THE DRY-FLY FAILS 289 



then the waters fall calm again. We move onwards 

 to other creeks and bays amongst the weeds, where 

 we undergo the same tortures and achieve the same 

 results. 



By and by the light fades, a less impotent breeze 

 springs up, caddis-flies of more substantial frame 

 appear, not in countless thousands but a few from 

 time to time, and divert the attention of the trout 

 from the irritating spinners. Off the stern one of 

 these sedges disappears from view, and we, having 

 now discarded the futile floater in favour of the wet- 

 fly, bring the cast across the wavelets over the mark. 

 There is a lunge at the Woodcock and Yellow; we 

 strike, and at last, after nearly three hours of com- 

 plete failure, we feel that we have hit something. 

 The thought of the first capture bids us be careful, 

 but caution is needless, the fish being only a little 

 fellow of six ounces, plucky and lively enough and 

 extremely welcome, even though we were but a 

 short time ago laying our flies in the track of cruising 

 three-pounders . 



The line and flies must be cleared from the omni- 

 present weed, a slight tangle caused by the 

 contortions of the trout must be straightened out 

 occupations not too easy in the semi-darkness 

 before we may tempt fortune again. Almost at 

 the first cast the reel screams out its message ; the 

 resistance informs that we have encountered a 

 worthier foe, but the cast is sound, and we refuse 

 to grant much liberty, as the many obstructions in 

 the way might readily bring disaster. We hold the 

 fish on a tight, short line as much as we dare, or 

 perhaps rather more than we should, but all ends 

 well. The trout is a finely proportioned specimen, 



