were both anglers. No 
 doubt they fished with tight lines and long 
 bamboo rods, after the fashion of the shad-fishers 
 of Seville, for they spoke of losing many big fish 
 in the rushing water. 
 
 * How much is a rod like this ?' asked one of the 
 officers, handling my salmon-rod with a keen 
 interest. 
 
 I told him that such a rod would cost about 
 50 pesetas. He raised his eyebrows in astonish- 
 ment, and passed the fishing-rod to his companion. 
 They were evidently fascinated by the springiness 
 and balance of the greenheart sixteen-footer. Such 
 a rod had never been seen by them.. I wrote down 
 the address of the maker and gave it to the senior 
 officer. I wonder whether he has become the 
 possessor of an English fishing-rod ? If so, he has 
 probably brought a few of those big barbel to hand. 
 
 I would have liked to spend a few days at 
 Barco d'Alva by the side of one of those eddying 
 pools, with a leger and plenty of lobworms for 
 ground bait. Barbel-fishing has occasionally come 
 
Trout Streams and Coarse Fish Rivers 1 97 
 
 in my way, but I have never followed the sport 
 with the real zest of the Thames enthusiast. 
 Perhaps some of our barbel experts, who think 
 nothing of spending a five-pound note upon two 
 or three days' baiting and fishing in a Thames 
 swim, may one day travel to the Douro, and show 
 the natives how to lure and take the mighty fish 
 of that river. 
 
 The river is deep, strong, and swift, with pools 
 here and there that look very tempting to the 
 coarse fisherman. In this rocky solitude and 
 desolation many rare birds have their nesting- 
 places among the crags. As the train runs on, you 
 see only a hut or two for miles along the ravines. 
 There is no overfishing here, and no well-educated 
 barbel, but almost virgin water, and fish of an 
 ingenuous nature, who would not sulk and turn 
 up their noses at a lobworm. 
 
 I had one morning by the Douro at Zamora, in 
 Spain, and tried for barbel with the orthodox 
 leger. The river is wide here, and less eager than 
 in its passage through the gorges of Portugal. It 
 has the appearance of a good coarse fishing water, 
 and I saw several anglers at work close to the 
 town. They had the usual bamboo rods, coarse 
 tackle, and rough, home-made floats. The 
 
iqS Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 favourite bait was a piece of cooked meat. One of 
 these Pescadores was fishing above the picturesque 
 bridge below the walls of the town. I asked him 
 what he caught, and he answered : ' Barbos.' 
 
 Barbel seem to be fairly plentiful here, for I saw 
 them on the stalls in the market. I had no 
 success in the swims that I tried above the bridge 
 at Zamora. The morning was heavy and sultry, 
 with thunder brewing. I sat in the broiling heat 
 for about three hours, and during that time I 
 had not so much as a nibble at my bait. Fish 
 continually broke the surface of the water in my 
 swim. What were they ? The landlord of the 
 hotel said that there were no truchas in the river, 
 but these fish rose to flies. I tried in vain to 
 catch sight of the rising fish. I was using my 
 salmon-rod, so I changed the tackle, put on a cast 
 of small flies, and whipped for these mysterious 
 fish that rose to every passing insect. My effort 
 to secure one of them failed, and my curiosity 
 remains unsatisfied. Perhaps they were bogas, the 
 irrepressible bogas that frequent most of the rivers 
 of this part of the Peninsula. 
 
 A mighty river is this Douro. Rising in the 
 province of Soria, it waters Old Castile and Le6n, 
 and flows westward to Portugal and the sea. It 
 
Trout Streams and Coarse Fish Rivers 1 99 
 
 has numberless tributaries, and some of them are 
 goodly rivers. Some of the affluents, such as the 
 Tormes, have a reputation as trout-streams. 
 
 Our fishing experiences in Spain and Portugal 
 came to an end in June, 1902. We had travelled 
 many hundreds of miles in the Peninsula, fished in 
 rivers good, indifferent, and bad, from the Basque 
 Provinces to scorching Andalusia, and from Castile 
 to Leon, Galicia, and Portugal. There are rivers 
 almost innumerable that we did not visit, but of 
 some of these I can speak from hearsay. In 
 Asturias there are many trout-streams, watering 
 this alpine and romantic kingdom, and falling into 
 the Bay of Biscay. The Cares, the Navia, the 
 Nalon, and the Eo, all contain trout. Passing into 
 the province of Lugo, the angler will find several 
 streams flowing both to the north and the south. 
 Along the indented coast of Coruna many charming 
 rivers meet the ocean, and I have heard good 
 accounts of the fishing near Ferrol. At Carril and 
 Vigo in Pontevedra there are also trout-streams 
 not quite unknown to English anglers. At Vigo 
 there are a fair number of British residents. 
 
 Richard Ford, in ' Murray's Handbook for Spain,' 
 often refers to the salmon and trout rivers of the 
 Peninsula. His information is not always reliable. 
 
200 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 for conditions have changed since he lived in Spain, 
 and, moreover, one cannot be sure that he fished in 
 any of the rivers which he describes. I do not wish 
 to underrate this observant and entertaining writer, 
 who possessed an intimate knowledge of Spanish 
 people and places. But it is right to point out that 
 his notes on fishing need revision. For example. 
 Ford refers to the Minho as a splendid salmon- 
 river, which indeed it ought to be, but at the present 
 time it cannot be recommended to the angler. 
 
 Taking a line from the eastern slopes of the 
 Pyrenees to Coruiia, on the Atlantic Ocean, 
 there are hundreds of wild streams producing more 
 or less trout. Some of these rivers, as we have 
 seen, contain plenty of fish, and in this northern 
 district the fisherman will never find himself more 
 than a league or so from a sport -yielding stream. 
 
 The Ebro waters the north-eastern region of 
 Spain, and flows into the Mediterranean Sea to the 
 south of Tarragona. Its source is in the province 
 of Burgos, on the slopes of the Cantabrian Moun- 
 tains. A tributary flows through the city of Burgos, 
 and, upon the authority of a Spaniard, this stream 
 holds big trout. Above Miranda, south-west of 
 Vitoria, the Ebro is a good trout-river. This length, 
 and other waters in the North of Spain, were 
 
Trout Streams and Coarse Fish Rivers 201 
 
 described in a series of fishing articles that appeared 
 in the Field during 1901. There is little doubt 
 that the rivers draining from the Pyrenees, on the 
 Spanish side, would afford sport to the fly fisherman. 
 
 Travelling southwards from the mouth of the 
 Ebro, we reach a river called the Mijares, or 
 Millares, which waters the province of Teruel. 
 Mr. Edward Dodgson, who knows the town of 
 Teruel, tells me that there are trout in this river. 
 I have no definite knowledge concerning the 
 trout-fishing in the province of Granada, on the 
 south coast. But I have been told by an English 
 resident in Spain that the streams flowing from 
 the Sierra Nevada contain plenty of trout. This 
 wild and magnificent range, with its summits of 
 over 11,000 feet, provides sport with the gun as 
 well as with the fishing-rod. 
 
 The turbid Guadalquivir and the Tagus are 
 coarse fishing rivers, though some of the tribu- 
 taries of the Tagus, flowing into its higher reaches, 
 produce trout. Rounding Cape St. Vincent, we 
 soon approach Portugal, a land of many rivers, 
 all of them containing fish of various kinds, from 
 trout to barbel. 
 
 Among the fishing waters that I have not 
 already mentioned are some streams in the 
 
202 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 neighbourhood of Pueblo de Tribes, in the 
 province of Orense. If time had permitted, I 
 would have visited this district, for I have a very 
 encouraging report from an English angler con- 
 cerning the trout of these rivers. To the south- 
 east of this town, which is reached by coach from 
 Rua Petin, on the Monforte line, is the Lago de 
 Castanedd, which is said to provide excellent 
 sport with big trout. Near the Pueblo de 
 Sanabria, to the south-east of Castanedd, are 
 several streams mentioned by Ford. 
 
 The angler who visits Spain will no doubt find 
 the selection of his fishing streams somewhat 
 perplexing, when he examines the map. Rivers 
 abound in the north, in Portugal, and along the 
 Mediterranean ; they are traced in bewildering 
 profusion upon the map of the Peninsula, and 
 suggest unlimited exploration. I realize that we 
 may have missed many good streams that flow 
 along, or near to, our route. Years instead of 
 months would be needed to explore thoroughly all 
 the fishable waters of Spain and Portugal. The 
 fisherman who cares to follow in our track may 
 gain assistance from an epitomized sketch of a 
 month's tour. 
 
 Let us suppose that you have arrived at Irun 
 
Trout Streams and Coarse Fish Rivers 203 
 
 from Paris. Stay one day in Irun, and book a 
 place in the coach for Oyeregui on the following 
 noon. From the Palacio Reparacea fish the 
 Bidasoa for a week. Return to Irun. A long 
 day's railway-ride will take you to Ampuero and 
 Marron station on the Ason, via Bilbao, or you 
 may break the journey, and try the Deva at the 
 fourth station from San Sebastian. From Am- 
 puero travel to Renedo, by way of Santander, a 
 journey which will occupy the greater part of a 
 day. Fish the Pas from Renedo, and proceed to 
 Bonar on the railway from La Robla to Bilbao. 
 
 From Bonar journey to Ponferrada through 
 Le6n. Fish two days in the Sil at Ponferrada, 
 engage a guide in the town, and take coach for 
 Matarosa, higher up the river. Return by coach 
 to Ponferrada, and take the train to Los Pearas 
 beyond Orense. It will be advisable to write to 
 Senor Vicente Sastre, Los Pearas, Provincia de 
 Orense, to ascertain whether he has a vacant room. 
 
 This tour will absorb most of your month, 
 unless you hurry from one place to another, 
 regardless of the condition of the water. If the 
 Ason was giving sport, it would be ill-advised to 
 leave it quickly, though, on the other hand, if you 
 devote too many days to one river, you will not 
 
204 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 gain a knowledge of the country. Your own 
 predilections and discretion must guide you. Let 
 us imagine, however, that you have more than a 
 month at your disposal. In that case you may 
 continue your excursion into Portugal, fish the 
 rivers between the mouth of the Minho and 
 Oporto, and return to England by steamboat, or 
 via Salamanca, Irun, and Paris, a journey of 
 about fifty hours. 
 
 As an alternative route after your stay at 
 Ponferrada, you may proceed to Villafranca del 
 Vierzo, where report states that trout are 
 abundant, and find your way by rail and coach 
 from Lugo to the Eo, Navia and Nalon rivers in 
 Asturias, and back to Irun by the line through 
 Oviedo. 
 
 I cannot speak from personal knowledge of the 
 rivers flowing from the Pyrenees on the Spanish 
 side, nor of the numerous streams of Eastern 
 Spain running into the Mediterranean Sea. I 
 have heard that the sea-fishing is good near 
 Barcelona and other ports upon this coast. 
 There is plenty of sport for the sea-angler all 
 around the shores of the Peninsula from the Bay 
 of Biscay to the Atlantic, and in the Mediterranean. 
 
CHAPTER XXI 
 
 A MIXED CREED OF PRACTICALITIES 
 
 An angler writing for the instruction and guidance 
 of brothers of the rod should never conceal his 
 errors and failures, for, in the words of a half- 
 remembered saw : * By others' faults wise men 
 amend their ways.' Therefore, if you are wise, 
 you will not be misled, as I was, by the counsel of 
 tackle-makers who tell you that very fine casts 
 are necessary for the capture of the * small trout ' of 
 Spain. These gentleman have never fished in the 
 Peninsula. Their judgment is based upon the 
 orders for tackle that they have received from 
 Englishmen living principally in the South of 
 Spain. I can only say that in the northern and 
 central districts there are but few rivers of any 
 importance that do not contain big trout. My 
 losses include fish of 4 pounds in weight, hooked 
 while fly fishing, and the heaviest trout brought to 
 205 
 
2o6 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 hand was 2 pounds. Trout weighing i pound are 
 by no means uncommon in the Ason, the Pas, and 
 tributaries of the Sil and Minho, while in these 
 two main rivers trout grow to the weight of our 
 heaviest ferox. A pound trout in the Sil fights 
 like a demon, heads for tumbling water, tears out 
 the reel-line, and gives more sport than a two- 
 pounder in a chalk stream in England. You may 
 be able to hold and tire him on a fine-drawn cast, 
 and I dare say I shall be told that any fairly 
 expert fisherman can do so. Let that be as you 
 please ; but, for my part, though I detest coarse 
 tackle, I would not go again into Spain without 
 gut strong enough to put a severe strain on two 
 and three pound trout. In the chief rivers, where 
 there is usually a full flow of water in the spring 
 months, the hungry trout take the fly viciously, 
 fight fiercely, and are not gut shy. Of course, in 
 the small tributaries, during seasons of low-water, 
 it is advisable to fish fine, and to have only one 
 fly on the cast. But in the big rivers let your 
 tackle be of the best, well tested, and only of 
 medium fineness. For spinning in the Sil and 
 Minho, you will require casts of the grilse 
 strength. 
 Take a liberal supply of casts, or gut lengths. 
 
A Mixed Creed of Practicalities 207 
 
 with you. Do not forget spare swivels, Stewart 
 hooks, shot, cobbler's wax, binding silk, thread, a 
 spring-balance, and material and solution for 
 mending wading-stockings. I will here give a 
 list of the flies that proved the most attractive to 
 the trout of Spain and Portugal. Those marked 
 with an asterisk are hackle-dressed ; the others 
 are the ordinary winged patterns used for wet-fly 
 fishing. I am not barring cock-winged, beautifully 
 constructed dry flies. These may be taken, and I 
 believe that they would do good work on the 
 pools of many of the rivers, especially after the 
 end of May. 
 
 1. Blue Dun (two sizes). 
 
 2. March Brown (two sizes). 
 
 3. Olive Dun. 
 
 4. Ditto.* 
 
 5. Orange Dun.* 
 
 6. Wickham's Fancy. 
 
 7. Red Quill Gnat. 
 
 8. Stone-Fly. 
 
 9. Black Gnat. 
 
 10. Whirling Blue Dun. 
 
 11. Partridge and Green 
 
 Body. 
 
 12. Teal and Green Body. 
 
 13. Dark Yellow Partridge. 
 
 Nos. II, 12, and 13 should be sea-trout or loch 
 size. I am not aware that the Spanish salmon 
 evince a preference for any specific pattern of 
 fly. Ordinary salmon-flies in four or five dressings 
 should be taken. 
 
 We now come to the question of the handiest 
 rods. A sixteen-foot salmon-rod of greenheart or 
 
2o8 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 split cane will serve very well both for salmon and 
 for the heavy trout of the Sil. There is such 
 difference of taste among fishermen as to the 
 length of a trout-rod that it will be better for the 
 angler to use his own judgment. My own trout- 
 rod was a rather heavy greenheart, ii feet in 
 length, while my wife used one of lo feet, of 
 lighter make. If the visitor does not object to 
 encumbering himself with impedimenta, he may 
 take an extra trout-rod. In any case he should 
 have a second top joint. A short bottom-fishing 
 rod may be taken for legering and coarse fishing. 
 A long-handled landing-net, with a spike at the 
 bottom, is an aid in preserving one's balance while 
 wading on the rough beds of the strong Spanish 
 streams. A gaff should not be forgotten. The 
 best reel for spinning for big trout is a wooden 
 Nottingham, with an optional check and line 
 guard. This may also serve for salmon if the 
 angler wishes to limit his paraphernalia. But if 
 he prefers to use a metal check- reel for fly fishing 
 for salmon he should take one. Two metal check- 
 reels for trout-fishing should certainly form part 
 of the kit. It is not absolutely essential to add 
 another reel to the list for bottom fishing, but if 
 the angler has any intention of fishing in the sea, 
 
A Mixed Creed of Practicalities 209 
 
 or trying his fortune with the big barbel of the 
 Douro, he should provide himself with suitable 
 winches. A creel is somewhat cumbrous when 
 travelling. I prefer a bag of waterproof canvas 
 or stout jean, which can be used as a haversack to 
 carry a number of articles when moving from place 
 to place. Unless the traveller is fortunate enough to 
 possess a valet, he should study compactness and 
 portability in the selection of his accoutrements. 
 
 Wading-trousers would be found useful, but they 
 are exceedingly hot for wear in such a country as 
 Spain. I contented myself with a pair of ordinary 
 wading-stockings. These should be of good quality 
 and as light as possible. Canvas brogues may be 
 chosen in preference to those made of leather, as 
 they weigh less and are easier to pack. My wife 
 used a pair of the canvas and hemp-soled Basque 
 shoes for wading. These wonderfully well-made 
 shoes cost but eightpence a pair, and can be pur- 
 chased in all parts of Spain. The soles grip fairly 
 well upon slippery rocks, and the shoes are light to 
 carry. If you wear out four pairs, you will only 
 have spent about half a crown. 
 
 The choice of clothing is a matter of individual 
 predilection. I wore a Burberry camel-hair knicker- 
 bocker suit, with Norfolk jacket fitted with four 
 
 14 
 
2IO Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 capacious pockets. The coat was unlined. The 
 great essential is that the clothing should be light, 
 and at the same time able to withstand hard wear. 
 For ladies the skirt should be short, with a contriv- 
 ance for raising it while wading. Short mackin- 
 tosh coats to reach the waders will be required. 
 For headgear there is nothing better than the 
 gaberdine fishing-hats. They are light and cool, 
 and a strong wind will not bear them away. The 
 Spanish boina is light, but rather hot. Those who 
 suffer firom sun-glare may wear a Spanish sombrero 
 of felt. A Panama straw hat is calculated to attract 
 attention and comment. As Spanish women rarely 
 wear hats, any form of feminine headgear will 
 arouse interest. A pair of shooting-boots and a 
 pair of a lighter make should be taken. 
 
 In travelling from one district to another in 
 Spain, marked differences of temperature will be 
 noticed. In the mountainous regions it is not safe 
 to be without woollen underwear ; for although the 
 days are frequently very hot, the air chills rapidly 
 after sundown. While journeying by rail and 
 during a stay in the towns, fishing-clothes should 
 be exchanged for an ordinary walking-suit. Ladies 
 who wish to escape notice should not wear tailor- 
 cut gowns and travelling-hats. 
 
A Mixed Creed of Practicalities 211 
 
 The pipe-smoker must learn to appreciate the 
 flavour of the coarsely - cut Havana tobacco. 
 Scarcely one man in a thousand in Spain smokes 
 a pipe. Cigarettes are cheap, but they will scarcely 
 suit the palate accustomed to fine brands of 
 Egyptian and Virginian manufacture. The im- 
 ported cigars are of good quality, but, owing to 
 the heavy duty, they cost more than in England. 
 English packet tobaccos can be bought in some of 
 the towns at a very high price. A poor substitute 
 for whisky is the spirit called cafia. It is cheap 
 and fiery. Cognac, or aguardiente, is tolerable, and 
 very reasonable in cost. The ordinary table wines 
 supplied with meals cannot be recommended, as 
 many are * doctored' with logwood. The Rioja, 
 sold in sealed bottles at a moderate cost, is whole- 
 some and agreeable. Excellent wines can be 
 obtained in the towns. Good bottled cider is 
 sold in the North. The Spanish beer (cerveza) 
 resembles lager, and is bought in bottles. There 
 are various kinds of aerated waters, and non- 
 alcoholic syrups, known as refrescoes. A favourite 
 liqueur is anisette. I think I have already said 
 enough about the cuisine to prepare the stranger 
 for surprises agreeable and otherwise. Those who 
 are not habituated to long fasting would be well 
 
 14— -2 
 
212 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 advised to provide themselves with some portable 
 form of concentrated food, such as Brand's beef 
 lozenges. 
 
 It must be borne in mind that, even in the beaten 
 track in Spain, English is rarely spoken, even at the 
 big hotels. In the Basque provinces many of the 
 better-educated people speak French. But this 
 acquaintance with the French tongue noticeably 
 declines as one travels South. A great deal can 
 be accomplished in Spain by the use of a few 
 phrases and gesticulation. There are several 
 Spanish and English phrase-books, and the tra- 
 veller should take one of these and a pocket 
 dictionary. If possible, obtain a few lessons in the 
 language before starting. This will aid in a right 
 pronunciation. A knowledge of either Italian or 
 Latin is of assistance in acquiring Spanish. 
 
 Dismiss from your mind all preconceptions 
 anent the dishonesty of the Spanish people. It is 
 difficult to account for the origin of this libel upon 
 a fine and hospitable race. The popular and 
 ignorant idea of the Spaniard is that of a swarthy 
 hidalgo, ever ready to pick a quarrel and prone to 
 resentment. As a matter of fact, the Spanish 
 people are proud of the traditions of their race, 
 and show a fine courtesy to the stranger who 
 becomes their guest. Whenever we were brought 
 
A Mixed Creed of Practicalities 213 
 
 into personal relations with Spaniards of all 
 classes, we encountered kindness and generosity. 
 Never once in Spain, upon any pretext, was an 
 extra peseta added to the stipulated charge at the 
 fondas and casas de huespedes. Be assured that 
 you will not be cheated in Spain. I may note here 
 that the laundry work is excellent, and astonish- 
 ingly cheap. 
 
 In Spain the title caballero is not dependent 
 upon birth or station. The innkeeper equally 
 with the duke is accorded the courtesy which he 
 extends to others. Any assumption of social 
 superiority should be strictly avoided in associa- 
 tion with the people. Snobbery, the bane of 
 human intercourse, is unknown in Spain. Polite- 
 ness costs nothing, and yields an abundant return 
 in esteem and ready service. 
 
 When engaging an attendant, it is well to accept 
 the recommendation of the keeper of the fonda. 
 When you ask your gillie, ' Cuanto pago para el 
 dia ?' (How much do I pay for the day ?) you may 
 be surprised to hear the answer, *Nada ' (Nothing). 
 This is not to be accepted in its literal sense. It 
 is merely equivalent to the British * I leave it to 
 you, sir.' A boy will be content with a peseta and 
 his lunch. The lad will refuse to share the contents 
 of your luncheon-bag unless you press the food 
 
214 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 upon him. This is a rule of his code of politeness. 
 I have spoken before of the intelligence of the 
 Spanish rustic. Without exception, I found my 
 youthful gillies adaptable and helpful in leading me 
 to the best lengths of water. 
 
 Before penetrating into the wildest regions, 
 especially in the South, inquiries should be made 
 at the quarters of the Civil Guard concerning 
 a reliable guide, the accommodation, and the 
 safety of the proposed route. Brigandage has 
 been practically stamped out, but there are still 
 one or two districts where highway robbers lie in 
 wait for the unwary traveller. 
 
 The visitor to Spain should provide himself with 
 a passport. In Barcelona the law enjoins that all 
 passports shall be vised by the Consul. Money 
 may be taken in circular notes, which can be 
 changed in most of the large towns. English 
 Bank of England notes are accepted everywhere. 
 The rate of exchange varies from day to day. 
 Since the war with America it has been greatly 
 in favour of the English traveller. In Portugal 
 Spanish money can only be changed at a great 
 loss, and the value of the exchange of British 
 money in that country is much lower than in Spain. 
 
CHAPTER XXII 
 
 THE SPANISH FISHERY LAW 
 
 One can imagine the consternation that would be 
 caused in Spain if a law was enforced prohibiting 
 the taking of fish from fresh-water by any other 
 means save the rod and line. Such a law would 
 be stubbornly resisted by the populace. The mass 
 of the people in every country need education to 
 the end of preserving their own interests, and in 
 this respect Spain by no means stands alone. In 
 our own country we have witnessed strong opposi- 
 tion to measures for the preservation of the fish of 
 the Norfolk Broads, and the trout of the Scotch 
 rivers, during the annual spawning period. In 
 Wales the people are only just beginning to 
 comprehend the advantages of the organized con- 
 servation of the rivers and lakes. Fishermen who 
 have known the Thames all their lives tell us that 
 it was never better stocked than at the present 
 time. This is due entirely to the increases of rod 
 
 215 
 
2i6 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 anglers, and to the development of wisdom and 
 foresight amongst the fraternity of the angl6. 
 
 Some time must elapse before Spanish legis- 
 lators can be convinced of the economic utility of 
 a complete revision of the ley de pesca (fishery 
 lav^). Beyond the enforcement of a close season 
 for salmon, salmon trout, and common trout, and 
 a few inadequate rules respecting the use of nets 
 in fresh-water, nothing is done to protect fish-life. 
 What is the use of protecting spawning fish, when 
 thousands of the fry are scooped out of the small 
 pools of tributaries with poke -nets during dry 
 seasons ? I have seen trout as small as whitebait 
 cooked for the table in the Spanish fondas. 
 Imagine a poultry-breeder who protects sitting 
 hens, and kills the chickens about a week after 
 they are hatched. I have referred to the wanton 
 decimation of salmon-parr, and the astonishment 
 of the natives at our plea for the preservation of 
 immature fish. 
 
 I am not prepared to say that the rivers through- 
 out Spain could be made the rivals of those of 
 Norway. Mr. Kennedy, in his * Thirty Seasons 
 in Scandinavia,' tells us of the remarkable pro- 
 ductiveness of these Northern rivers. But the Sil 
 and the Minho contain even bigger trout than 
 
The Spanish Fishery Law 217 
 
 those of the Norwegian streams, and are probably 
 only to be beaten in weight, and that rarely, by 
 the trout of New Zealand. For trout of a sport- 
 giving size, Spain is a rival to our own country, 
 despite the primitive and defective fishery law. 
 There is no doubt that Spain might become a 
 fisherman's paradise in the course of a few years. 
 This would tend to the general welfare. More 
 salmon would ascend the rivers to spawn, and 
 more would fall to the rod and line of the angler. 
 In the long-run, netsmen in the tidal estuaries 
 would benefit, for it is obvious that the more 
 salmon that descend the river after spawning, the 
 greater will be the number to return to the river 
 the next season, and that more smolts will go 
 down to come back as grilse. A decade of reckless 
 netting in tidal and fresh water will work havoc in 
 any river. Add to this the inevitable depredations 
 of poachers, employing snares, spears, and deadly 
 dynamite, and what chance remains for the un- 
 fortunate salmon ? 
 
 Trout hatcheries are almost unknown in Spain. 
 A private hatchery was established upon the 
 Bidasoa some years ago, and I believe that King 
 Alphonso rears trout for turning into his own 
 streams. I have also heard of one case of stocking 
 
2i8 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 a mountain lake in the northern provinces. Trout- 
 rearing would not be necessary in Spain if the 
 law was revised, poaching suppressed, and the use 
 of the net in fresh-water prohibited, except in 
 some cases, where the average size of trout in a 
 lake might be increased by a discreet thinning of 
 undersized fish. Trout are so prolific, and the 
 rivers of Spain so excellently adapted for the 
 production of fish, that sane methods of pre- 
 servation would be alone sufficient for very 
 many years to come. Rod fishing could not 
 injuriously diminish the stock of fish in such 
 rivers as the Ebro, Ason, Deva, Nalon, Pas, 
 Besaya, Saja, Minho, and Sil, among many 
 others. 
 
 Spain might attract anglers from all parts of 
 Europe if the State and the people realized the 
 source of revenue their rivers could be made to 
 yield. The encouragement of legitimate means of 
 taking fish will be fostered by the example of 
 visiting anglers. When the Pescadores of the 
 Basque provinces saw that we could catch trout 
 with a rod and fine tackle in the main rivers, some 
 of them doubtless reflected that this was a more 
 profitable form of fishing than poking about for 
 pequenos (little ones) in the brooks. They asked 
 
The Spanish Fishery Law 219 
 
 us to buy them some flies in England, and seemed 
 disposed to review their own methods. It will be 
 remembered that at Matarosa the most prosperous 
 of the natives earn their livelihood by the legitimate 
 capture of trout with rod and line. A speculative 
 middle-man of that district purchases the trout 
 from these men, and stores them in a refrigerator 
 until they can be sent to the market. So far as 
 my observation went, these men found that rod 
 fishing paid them better than poaching, and it is 
 interesting to note that they were all fly fishermen. 
 But before rod fishing can become popular in 
 Spain the people must be able to buy suitable 
 tackle. It is pathetic to watch these keen and 
 patient anglers endeavouring to lure trout with 
 their big, clumsy flies, salmon gut, and stiff 
 bamboo poles. 
 
 Pisciculture is now a question of legislative 
 interest in nearly every nation. There is quite a 
 literature upon the subject in France. Spain is not 
 without its angling writers. In 1850 Francisco 
 Fernandez de los Senderos published a work upon 
 the fish of the southern coast of Spain. Even as 
 early as 1786 there was issued among the records 
 a paper upon the * Propagation of Fish and the 
 Method of transporting them to other Lakes and 
 
220 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 Rivers.' Ramon de Silva Ferro wrote a memo- 
 randum referring to the industry of fishing as 
 represented in the Universal Exposition of Paris 
 in 1878. One chapter deals with fish-culture, and 
 another with the management of salmon-fisheries. 
 These are among the few works upon angling 
 subjects published in Spain. A list of the books 
 upon Spanish fisheries will be found in * Biblio- 
 theca Piscatoria.' The sporting literature of Spain 
 is concerned almost entirely with the national pas- 
 time of bull-fighting. Upon this topic there is 
 a mass of authoritative writing. Angling is not 
 regarded as a sport in the Peninsula, and has no 
 enthusiasts who have been urged to sing its 
 charms in verse, nor to write technical treatises 
 upon the gentle art. Manuel Pardo, 11 Espoz 
 y Mina, Madrid, has a few books upon sport, 
 including translations of some English works. 
 Among the works of Cervantes I have only noted 
 one reference to angling. It is in * Don Quixote,' 
 where an innkeeper says, * Sir, you must angle 
 with another bait, or you will catch no fish,' as 
 a rejoinder to an assertion that the books upon 
 chivalry are fictions. 
 A copy of the laws relating to shooting and 
 
ThcilSpanish Fishery Law 221 
 
 fishing (* Caza y pesca ') can be purchased for 
 half a peseta at the booksellers' shops in most 
 towns. This little pamphlet contains the ordi- 
 nances of 1834, 1^79, and 1895. Article I. of the 
 Act of 1895 states that the close time for fishing in 
 fresh-water for salmon, sea-trout, common trout, 
 grayling (umblas), and all fish of the salmon 
 family, lasts for six months and a half — viz., the 
 first day of August to February 15. For rain- 
 bow trout the close time is from October i until 
 April 15. It would appear from this rule that 
 salmon and trout begin spawning very early in 
 the season in Spain, otherwise the enactment is a 
 strange one. It will be noted that salmon and 
 sea-trout are protected at the very time when they 
 begin to afford the best sport in many of our own 
 rivers. The season for grayling ends in Spain 
 when our own grayling are growing into condition. 
 This curtailment of the open season for trout by 
 two months, and for salmon by three months, 
 seems quite unnecessary. 
 
 Article IV. refers to the modification of the law 
 of close time in the case of persons employed in 
 the official establishments of pisciculture. I failed 
 to obtain information concerning these hatcheries. 
 
222 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 Article VII. deals with the penalties for infrac- 
 tion of the fishery law. The Act enjoins that 
 persons found fishing without a license will incur 
 a penalty of from 5 to 25 pesetas. Offenders using 
 dynamite are Hable to a fine of not less than 40 
 and not more than 160 pesetas. 
 
 In spite of this and similar decrees, dynamite is 
 still used in the Sil and Minho, and it is extremely 
 doubtful whether 50 per cent, of the fishermen take 
 out a license. These laws practically overlook the 
 existence of rod fishermen, but are concerned 
 with netting and trapping fish. The legitimate 
 angler, in the English sense, is hardly mentioned, 
 for the very simple reason that so few persons 
 follow fishing as a recreation. 
 
 The order of procedure in obtaining a fishing 
 license is somewhat complicated. First of all 
 you buy your statutory permit at the estanco. If 
 you look in a Spanish dictionary, you will find that 
 estanco means ' water-tight, embargo, monopoly, 
 tank.' You will be directed to a tobacconist's 
 shop, but you must find the right kind of 
 tobacconist — that is, one holding authority to 
 issue licenses. The license is a green card, 
 worded on the front as follows : 
 
The Spanish Fishery Law 223 
 
 LICENCIA DE PESCA. 
 
 4^ Clase. 5 Pesetas. 
 
 Correspondiente i cddulas personales de 6'' clase 
 
 en adelante. 
 
 PROVINCIA DE GUIPUZCOA. 
 
 El Gobernador Civil 
 
 concedo licencia d. D. V. Valter M. Gallichan 
 
 vecino de San Sebastian con cddula personal de clase 
 
 numero para pescar. En San Sebastian d i8 de Marzo 
 
 de IQ02. 
 
 ^ EL GOBERNADOR. 
 
 As a letter W is not in the Spanish alphabet, 
 my Christian name proved a stumbling-block to 
 the worthy Governor. 
 
 On the back of the license it is announced that 
 the holder has the follovv^ing * signs ' — namely, age, 
 stature, eyes, beard, colour, and profession. A 
 space is left for v^riting these particulars. In our 
 case a description of these tokens appeared to be 
 unnecessary, unless it was that the oiBcials were 
 entirely floored in describing a lady angler. It is 
 doubtful whether they had ever been asked to 
 issue a fishing-license to a lady. 
 
 This license permits the angler to employ 
 methods of taking fish which would involve him in 
 heavy penalties if he practised them in the United 
 Kingdom. 
 
224 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 I have reached the end of my narrative of 
 fishing and travel in Spain and Portugal. In 
 writing it I have lived again through many of the 
 days of a happy spring and summer. Before me 
 is a post-card just received from a friend, who is 
 wandering in Spain. He writes of blazing sun- 
 shine and picturesque towns. The atmosphere 
 and the beauty of Iberia are like nothing else in 
 Europe, and the people are charming and romantic. 
 Farewell, then, for the nonce to the bright land of 
 to-morrow, with its inscrutable customs, quaint 
 prejudices, courteous people, glorious mountains, 
 vast open wastes, brawling rivers, and nimble 
 trout ! 
 
INDEX 
 
 Adaja River, 84-86 
 Affife, 186 
 
 Ampuero, 24-46, 203 
 Ancora, 186-19 1 
 Andalusia, 77, 82 
 Antonio (gillie), 124, 129 
 Arbo, 158-170 
 Arcosa, 186 
 
 Ason, 22, 49, 149, 203, 218 
 Asturias, 3, 88, 102, 199 
 Avila, 84-87, 103 
 
 B. 
 
 Barbel, 195, 209 
 Barcelona, 214 
 Barco d'Alva, 195 
 Basques, 20, 61, 212 
 Bears, 89, 125 
 Besaya River, 52, 62, 218 
 Bidasoa River, 4-21, 99, 217 
 Big trout, 205, 206, 217 
 Bilbao, 22, 23, 90, 97, 203 
 Birds of Spain, 98, 99 
 Boga, 93, 102, 160, 169, 174 
 Bonar, 90, 95, 96, 203 
 Borrow, G., 118, 127, 171 
 Brigands, 19 
 Burgos, 200 
 
 Caminha, 178 
 
 Cares River, 199 
 
 Castile, 83 
 
 Climate of Spain, 63, 224 
 
 Coria, 75 
 Coruna, 199 
 Cost of fishing, 151 
 Crawfurd, Oswald, 155, 183, 
 185, 191 
 
 Dapping for trout, 142 
 Deva River, 203, 218 
 Diving for trout, 185, 186 
 Dodgson, Edward, 185, 201 
 Douro River, 89, 180, 192, 195 
 
 Ebro River, 200, 218 
 Eels, 78, 125 
 Eo River, 204 
 Escalo (chub), 161 
 Esla River, 88 
 Estanislas, 144, 145, 152 
 
 F. 
 
 Fishing law in Spain, 215 
 
 tackle, Spanish, 193 
 tours, 202-204 
 
 Flies, 36, 40. 45. 55. i33, i47. 
 207 
 
 Floods, 64, 92 
 
 Ford, John, 171, 176, 199, 202 
 
 Galicia, 3, 14, 107, 119, 158 
 Gancedo, Angel (guide), 131- 
 134. 141 
 225 15 
 
226 Fishing and Travel in Spain 
 
 Golden oriole, 99, 175 
 Guadalquivir, 69-81, 166, 169, 
 
 201 
 Guardia Civil, 113, 140, H^, 
 
 173. 214 
 
 H. 
 
 Hatcheries, 217 
 Herrick, 189 
 
 I. 
 Ibex, loi 
 Irun, 4-6, 202, 203 
 
 Jose, 71-81 
 
 Kennedy, Mr., 216 
 Kit for anglers, 209, 210 
 
 Lago de Castanedd, 202 
 Leon Province, 88-97 
 License for fishing, 223 
 Limpias, 35 
 Lindoso, 190 
 Los Pearas, 105-120 
 Lugo, 204 
 
 M. 
 Marron, 203 
 Matarosa, 66, 130-139 
 Minho, 14, 100, 107, 154, 164 
 
 N. 
 Nalon, 199, 204, 218 
 Navia River, 199, 204 
 Navarre, 17, 103 
 
 O. 
 
 Oliveira, 191 
 
 Oporto, 177, 178, 191, 192 
 
 Orense, 107, 156, 190, 203 
 
 Otters, loi, 175 
 Oyeregui, 8, 66 
 
 Palacio Reparacea, 8-21 
 Pas River, 54-68, 218 
 Passports, 214 
 Perez, Daniel, 137, 152 
 Poaching, 13-17, 51, 123 
 Ponferrada, 121-129 
 Portugal, 104, 107, 119, 177 
 Pueblo de Tribes, 202 
 
 Q 
 
 Quixote, Don, 120 
 
 R. 
 Renedo, 54, 203 
 Rivadavia, 157 
 Rua Petin, 201 
 
 Salmon, 33, 42, 178 
 Samlets, 28, 32, 34, 40, 61 
 Sandianes, 190 
 San Esteban, 5 
 
 Sebastian, 23, 51 
 Santander, 24, 47 
 Sastre, Sefior, iii, 122 
 Sea-fishing, 45, 182, 204 
 Sea-trout, 33, 43 
 Seville, 63, 69, 82, 193 
 Shad, 70-81, 164-170 
 Sil River, 105-112, 128-153 
 Smolts, 25, 61 
 Snipe, 100 
 Spanish anglers, 32, 33, 50, 51, 
 
 85 
 fishing books, 219, 220 
 Spinning for trout, no 
 Storks, 100 
 
 Tagus, 83, 201 
 Tarragona, 200 
 
Index 
 
 227 
 
 Teruel, 201 
 
 Toledo, 83 
 
 Toral de los Vados, 127-129 
 
 Tormes River, 199 
 
 Torrelavega, 52, 54 
 
 Tuy, 171-176 
 
 U. 
 Uztariz, Marques, 8 
 
 Vianna de Castello, 185, 186 
 Vigo, 199 
 
 W. 
 Walsingham, Lord, loi 
 Walton, Izaak, 102 
 Weather in Spain, 177, 210, 224 
 ' Wild Spain,' 2, 51, loi 
 Wolves, 8g, 125 
 Wye, Derbyshire, 151, 154 
 
 Yanci, 18 
 
 Zamora, 197-199 
 
 THE END 
 
 BILLING AND SONS, LTD., PRINTERS, GUILDFORD 
 
BY THE SAME AUTHOR. 
 
 Crotvn 8w., cloth gilt, 3s. 6d. net. 
 
 Fishing in Wales. 
 
 H XTbotouob Guibe tor tbe Hug ler» 
 
 0, 
 
 Standard. — " No angler can afford to go to Wales without 
 putting this modest but compendious little book into 
 his pocket." 
 
 Field. — '* No more excellent guide-book to the fishing to 
 be obtained in Wales than this by Mr. W. M. 
 Gallichan has yet been produced." 
 
 Westminster Gazette. — "A thoroughly practical book. 
 It is written by an angler who knows his business, who 
 has fished most of the streams and lakes which he 
 describes, and who, without any beating about the 
 bush, supplies anglers with the facts they want." 
 
 LONDON : 
 F. E. ROBINSON & CO., 20 GREAT RUSSELL STREET 
 
THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE LAST DATE I 
 STAMPED BELOW 
 
 AN INITIAL FINE OF 25 CENTS 
 
 WILL BE ASSESSED FOR FAILURE TO RETURN 
 THIS BOOK ON THE DATE DUE. THE PENALTY 
 WILL INCREASE TO 50 CENTS ON THE FOURTH 
 DAY AND TO $1.00 ON THE SEVENTH DAY 
 OVERDUE. 
 
 res 5 1934 
 
 FEB 6 1934 
 
 LD 21-100m-7,'33