212 CHOICE OF FLY. 



seized. I had wound up the line quite short, 

 so could see that the fish was very close to my 

 feet. I gripped the line firmly to the rod, 

 resisting the most determined tugs. It felt 

 exactly the same as a large pollack on a sea 

 line. The next minute he came to the top, 

 giving a heavy jump that just showed me his 

 full outline in the dusk quite the largest trout 

 I had ever seen. 



The tugs grew so vigorous that I thought I 

 ought to give him a little line to save a break : 

 so doled out a few yards grudgingly, assuming 

 of course that he would use them to take down 

 to the bottom of the pool. But no : he did 

 not. To my horror I found that he had just 

 slipped to the side and was well up under the 

 overhanging blackberry bush. Never had I 

 dreamed of such treachery. You must guess 

 the rest. 



The break occurred, leaving the Alexandra 

 and a foot of strong gut in his bony jaw, 

 and leaving me with the rest of the tackle. 

 How near the whole of that followed him into 

 the pool I will not say. He was the size of 

 a three pound pollack. Nothing will now 

 persuade me that he was less than two and 

 a half. 



It is no use piling up the agony of rage 

 and disappointment. I had bungled him 

 grievously. One more half minute of struggle 

 on that short line would have finished him. 

 I should have dipped out the prize of the 

 season : taken, too, precisely in accordance with 



