THE ENGLISH LAKE COUNTRY 



spot to say a passing word on the bustard not that 

 extinct denizen of Salisbury Plain and elsewhere, 

 which will, no doubt, at once occur to the reader, 

 but another variety, to ignore which would be to 

 leave the angling literature of Ullswater but half 

 told. This same bustard is of a truth a fearsome 

 thing. I have carried a specimen in my fly-book 

 for years merely to exhibit to all and sundry as a 

 contraption that fish rather hard to catch with fine 

 tackle and well-made flies in the daylight will take 

 readily under the moon and stars. The dimensions 

 are those of a fair-sized salmon fly, but the make-up, 

 I am quite sure, would frighten even a Labrador or 

 Icelandic salmon out of its life, though ridiculously 

 simple and primitive to wit, a thick body of yellow 

 worsted and a turkey wing. With this monstrosity, 

 hurled from a long, stiff rod, the few local professors 

 catch Ullswater trout freely in the dark hours. I 

 ought, of course, to have fished a bustard myself, or 

 at least to have spent a night on the lake, or rather, on 

 its shores, for a boat is then superfluous. I am not 

 unenterprising, but I admit with shame that I have 

 only once succeeded in bracing myself to turn out at 

 ten o'clock with a prospect of returning at five ; and 

 on that occasion, having been all my life, ever since 

 my memorable fifteenth year, an unlucky fishermen 

 as regards the sport of adverse circumstances, a quite 

 unexpected night-frost fell upon us, which is fatal. I 

 cannot therefore attempt an explanation of the bustard 

 mystery. That these quarter- and half-pounders take 

 it freely at night is, however, a simple fact. I will 

 only say that I leave it at that. If the reader could 

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