THE ENGLISH LAKE COUNTRY 



the unexpected has happened in the shape of another 

 fortnight on Ullswater — not undertaken mainly in 

 the interests of trout, but for the latter portion of the 

 mountain fox-hunting season. As a rule, however, 

 the two work in beautifully together. But unfortun- 

 ately for the well-laid scheme, this last April was so 

 late and so cold, and the snow still lay so deep in the 

 high mountain hollows, that the lake trout had barely 

 got going. Nor had my local friends, who, with all 

 May before them, could regard the situation with 

 complacency ; we, unfortunately, could not. At our 

 first attempt we got three, at our second nine, at our 

 third eleven ! Things were beginning to improve, 

 and as with the opening of May we steamed sorrowfully 

 down the lake to meet the coach at Pooley bridge, I 

 need not say it was the first good-looking day of the 

 season, a lovely ripple and a balmy air. There was only 



one boat out, and that off Howtown. It was C ; 



I waved him a farewell salute full of envy. I heard 

 incidentally he got twenty that day, and I feel quite 

 sure from what I know of his fancy that he killed them 

 on a black-hackle and a Broughton-point. 



Most of us, I am inclined to suspect, who have a 

 fancy for mountain tarns are almost as much fascinated 

 by the eeriness of their portentous gloom in wild 

 weather as by the attractions of their gentler moods. 

 For myself, I do not think there is anything in all 

 nature within these islands so impressive as the former, 

 more especially if one is absolutely alone. And, after 

 all, it is only a few of us anglers that are ever in a 

 position to cultivate a protracted intimacy with these 

 innermost haunts of the spirit of solitude. I well 



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