A WEEK-END IN WILTSHIRE 101 



I put it over him again, twice, and then try 

 another fly. No result. He is still rising. 

 Another change of fly. No result. Then a 

 rest for thought. He is rising more confidently, 

 and the idea enters into my mind to try the 

 first fly again. He takes it, firmly hooked, and 

 there is a terrific strain on the line. I am below 

 him, but seem powerless to turn his head down- 

 stream. A rapid rush towards the bridge. He 

 changes his mind and rushes down-stream at me. 

 A splashing, stumbling sprint along a muddy 

 bank to keep the line taut a cautious reeling-in 

 a gentle guidance down-stream between weed- 

 beds and under boughs of trees until he comes 

 under my bank. An attempt to guide him into 

 the net placed below him, and the first sight 

 of it sends him ten yards up-stream again. 

 Then a steady strain till he is in a narrow 

 channel where the net awaits him in a runnel 

 between bank and weed-bed. Most of him 

 seems to have headed into the net. A strong, 

 firm lift he is in it, and I stagger away from the 

 stream into the meadow, with knees shaky, 

 relaxed muscles and a queer feeling of exhaustion. 

 One knock on the head from a pocket " priest " 

 the fly had come out of his mouth as he entered 

 the net ! A trout in prime condition, deep in 

 outline, gleaming golden in the sunshine, and 



