84 AN OPEN CREEL 



to spoil the rest of the water, and, though one 

 two-pounder rewarded a desperate race to the shallow 

 below the weir, the evening rise may be said to have 

 ended before it had really begun, and not another 

 trout moved. 



The next day was not unlike the first, except that it 

 was not quite so hot and rather more windy. The 

 evening sky was again glorious, but again, just as the 

 fish seemed likely to feed, the mist made an unwelcome 

 appearance. Before it rose, however, I just had time 

 to hook with a big Wickham the trout above the camp- 

 sheathing and to lose him. It is most depressing to 

 lose a big fish when time is precious ; it encourages a 

 fatalistic anticipation of failure which is bad for the 

 basket. Patches of the baleful mist and a total absence 

 of rising fish did not help matters ; but there remained 

 one chance a small side-stream which was really a 

 backwater of the main river. This had a fair evening 

 reputation, and from the distance it seemed as yet to 

 be free from mist. I therefore hurried over the meadow 

 towards the bridge which crossed it. Here, sure 

 enough, were fish rising, and rising well, and a big 

 sedge seemed appropriate to the hour, as several were 

 fluttering about the banks. But the trout would not 

 look at it, though they continued to rise steadily at 

 something invisible. Nor would they move at a silver 

 sedge of smaller size, nor at a still smaller blue quill. 

 At last, in sheer desperation, I put on the smallest 

 blue dun in the box, and at once rose and hooked a 

 trout that had refused all the other flies. He fought like 

 a thing possessed, and, though he was only one and a half 

 pounds, he had to be handled judiciously on the tiny 



