166 THE MAYFLY IN HAMPSHIRE. 



trouble to change the fly. Much may have 

 depended upon how it sat on the water when 

 you made the previous casts. One never knows 

 in what light the trout regards the fly looking 

 up from below. His point of view can be 

 rudely imitated by placing flies in an uncut 

 finger bowl half filled with water. 



He has risen again ; after a longish pause. 

 You make your throw : it narrowly misses a 

 nasty prong of bush : the current carries it 

 right under the clump of docks, far closer to 

 the bank than where the fish rose : for a 

 moment you almost lose sight of it as the eddy 

 turns it edgways to you : but this turning move- 

 ment has seemingly endued it with life, for 

 there is a suck, you strike, and the line is taut 

 with a throb, throb, that bends the rod in 

 earnest. 



He is on : hold him for all you are worth or 

 he will bolt under the overhanging blackberry 

 bush, which touches the water, and will ' saw * 

 himself off on the edge of a spine. He is a 

 trout all right no grayling pulls so viciously 

 as that. It is a glorious minute of pulsating 

 suspense, a minute well worth the sixty mile 

 journey, or a cost of a penny a second. He 

 can stick it no longer but comes to the surface 

 at last preparatory to another vigorous dive. 



He has got below you, just where you cannot 

 move and follow him. He is in a clear pool, 

 fortunately, and must be given no law. The 

 cast, fly, and attachment are all in favour of 

 the net doing its duty. Nearer he comes with 



