THE UPPER RIVER 73 



goes down, or at any rate to follow it is a 

 hazardous and difficult business. On one of 

 the last evenings of July this year, I hooked 

 from this stage a 20-lb. fish, which in his first 

 rush, aided by the strong stream, took sixty or 

 seventy yards from my reel. And there he 

 stuck at the tail of the pool, and for a long 

 time nothing that I could do would induce 

 him to come back. To go down the bank 

 was to run the risk of getting hopelessly in- 

 volved in the big bushes and boulders by the 

 water's edge. Above me on the mountain side 

 ran the road, but it was an awkward climb to 

 it with a fish on, and it looked hopelessly far 

 off. So I decided to stay where I was, and to 

 hold him hard if he showed any inclination to 

 go down further. As often happens, he chose 

 the line of least resistance, and came back to 

 me ; slowly, doggedly, and with many resentful 

 rushes and shakings of the head. But back 

 he came, and in the quiet little cove below 

 the stage, the excellent Anders Osen, no mean 

 gaffer for all his humble looks, landed him in 

 perfect style. On this evening the pool was 

 alive with jumping fish, but not another fish 

 would move to the fly. There are some who 



