CHOICE OF FLY. 209 



The first really nice trout I ever caught came 

 to a Greenwell's Glory. I have its tracing 

 now on two sheets of note paper, thirteen 

 inches, and thirteen ounces. As, before that 

 auspicious evening my record trout was under 

 seven, and was hooked foul, the joy of this 

 monster can be imagined. Every enthusiastic 

 angler has felt the same. Those who have yet 

 to experience this pleasure are to be envied 

 also*. The successful strike, the dreaded strain 

 on the line and rod, as the fish gets down the 

 stickle on a long line, the terror of his escape, 

 the momentary sinking of heart when you 

 believe he has done so, the clumsy winding up 

 of the reel, the jumping among the stones of 

 the huge form, the breathless dives made at it 

 with the net as it got into another pool, where 

 at last it was dipped out; all these form the 

 links in the chain of intense pleasure which 

 culminates at that period of one's fishing 

 experience in the possession of the thick and 

 slippery prize that hitherto had only been seen 

 in other men's baskets. 



A fly I have personally never done good with 

 is the March Brown. Indeed I have got to 

 regard it as one of the legendary favourites; 

 though, being when well dressed, a most 

 accurate imitation of the real fly upon the water, 

 there is no doubt as to its efficiency. On 

 early rivers a ' Blue Upright,' rather sparsely 

 dressed with hackle the colour of a Dipper's 

 back, a sooty brown, retains my faith for hours 

 together. I have some with a distinctly yellow 



