THE HIGHEST POOL. 225 



was now only two o'clock, I must continue fishing. 

 So up the river I went, fishing pool after pool where I 

 had never before missed fish, hut now without seeing 

 one, until, at a small shallow pool (that could scarcely 

 be called a pool if the river had not been high, and 

 which I only tried, as it is the highest up the river, 

 and within half a mile of Loch Dartion, from which the 

 river flows), I gave a cast en passant, expecting to have 

 my fly gobbled by a large river trout. Instead of that, 

 however, it was at once seized by a grilse that flew 

 about the pool, jerking, springing, and twisting as 

 grilse only can do, until he got my line jammed and 

 departed with my fly. I put another on, and imme- 

 diately hooked another grilse, which I killed ; then 

 another, which I lost (taking my fly along with him). 

 In that insignificant pool I hooked seven fish, only 

 killing two, all the others, except one, carrying away a 

 good fly of more value than the fish. I lost more flies 

 then in that pool than in the whole river besides in 

 that season. I never can understand how it happened. 

 I suspect there must have been a tree root in the 

 bottom. 



The river was altogether in an odd state that day ; 

 the fish were all collected in the highest and lowest 

 pools. 



The events of the day, however, were not yet ended. 

 About four o'clock I rolled up my line and walked 

 direct for Loch Dartion, where I again commenced 

 operoatins. Gillespie, who accompanied me all day, 

 and took very little interest in fishing, had picked up 

 the eagle ; and now, seated beside a large stone, with 

 his glass across his gun barrel, began examining the 

 side of the hill above us. All at once I noticed his 

 eye brighten ; down came the glass, which he shut with 



Q 



