A BAD BEGINNING. 105 



where we supposed he was lying. All iu vain ; 

 not even a twitch was perceptible ; nothing but 

 the monotonous, thrilling sort of sensation that 

 is invariably telegraphed along the rod when the 

 hook is hopelessly fixed in some inanimate object 

 at the bottom. The awful truth then burst upon 

 me. He was gone ! Every attempt to extricate 

 the tackle was unavailing : it was evidently en- 

 tangled among the branches of the trees in the 

 deepest part of the river, and as it was impos- 

 sible to reach the spot by wading, I laid my rod 

 on the ground and walked down the side of the 

 bank in search of a fir-pole, with the assistance of 

 which I hoped to reach the lower portion of the 

 reel line, and thus sacrifice, perhaps, only the 

 treble gut and the fly at the extremity. While 

 seeking for this, I discovered, about a hundred 

 yards lower down, a little bay, sloping gradually 

 away inland, of comparatively shallow, dead water, 

 as it receded from the stream, quite uninfested 

 by boughs, boulders, or obstructions of any 

 kind. All this time several fish were rising in 

 the upper part of the pool, and not a moment was 

 to be lost ; so, having at last found a long branch 

 of a Scotch fir, I contrived with its aid to drag 

 out my line losing only the gut and fly at the 

 end and quickly putting on the strongest tackle 



