DAYS IN DOVE DALE 5 



as a leader a blackish fly, with white wings, 

 called, I believe, " The Coachman," then two 

 others, a dun and a brown, whose names I 

 forget. 



Before I had thrown a dozen times, a man in 

 velveteens turned up, and asked for my licence ; 

 having satisfied him, and rewarded him besides 

 for his kindness in demanding my passport to 

 "The Dove," he asked to see my flies. He 

 pronounced them splendid deadly ; with such 

 flies I may be sure of getting back to " The 

 Izaak Walton " with a fine dish for dinner. 



Thus encouraged I started afresh, and not 

 forgetting the injunction of my piscatorial 

 Cromwell to keep my flies dry wet fly fishing 

 being exploded I began to thrash "The 

 Dove." 



How to keep your flies dry in a torrent of 

 rain, and whilst throwing on the water, was a 

 problem which puzzled me a good deal. The 

 way to do it, I was told, was to swing the line 

 backwards and forwards constantly, and then to 

 drop your fly gently on the top of the water, 

 and let him sail quietly down, looking as like 

 nature as possible. 



Bearing these instructions in mind, I swung 



