TROUT-FISHING 

 Abbas. It is half-past ten on a cloudless morning in the sweet o' the year 

 — say the first week of June. A faint southerly current of air, not enough 

 to be termed a breeze, sufficing only to waft the mingled fragrance of 

 may -blossom, clover and bean-flowers — ^the incense peculiar to English 

 summertide — ^and scarcely ruffling the surface of the glassy reach above 

 the mill. On such a day the sunk fly might as well be plied on a 

 turnpike road as in a chalk-stream; but sunlight, be it never so full 

 and flaring, has no terrors for the dry-fly man; all he has to dread is a 

 strong wind downstream and the absence of natural flies to set the fish 

 on the move. 



Piscator, having escaped from the stifling atmosphere of London by 

 an early train, and disposed of an excellent breakfast at the Plough Inn, 

 puts together his two-jointed, nine-foot split-cane and, tremulous with 

 anticipation, runs the thin but heavy silk line up the rings. To this he 

 attaches two yards — ^no more— of fine gut, and then pauses to ponder 

 upon the choice of a fly. This is a far more important question than it is 

 in salmon-fishing or in north-country trout-fishing; for these Hampshire 

 fish are worldly-wise, schooled so long in suspicion that their wariness 

 has become hereditary. Moreover they inhabit such a limpid medium 

 that nothing but the most exact imitation of a natural insect may stand 

 their scrutiny. As yet, however, there is no fly on the water; wherefore 

 P. decides in favour of a red quill, which is perhaps as useful a general 

 fly as can be named. Trout sometimes show a preference for it or the iron 

 blue, even when olive duns or some other natural fly is rising thickly. 

 Certain experts — Sir Edward Grey for one— disdain to assist the flota- 

 tion of the fly by anointing it; humble practitioners cannot afford to forgo 

 any expedient that may lessen the difficulty of floating a ooo hook over 

 a nervous fish. Some of them hang a little bottle of paraffin to a button 

 of the waistcoat, wherein to dip the fly immediately before using it. Not 

 so Piscator, who has discovered for himself the secret that flies, once 

 oiled and dried, remain permanently waterproof; so that all his stock 

 have been anointed days — ^weeks — it may be months before. 



Crossing the bridge to the left bank of the river, Piscator prowls 

 stealthily up beside the stream. Ephemerids usually make their appear- 

 ance at any time between 10.30 a.m. and 2.30 p.m., seldom earlier or 

 later, except the mayflies which, during their brief festival, set the 

 ordinary daily time-table at defiance. Howbeit the mayfly does not now 

 inhabit this part of the Itchen. Piscator anxiously scans the water for the 

 Q 113 



