" 



MY ENEMY" 



final terrific battle just a year ago, still hangs 

 over the spot. I fear that I shall never see 

 the like again, and I wish that the struggle 

 had been prolonged over more than one year. 

 It was in the month of May last year when 

 I first saw this stream. After an interview 

 with the friendly owner of the mill, I walked 

 up the left bank, splashing through the copse 

 on the other side, which was then half under 

 water, and I saw the noses of several great 

 trout coming up to make selections from amongst 

 fleets of flies which were floating down from the 

 weed-beds above. I never saw such numbers 

 and varieties of flies. This bit of the stream 

 had then been long undisturbed, and the weeds 

 had not been cut for several years. All the 

 water-creatures had prospered abundantly and 

 plentiful food had made the trout exceeding 

 fat. Next day found me, with leave to fish, 

 working up the bank to the corner at which 

 I now stand, and contemplating a broad nose 

 coming up at intervals to take a fly. Creeping 

 up on my hands and knees, I could see the 

 great trout himself, by peering through the 

 sedges into the clear water. I had not seen 

 a dry-fly stream for some years, or trained 

 my eye to judging the size of trout, but I 

 realized at once that I had reached the first 



