NOVEMBER ON THE TILL 199 



deep pools. How far one might have sunk experiment 

 only could have shown, and the grayling fishing, to 

 say nothing of other interests, might have suffered 

 thereby. 



This fishing I found to be more remunerative than 

 on my previous attempt. I used a five-ounce nine- 

 foot rod, a cast of three North-Country flies tied on 

 ooo hooks and the finest gut, and fished straight 

 upstream, looking for the stoppage of the line rather 

 than for a rise. This, I am convinced, is wise in 

 upstream fishing, for many a grayling takes the fly 

 without breaking the surface at all. Were it not 

 for seeing the line checked, the rise would pass 

 unheeded. The shorter the line, the easier is the 

 fishing, and the rod should be raised as the flies 

 come downstream, so that if possible only the gut is 

 in the water. I did not keep count of the number 

 of grayling that I caught, but they were all very small, 

 and out of some dozens I only kept about three brace 

 of six-ounce fish to serve for breakfast. It was a bleak, 

 cheerless day, with a cold, searching wind, and was by 

 no means favourable for the fly; the river was dead 

 low, and the bigger grayling (if there were any, of 

 which I was not yet sure) were not moving, though 

 my friend's catch included a pounder that took a 

 worm, fished Nottingham fashion, twenty-five yards 

 away. Local fishermen depend almost entirely on 

 the worm, and when the river is clearing after a spate 

 they sometimes make very big baskets with it. After 

 the long drought, however, the worm was of little 

 use. 



On the Tuesday there was again a cold wind, but 



