328 . WHAT I HAVE SEEN WHILE FISHING 



I have done this scores of times and I don't think 

 it ever failed to bring a fish. I remember that 

 once, instead of the expected knock, knock, of a 

 perch, the rod was almost tugged from the hand as 

 the fish rushed out and up to the weir. 



" At last I have a good Thames trout " was the 

 expressed hope of my friend. I looked for the 

 somersault in the air which a big trout will always 

 turn but, instead, he fought stubbornly for the 

 granite blocks that lay underneath the furious rush 

 of the sluice. The only plan was, at all hazards, 

 to lift his nose just a trifle, so that the weight of 

 water might force him back from this dangerous 

 spot ; up he came, and we saw, amongst the piles, 

 a monster barbel. For full ten minutes more he 

 tried his hardest to regain his haunt ; but it was 

 not to be. He was safely netted and afterwards 

 perpetuated. 



The next half-mile on this side is jack water ; 

 especially is it so in spring and summer, and, in 

 fact, until the first heavy flood in Autumn, by which 

 they will be driven lower down to slacker water. 



On our right, extending from within a hundred 

 yards of the weir, is a long row of withies growing 

 out from the undermined and wasting bank. Had 

 we time we would land above, crawl to the edge, 

 take a peep and see how fully the chub appreciate 

 the home which the rush in flood-time has made for 

 them. Here the fat and lazy, and the small and 

 active, swim in and out amid the labyrinth of roots. 



