14 Wet-Fly Fishing 



pool above, being literally squeezed between 

 two large boulders, pour down into my own 

 pool, and, near to the edge of this rush, 

 my black hackle is thrown. A trout of 

 | Ib. soon fastens, and is leisurely drawn 

 downwards, landed, and encreeled. This 

 process in my upward progress is constantly 

 repeated. Frequently I have to cross the 

 burn wet-foot, so as to fish it to better 

 advantage. I wear no waterproof wading 

 stockings. They would only be an encum- 

 brance while fishing a Highland burn ; and 

 youth makes light of wet feet, especially 

 when the said feet are encased in thick 

 knitted worsted socks under a pair of strong 

 shooting boots, well nailed, to make sure 

 the foothold. My basket keeps growing 

 heavier, and my spirits lighter in propor- 

 tion. At last I sit down to eat my sand- 

 wich, and this being soon done, I fall into a 

 musing attitude not a very common thing 

 at my age. Well, the surroundings are 

 enough to appeal, even to a lad. The 

 music of the stream, the " caller" moun- 

 tain air, the wild scream of the curlew (the 

 "whaup"), the challenge of the sentinel 

 cock-grouse as he sounds his note of warn- 

 ing, and then whir-r-rs off with his covey into 

 a thick bed of fern, the cuckoo's familiar 



