MUSINGS OF A BUSH RIDE 63 



is held only by a tiny golden palmer on the finest gut, 

 is not a likely manoeuvre. The grayling behaved well 

 for a couple of yards or so, and then bethought himself 

 of plunging, the consequence being that I lost my hook, 

 and he dropped into a tuft of bracken in a niche below, 

 to die uselessly. 



Down in Wessex lies the scene of a memorable day 

 with pike. There were occasions when I caught more 

 fish at live baiting, but that is a process of which one 

 ought not to be as proud as of the more workmanlike 

 method of spinning. This was a spinning day pure and 

 simple. The sport was good ; the adjuncts were 

 enjoyable. It was a fine lake in an ancient park, and 

 on Guy Fawkes Day I found the autumn tints such as 

 I have never seen them for magnificence at any other 

 time. Then I had a comfortable boat, an intelligent 

 keeper to pull it, and plenty of fresh, medium-sized 

 dace for bait. 



The lake, if left to itself, would have been choked 

 with anacharis ; but the proprietor, by means of a 

 machine driven by steam a sort of submarine plough 

 kept certain portions clear. The pike I knew would 

 not at this time of the year be absolutely amongst the 

 weeds if they could avoid it, for they prefer cover with- 

 out a taint of decay ; but I reckoned rightly that I 

 should meet with them in the water lanes through 

 which the machine had been driven. One large tri- 

 angle in the vent of the bait was sufficient tackle. I 

 am not certain that more elaborate flights are better 

 anywhere ; for weedy water I should have no reserva- 

 tion. From ten o'clock till five, with half an hour for 

 luncheon, I toiled on, acquired a grand shoulder-ache 

 that lasted me three days, and covered the bottom of 

 the boat with close upon three-quarters of a hundred- 

 weight of pike in prime condition. 



