A BOOK OF FISHING STORIES 



on the subject of flies. The evening was spent in fishing yarns, 

 in which the landlord took a prominent part. 



Next morning, soon after daybreak, armed with a ten-foot 

 split cane fly-rod and a cast of three Brobdignagian flies, I 

 was taken to a causeway between the ponds at the head of the 

 stream, and requested to begin. The water was like glass. 

 A blazing western sun had just risen, and my heart sank. Who 

 could catch trout in water like that with three-quarter-inch 

 flies ? was my unspoken thought. But my American hosts 

 were looking on, and I began to throw towards the shade of 

 the opposite bank. At the third cast the still water was broken 

 by a swirl at the tail-fly, and I hooked and landed a | lb. rain- 

 bow-trout. This looked like business. I was left in posses- 

 sion of the causeway, and had an excellent morning's sport. 

 Such simple-minded and voracious trout I have never previously 

 come across. Size or colour of fly, within reasonable limits, 

 was to them a matter of complete indifference, and the play 

 they gave was excellent. During that day and part of the next 

 I killed 137 trout, averaging about | lb., the largest over 2 lb., 

 all well-shaped, good-conditioned fish. The hotter and 

 brighter the sun, the better they seemed to take. 



I will now, in conclusion, turn again to my first fishing love, 

 the lakes and streams of the Scandinavian Peninsula. The 

 salmon-rivers of Norway I have already touched upon. Its 

 trouting waters yield equally pleasant memories of sport, and 

 in point of numbers and innocence of their fish rather tend to 

 spoil one for Scotch and Irish trout-fishing. 



On the island of Hitteren, for example, which is full of small 



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