ON THE FORDS OF TEME 107 



Grayling are gregarious, and once you are at 

 a spot where they are at home you can get 

 amongst them, taking one after the other. The 

 Stroud man got his fish all from one reach, and 

 probably did not move more than ten yards. 



Good sport continued daily, and my fondness 

 for the dry fly increased. On four special occa- 

 sions in former years had the dry fly impressed 

 me, though I had previously always fished wet, 

 and as a fact preferred it then. Now I like 

 both methods, each as occasion demands. One 

 happy adventure with the Mayfly, fished dry, was 

 on the Colne at Thorney Weir. A trout was 

 steadily taking the naturals as they floated by 

 under the opposite bank. I got my fly luckily 

 across to the right spot, it floated over him, and 

 he took it. I managed to keep a tight line, and 

 to play and land him, ii Ibs. The second piece 

 of luck with the dry fly was on the same river, 

 near the cosy cottage by the weir. Just on dusk 

 I saw a trout rise, and soon a coachman, floating 

 beautifully, was travelling towards him. I felt 

 sure the fish would accept it, so attractively was 

 it taking its course. And my faith was justified. 

 The trout was mine. My third dry-fly adven- 

 venture was on the other Colne, in Gloucester- 

 shire. It was an evening late in June. The water- 

 bailiff sat on a stile, watching. But one does 

 not mind the official presence when one's ticket is 

 in order. A trout rose. A coachman was pre- 

 sented dry, and, as it neared the trout, it seemed 

 so natural that the fish must surely have a go. 



