THE INCALCULABLE GRAYLING 193 



vision of blue sky, red-brown fields, and evening sun- 

 light, which was as beautiful as it was unexpected. 

 Then the mist closed in again, and the day was over. 



As a contrast to these winter days may be described 

 two others enjoyed more recently just at the time of 

 year when summer and autumn join hands. The first 

 was on the Avon above Salisbury. There was a capful 

 of wind, but otherwise the weather was perfect April 

 sun and shade after heavy rain. Things began none 

 too well, for a handsome trout, after refusing a number 

 of patterns, took a pale watery dun, made a good show 

 of running, and then got off. But soon afterwards in a 

 shady spot a fish rose to a red quill with a little gold 

 tag on it, was hooked, and proved to be a grayling of 

 one and a quarter pounds, beautifully marked and 

 coloured. Then I gradually became aware that it was 

 that rarest of opportunities, a grayling day. Where 

 the light favoured I could see the fish, not hugging the 

 utmost bottom, as they mostly do, but poised just 

 above the weeds, cruising, and generally taking an 

 interest in things, with occasionally a rise to the surface. 

 One or two good fish came up short in full view, and I 

 was about to change the fly, when a great swirl caught 

 my attention a little way downstream. A big trout it 

 seemed, and I cautiously approached and knelt down 

 to investigate. There was no trout, but a monstrous 

 grayling, all alone on a clear patch. " The three- 

 pounder at last," I thought, and despatched the fly. 

 Up he came, " wallop," as a good friend puts it, but 

 apparently did not take. At the second offer, however, 

 there was no mistake, and I was fast in the three- 

 pounder. It was a weedy spot, and the gut was thrice 

 13 



