14 ANGLING 



horror of bulls, a good fisherman and a downright good-hearted 

 fellow, and the best of companions on a fishing expedition. 

 Two years ago he obtained "permits" for some trout 

 fishing in Derbyshire. It was at the end of May, and 

 we started from Grimsby by an early train in 

 exuberant spirits and full of anticipation of good sport. 

 Bobbingmoon and the writer arrived at Derby in 

 due course where we took out our fishing licences for the 

 Trent fishery district, and from there drove to Ashbourne 

 where we visited Foster's tackle shop and picked up such 

 wrinkles as we thought would be useful for the Derbyshire 

 waters. We then looked in as all visitors to the town do at 

 the quaint old inn and inspected its curiosities, and then 

 proceeded with our drive to the Izaak Walton hotel. Bobbing- 

 moon is a bit of a botanist and fern-seeker, and our journey 

 was somewhat lengthened by his numerous descents from the 

 trap to collect specimens for Mrs. Bobbingmoon " just to show 

 her, Mr. Hopper, that I have not forgotten her." In due 

 course we arrived at the hotel, which is situated at a short 

 distance only from the entrance to Dovedale. To our dismay 

 we found on our arrival a cold east wind blowing, which 

 Bobbingmoon rightly predicted would prevent the May fly 

 being on the water. Having satisfied the cravings of the inner 

 man and booked our beds, we put up our fly rods and 

 proceeded to the riverside, but not a trout could we rise. The 

 water was low and as clear as crystal, and the keepers said 

 it was useless fishing under such conditions, and we found they 

 were right although we persevered with good heart until the 

 shades of evening set in and we then returned to the hotel and 

 smoked the " calumet " with mine host, whom Bobbingmoon 

 much enlivened by the recital of his piscatorial exploits in the 

 Fen and Wold country. The next morning we were up betimes, 

 and having forwarded our luggage to Hartington we started 

 with our rods through Dovedale a lovely walk this, but not a 

 " rise " could we get except out of some sheep-washers upon whom 

 Bobbingmoon was lavish with his jokes. Through Dovedale 

 and other dales we strode along, but not a " touch " could either 



