THE ANGLER 145 



in the day. Minutes of packed expectation those are 

 when the whistle sounds a field or two off, and you 

 come to attention ! The partridges are up perhaps 

 coming bolt for the bit of hedge allotted to you. 



They must be gathering pace at every yard between 

 the line of beaters and that hedge which cuts the 

 world in two and hides all on earth you care for at 

 this instant. 



They ride perhaps on a ravening wind that adds 

 speed to speed. At what point of the hedge twenty 

 yards in front of you will they appear ? The eye, in 

 exquisite suspense, may rove along the hedge top 

 looking for the compact, rushing covey that will sweep 

 by with the force and decision of a powerful machine, 

 or for the single bird that may be on the skyline 

 looking so embarrassingly small ! That single bird 

 topping the high hedge in the gale ; how unsuited for 

 your gun he often seems, if things have been going 

 awry! There is a little world of space to miss into, 

 and only this small, uncertain body here one second, 

 out of range two seconds later to hit. Fear, hope, 

 triumph, humiliation jostle each other in these tense 

 moments. So that the most living moments in 

 shooting are equal to those in fly-fishing. But in 

 shooting the thrall is more intermittent. In shooting, 

 no one lives in the gun the entire day : whereas in 

 fly-fishing on the chalk streams the angler does often 

 seem to " live along the line " from start till close. 

 Certainly one has felt this to be so on the Derbyshire 



