190 MOSTLY ABOUT TROUT 



still bathed in sunlight. Up-stream, heavy 

 clouds shut off the view of the river, with light- 

 ning flashes playing perpetually over their 

 indigo background. The disappearance of the 

 trout all day is accounted for, and it is ob- 

 viously worth my while to try again under the 

 new conditions ; but by the time I have picked 

 up my rod and begun to cast, the lightning 

 is on all sides of me, and I feel like a prominent, 

 timid and very unnecessary excrescence upon 

 the landscape. My rod seems to be inviting 

 the vengeance of the elements if I keep it pointed 

 upwards like a lightning-conductor, so I com- 

 promise between timidity and keenness by 

 casting underhand across the head of the pool 

 and let the stream work the flies, a " woodcock 

 and yellow" for the tail-fly and a "Zulu," as 

 a tribute to local associations, as a dropper. 

 In a few minutes I am rewarded. Something 

 unseen takes hold, deep under water ; the rod 

 bends right down to the butt when I try a steady 

 strain, so I know that something to be worth 

 the landing. There is no more thought of the 

 lightning or of the crashing thunder accom- 

 paniment to the twenty minutes' battle. The 

 trout plays like a sulky salmon (its weight 

 turns out to be three and a half pounds when 

 landed). My gut is old, brought out from 





