SOME TINY WATERS 29 



disconcertingly plain. The clever angler had done 

 no clearing this long while. The stream had been 

 difficult enough five years before. Now it was appal- 

 ling. I shudder to think what it cost me in cochy- 

 bonddus. Occasionally I got the feeblest kind 

 of offer from some fish whose isolated position pre- 

 vented him from knowing about the panic which 

 possessed all the others. But the sort of rise he 

 made proved that there was suspicion in the air. 

 The whole business was of course aggravated by 

 the impossibility of casting what you could call a 

 line. The trees and bushes were so thick and mostly 

 hung so near the water that the only method by 

 which a fly could be got out was by " catapulting " 

 it. And that can only be done with quite a short 

 line. I had one consolation such as it was. The 

 periodical thunder showers that enlivened the earlier 

 hours came at me viciously but quite in vain. Not 

 theirs the power to penetrate the jungle in which I 

 crept. 



It would be about 3 p.m. that I decided that I was 

 beaten and climbed heavily out to the upper air. I 

 would have no more of that sub-silvestrian foolish- 

 ness. I would go home and say that there was 

 thunder in the air, on which account the fish were 

 out of humour. As I went I would look into such 

 pools as were approachable and see what might be 

 seen. I approached the first and gazed boldly 



