When one sees a number of salmon side by side, as they often lie in the tail of a pool, and watches a regular salmon fly pass over them or past their very noses without any attention or motion on their part, except to move away if the fly or leader comes too close, one is tempted to wonder if these fish will really take a fly at all under these conditions. And yet it is these very fish at this time which will furnish the best of sport. For some reason they are in a state of mind where the wet fly does not attract them at all. Perhaps they have reverted to the state when they were parr, taking insects off the surface. Let a real fly or a small butterfly float over them and see how often one will rise and suck it in. It was observing this which made me try a dry fly, with not much success at first, because I did not know how to use it, but soon I made a proper cast, quite by accident, and raised a fish. The fly was a Greenwell's Glory, No. 14 hook. I soon observed that the fish rose on some kinds of casts, but never on others, with considerable regularity. I was interested to discover which casts were wrong. The place was on the Indian River in Newfoundland, at the outlet of a lake where there were a large number of salmon. For a week previously they had bitten well and we had had good sport, but suddenly overnight the fishing had stopped. Conditions had changed. The water temperature had risen to above 60 deg. F. The fish were there, I could see them, so there was no use going anywhere else. If I could not get them there I had little chance elsewhere, so I settled down to find out how to catch them.