256 AN OPEN CREEL 



spot had been left untried, and this was the yard or two 

 of clear water above the sill of the little weir, not more 

 than two feet deep, and overlooked by every passer-by 

 as he crossed the bridge. Still, there was more stream 

 in this spot than anywhere ; no one had crossed the 

 bridge for some time, and it was worth trying. Kneel- 

 ing, I worked the fly across the spot. It had just 

 reached the corner nearest to me when something 

 seized it like a tiger, and dashed off wildly for the 

 deeper water outside. A brisk fight followed, compli- 

 cated by weeds, rough gusts of wind, and finally by an 

 obstinate knuckle-joint of the landing-net; but at last 

 all went smoothly, and in due course I knelt upon the 

 towpath gloating over a beautifully spotted, small- 

 headed trout that looked as if it ought to weigh three 

 and a half pounds. 



After this triumph I made my way along the canal at 

 peace with all the world, fishing such spots as seemed pos- 

 sible, but not expecting or, indeed, desiring another 

 fish. It was enough glory to have achieved so unlikely 

 a feat as killing a trout in the canal. At last I reached 

 the river, found that there was scarcely a Mayfly to be 

 seen and scarcely a fish moving, waited about for an 

 hour on the chance of a rise, and finally turned for 

 home in the dusk. What instinct induced a pause at 

 the little weir on the way back it would be difficult to 

 say. The theory that a vacant place is at once occupied 

 by another trout was scarcely to be applied to the 

 canal, where fish were so few and far between. Still, 

 the situation was a good one, the thing was just worth 

 trying, and, to be brief, there was another trout there, 

 which came head and tail at the fly, hooked itself and 



