THE WATERS OF CADER IDRIS 



fish were rising indifferently, and certainly not for 

 lack of scenic charm, for Lake Vyrnwy is both imposing 

 and beautiful. Moreover I had known that seques- 

 tered mountain valley before its submersion, together 

 with its little church, its vicarage, its inn, and scattered 

 homesteads. There was something uncanny in cast- 

 ing one's fly over the top of these ancient abodes 

 abandoned to mud and slime, to water-weeds, and eels, 

 and the haunt, no doubt, of cannibal trout whom 

 anglers at the hotel caught in their dreams, but never 

 in their waking hours. But I got very tired of my 

 boatman, a miner from Ruabon, particularly when at 

 times the light breeze failed us. It was obvious he 

 would sooner have been singing hymns in a Ruabon 

 chapel or watching a football match. There was, 

 and still is here, a very comfortable, modern, well- 

 equipped hostelry, too much so, perhaps, for my no 

 doubt heretical notions. 



You are apt to get parties in too sumptuous apparel 

 glaring at one another from separate tables. You 

 have the lady angler, too, who is just acquiring the 

 jargon of the craft, and displays it with naive assiduity 

 for the benefit of the neighbouring table. You enjoy 

 many other advantages of civilisation, which are very 

 nice if you are taking a course of waters at Harrogate or 

 Llandrindod, but to my prehistoric notions, when one 

 goes a-fishing, strike a rather jarring note. The con- 

 ventions seem better left behind. Heaven forbid that 

 I should be thought to single out Lake Vyrnwy as 

 a mark for my belated prejudices ! It merely sug- 

 gested a type, and one, too, that I am quite sure nowa- 

 days is in general demand. It is a beautiful and weU- 



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