In Taddington Dale 47 



went. A furious north wind sprang up as 

 we reached the water-side. Dry-fly fishing 

 became quite impossible. Presently it blew 

 a small gale, ruffling the water to such an 

 extent that we could not spy a rising fish. 

 The line and hook went everywhere save 

 into the mouths of the trout. At length we 

 found two fish well ' up ' in a fairly sheltered 

 pool, and I set to work to put the fly — a 

 prettily dressed olive — over one of them. 

 Just as I was hoping to drop the fly like 

 the proverbial piece of thistle-down on the 

 water, there came a vicious little gust that 

 whirled the line into a cruel-lookins; haw- 

 thorn which overhung the pool. My com- 

 panion at once volunteered to go aloft. I 

 gathered that he had been in the bush 

 before, and knew the worst thorns. Up he 

 went, uttering curious little sounds of distress 

 when an unusually stubborn prickle buried 

 itself in his flesh. At length he got hold 

 of the fly, and commenced the process of 

 disentanglement. As fast as the line was 

 freed from one branch it coiled itself round 



