70 In Pursuit of the Trout 



back the rod and dry the fly would fill a 

 chapter. At length the monster came up to 

 my fly and seized it with the innocence of a 

 six-inch samlet. Before striking, I let him 

 turn round and resume his course — a risky 

 experiment perhaps, but I had tried the 

 same thing before with success. Then I 

 drove the hook home with a will, and 

 instantly felt that I was well into the fish. 



For a while he swam round and round the 

 pool out of sight, as a salmon will sometimes 

 do when first hooked. I had some loose line 

 in my hand — an absolutely necessary pre- 

 caution in dibbing — and paid it out grudg- 

 ingly, knowing the terrible nature of the 

 place. My rod was all but immovable, owing 

 to a big branch which had fallen across my 

 side of the backwater, and which must, I saw 

 too well, prevent my steering the fish out 

 into the open stream. Before a minute had 

 slipped by, things began to be rather lively. 

 He took several fierce rushes, in one instance 

 carrying the point of my rod well under 

 water, and keeping it there for half a minute, 



