THE EVENING 89 



a blue upright, and a Wickham, and a red quill, 

 and a cochybonddu, and a coachman. And the fish 

 are disdaining each with a deeper disdain, or being 

 terrified of each with a greater terror, according as 

 is their mood. 



The seventh period begins with a slackening of 

 rises as the fish find the blue-winged olives petering 

 out. Precisely as the rise ends I remember what 

 is the fly, and get it on to the cast somehow in the 

 gloom. Looking along the path of light towards 

 the west, by good luck I see a quiet dimple, at a sedge 

 of course. The blue-winged olive reaches the spot, 

 is taken (because darkness covers many sins), and 

 the miserable little hook fails to hold the four- 

 pounder, for which I have yearned all the season. 

 A good, sensible sedge on a No. 4 hook, and the 

 fish would have been mine. That sedge is put on 

 now at last with the aid of a match, but it is too 

 dark to see any more. So ends another evening 

 rise. 



I will not pass on Halford's advice to any dis- 

 tressed reader. If an angler loses his calmness 

 during the evening rise I say that he is quite within 

 his rights. I am not sure that it is not his duty so 

 to do. Nine times out of ten it is a maddening 

 business. 



Two special evenings remain in my memory as 

 illustrating how tantalising evening fishing can be. 



