64 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 



and none of those eddying swirls of slow, rippling 

 flats that every fisher expects to find in the home of 

 trout. I wandered down the river looking for 

 likely places, and taking a cast now and then in a 

 somewhat perfunctory manner, yet not a fin did 

 I see move. Moreover, I was having my first 

 introduction to the Icelandic black fly, a creature 

 of such stinging powers and detestable familiarity 

 that it is unequalled in the world as a human pest. 

 These little beasts soon covered my face and hands 

 and stung me on all exposed parts, so whilst I 

 fished with one hand it soon became a habit to 

 slap with the other. After half an hour of this 

 torture, and no signs of fish, I began to get cross 

 and inwardly to swear at Thorgrimmer. Yet 

 somehow I did not like to return to camp without 

 anything to show, so wandered on for an hour, till 

 I had made up my mind that I was an idiot who 

 might as well be flogging the Serpentine. However, 

 there was one quietish corner — ^the first I had seen 

 — I would just try that and then go home and 

 acknowledge defeat. My last cast ; the line tightens, 

 there is a splendid head and tail rise, and I am " in " 

 to a good trout if ever there was one. He fought 

 well, rushing out in the heavy water and keeping 

 there, backwards and forwards, down, across and 

 up stream. Oh, if I should lose him now, how they 

 would chaff me in camp, for much depends on the 

 " kudos " of a first fish I It was a good quarter of 

 an hour before I had him dead beat and back into 

 the comparatively still pool where I had hooked 

 him. What a beauty he looked as he lay over on 

 his spotted side and I drew him slowly towards 

 me ! But no, he was not done yet ; he must 



