34 A DAY ON 



turbing the water overmuch. I flattered myself that good Charles 

 Cotton himself could hardly have done it better. The pair of flies 

 drew away and were followed by a bold rush, but I brought them 

 lightly back, for he had missed by an infinitesimal fraction of space. 

 Again I cast, after a brief interval, over the same spot. A 

 yellow bar apparently swirled lazily up from the depths of the 

 dark water beneath the floating flies ; there was a sloppy blow 

 on the surface, and the yellow streak sank. Next a bright body 

 flashed on the surface for an instant only, to disappear to the tune 

 of a madly singing reel. The fish fought pluckily for liberty, and 

 once he threw himself clear in the air. He seemed to understand 



THE 'BIG 'UN.' 







that the taut line was his deadly enemy, and sprang at it, thrashing 

 it with his muscular tail over and over again. 



At last he seemed to come suddenly towards the landing net 

 as if he had thrown up the game. Inch by inch he approached 

 the gaping mouth of the bag net, cunningly placed so as to receive 

 him without too much challenging his attention. But the big 

 trout had evidently seen the whole process. His former struggle 

 was nothing to this last great effort at escape. Once and again 

 he reeled out a dozen yards or more, and once and again, turn by 

 turn, I got the line all back. But still the tiny little bit of bent 

 steel kept its hold. At last a long reach out of the arm, and the 

 prize was mine. 



Well recompensed for the long stiff tramp over the boulder- 

 strewn hills, I bore him for ever away from the cool depths of the 



