THE DRY-FLY SEASON 203 



longer delay the happiness that awaits beside the 

 sparkling river and the sun-kissed loch. 



Mists may swing round the mountain peaks, 

 weirdly rising and falling, growing and dissolv- 

 ing ; great storm-clouds borne on the wings of 

 the south-west wind may bring the rain-laden 

 squall to whip the crests from the rolling waves 

 and obscure the wooded shores, but they will pass 

 and the sun stream out again warm and cheery ; 

 skies will not again during the year be so beauti- 

 fully blue. The wind must fall with the blast, 

 and before us there will be a period of an hour 

 or more before we shall have to suspend opera- 

 tions and seek the windward trees, an hour of 

 sunshine and hope when flies will venture forth, 

 the trout will rise, and the rod will not be unre- 

 warded. That is but one variety of April day. 



There are others, glorious fishing days, warm 

 and moist and grey, when the beauties of the scene 

 almost pass unmarked, for sport is maintained 

 throughout and the trout command all our atten- 

 tion. 



Again we may experience bright, cloudless days 

 when the water is calm and still, and the air is 

 sharp with frost ; but these have a joy of their 

 own. Then a trout is an event of immense satis- 

 faction, and each capture fills us with pride of our 

 skill. On such days we take time to go ashore 

 for lunch, and find what we miss at other times 

 not more happy, the awakening of all the wild. 

 The woodland glades are flooded with the myriad 

 blue hyacinthine bells, a vision more than a reality ; 

 the river's brim is starred with the clustering prim- 

 rose ; beneath the hedgerows the violet bids us 



