240 DRY-FLY FISHING 



rise almost as a matter of course, and an ineffectual 

 strike completes the unhappy sequence. Line must 

 be lengthened as we search farther and farther up 

 the stream, for of course we continue the agony to 

 the bitter end. 



As we take what we mean to be our last cast in 

 the inhospitable place, we receive the almost inevit- 

 able rise, and, according to custom, we strike fiercely 

 in reply. There is little danger in that, as so much 

 line has to be pulled straight before any movement 

 can be communicated to the fly. In amazement 

 we discover that we have hit something more sub- 

 stantial than water, and we have a wild fight with 

 a plunging, spinning fish. Gradually we overcome 

 it and bring it down, but still it twists and writhes 

 in disconcerting style. The explanation of its con- 

 tortions and exceptional power becomes apparent 

 when we discover that the fly is lodged at the root 

 of the pectoral fin, a sure hold. That half-pounder 

 will not tantalise us on our next visit, but there are 

 dozens more in that tricky corner to carry on the 

 work. 



The opposite bank, high, bare, and vertical, we 

 find no better as a base from which to conduct the 

 campaign. We have attempted the downfall of 

 these trout in almost every conceivable way, but a 

 solution seems as far off as ever. A sixteen-foot rod 

 would assuredly make several captures probable, 

 but we are not burdening ourselves with such a 

 heroic weapon on a trout-fishing expedition. 



We leave the place more contented than we 

 generally are, for we feel that at last we have 

 accomplished something : luck undoubtedly has con- 

 tributed to the success, if it is not alone respon- 



