36 MOSTLY ABOUT TROUT 



sport, when they are taking. It is" a chilly 

 business when there is nothing in the way of 

 excitement to warm one, when the water- 

 meadows look dreary in the grey light, and 

 constant casting without result gets more and 

 more monotonous as the hours go by. 



February generally justifies its name of fill- 

 dyke. Many of the meadows are flooded for 

 a time, and even for the keenest of sportsmen 

 of mature years there is not much fun in splash- 

 ing through them under such conditions, with 

 every chance of stumbling into a concealed 

 deep channel where icy-cold water will pour 

 down one's leg over the tops of long wading- 

 boots. The floods subside towards the end 

 of the month, enough to show up the river- 

 bank, always the driest part of the average 

 water-meadow. When that happens and a 

 fine day comes, it is high time to put up the 

 pike rod. There is a certain white-railed bridge 

 about two miles above this old cathedral city 

 (I do not think that is enough information 

 to afford a clue to its whereabouts). About 

 three-quarters of a mile above that bridge is 

 a huge boiling hatch, very deep, with a heavy 

 flow of water. Above that hatch the " happy 

 valley " begins, a valley of little villages about 

 a mile or so apart, and between them some 



