258 FLY-FISHING. 



towards the lower end of the fishing-ground, and 

 stepped from it to a rock in the stream, and then 

 easting the farthest and lightest possible, was re- 

 warded. A magnificent fish rose ; was secured by 

 a quick turn of the butt, and stung by the unexpected 

 pain, fled down the current. Away he went, on 

 without a pause, the reel hissing, the line unwinding, 

 and darting into the water, till having exhausted 

 seventy-five yards of line, and being partially turned 

 by its weight and the resistance of the click, he 

 stopped with a heavy surge, and heading back, ap- 

 proached as fast as he had fled. Instantly and in- 

 stinctively my hand fell upon the handle of the reel ; 

 it would not turn, no effort could budge it ; conceive 

 my feelings now, if mortal man can conceive them. 

 The fish coming towards us, the line lying in a long 

 heavy bag behind him, threatening to sink and catch 

 round some rock, or by its slacking up release the 

 hook ; I jerked in the line, thinking a grain of sand 

 might have penetrated between the plates, and tried 

 the handle first one way, then the other, in vain. 



This all passed with the speed of thought, but 

 the fish was approaching as quickly ; there was no- 

 thing left but calling one of my men to tell him to 

 take in the line, hand over hand, and holding it in 

 a loose coil, be prepared to pay it out on the next 

 rush. Then thinking that the plates must be bent, 

 I took from my pocket a screw-driver that I always 

 carried, and unloosened every screw. There I stood, 

 grasping in one hand the rod, while the tip bent to 

 the motions of the fish, with the other working away 



