CLEAR WATERS 



the agony on an unfortunate angler, with no alter- 

 native for hours but the waiting-room of a diminutive 

 station. If the humblest inn or fireside had been 

 accessible I should have lost a quite enjoyable day's 

 fishing to an absolute certainty. 



As it was, I descended into the icy waters where they 

 come out into the meadows from Woodleigh wood, 

 and at the very first cast to my amazement was into 

 a good fish. I took three out of that pool in quick 

 succession while the thunder was still rumbling, and 

 the lightning playing, and the north-east wind lashing 

 the bursting willows on the bank, and threatening 

 snowflakes every moment. They were the better 

 class of Avon fish, and weighed a pound between them. 

 I went on picking up fish all the morning, for in the 

 heart of the woods the cold wind seemed to sink to 

 rest, and a rise of blue dun set the trout astir in 

 flagrant violation of every rule which is supposed to 

 guide them. But better, to my thinking, than zephyrs 

 and April showers are those days in the thinner waters 

 of later May and early June when fish may be picked 

 up on and off all day, and on the whole better ones 

 too, if harder to catch. The playing of a strong 

 June fish, too, in these leafy avenues, amid rocks, 

 boughs, and rapid currents, is a different business 

 from the same encounter in an open stream. There 

 are about twenty more things to think about, and no 

 time to think of them, as the fish dashes and jumps 

 from one danger spot to another, and the point of 

 the rod has to be dipped like lightning under trailing 

 boughs, and the line shortened as quickly by a grab 

 at it below the bottom ring. Instructions to a young 



