DAYS STOLEN FOR SPORT 45 



to take his first meal so much sooner that a very 

 early start is necessary if one would be with him 

 then. 



Boveney Weir, where lay our second hope, is an 

 old wooden structure that has a fishy look which 

 permits of no surprise that a varied basket results 

 from fishing there. Its rush and tumble at the fall 

 give an aerated sparkling to the flow, even when 

 the river is at its lowest, that hides the going in 

 and out of trout amongst the piles and concrete 

 blocks. The breadth of the river at the falls is 

 great and it broadens out considerably below, 

 where the crumbling clay bank gives way in an- 

 swer to each flood and frost. Chub and barbel 

 choose such ground as this to grub amongst, and 

 I have had good sport with them when the water 

 has been high and coloured so that they could not 

 see me. 



On the other side there are overhanging trees of 

 lime, ash and withy, and below them flows a smooth, 

 dark, straight run of water which, I am told, holds 

 one good fish at least. I chose a gudgeon for my 

 first offering and, while I was watching its tossing 

 on the foam to see if it swam with the freedom I 

 desired, it was seized between the big white lips 

 of a chub that, as these fish usually do, hooked 

 himself securely. Careful to avoid this danger-spot 

 for my second gudgeon, I cast beyond it to where 

 the water was easing to a more gentle flow and 

 then, jealous of my chances, I brought it across and 

 back again at each let out of line. Some half-dozen 

 yards went out in this way, and then I wound back 

 with some little haste to excite to a decision any 

 trout that might be deliberating ; for thought with 



