80 BLANK DAYS. 



Of course everything depends upon the season. 

 If our supposititious blank day occurs in March 

 or April you have very little chance after five 

 o'clock. And yet this moment I can remember 

 a last half hour in mid April when between 

 5.30 and 6 p.m. I arrived back at the pool 

 where the rod had been put together earlier in 

 the day. 



It had been an utter blank rendered memor- 

 able by bad luck, bad fishing, bungling and a 

 break. My creel was empty of everything; my 

 temper, patience, and appetite at the last lap, 

 and I speared the rod with a thud in the turf 

 by the railway above the stone bridge over- 

 looking what we called in July the peal pool. 

 Under the point of the bush fringe opposite 

 there was a rise, a second, and a third rises 

 clearly at floating flies. The fly being quite 

 dry enough for the purpose, I knelt down and 

 pitched it above the spot expecting a flap from 

 a fingerling. Instead of that it was taken and 

 proved to be a bright half pounder. The others 

 continued; and although the train was already 

 in my thoughts, I had ample time for casting. 



Within a minute another good rise came, an 

 awkward kick, and he was free. This caused 

 a lull and I began to think of Heeling up when 

 two rings came abreast of each other, right 

 under the prickly bush. One came again, a 

 trifle lower, as though he had dropped back, 

 and the next moment my fly was in the place; 

 a turn came under water as though it were 

 being followed, a strike, and it was taken down 



