In 1877 when the sketches on this page were drawn, the Atlantic salmon ran up most of the rivers of Maine and eastern Canada and gave yesterday's angler his choice of thousands of miles of open water. Superb as the fishing was, grandfather had to endure discomforts that would make the modern angler pale. His birch-bark canoe (unlike the modern Fiberglas) was perilously fragile and leaky (above); a crude lean-to (right) afforded poor shelter in comparison to today's bug-proof, lightweight tent with sewed-in floor; before the development of effective insect repellents he was made miserable by swarms of flies and mosquitoes (lower left). Grandfather endured the frigid waters without waders and with both hands swung a heavy, cumbersome 16- to 18-foot greenheart pole which weighed nearly two pounds. (The modern split bamboo salmon rod averages 9½ feet and scales about seven ounces.) His braided horsehair line varied in thickness from a piece of stout sewing cotton to a clothesline. But he caught fish and in the tradition of most anglers often celebrated the killing of a salmon by pouring himself a drink while his thirsty guides stood by (lower right).