NATURE AND SPORT IN BRITAIN 



could do nothing with the sporting fish of which we 

 were in search. Still the genial parish priest, a real 

 sportsman, whom we had passed on our way thither, had 

 told us that the white trout were surely running, and 

 that he himself had made a capital bag on the little 

 lough above a day or two before. 



Quitting the river, we now set forth by a short cut, 

 a mere bog-path, for the lake. We were guided by 

 a country lad, who was to row for us, and who slipped 

 along barefooted at a slinging pace towards our 

 destination. Half an hour's march brought us to 

 the edge of the water, a gem-like lake enclosed in a 

 wild setting of typical Connemara scenery. Moun- 

 tains, moors, bogs, and, towards the sea, scant grazing 

 land, littered with the true Galway huddle of stones, 

 stretched far and wide around us on every hand. Close 

 to the lake was a tiny lodge, now deserted, where, 

 however, we were able to obtain the necessary boat. 

 Before embarking we lunched, and while lunching my 

 companion made a cast or two from the bank. The 

 breeze had been rising steadily for the last hour, and 

 the lake was now well rippled by brisk wavelets. At 

 the second cast there was a magnificent rise, and D. 

 was fast in a sturdy sea-trout, which, after a frantic 

 leap or two, gave him an excellent time of several 

 minutes. At length the plucky fish was conquered 

 and safe in the landing-net, a magnificent white trout 

 of two and a half pounds, fresh from the salt water and 

 with the sea-lice still showing on his silvery and most 

 shapely form. 



Fired by this cheerful omen, we quickly dispatched 

 our lunch, bestowed ourselves in the boat, and began 

 casting. For the next two hours we had as good and 

 lively a piece of fishing as I ever remember in the 

 west of Ireland. The lake was full of sea-trout, 



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