262 FLY FISHING 



always rise very well in August, but many of 

 them were three-quarters of a pound in weight, a 

 few were even larger, and the sport seemed to me 

 magnificent. Three great days happened all in 

 different years on this river and its lochs. Once 

 the trout took exceptionally well in the loch, 

 and instead of the usual number of twenty or 

 less I landed forty-eight, averaging about three 

 to the pound. Another day there was a little 

 fresh water in the river, and I tried an artificial 

 minnow. First a trout of about two pounds, 

 larger than any trout ever hooked by me before, 

 was lost. While I was still in the agony of 

 disappointment, a second weighing three and a 

 quarter pounds was hooked and eventually landed, 

 and directly after that a third trout of about the 

 same size was hooked and lost, when it was in 

 full view and half in the landing net. Then 

 nothing more would take, and I spent the rest 

 of the day without further incident, trying to 

 think of the fish landed and not of the ones lost. 

 But the greatest day of all was the third. I 

 was standing at the end of a pier built for 

 salmon fishing, casting out into the smooth strong 

 stream, when a sort of wave seemed to come 



