AUGUST 205 



indeed, may be practised with profit even when the 

 water is dead low 'a choice way,' as Izaak Walton 

 observed of night-fishing in general, ' but . . . void of 

 the pleasures that such days as these, that we two now 

 enjoy, afford the angler.' Izaak was right. The cream 

 of fly-fishing the psychological moment is the rise, 

 and that is invisible in the dark. Nevertheless, the 

 night hath charms of its own; especially a northern 

 summer night, when the twilight, long lingering, almost 

 joins hands with the dawn. Its beauty is less varied, 

 but hardly less delicious than the day. On such a 

 night there is nothing unfair or unsportsmanlike to take 

 toll of the silvery shoals which work up with the tide 

 into the lower pools, though the sport has a degree of 

 sameness which makes it far inferior to daylight 

 angling. On such a night lately, before the floods came, 

 I bicycled over to the mouth of the Luce, a west coast 

 stream much frequented by sea-trout. Arriving at 

 seven, I was at least two hours too soon, for nothing 

 can be done in the low water till the shadows have 

 deepened on the scene. The river was but a dribble, 

 meandering between great tracts of shingle, with here 

 and there a still expanse denoting a salmon pool. I 

 went down to the lowest pool, which is entered by the 

 sea at high tide. What a tantalising scene ! The water 

 was alive with springing fish big fellows of three pounds 

 and four pounds and lots of herling, while from time 

 to time a salmon threw himself out and fell back 

 with resounding splash. More than once I saw five 

 fish in the air at the same moment. It seemed impos- 



