THE DRY-FLY SEASON 213 



our vain conjectures and sends us out to mid-stream 

 to make investigation. 



Now we see all clearly ; one or two little duns 

 float past, Pale Olives without a doubt. We tie one 

 to the cast of tenderest gut, and cautiously wade 

 in behind the feeding trout. Everything is in 

 readiness, even to the length of line required for 

 the distance and, as again a fly disappears for ever, 

 we send out the tiny artificial with an underhand 

 cast. There it floats with wings acock, following 

 up the eddying water. That is something worth 

 seeing, but it is not all ; up comes the trout with 

 confidence, and the quickly answering rod does 

 its duty. 



Although flies are fairly numerous on the pool, 

 only that trout now resting in the creel seems to 

 have been interested in them. Why do the fish 

 ignore the varied assortment of duns, olives of more 

 than one shade, a few Iron-Blues that apparently 

 have misread the temperature, and even a big, 

 brown, blundering sedge that really should have 

 delayed its aerial adventure until evening ? Even 

 a dry-fly cannot compel a trout to rise ; it is not 

 more alluring than a natural insect. It is needless 

 to attempt the impossible, so stealthily we move 

 up, well back from the bank, to the waving head of 

 the long, silent pool. 



It occurs to us that the trout congregated here 

 will have sharper appetites, and may, if they have 

 reasoning powers, as they certainly seem to have, 

 consider that should they allow a fly to pass over 

 them it will be lost to them for ever, and be snapped 

 up by a rival below. Therefore we determine to 

 test the surmise and, fixing another Olive to the 



