168 THE MAYFLY IN HAMPSHIRE. 



tail doing its work in the current. Get your 

 fly to head the next real one that is coming 

 down. Habetne? 



He has got it, is being firmly held as he 

 comes all the way to the net right on the top 

 of the water, splashing like a moorhen. He is 

 hooked as securely as a trace, with the cast in 

 addition right round his head and under both 

 gills. As exactly a pound fish as one could 

 draw to scale, smallish but game. He ought 

 to have had a more open chance; but war is 

 war with woe to the vanquished. 



Now I cannot describe the capture of number 

 one : for I -did not get him. I saw him rise 

 frequently, and am convinced to this day he 

 was the real three pounder for which I am 

 waiting. All I can say in my favour is that 

 he not only declined my flies for I tried several 

 at intervals but many and many a real one; 

 selecting only those which gave a movement as 

 they passed. He had a sailor's eye for rig, 

 had overheard some conversation, had taken 

 hold of something that stuck in his head, and 

 had formed a resolution of ' no flutter no rise ' 

 which he was adhering to. 



All the same I got another that evening, 

 though with a downstream cast, in the dusk at 

 what I really thought was a rat. He bored to 

 the bottom and stuck there, seemingly in weed; 

 but after I had shortened up below him, he 

 gave way easily and got into a clump of muddy 

 rushes. After a considerable amount of pulling, 

 lifting, and struggling the fly came away. His 



