THE DUFFER'S FORTNIGHT 207 



strong as a submarine. The real thing at last ! 

 But the triumph ended in a netful of silver scales 

 and red fins — a distressing four-pound chub. And 

 there was a similar triumph a few minutes later — a 

 three-pound disappointment. 



Further, there was nothing to record until almost 

 the last moment when a move had to be made 

 upstream in view of the last train for home. Then 

 at a corner (where by the way in the morning was 

 seen a great length of something which head-and- 

 tailed once, but seen from such a distance that it 

 might have been a trick of the imagination), at that 

 corner was evident a feeding fish of great size. 

 And it cruised on a definite beat, up and down, a 

 hopeful sign. It was a long cast and an awkward 

 owing to a bush and tall rushes, but at last the fly 

 reached the right spot, was taken, and ye gods, 

 what a moving of the waters 1 That, alas I was all, 

 for the line came back without the fly. There sad, 

 and so home, as Pepys said when the minikin string 

 broke. A bad end to a poorish day. But it was 

 worth while to have had it, if only to see that 

 monster swirl. He may have been another chub 

 of course, a colossus among chub. But I hold that 

 I am entitled to be of different opinion. In fact I 

 must be, in order to justify my attitude towards 

 Mayfly fishing in general. 



That day was in 1916. I also had a little Mayfly 



