A MOORLAND TARN 175 



lakelet I had heard of as a boy, but never had 

 fished or heard of anybody else fishing. It lies in 

 the middle of a dreary tract of peat moss, which 

 once, no doubt, was a wide mere, of which this tarn 

 is the last remaining driblet, extending barely to a 

 couple of acres, one-third of it reed-beds. Shooting 

 grouse along its margin one day, I noticed a fish 

 rise, and made a mental note to put a fly over it on 

 the first opportunity. This did not occur till the 

 following year, when, on a day in early June, I had 

 been fishing in vain with a friend an excellent loch 

 near the sea. It was no use ; we could not persuade 

 the trout to do business any way ; so in despair I 

 proposed an excursion to the moorland tarn. The 

 way to it was rough, over several miles of moss and 

 moor, but we were young and tough, and by four in 

 the afternoon were standing on its solitary marge. 

 A dismal scene it was, and unpromising for our 

 craft. Three sides of the pool were surrounded by 

 quaking bog, fringed with reeds ; on the fourth side, 

 the only part where it might be possible to cast a 

 fly, the wind blew in straight and hard, driving the 

 inky waves upon cavernous resounding banks of 

 peat, crested with rank heather, while the softness 

 of the bottom put wading out of the question. Fish- 



