AN EVENING RISE 115 



the shade as far as the flies would permit, 

 taking turns to visit the river occasionally, 

 in case any trout should have begun to feed. 

 We had tea, boiling our eggs over a little fire 

 of dry wood and taking refuge from the flies 

 in the fragrant smoke. So the long afternoon 

 passed away. . . . 



Suddenly there came a subtle change in the 

 air. Shadows were beginning to lengthen, and 

 the sunlight began to tinge the landscape with 

 gold. It was time to try again. Waders and 

 the thick woollen stockings that go therewith 

 had been lying spread out to dry in the sun- 

 shine while we luxuriated barefoot in the 

 warm, sweet grass. Tackle had been over- 

 hauled and line greased afresh, to ensure its 

 floating well during the evening rise. Soon 

 we had donned wading equipment, slung fishing- 

 bag and landing-net over the shoulder by the 

 strap, of which it is such a joy to be relieved 

 for a time in hot weather, and we returned to 

 the water as keen as ever. By no means too 

 soon : the trout were already on the move ; 

 they were beginning to take up positions for 

 a good view of the moving supper-table soon 

 to pass between them and the sky. Here and 

 there, at long intervals, one rose. If the moods 

 of trout change from month to month and 



