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or two on the Avon — anywhere between Salisbury and 

 Christchurch — and he would, moreover, belong to the noble 

 army of " duffers " if he failed to kill a good basket of pike. 

 The Avon is very similar in character to the Itchen and 

 other South of England chalk streams, and it flows through 

 a richly wooded and fertile valley. The river itself and all 

 its surroundings appeal strongly to the instincts of the 

 angler, and tempt him to say, " I could put in a week or two 

 here, even if I did not catch a fish." My last Christmas eve 

 was spent in a punt on a private length of the Avon, and it 

 Avas one of the coldest day's fishing that ever fell to my lot. 

 There were two of us besides the keeper (who did the punt- 

 ing), and we had a merry time of it. The air was bright, 

 and crisp, and the north wind cut like a razor. Our chief 

 difficulty was to get the line through the rod rings, because 

 they filled with ice as fast as you cleared them ! The water 

 was as clear as crystal, and somewhat low as a consequence, 

 and the pike took a spinning bait badly. We had a lot of 

 live roach and dace — big fellows — that were taken out of 

 the Avon in a cast net. A spot was ground-baited, and a 

 pailful of quarter-pounders were caught at the first throw 

 of the net. Up to lunch time we had taken nothing larger 

 than 41b. or 51b. apiece, and we then drew the punt into the 

 shelter of a reed bed, where a small bay had been formed by 

 a small tributary stream. The water was here some ten or 

 twelve feet deep, and it eddied gently round, forming a 

 quiet resting-place for a large fish. The keeper declared 

 that it always held one or two of the biggest pike in the 

 river, and we accordingly put out live bait as we discussed 

 cold fowl, and afterwards smoked the pipe of peace. The 

 keeper did not want to move, although we had searched 

 every inch of the water over and over again. "We began to 

 get irritable, and even suggested that he disliked handling 

 his ice-coated punt-pole. Still, he did not move the boat, 

 and my companion, winding-up in disgust, dropped his 

 bait close alongside. There was a flash from amidst some 

 rotten reeds, and we both saw a big pike rush off with the 

 bait in his mouth. My friend struck hard, and the fish 

 tore away down stream at a racing pace, in a manner that 



