172 THE SALT OF MY LIFE 



a pastime to occupy a second afternoon in one 

 week. 



My only fishing in the interior of that fascinat- 

 ing country was for small barbel in the Wad Tensift 

 not far from Marrakesh. Thither, attended by 

 the regulation soldier in Morocco, you take a 

 soldier with you even to go birdsnesting I occa- 

 sionally rode at four in the morning, before the 

 sun had power to sting, as sting it can in those 

 countries towards the end of June. 



At the yellow bridge of many arches, two or 

 three miles outside the city gate, we dismounted, 

 Said making the barbs fast to a tree. Then, while 

 I put my rod together, he was all over the place 

 after grasshoppers, four out of five of which he 

 zealously crushed with his fez, thereby rendering 

 them useless as bait. A fat and lively grasshopper 

 is a capital bait for these barbel, and it has the 

 advantage of being obtainable by the waterside. 



The level of the Tensift, as of all the few con- 

 siderable streams in that empire, varies consider- 

 ably according to recent rainfall, but even in the 

 drought of June it was always possible to find a 

 deep pool or two beneath the arches of the bridge. 

 A grasshopper, so lively as almost of itself to sink 

 the float, proved irresistible. Unfortunately very 

 few of the fish seemed to exceed a curiously uni- 

 form weight of between half and three-quarters 

 of a pound. I now and again, looking from the 



