Notwithstanding my resolve that the Vancouver trip should be my last one, the call of the wild was once more too strong, and the summer of 1910 found me planning an expedition to Newfoundland.

I think J. G. Millais' charming book Newfoundland and its Untrodden Ways, as well as the description he personally gave me of the country, were largely responsible for my decision.

I sailed from Southampton on August 5th by the Cincinnati, of the Hamburg-Amerika Line, bound for St. John's, Newfoundland, via New York.

The ship was crowded and the voyage as monotonous as all Atlantic voyages are, while being a slow boat we only arrived at New York on the morning of the 14th. The heat of New York was intense, and I was not sorry to leave it at midnight for Boston, and straight on via St. John's, New Brunswick, to Sydney, where I took the Bruce, which runs between Sydney and Port aux Basques, Newfoundland, a distance of a hundred miles.

I would recommend any one who is taking this route, and is not a total abstainer, to provide himself with a bottle of whisky, for Maine, through which a good portion of the journey lies, is a teetotal state, and even on board the Bruce not a drop of any form of liquor, even beer, was allowed to be served until the steamer was under way.

Getting away at eleven o'clock, and after a rather rough passage, for the Bruce is only about 800 tons, we arrived at Port aux Basques at 7 a.m. on the 17th.

It was a lovely morning, and the rocky shores of Newfoundland looked particularly wild and attractive in the bright sunshine. Port aux Basques is a small settlement, and so far as I could ascertain does not contain an hotel, but no doubt some form of lodging-house exists, where, as throughout the island, the visitor would be given a warm welcome and whatever was going, be it little or much.

The train was waiting for the steamer. The line is a narrow-gauge one, but the cars were quite comfortable, and the prospect of seeing a new country is always attractive. But how we did bump over that line; whether it was the fault of the laying of the permanent way or the driving I cannot say, but in a long experience of railway travelling I never have been so jolted, the driver seeming to take a special pleasure in pulling up with a jerk sufficient to knock over any one standing up, and then to start, if possible, in a rougher manner. However, no one seemed to mind, and after all passengers should be grateful for having a line at all. My mouth watered at accounts I heard of sea trout fishing, about three hours by launch from Port aux Basques. I was told that a few days previously three rods got 110 sea trout, averaging three pounds, in the Garia River, in a few hours.

Getting away at 8.15 we passed all along the west coast, through a most beautiful country, teeming with salmon rivers, most of them I fear much over-fished, for the west coast rivers are the favourite haunts of the American angler, being easily reached from New York and Boston.

Thompson's Hotel, prettily situated on the Little Codroy River, looked particularly attractive, and two American anglers got off there. I was told there was a late run of big fish in August, an exception, for as a rule all the Newfoundland rivers are early ones.

At Crabbes a local guide, on the look-out for a job, deeply deplored the fact that Crabbes should be neglected for the better-known Little and Big Codroy Rivers. He assured me there were two rivers, the one ten minutes, the other about two minutes, from the station, "crawling" of course with fish, and that a thirty-five pound salmon had been caught by a local angler a few days before. No doubt he was crying up his own wares. There was neither hotel nor boarding-house at Crabbes—camping out was necessary, but the country is a lovely one, and what could be more enjoyable than a comfortable camp on the banks of the river if only the fish were there and the water in fishing trim. Black flies and mosquitoes must not, however, be lightly put aside, for they are the curse of the island in the summer months.

As we slowly bumped our way north, the scenery became more and more beautiful, until it culminated in the views as the train skirted the Humber River, then along Deer Lake, gradually rising towards the barrens of the centre of the island. All along the sides of the railway the ground was carpeted with wild flowers, a perfect blaze of colour. Nightfall found us at the north end of the Grand Lake, where is situated "The Bungalow," a sporting hotel recently established, which from the train looked most comfortable.

The food in the dining-car was quite good, but by no means cheap. Why one should pay 40 cents, about 1s. 8d., for a slice of fried cod in the very home of the cod, when a whole fish can be purchased for half the money, I could not understand, and although Newfoundland abounds in fish neither trout nor salmon were once served in the restaurant car.

On Thursday the 18th I arrived at St. John's at 12.30, having travelled without a stop from the previous Sunday at midnight. It is much to be regretted that the direct Allan Line from Liverpool to St. John's, which only takes seven days, should not have larger and more up-to-date steamers. The largest boat is under 5,000 tons; not very comfortable for crossing the Atlantic. As the Allan Line run excellent boats to Quebec, there must be some good reason for the local service to St. John's not being better served.

Leaving England on August 5th, and travelling continuously, I did not reach St. John's till the 18th. It is true I took a slow boat and came by New York. A better route would have been by one of the larger steamers to Quebec or Rimouski, and then back by rail to Sydney, and so on to Port aux Basques.

If the large steamers which pass so close to Newfoundland would only make a call at St. John's, to disembark passengers, I feel sure many more tourists would be tempted to visit the island.

I was met at the station by Mr. Blair, Jr., whose firm were to provide all my outfit except camp equipment, which I had sent ahead from England. I was much indebted to him for valuable information and advice.

I was, I must confess, very disappointed with St. John's, which is not worthy to be the capital of England's oldest colony, and the less said about hotel accommodation the better. The best hotel was really only an indifferent boarding-house, and could not compare in comfort with the hotel of any small provincial town at home.

St. John's possessing few attractions for me, I decided to get away as soon as possible. When I left England the steamer Glencoe, which sails from Placentia to Port aux Basques, all along the south coast, was timed to leave every Saturday, but the sailing had been altered to Wednesday, leaving me with some idle days, which I could not face in St. John's.

I had heard of sea trout fishing and possible salmon in the south-east arm of Placentia, where good accommodation was to be had at a fishing inn, known as Fulford's. Wiring to Mr. Fulford to know if the sea trout were running, the answer came back that they were all in the ponds, which I did not quite understand at the time, but anything was better than five days in St. John's, so on Saturday, August 20th, I started by the morning train for Placentia and Fulford's.

The rain came down in torrents as we left St. John's at 8.45 a.m. and lasted till we arrived at Placentia at 1.45—eighty miles in five hours. These Newfoundland trains are certainly not flyers.

Placentia is very beautifully situated at the junction of the two arms of the sea, known as the south-east and the north-east arms. The main town is on a spit of land which extends out into the sea, making the one entrance to either arm a very narrow channel, and through this the full force of the tide races, causing whirlpools and eddies which looked anything but safe. The foreshore was composed of large round stones, not pebbles, and the roar of these as they washed up and down the beach by the waves is one of the characteristics of Placentia. They say the people of Placentia talk louder than any one else in the island on account of this.

I was met at the station by George Kelly from Fulford's, who told me he had a buggy waiting for me across the ferry; but food was first necessary, and I got a mess of meat at the local hotel for 35 cents. On asking for a glass of beer or a whisky-and-soda, I was told they only kept "sober drinks," an expression which I heard for the first time.

The traveller in Newfoundland must reconcile himself to teetotalism and tea, unless he can carry his own liquor along. Even at the hotel in St. John's only very indifferent beer was obtainable with meals; for anything else one had to go round the corner to a second-rate public-house. Now all this seems very unnecessary, for it would appear to me that there is much greater chance of a man getting drunk if he finds himself set down in a public-house after dinner than if he could obtain what he reasonably required in his hotel. But all Newfoundland drinks tea, and the sensible traveller will adapt himself to the local customs, as well as to the midday dinner and the light early tea or supper.

The ferry was only a couple of hundred yards across, and George and I were soon on our way to Fulford's.

The drive was a lovely one, the road winding high up over the south-east arm. The weather had cleared up, the sun was shining brightly, the hills were glistening in the sunshine after the heavy rain, and every little stream had become a roaring torrent, which George said promised well for the fishing.

After a five-mile drive we arrived at Fulford's and I was warmly welcomed by Mr. Fulford and his wife, really charming people. The house was scrupulously clean. Fortunately for me, I was the only guest, and I can only say Mrs. Fulford gave me the best food I had in Newfoundland, while her terms were even more than moderate. The situation of the house was very beautiful, overlooking the mouth of the river, which was about a mile away.

I naturally inquired first about the fishing.

It seemed I was too late for the sea trout in the river itself, at least in its lower reaches. The sea trout run about July 14th, in great numbers, but only for a short time. The salmon run earlier.

In the season Fulford's is crammed, anglers sleeping anywhere all over the house, and struggling with each other for the best water.

The river, after a run of about four miles, falls out of what are locally termed ponds—what we would call lochs—and at this season of the year all the fish were in these lochs. At certain distances they are connected one with the other by short runs of a few yards, and here the fish lie. These are known as the four-mile, five-mile, six-mile and seven-mile pools.

Starting off about 4 o'clock, I drove up to the four-mile pool. The road was fairly good, winding along above the river through the wood, and the drive was most enjoyable. As we gradually ascended, the view, looking back over the south-east arm, was very beautiful, reminding me very much of Scotch scenery in Sutherland.

The entire country was saturated from the morning rain, and we started in our waders, as George said we had swampy ground to pass through before reaching the pool. Hitching up the horse where a pathway branched off, we plunged through a very wet swamp for a few hundred yards down to the pool.

The water was pouring down from the upper loch, the pool was full of fish all on the move for the run up to the higher waters, the evening was closing in—the black flies and mosquitoes were troublesome. Though I cast over many fish I never got a rise. Getting home at dusk I found an excellent dinner of roast fowl and wild raspberries and cream awaiting me.

The next morning we started early for the seven-mile pool. The going was pretty rough but the scenery very beautiful. We gradually emerged from the woods on to the higher and more open ground. A half-mile walk through a very wet marsh brought us to the bank of the stream between the two lochs, which was in perfect order. It was only a few yards wide and I could cover the entire fishable water with my fourteen-foot Castleconnell rod. I rose several fish, killed three who gave good sport, and lost a fly in another. As the water was about fished out we went down to the six-mile pool, where I killed one and lost another, but the fish were all small, 5½, 4½, 4, 3½ lb.

The following day we again tried the seven-mile pool, but the water had run down and there was little or no stream between the two lochs. I got one fish of 4 lb., and never saw another. As there was little chance of more salmon I asked my host if there were any trout in the neighbourhood. He strongly advised me trying a loch nine miles up the road, where he and a friend had got twenty-seven dozen mud trout (? char) in one day's fishing the previous year. After a rough drive over a very bad road for the last three miles we found the loch, but it was so overgrown with water-lilies that there was not a square yard of water on which to cast a fly. Whether they had grown up since his visit and whether they died down later on in the season I cannot say, but we had wasted our day. I could not understand the river; thousands of sea trout run up but I never saw or rose one. It was hardly a river, but a series of lochs with connecting streams. There were no boats on the lochs, but I had hoped to find sea trout in the tail of the streams. Not one, however, did I even see rise. There are a number of lochs about nine miles up. Whether they contained fish or not I cannot say. I think it would well repay Mr. Fulford, who is the fish warden of the district, to investigate the habits of the sea trout and find out where they eventually lie, presumably in the upper lochs, and put boats on. The salmon I got were in good condition and excellent eating. Driving home in the evening about sunset, we generally saw quite a number of Nova Scotia hares, locally called rabbits, sitting out on the road. I saw no other game of any description, though there are plenty of partridges (ruffled grouse) in the neighbourhood.

The steamer was due to sail from Placentia on the 24th inst., at 3 p.m., so I left Fulford's with much regret at 10.30 a.m. and drove into Placentia, where I found she would not sail till midnight owing to the amount of cargo.

Going into the Post Office to inquire for letters, I was told I must see the Communion Plate of the Protestant Church, which was kept in the Post Office. It was a very handsome service of plate presented by Prince William Henry, who as a young naval officer passed a winter in Placentia, then I believe the capital of the island. It was weary work getting through the day till the steamer sailed. Every berth was taken, so I had a shakedown in the corridor, which was much more airy than any cabin.