WITH ROD AND CHEEL IN NATAL 243 



to fish back to the starting point. At the last cast, how- 

 ever, my fly was taken like lightning, and as I struck, a 

 beautiful fish leapt high out of the water ; and had I not 

 dropped the point of my rod as he fell back I should in all 

 probability have been " smashed." For fully ten minutes 

 did that speckled beauty fight manfully for his freedom, 

 and during the mad rushes he made I quite expected to 

 see him carry away my fine-drawn cast into his sanctuary 

 amongst a cluster of big boulders. At length, thoroughly 

 spent, he allowed himself to be drawn over the landing-net. 



Two pounds and as many ounces did that game trout 

 weigh ; and a more beautifully proportioned or more 

 brilliantly marked "rainbow" I never hope to grass again. 



A few more unsuccessful casts over the pool in which I 

 rose the last fish, and I retraced my footsteps to the 

 bungalow, where I found B awaiting my advent. 



On comparing notes, I discovered that my friend's 

 creel contained a brace more trout than did my own. 



Nevertheless, my two-pounder proved the show-fish 

 of the morning. 



