216 DRY-FLY FISHING 



the waves, not in expectation but merely to put 

 the wrist and rod and flies into working order. 

 Now the boat lies across the breeze, and we cast 

 assiduously all around, simply because we cannot 

 remain inactive. A faint but familiar sound bids 

 the eye rest on a swirl away to right of us, a hundred 

 yards or more, and we pull off line, as if we would 

 reach the mark, but the action is only a sign that we 

 are making greater effort to deserve success. 



The light is waning, doubt begins to lay its grip 

 upon us, and all at once the surface breaks. The 

 dry-fly rod is mounted, the work of a minute or two ; 

 the rise is beginning, and of it we must take full 

 advantage. As soon as all is ready, there is a mark 

 to cover ; once more the water parts, and the 

 air is pierced. The near boatman ships his massive 

 oar, grasps his ponderous net, and stands aloft 

 ready to swoop upon his prey. We steer the boring, 

 plunging fish round to the windward side in true 

 Loch Leven style, and bring it within reach as soon 

 as possible,! and perhaps sooner than advisable. 

 There we seem to lose much of the sport of playing 

 a fish, but, whether it is because we are anxious 

 to get it in the boat that we may the sooner be 

 fast in another, or because we do not like to keep 

 the boatman waiting, we really do not know. We 

 act according to the custom of Loch Leven. 



There are days when the angler may be doubtful 

 of sport on the main river, and yet be unable to 

 content [himself with idling until the evening 

 shadows fall. No happier expedition can he then 

 make than to one of the clear, sparkling burns 

 among the hills, now gurgling unseen into great 

 depths in cool, dark glens, now opening out upon 



