104 A SCOTTISH FLY-FISHER 



of what lies before it, onwards to the sea. Its mood is 

 grave and serious, as befits its place in the service of 

 man. It is not an object of much beauty, but, though 

 aesthetic considerations did not influence those who 

 shaped its course, it sweeps in graceful curves around 

 the hill, and even its obtrusive artificiality cannot rob it 

 entirely of the charm inherent in running water. 



I have spent many hours on its banks, though to 

 little profit. It holds but few trout, since, because of 

 its uniformly rapid flow, there are few places in which 

 they can find rest. For the same reason, it is impos- 

 sible to fish it up ; the angler's flies are swept past him 

 in a heap almost as soon as they have touched the 

 water. There is no angler capable of casting with the 

 frequency its velocity exacts. It is not merely that the 

 muscular energy involved soon becomes exhausting, but 

 that cast must follow cast in such quick succession that 

 our limited capacity is quite unequal to the task. Only 

 by the adoption of the ingenious method devised by the 



author of The W / T 1 is it possible to make 



a basket on it. It seems to be the playful custom of 

 the writer of that amazing book to count among his 

 captures the fish he fails to catch. "One day in 1898," 

 he writes, "we got thirteen trout, of which six were foul- 

 hooked and many others pricked, light-hooked, and lost." 



