A YORKSHIRE BECK 33 



last of the day, for the sky got so dark that I suspected 

 the advent of a heavy storm, and went on upstream 

 without fishing any more. It was just as well I did, 

 for the going was very arduous, steep banks, ditches, 

 stone walls, cliffs, brushwood barriers, and other things 

 making the heat seem absolutely stifling. It took me 

 more than an hour to cover about two miles of ground, 

 now in the beck and now out of it, and the rain began 

 just as I was in sight of home. One thing I noted for 

 the morrow that for fishing purposes I was obviously 

 on the wrong side. For the day I was well satisfied, 

 having eight trout, all caught on the black gnat. 



Tuesday dawned with mist, which soon turned to 

 steady rain, the fulfilment of Monday's sinister promise. 

 But when I started fishing at the same place as before, 

 I found that the beck was a good deal lower and the 

 fish even shyer. For fully an hour I did nothing at 

 all except get hung up. It is astonishing how on a 

 small stream the most inconsiderable twig sticking out 

 of the water, the tiniest corner of a submerged stone, 

 the solitary overhanging thistle or head of grass, will 

 exercise a magnetic attraction for one's flies, to say 

 nothing of bushes, trees, and other real obstacles. 

 Possibly something depends on one's mood. I was 

 discouraged by finding the water so low, and had a 

 presentiment that I should do very little. Then, just 

 above a little bridge, casting round a corner, I got a 

 fish of two ounbes, and felt better. The rain also became 

 heavier, and dimpled the surface of the pools, making 

 fishing easier, so I got several more trout in quick 

 succession. The first was on the black gnat, but the 

 others all took a red spinner, which served as dropper. 

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