DAPPING ON LOUGH DERG 



was well balanced, and we drifted over them well enough, and 

 could fish in comparative comfort, and we had a mile of good 

 fishing water before us. I watched my flies sailing up the 

 sides of the waves, over their crests, and disappearing into 

 the hollows beyond. An exclamation reached me. 



" What's the matter ? " I ask. 



" Missed him ! Bad luck to him ! They're risin' now, 

 sir. We'll get a fish yet," comes back the answer, as Danny 

 brings in his line, and puts up three more flies. And we drift 

 on over the black rollers to the tune of the whistling wind. 

 Suddenly ! — is it fancy ? — a swirl drowns my flies. No ! 

 it's a rise ! A big tail flickers for a fraction of a second, and 

 vanishes. The regulation pause — a firm strike — 



" Got him, Danny," I shout as my line screams through 

 the reel. 



" Well done, sir ! Keep him," says Danny, as he continues 

 to fish imperturbably. 



Twenty yards off my fish flings himself furiously out of 

 the water, and disappears again with a splash like the break 

 of a wave. The top of my rod goes down automatically — I 

 feel him again gently. Away goes the line with another 

 scream. 



" He's makin' for Connaught," says Danny, as he follows 

 the fight with a critical eye. (Connaught is some four miles 

 oflt.) 



This time my fish goes deep, and does not break water. 

 By and by the line slacks ; I reel up gingerly. 



" What about the net, Danny ? " I venture. 



S7 



