266 DRY-FLY FISHING 



white wings ! wheeling left and right, now stoop- 

 ing, now standing on the air, dipping, soaring, hover- 

 ing, climbing ; and every sudden change in direction 

 means one fly the less for the trout. 



We halt beside a glorious stream, deep and 

 strong, foaming and heaving, but fading away 

 to a flowing glide, and though we do not yet fully 

 know its capabilities we feel sure that it will suffice 

 for an hour at eventide. The water seems to 

 flow more lazily than by day, with a slight sus- 

 picion of a misty haze across its foam patches, 

 but nothing as yet disturbs the surface. The gulls 

 have gone upstream, our presence no doubt the 

 cause, and the flies are descending to the water. 



As the last ray of sunlight fades away, and the 

 red gold spreads even to the zenith touching the 

 fleecy clouds to radiance, as at a given signal the 

 first glad sound comes from the waving stream, 

 and soon the calm water below is overspread with 

 the daintiest rings. The old Tweedside angler 

 beside us, one of a long line of famous fishers, 

 remarks, " The stream is dimpled as with rain 

 from the heavens/' 



The first and all-important problem is the deter- 

 mination of the species of fly that is occasioning 

 this welcome and promising activity, and fortu- 

 nately it is fairly easy of solution. All the way 

 down we have been watching, and already have 

 reached certain conclusions. No doubt the trout 

 in the calm waters of the tail are sucking down 

 spent spinners and tiny diptera, but there is some- 

 thing more substantial for the fish that throng 

 the broken water, and these, to begin with at 

 least, will have our attention. 



