THE DRY FLY. 139 



stream fisherman June is the best month of all, 

 for who would not if he could choose a windless 

 day in June? It is the month of the meadow 

 flowers, and though the different shades of green 

 are less marked and are merging into their 

 summer sameness, the yellow iris makes the 

 banks a garden, the wild rose stars the hedges, 

 and the guelder rose hangs its cream-coloured 

 lamps over the carriers. 



As summer goes on and the rest of the world 

 grows dry and dusty, the valley remains green 

 and cool. Running water is everywhere : 

 racing in a miniature trout stream by the road 

 side; filling deep brimming carriers, rivers in 

 themselves; trickling and percolating over the 

 fields. The valley is a delight all the year, but 

 perhaps it is never quite the same after the 

 summer grass has been mown, for it loses some- 

 thing never regained, and you see signs that 

 the best of the year is passing. Still, July and 

 August have their attractions. A new set of 

 flowers appears. The comfrey and the thick 

 clusters of purple loosestrife and the golden 

 mimulus may not equal the June flowers. They 

 may not compare with the wild rose, the 

 guelder rose, and the yellow iris, perhaps the 

 loveliest of British flowers. But they are suit- 

 able to the time, and their solid colours fit in 

 with hot days. July and August too are fish- 

 ing months whose excellence is often overlooked. 

 On late rivers such as the Kennet you get good 

 fishing right into September. By August 



