AUTUMN ANGLING ON THE LYON. 345 



variety of summer and autumn salmon-fly that the river in 

 its most exacting state could demand. 



A previous day and night of rain brought the keeper at the 

 end of the month to say there was " plenty water." On run- 

 ning down to the river-side, it was too thick and " drumly " 

 for fly, and an old roadman volunteered the advice that " she 

 was ower big for fishing." Better too big than too small, 

 thought I ; so the casts for to-morrow were carefully arranged, 

 with rod, gaff, and bag ready at a moment's notice. 



Next morning we were off for the high pools at eight o'clock, 

 in spite of a hazy atmosphere and drizzling rain. While plod- 

 ding past the first clachan, a shoemaker said something in 

 Gaelic to a knot of gossips around him, " What's that, Mac ? " 

 " He jist says, sir, we may turn aboot hame, for ye might as 

 weel throw a flee on the hee-road as on the Lyon the day." 



I am afraid this well-meant hint did not produce the effect 

 intended, but very much the contrary. Our only reception of 

 the prophecy was to march defiantly up the brae. 



The first pool, a long and likely one, I swept over with great 

 caution. Few anglers, indeed, begin to fish carelessly ; but it 

 is the test of a skilled hand that his patience and wariness 

 never fail, and so he is never taken by surprise at the sudden 

 bolt of a royal fish. Genuine and spurious anglers may readily 

 be distinguished by the calmness and temper of the former in 

 working a difficult river, where fish are scarce and hard to 

 move ; while the latter soon lose heart, and before the day is 

 half over fairly give in. Fishers of this last stamp may be 

 keen enough when fish are numerous, and on the rise ; but it is 

 only the gifted few who, after a long and barren day, will deliver 

 their first and final casts with equal vigour and precision. 



Not a fin stirred in this promising bit of water to my crow- 

 wing fly, neither did a dark mottled turkey-feather prove more 

 alluring. A white trout, however, rose in the pool above. 

 Mac, who was apt to be sanguine, affirmed it was a grilse ; but 

 we could not decide the point, as it refused to show again. 



