CASTING FROM ROCKS AND BOATS 187 



one morning, in bright sunshine, in the course of a 

 half-hour I caught three fish weighing 15 Ib. 



On this day it began to dawn upon me that the 

 water had become too low for a grilse to remain here 

 any length of time. Higher up was a favourite reach 

 of mine, named Pot Pool, and after fishing Olaf's Garden 

 and another reach, finding only a couple of grilse, I 

 moved elsewhere, and in the evening discovered that 

 the fish appeared to be resting in Pot Pool. A gentle- 

 man who formerly leased the Mandal river had recom- 

 mended me to try some of the delicate flies dressed by 

 Haynes, of Cork, and with one of these (the Orange 

 Grouse), at starting, between seven and eight, I killed a 

 grilse of 5 Ib. The pool was then fished down leisurely, 

 with no other result. Returning to the head, a long 

 rest was called, and, as I suspected there might be 

 salmon, I changed the fly to a fair-sized Durham 

 Ranger. My gaffer, Ole, had done me the honour in 

 the forenoon of losing an i8-lb. or 2O-lb. fish in another 

 pool, and though his custom was to sit on a rock and 

 sing a hymn while Knut was working at the oars, this 

 evening, while I was fishing the pool, the memory of 

 his afternoon mishap kept him dolefully silent. I had 

 directed him to a little rocky cove for service in case 

 I should have the fortune to bring in a fish, as fruit 

 meet to his repentance. My custom is to fish a pool 

 very patiently and thoroughly. It is true that not 

 more than half a dozen times in my life have I ever 

 hooked a salmon other than when the line was straight 

 down the stream, but by keeping the boat in the 

 right course, and handling the rod to suit it, there 

 are several possibilities of presenting the fly on an 

 even keel. 



The swish, swish of the casting becomes decidedly 

 monotonous as the boat drops downward inch by inch. 



