190 AUTUMN ANGLING 



Not a fin stirred in this promising bit of water 

 to my crow-wing fly, neither did a dark mottled 

 turkey feather prove more alluring. A white trout, 

 however, rose in the pool above. Mac, who was 

 apt to be sanguine, affirmed it was a grilse ; but 

 we could not decide the point, as it refused to show 

 again. 



The next two casts were my special favourites. 

 They are considerably apart one, flowing close to 

 the road, is deep, confined, and eddying; the other, 

 half a mile upward, gave scope for one of those 

 splendid sweeps of the line which is the delight 

 of the salmon angler's heart. But, alas! changes 

 of dark flies did not even excite a contemptuous 

 "bell-up." The lighter lures of grey turkey-wing, 

 and brown hackle, and argus-wing with red 

 hackle, only fixed three yellow trout about half a 

 pound each, which, instead of being welcomed, did 

 but disgust me with light flies for the rest of the day. 



I had now carefully searched every pool and 

 stream to the top of the beat, without one break 

 of a salmon. There remained only time to skim 

 over a few pet casts on the return our last chance 

 of cheating the brogue-maker's spell. The free 



