HUNTING FOR FISHING 95 



I told you in my last of my twenty-mile 

 journey to Dorstone in search of the prill 1 called 

 the Dore. Since then permission was given me 

 to fish in a strictly preserved part of the Wye 

 said to contain good trout quarters. Jack and 

 I accordingly took a six-mile drive there one 

 Friday. We arrived in a downpour of rain, 

 and it continued while I hopelessly flogged the 

 likely quarters; but I saw no sign of fish of 

 any kind except three splendid salmon turning 

 somersaults. They seemed to me to be about 

 a yard long each, but of course the glimpse 

 was momentary. My permission to fish speci- 

 ally excluded salmon-fishing; but, dear me, 

 what a model place it was to practise casting a 

 salmon fly a long and broad deep pool, sweep- 

 ing round an open gravel beach, no obstruction 

 whatever. It looked so easy to cast over and 

 hook one of those big fellows and simply haul 

 him out on to the gravelly bed, but it was not 

 for me to do. 



The scenery round and about the bright river 

 was enchanting, and in spite of the fact that I 

 caught nothing for there was nothing to catch 

 and I got a good wetting, I could find no 



1 Prill is a local term for a very small stream. A. A. 



