IN A FISHING COUNTRY 



hump-backed in outline — for in rapid de- 

 velopment length never keeps pace with 

 girth — the intestines were cased in fat, and 

 they were incomparably better on the 

 table. In habit, lazy and incalculable, 

 surface-food was nearly indifferent to 

 them — an occasional dainty to be indulged 

 in upon the whim. They found too easy a 

 living, under an inverted Malthusianism, 

 and the cure was that they should be given 

 a sharper taste of the rigours of existence. 

 We were groping our way, however, and 

 drafted no more than thirty-six small fish 

 from the lower lake. 



The season of 1918 proved that we had 

 not gone far enough. A late spring fol- 

 lowed a winter that no one is likely to for- 

 get; the water was cold and continual rains 

 kept it at a high level. Lac Emmuraille 

 was fished in brilliant nor'-westerly weath- 

 er; with a squally north wind; till nine 

 o'clock on a dull evening; in a wet, sou'- 

 westerly gale; on clear and overcast morn- 

 ings; but at no time with great success. 

 Though a fair number of trout were some- 

 times about the surface, they showed little 

 interest in the natural fly or its imitation. 

 The Parmacheene Belle — -a lure and not a 

 fly, for it counterfeits the ventral fin of a 

 100 



