90 LINES IN PLEASANT PLACES 



and I appear in the returns of yesterday as having killed 

 one fish, whereas I had landed half a dozen. 



And now followed an unproductive hour, at the end 

 of which there were two ineffectual pulls, one at the 

 Nicholson fly, the other a second or two later at the 

 bait. The former was not enough to rattle off the 

 stone from the loop of line ; the latter ran out a yard 

 and merely ticked the winch. The sunshine was not 

 treating us as handsomely as the snowstorm, for by 

 this time yesterday we had brought off three engage- 

 ments. However, the day was not over, and we landed 

 for lunch, believing that better fortune would be vouch- 

 safed lunch, too, in open, warm sunshine. 



Harling and the notebook were resumed, and lest 

 we should settle down too readily to monotony, a flutter 

 down stream betrayed the whereabouts of the Black 

 Dog, betrayed also a wretched little kelt (about 5 lb.), 

 called in these parts a " kelt grilse." So far had I noted 

 when the left rod, upon which the fly had been replaced 

 by a sand eel, strained for a gallant run. Down on 

 the thwart went book, pencil, and spectacles, and I 

 had an exciting five minutes in midstream with an 

 undoubted " fish." He fought like a Trojan and then 

 the line fell slack. The fish was off. How do they 

 escape from these triangles ? Caught lightly by one 

 hook, I suppose, and, as a result, an easily broken 

 hold. 



The sun was for a couple of hours too bright, and 

 four o'clock came with nothing to record. Only one 

 hour left. Then a succession of short runs from non- 

 fastening fish, and one lightly hooked on the fly, which 

 came away at the initiatory tightening. By now half 

 an hour remained, and an exciting finish consumed it. 

 I do not admit that it was wasted ; I only mean that 

 u fish " was not the cause. Kelts were. The centre 



