6 THE TROUT ARE RISING 



the water was the trophy immediately returned. 

 It is a deed which inspires in me mingled regret 

 and pride even now. 



Later on came the proud, personal possession 

 of a fly-rod. It cost nine shillings and sixpence, 

 exactly, at a local ironmonger's shop. Nine shillings 

 and sixpence ! Was ever rod like it ? Its butt 

 came to bear marks, crude notches, indicating a 

 series of later triumphs from the same little river. 

 These trout were on the small side. If, now and 

 again, one of better size rose at the fly, nothing 

 happened the trout seemed to avoid the hook. 

 One night, however, there was a thrilling adventure. 

 With a longer cast than usual, the wet fly covered 

 a feeding fish. Suddenly the water swirled ; there 

 was a commotion, such a to-do ! It must have 

 been a two-pounder, and a two-pound trout in 

 the hands of or rather at the end of the line of 

 a young and an inexperienced angler is a sensation. 

 It was like being held by an electric battery. 

 " Hold him tight ! " shouted a friend who was 

 fishing hard by. The sound advice came too late, 

 or rather the big trout went too early. For he 

 was off! The disturbance in the water calmed 

 down, and the line came back with that feeling of 

 emptiness with which most of us are familiar ! 



Good fortune did come, however. One night, 

 just on the darkening, as they say in Scotland, a 

 quiet rise was spotted, and the fly was thrown to 

 the right place. It was accepted. Down went 

 the acceptor, and kept down, sure sign of a trout 

 well-hooked. It seemed much too big for me to 



