# An Angler at Large/Chapter 38

I find that, after all, it is about the exploits of Oberhausen that I have been boasting rather than my own. No matter. We have at last managed to get some blood—I mean really to splash it about—in this book. I am really very much obliged to my friends. The reader of a book that professes to treat of angling has a right to expect some sport, and had it not been for Chavender and MacArthur and MacAlister and Oberhausen I should have given you, in this respect, very poor value for your money.
While, therefore, we are concerned with Norway, let me (in my gratitude) trumpet the prowess of Oberhausen yet again. I have told you how he catches sea-trout. I propose to tell you how he takes poachers. Now I have never caught a poacher in my life, nor do I know anyone but Oberhausen who has. Here, therefore, I present you a faithful little picture of a Norwegian poaching affray, and if it is not so violent and ​murderous as you hope, you must blame the Norwegian character, not Oberhausen. Nor me.
The rent which MacAlister and Oberhausen and I paid to the commune of our island was employed for the good of all the inhabitants. Our lease was granted by the commune. It was executed by several of the more important members of the commune. This is to be noted.
From the first there had been talk of nets.
Mr. Thorwaldsen, in whose house we lived, had warned us that we might light upon some of these engines of destruction. I was shocked to hear this, for I did not know, as did Mr. Thorwaldsen, that the first thought of a Norwegian peasant on seeing a bit of water is, "How soon can I put a net through it?" But for ten days we never saw a sign of a net. Then Oberhausen's great adventure took place.
I lay at rest upon the bosom of the lake. Across half a mile of unruffled water I could see Oberhausen at work, his form silhouetted against the water of the sea-stream. This was in the days before we learned how to fish this place—the finnocky days. His rod flashed in the pitiless sun as he flailed manfully away. Where I was no fish moved, for there was no fly on the water. And yet I went on fishing—dry, sunk, even trailed—for there were hungry mouths in ​the house, and this was the third day of a great calm. Presently, I secured a largish brown trout off the mouth of a stream, and at once began to anticipate a great basket. Across the lake came a hail. Oberhausen had left the sea-stream. "Hullo?" I cried, fishing away with the exaggerated care which a capture in such weather always engenders. "I have a net," called Oberhausen. "Break it up," I advised, and went on fishing. Confound! I had missed a rise. After that I was even more careful, and paid no further attention to Oberhausen and his net.
Suddenly my poor friend's voice was raised upon a different key. There was anger in it, and a trace of apprehension. "No, no," I could hear. "You mustn't do that. Keep off." One glance was enough to show me that Oberhausen was engaged in battle. I whirled the boat's head round and set off to his rescue. The approach of reinforcements seemed to cow the enemy. There was no more noise of strife. When I beached the boat, I found we had to do with a Mr. Henrik Ibsen, member of the committee, a signatory to our leases, one of our landlords. The trouble arose from the carelessness of Mr. Ibsen in leaving his fine new net stretched across the mouth of the sea-stream till 11 a.m., instead of taking it up four hours earlier, as his ​custom had hitherto been. Immunity had made him reckless. Greed had grown with success. And now this painful expose resulted. He clung to a bunch of his net with one hand; with the other he menaced Oberhausen or appealed to Heaven indiscriminately. Oberhausen held on to the net. To all Mr. Ibsen's arguments, abuse, and protestations he made one reply: "Ikke forstaar"—"I do not understand," the simple, dignified, all-sufficing answer of the Briton in difficulties abroad. As I stepped ashore I heard these words barked out in Norwegian. "To blazes with your ikke forstaar! Give me my net." This was his last effort. He yielded to superior force; the net and a murdered sea-trout of 4 lb. weight which had spent the night in it were put into the boat, and while I rowed Oberhausen towards home, where the cause was to be tried by Mr. Thorwaldsen, president of the committee, he told me his tale.
He had, it seems, marked the net's corks in the very entering in of the sea-stream, and as the tide receded he had been able, by deep, indignant wading, to secure it. He had no sooner hauled it to the lake-side, a matter of half a mile, than Mr. Ibsen appeared like a whirlwind, demanding his net shamelessly, swearing at Oberhausen, and striking him (so manifest was his villainy) on the chest. The rest I knew.
​The trial was conducted in true Norsk fashion in the open air. The proceedings were extraordinarily public, and everyone who passed along the high road was welcome to attend them, and attended them. In the Lofoten no one is blase. Public interest was extensively aroused. Before judgment was given, I suppose there were seven or eight persons gathered in Mr. Thorwaldsen's garden. The parties pleaded in person. Mr. Ibsen said that he wanted his net. Mr. Thorwaldsen made short work of him. He pointed out that Mr. Ibsen was trying to eat his cake and have it. Mr. Ibsen was not a bit abashed. He seemed genuinely amused at being caught out like that. His neighbours rallied him unmercifully. In their eyes he had committed the merest peccadillo. Mr. Ibsen replied in kind, and they all laughed gaily. Even Oberhausen and I were infected by their deplorable levity. But Mr. Thorwaldsen put an end to our merriment by stating that the net would be confiscated and Mr. Ibsen would be fined. Mr. Ibsen, with a "don't care" shrug, laughed again most naughtily; he was invincibly cheery. Then Oberhausen's kind heart misgave him. He begged for mercy for Mr. Ibsen. Let the net be taken, but let not an old man be dragged before the magistrate. If he would apologise—Mr. Ibsen clutched at the ​olive branch, apologised, and said he would not do it again. We were all immensely relieved. One wanted to tell Mr. Ibsen to come out of the corner. The incident closed in a burst of laughter when I handed the sea-trout to Mrs. Thorwaldsen, with a request to let us have it for dinner. We took five more nets in the next fortnight. These people cannot regard poaching seriously.