44 FISHING IN EDEN 



ing from my first Pennell-rod, they were both too 

 heavy, and too long, but they served their purpose, 

 and were real treasures in those far-off days. 



I do not now remember any rainy dull days then. 

 My boyish summers were all made of sunshine. 

 Needless to say, the far bank under the old Norman 

 fortress finally capitulated to foemen without 

 waders. We had caught something of the rhythm 

 of " Bob's " " swing," and tail flies were no longer a 

 danger to bare feet on the gravel-bed playground 

 behind us. Strong winds were met with stiffened 

 wrists and shortened lines, and " Bob " began to 

 suggest journeys to fresh streams and waters 

 new. 



" Bob " was a great believer in individuality in 

 casting, and used to say to us, after the old gravel bed 

 days, and when our real fishing had begun, " Git 

 to know t' length o' line that suits ye best, but ye 

 can leave t' lang lines to them as knows nea better." 



There is something yery similar in the swing of 

 a golf club to the " throw " of a rod. But all the 

 great exponents of both games, although they reach 

 the same ends, exhibit clearly a variety of styles. 

 In golf the main secret of the champions' power is 

 control of the ball in all kinds of wind and weather. 

 They can pick their lie for the next shot, and con- 

 stant practice has produced in them an intuitive 



