DISAPPOINTING DAYS. lot 



to be done but to mount another fly and to fish, albeit somewhat 

 mechanically, the next stretch of water. But there is now no response. 

 That inexplicable co-relation between the temperature of the air and 

 the water that seems to cause salmon to rise has undergone some 

 modification, the breeze has dropped, and the mists are beginning to 

 rise. Do what you will, not a fish will move. 



Had your luck been in the ascendant, or had you paid more respect 

 to the superstitions of your attendant gillie, things might have been 

 so different. You have had three good chances, each of which, under 

 normal circumstances, might have been fairly expected to score, and 

 that with flies that, in your judgment, were a size too large. Fate 

 had determined that you were to have a " disappointing day," and you 

 cannot say that you have not scored one. 



In September, 1902, having received an invitation from an old 

 friend to fish one of the upper beats of the Spean, I journeyed up 

 North, full of eagerness. I had long wished to try that river. My 

 host had informed me that that river was low, but that everything 

 pointed to broken weather and rain ; and though this forecast was true 

 as regards some portions of Great Britain, the change never came 

 during the fortnight that I spent on Spean side, that bonnie river 

 getting finer and finer day by day, until at last it became a mere shadow 

 of its former self. At the time of my arrival everything looked 

 promising. Heavy clouds were gathering, and it looked as if the 

 promised rainfall could not be long delayed. At the lodge I found, 

 besides my host, another angler whom I am also privileged to call an 

 old friend, and in such company I knew that, whether sport were good 

 or no, we should at least have a jolly time. That evening we discussed 

 flies and angling details as only fishermen can, and with a last look 

 out of the window at the murky sky, and a tap to my barometer as 

 I turned in somewhat early, looking forward to the morrow with the 

 keenest anticipation. 



Early astir next morning, I drew up my blinds to find an almost 

 cloudless sky and a bright sun. All the evening promise had been 

 dissipated, and the rain-laden clouds had wandered out to sea to discharge 

 their precious stores where least required. The river, though small, 

 was, nevertheless, still fishable, and there were plenty of salmon up. 



