The gentle putt-putt of the outboard was hypnotic, all the more so after a big breakfast, and I was half asleep when I saw a surface swirl in the distance. Eyes wide open now, I saw a second swirl near the first. "Say, Andy, it looks like some fish breaking over-" A violent yank on my line interrupted, and I happily watched a fat landlocked salmon leap end-over-end in the air as it felt the hook. After a couple of hard runs and the usual wild thrashing near the boat, an 18-inch fish came to net. "That's lunch," Brooks announced. We passed the morning catching and releasing more salmon, although none larger than the first, which Brooks eventually split and set to grill before a blazing noon fire that was especially welcome in the rain. There was cowboy coffee (its grounds settled by adding an egg), onions, and potatoes, all topped off by fresh apple pie from the camp kitchen. Brooks cooked, ate, and cleaned with the skill of long experience, and one of the best meals I can remember was over too soon.