22 THE TROUT ARE RISING 



perhaps he has sound reasons for discretion. In 

 Somerset, in 1917, one visitor slipped off to the 

 extreme end of a long reach, a hitherto neglected 

 part of the hotel water, and for the ordinary wet 

 flies he substituted a dry fly. He secured an 

 unusually good bag. " Where did you get 

 them ? What was the fly ? " greeted him on his 

 proud return. He duly answered all questions. 

 I Early next morning he was again at the same 

 spot. But he found himself one of a crowd ! So 

 for-the future he vowed reticence. 



In many little ways, of course, anglers are- 

 just human. But take them all in all, they are 

 sportsmen ; kindly, considerate, and good to 

 know. I once met unselfishness personified in 

 a stranger, a dry-fly fisherman on the Colne at 

 Thorney Weir, West Drayton, which is but a 

 few miles from Paddington. From the R.A.S.C. 

 depot at Deptford I had slipped over for an 

 evening's fishing. It was early in May, and I 

 was quite unprepared for the Mayfly being up. 

 But there they were, and the water was thick 

 with them. (Once, by the way, I saw Mayflies 

 in swarms at West Drayton railway station.) 

 The unknown angler, with a cordial greeting, at 

 once enquired if I had brought artificial Mays. 

 I had to say " No," of course. " Well, then', I 

 shall give you some," he immediately said. 

 When I hesitated, he insisted : " Come, come ; 

 you must take them. You know you would 

 have given me some if you had found me with- 

 out any." Reluctance then vanished. A perfect 



