An incident of piscatorial interest occurred here. We sent a hunter, who had never had a rod in his hand before, down to a lake, or _vand_, to try for some trout. In an hour he came back with about twenty, averaging nearly one pound each. Of course he was not casting, or “flick” would have been the fate of the fly; he only trailed. Still his success was perfect, and he was delighted with his new sport.
The male reindeer are called _bucks_, the female _ko_ and _semle ko_, and the young _kalve_. In the daytime they roll in the snow, and if they sleep at all, it is certainly with one eye open. Having seen and telescoped many large stones, and taken them for deer, there was a strong inclination to inquire more closely as to the probability of sport, and a suppressed anxiety to hear a definite opinion as to our chance of a shot, if nothing more. The hunter must be patient, persevering, careful not to appear even as a moving speck on the interminable expanse of virgin snow, and take his sport quietly, for better or worse. Our Tentmaster had made many expeditions, had seen many deer, and even when his chance came an impetuous—shall we say friend?—rushed out in front of him, fired, and missed. So tradition said. We are glad to state that this did not occur during our present trip. His successes arrived, however, after a time, and never will he forget the day when he killed his first reindeer. Long may he live to kill more!
Let us here give his first experience; so pray silence for the Tentmaster.
THE TENTMASTER’S FIRST TRIP, AND HOW HE TRIED TO GET A REINDEER.
“In the year 1863 I ascended the glorious Norwegian fjelds for the first time to hunt reindeer. What a charm is conveyed in these words, ‘first time!’ The first salmon or trout caught; the first grouse or partridge shot; the first meet at cover and burst with the hounds; the first climb up the snow peaks of Switzerland; the young beauty’s first London season, or first night at the opera or ball; and last, not least, first love, all have a peculiar zest never afterwards equalled.”
(N.B.—The Tentmaster is rather sentimental.)