The Great Unlanded 127 



ward untouched. But by and by, when the 

 sunlight died off the water, a fly sailed down 

 to the spot on which my eyes still rested, and 

 then suddenly disappeared without a splash, 

 without even a ring. It seemed drawn 

 underneath by some overmastering current. 

 My own fly alit on the water a second or so 

 later — a clumsy cast, fully two feet from the 

 spot where the drake came by its death and 

 right out of the eddy. But just as I was 

 about to remove it with self-reproach from 

 the water a dark form loomed up from the 

 depth and broke the surface of the water. 

 My heart stood still, but my wrist moved, 

 and then there was a mighty splash and a 

 vicious pull. The treacherous gut gave 

 instantly, and the dark form sank from sight. 

 Nothing would ever convince me that that 

 osier-bed trout was an ounce under eight 

 pounds. The keeper put him down at seven, 

 but then the keeper had not felt that mighty 

 pull. No, I shall continue to believe that a 

 good eight pounds was his weight. Fish 

 of that weight have been taken from the 



