288 DRY-FLY FISHING 



This success may be the signal for the commence- 

 ment of a glorious time, but instead not a single 

 rise is forthcoming, and all the while the sun sinks 

 slowly down. At last it falls beneath the horizon, 

 but still the afterglow is too brilliant to gaze upon. 

 The breeze, never more than a breath, falls likewise, 

 and a silence betokening great events fills the air. 

 A wary old mallard leads her brood from their 

 downy nest to the shore and out among the weeds. 

 Will the trout also gather for the feast awaiting 

 them ? 



From a little bay the answer comes. A great 

 trout breaks the surface in a mighty swirl and, 

 excited, we hasten to cover it. But what is this ? 

 The trout does not trouble to go down again ; it 

 ploughs through the water scooping up the spinners, 

 gulping them down by the dozen, lashing its corner 

 of the loch to a wave. We endeavour to put the 

 flies not over it but in front of its tortuous path, 

 but it is all in vain. Close at hand others follow the 

 example, and our fly, taken from one mark to 

 another, laid on the route indicated as delicately as 

 possible, is absolutely unheeded, as if it were not 

 there. 



Which is the greater trial : to cast at random 

 nowhere in particular and receive no response, or 

 to reach with accuracy and neatness a clearly 

 defined target and be ignored ? The results are 

 identical ; we are defeated. The trout continue 

 to rise, but never by any chance do they select our 

 artificial. 



We actually see two trout starting out from 

 different points and arriving at the same destination ; 

 for a time there are signs of a weighty conflict, and 



