WHARFEDALE. 131 



Itchen was redolent of thyme ; the first which the Wharfe 

 yielded at the visit which is the subject of our present thought 

 smelled of something which the keeper said was cucumber, 

 while I equally maintained it was thyme. Very likely if we 

 had never heard or read of the alleged odours the fanq 

 would not have occurred to us ! 



Our Wharfedale experiences were those of every grayling 

 fisher who uses the fly. We were certain of nothing. Roving 

 and sinking as the anglers practise it in Herefordshire with 

 grasshopper or gentle is probably the most certain way of 

 catching the grayling, who loves to lie close to the ground, 

 grubbing upon the sand or gravel, which he prefers to any 

 other bed. Even when he takes the fly, which he will do 

 at all times, not excepting the winter frosts, if the sun should 

 peep out for an hour or two in the middle of the day, he 

 rises swift and straight from the deepest parts of the river, 

 and descends again with equal speed. His movements are 

 indeed so rapid that the hesitation of an instant on your 

 part will be fatal. The fish loves either the eye or tail of a 

 current ; upon being hooked he rushes for the stream, and 

 as in most cases your hook must be of the smallest, and the 

 grayling's mouth is remarkably tender, your proportion of 

 lost fish will be greater with grayling than with trout. 



" It is no good, sir," the keeper said, after we had both 

 carefully fished a mile of the Wharfe and missed every fish 

 that rose, each of which had been faintly pricked ; "they 

 are at their old tricks. Fve touched a dozen fish to-day 

 and caught none, and sometimes they go on like this all 

 day long. We shall get them between three and five this 

 afternoon, but not before." 



He acted upon his own opinion and ceased angling, 



K 2 



