TROUT-FISHING 



waders oppressively hot. To avoid tliis, he should have a jacket of rough 

 tweed cut after the fashion of an Eton boy's, with no tails. (Salmon- 

 fishers please copy.) 



Wading gear is now so moderate in price and so much lighter in wear 

 than it was before rubber came into general use that one does not often 

 now see a man wading without that protection. It was a common sight 

 fifty years ago, but the practice was pretty sure to carry retribution with 

 it. One of the most miserable afternoons I ever spent in fishing was 

 in an expedition to Loch Dee, a lovely sheet of water in the heart of the 

 wild uplands of Galloway. No road runs near this loch, and several 

 miles of rough walking have to be faced after driving to the nearest 

 point. It was a blazing morning in July: I elected to fish off the shore 

 while my two companions took the boat. I had no wading gear; but I soon 

 took to the water as the shore was not suitable for bank-fishing. The cool 

 of the water was very refreshing after our hot walk, and I began well, 

 getting three nice trout weighing 4 lb. But before long the scene changed; 

 the sky became overcast, mist descended on the hill, a bitter wind 

 arose lashing the lake into mimic rollers, and the trout ceased to rise. 

 I was a poor, shivering wretch when the boating party returned (with 

 seventeen fine trout) to find me cowering under a peat hag. I have been 

 very shy of wading waderless ever since. 



In some lakes, of course, wading is impossible owing to the nature of the 

 bottom. Having recounted an instance of discomfiture in one that was 

 well suited for wading, I may as well describe another instance in which 

 the conditions were prohibitive. A friend and I had been fishing all 

 morning an excellent loch on my own property with very indi£Eerent 

 success. A couple of miles across the moor there is a black tarn, all 

 that remains of what has once been a considerable sheet of water 

 which has disappeared through drainage. Legends were afloat of what 

 my old boatman called "material troots" in this peat hole, but I had 

 never had the enterprise to cast a fly on it. Failing to do much in Loch 

 Eldrig, we agreed to test the truth of these legends. Away we trudged, 

 but on arriving at Drumnescat Loch, we found casting to be impracti- 

 cable, owing to a strong breeze beating upon the only part of the 

 shore that was clear of a broad belt of reeds. We resolved, therefore, 

 to crossline the water (a mode of fishing which has since been made 

 illegal). Fastening the ends of our lines together with eight or ten 

 flies dangling from them, we started to windward and moved slowly 



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