ON A BUCKINGHAMSHIRE LAKE. 101 



lethargy into which we were fast sinking, by 

 the sudden disappearance, over the side, of my 

 companion's rod. Resting on the gunwale, a 

 movement of his sleeve had precipitated it 

 into 10 ft. of water. Luckily for him, one of 

 the triangles had become hitched in the thwart, 

 and, when every inch of line had been drawn 

 off the reel, the rod was triumphantly hauled up. 

 Obviously it was useless to remain where we 

 were, so a further move was made. Our 

 new anchorage was surrounded by a bed of 

 weeds which grew to within 2 ft. or 3 ft. 

 of the surface, and looked a promising place. 

 My first cast must have been made right into 

 the open jaws of a waiting pike, for the float 

 struck the water and instantly shot out of sight. 

 Rapid, and sustained, revolutions of the reel, 

 however, caused me to realise that I had 

 a run. I was using a single hook inserted 

 in the lips of a small dace, so the fish was 

 allowed to go his way unchecked, until the time 

 came to give him a pointed reminder of my 

 existence. Then, with a swirl, he came to the 



