DAYS STOLEN FOR SPORT 187 



A day came when my finger tips wanted breathing 

 on and, as I met the need, I looked skywards for 

 the cause ; to find that the weeping clouds that had 

 come from south-lying Drummond Hill had given 

 place to others that were coming from cold Schiehal- 

 lion. It grew very nippy and again I had to throw 

 warm breath on my icy fingers preparatory to 

 another start, only to find the inner circumference 

 of the rod rings filled with ice. My gillie breathed 

 on each block in turn until his fingers could nip 

 them out ; this done I made another start and got 

 half-way down the pool before the rings needed his 

 breath once more. John did his duty and then 

 looked at me I did not appear to notice in a 

 modest way, first at my feet, then upwards, and, 

 when he reached my eye, he smiled and said encour- 

 agingly : " I have known you catch them later, sir, 

 and do you mind when your rings were frozen and 

 a big salmon was on you dipped your rod in the 

 water with the hope of thawing them ? You got the 

 fish." "So I did, John. Who cares for frost or 

 cold so long as the river runs and the minnow 

 spins ? " 



Snow on the rocks down to the river's edge and 

 snow between the rocks, hiding the dangers that an 

 unguarded step might make painfully evident, made 

 our movements slow and, at times, undignified owing 

 to the necessity for progression on all fours or by 

 sliding on what Nature intended for sitting on and, 

 maybe, birching. Work is a mild word for walking 

 miles on slippery snow where each three feet forward 

 is lessened by a backward slide. 



I was perched on the highest rock in the Elm 

 Tree Pool when a fish rose to the surface of the 



