THE FIRST DRY-FLY DAY 75 



up through the copse above the mill. An 

 impossible cast. Bushes all round me, the 

 stream too deep, the bottom too muddy to 

 wade in, and a strong wind blowing straight in 

 my face. A patch of clear bank lay on the 

 opposite side, so the best chance was to walk 

 all the way down to the mill and up the other 

 bank. He was still coming up to fly when I 

 got up to him ; a final touch of oil on the fly 

 a small " variant " with gold body and then 

 the first cast of the year over a fish, always a 

 doubtful moment ; but the wind helped : the 

 fly dropped softly a yard above him, floated 

 beautifully exactly over his nose, was sucked in, 

 and in a few minutes he was in the net, a nice 

 lively fish, a few ounces over a pound. Then back 

 to the mill again to cross, because the stream bends 

 sharply higher up and is fringed on my bank with 

 trees, an open meadow on the other side. That 

 meadow was the scene of to-day's great battle. 



Walking cautiously up the bank beyond the 

 copse, there was no sign of fish-life for about two 

 hundred yards, though there was plenty of fly. 

 A few big flies, sailing majestically amongst the 

 lesser sorts, were fluttering on the surface or 

 struggling to leave it. And then a dimple, 

 a few yards below a weed-bed, just where, a 

 week ago, I had marked down a big trout. I 



