MY FIRST TROUT 23 



those unsophisticated times. The reel was a 

 " multiplier " of an ancient design, with a small 

 drum and prominent handle on a long spindle. 

 First came the thrill of excitement over the 

 first cast. I had had a lesson or two in casting 

 a fly from the gardener's boy (a confirmed 

 poacher), and I managed somehow, with the 

 wind in my favour, to get the line out and the 

 cast and flies to fall (in a bunch) on the water. 

 A few more casts, the line helped out every 



time by the wind, and then But there is no 



language to describe the thrill of it. Something 

 had hold of one of the flies under the water, 

 and that something was giving wriggling tugs. 

 The rod throbbed deliciously to the very butt ; 

 through the butt and through my wrist and 

 arm those throbbings passed through nerve 

 and brain, seemingly to my very soul. Two or 

 three seconds in doubt what to do, and then 

 the memory of a word recalled from a book 

 on fly-fishing, the word " strike " a word that 

 has cost many young fishers many fish and 

 much expensive tackle. I " struck," and far 

 behind me on the long grass fringing the mill- 

 pool lay, struggling, a four-ounce trout. There 

 had never been such a trout. Its head was 

 small, its body of a fatness adorable, gleaming 

 like copper above and like gold below. Its 



