THE DEEPLY SUNKEN FLY 141 



results. As intimated a moment ago, it was only 

 by dint of much labor that I managed to odorize 

 the pan. 



Returning disgruntled one morning after 

 some three hours' fruitless work, I paused at the 

 head of a little rapid which terminated in a deep 

 pool, well shaded and provided with a reasonable 

 amount of driftwood at one side. Now I knew 

 that that pool must from the very nature of the 

 case shelter a number of fish. How to make 

 them bite, that was the problem. I sat down to 

 think it over, idly turning the pages of my fly 

 book, from reds to grays and back again. Sud- 

 denly a small bass fly, a Silver Doctor, freed it- 

 self from its clip and fluttered to the ground. 

 There is a wee bit of superstition about every 

 angler, and I took the fall of the fly for a good 

 omen and fastened it to my leader, attaching a 

 small shot, about a BB, a couple of inches above 

 the feathers, arguing that its weight would add 

 to my casting power. Keeping well back from 

 the stream, I made my way to the lower side 

 of the pool, up through the high grass until within 

 casting distance. I cast, my fly striking the 

 water well toward the head of the pool with a 

 slight splash. I was disgusted. "Scared any 

 trout that happened to be within a mile of that 



