THIS IS a well-written and compelling account of one man’s obsession with introducing Atlantic salmon into Tasmania. It is a jolly good read, covering salmon biology, fights against bigots and scientific frauds, a fascinating insight into a period of colonial history of the Antipodes – and a technical triumph of native wit and artisan common sense over the establishment.

When British expats settled in Tasmania, they were struck by how similar it was to parts of the UK. It had lush countryside and wet mountainous regions. Its varied landscape reminded many settlers of home. One thing was missing: familiar wildlife.The mammals, plants, birds and fish were strange, and to their minds, inferior to British equivalents.

Rather than just accept that their new home was different, many set about making it feel more familiar.They named their settlements and rivers after home equivalents, and they determined to introduce wildlife familiar to them. Many species were easily transported, with often disastrous and permanent results. Fish proved more of a challenge.

The hero of this tale is James Youl, the son of a Tasmanian preacher. He was packed off to boarding school in England in 1819, aged nine. He was inspired by his broad education to think about establishing runs of salmon in Tasmanian rivers, an idea that was seldom far from his thoughts for his whole life.

The first challenge was getting live salmon, at any life-history stage, to survive a voyage across the tropics. Youl sought the views of practical fish hatchery men, respecting them over so-called and often self-promoted experts who held ideas but had little practical experience.They ridiculed Youl for adhering to the idea of shipping fertilised ova in damp moss. It was a slow process of trial and error; the voyage took many weeks and he only had one shot per year when salmon eggs were available. Several years of effort failed, but Youl persisted. Eventually in 1864, live eggs were delivered to Hobart.

Also shipped (against Youl’s judgement) were a number of brown trout and a few sea- trout eggs. These were hatched and reared in specially-constructed ponds and released as smolts to the Derwent river.

When a few silver adult salmonids returned,Youl and his supporters argued that, while they looked rather like sea-trout, they must be salmon because the timing of arrival of the few sea-trout eggs from home did not tally. It was eventually accepted that all return- ing adults were probably sea-trout, and that all the true salmon had perished. To this day, all attempts to establish sea-run populations of Atlantic salmon south of the Equator have failed too. So while the prime aim of the project, to establish self-sustaining runs of salmon, was unsuccessful, populations of brown and sea trout did result.

The last chapter, bringing things up to date, concentrates om the salmon farms that have sprung up around Tasmania over the past 40 years. But the salmon involved here were not derived from Youl’s introductions but brought to the island specifically for the purpose in the 1980s.

Harris mentions that there are a few lake fisheries stocked with reared salmon, but no mention is made of the first-class fishing for brown and sea-trout throughout the state, and of possible land-locked self-sustaining lake populations of Atlantic salmon.These are the true legacy of Youl’s magnificent efforts, and they deserve more detailed consideration and discussion than the farming industry, which is quite unconnected with the Victorian initiatives.

But overall I can recommend this book as an excellent, thought-provoking read for any- one with an interest in salmonids, both anglers and naturalists, and indeed in the history of Tasmania.

David Solomon