A NATAL TROUT 189 



weight, and now I think that I know. The Mooi 

 River was stocked with trout some years ago 

 in the interests of fly-fishers, and we stick to 

 the rule of "fly only " in these parts, though 

 the minnow is also allowed in some of the 

 beats below. I begin in hope, watching for 

 rises. During that first long day of flogging 

 the water in the sweltering heat I ponder deeply 

 at times over a fly-book stocked with sea-trout 

 sizes, wondering which of them looks most 

 like a small frog. Not a trout shows up any- 

 where, and the water is not clear enough to 

 see what is going on more than six inches or so 

 below the surface. I can only imagine the 

 fate of the froglets making those perpetual 

 little plops by their headers off the bank. 



It gets hotter and hotter and mysteriously 

 still. There is not a breath of air. At last 

 I give in, tired out, lie down with my back 

 against a bank facing the Drakensberg range 

 of mountains, which shows up clearly in the 

 distance, and soon fall fast asleep. I am woken 

 up by a blinding flash and a clash of thunder. 

 A complete change has come over the scene. 

 A thunderstorm has left the mountains and is 

 sweeping slowly down the course of the river, 

 but only the edge of it has reached me as yet ; 

 looking down-stream, I can see the country 



