242 A MEDLEY OF SPORT 



neath the surface. It was quite unnecessary for me to 

 strike, as the fish had hooked himself hard and fast. Up 

 and down stream and across and across he rushed, with 

 all the gameness of a Dee grilse. Suddenly, however, 

 to my unspeakable disgust, " bang " went the trace, 

 and at the loose end of it what I honestly believed to be 

 a good 2-lb. trout. (It's always the heaviest fish of the 

 day that get away.) It was useless crying over a spilt 

 trout, however ; and, having rigged up a fresh trace, I 

 started off to try my fortune farther down the stream. 



Once clear of the willows, I had a fine stretch of open 

 water before me, and in some parts the river widened out 

 to quite forty feet. By this time it was nearly twelve 

 o'clock, and the sun blazingly hot, but, thanks to a cool 

 south-westerly breeze, I was able to continue on my beat 

 in comparative comfort. There were now but very few 

 fish rising, and for perhaps three quarters of an hour I did 

 not get a touch of any kind. While throwing under 

 the farther bank, however, my fly was taken greedily, and 

 in a moment I knew that I was into something heavy. 



" There's no trout about that gentleman," was my 

 inward ejaculation, as the fish, after making a sluggish 

 move upstream, caved in like a lamb, allowing me to reel 

 him into the bank without a struggle. I was right in 

 my surmise, for my capture proved to be , a barbar of 

 3 J lb. weight. I continued fishing steadily and carefully 

 downstream, picking up a leash of small trout as I went. 



Neither exceeded three ounces, and somewhat tired 

 of catching and returning such pigmies, I determined 



