CHAPTER VI. 



THE EVENING RISE. 



4S* 4 



AVING recorded my heterodox views about May fly 

 fishing, I fear I shall run counter to the opinions of 

 many if I venture to state my ideas relative to the 

 evening rise. For my part I find it, in the main, vanity 

 and vexation of spirit. 



Doubtless, in the hot days of July and August, 

 when rivers appear, under sultry conditions, to be almost 

 tenantless, when after, say, 3 p.m., you may watch for 

 all you are worth without seeing a dimple or a rise, it is some con- 

 solation to go home for a little rest and an early meal, intending to 

 avail yourself of the evening chances with a possible brace or so of fish 

 to save, maybe, coming in clean. Eyes tired with the glare of the 

 water are grateful for the rest, and with the proverbial hope rising 

 freely in the angler's bosom, you mentally reckon up the big captures 

 you are going to make in the short time afforded by the evening rise. 



Refreshed in mind and body, you regain your favourite spot at 

 7 or 7.30 p.m., and the evening seems to promise well. It does not 

 look as if those cruel mists would begin to rise at sundown ; there is 

 little or no wind ; the hatch of fly throughout the day has been in- 

 significant ; surely there must be a good rise this evening, everything 

 seems to foreshadow it. You take up your station and watch the water 

 carefully, especially the one or two spots near the opposite bank that 

 you know full well ought to be occupied by good fish. A few spinners 

 hatch out and dance merrily about ; the gnats hover purposely up and 



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