THE ENTRANCE OUT 103 



to the river by a shallow and narrow channel. That the 

 overflow carried food of some sort into the river was 

 evident from the fact that the neck of the channel had 

 been occupied during the morning by a biggish black fish 

 which was not breasting the rapid flow for nothing, while 

 a little below in the main stream another fair fish had stood 

 expectant of what his superior might allow to pass. If 

 these fish were still there, they would still be feeding. If 

 feeding, they would be takable. One might as well see. 

 Yes, they were there all right. Seeing, one might as well 

 try. It was better than doing nothing. Such light air 

 as there was helped to carry the little Red Sedge across, 

 and drop it in the little channel neatly enough. No offer — 

 no notice even. Probably a dry fly is a mistake. Try 

 a little wet beetle — say a Coch-y-bondhu. The first time 

 the trout looked at it and half turned. The second time 

 he let it by without a quiver. Yet he must be quite busy 

 feeding. On what ? Why not mosquito nymphs ? But 

 what colour ? A muddy-coloured little beast, probably 

 hanging head downward with his tail at the surface. Here 

 in the fly box is a reversed nymph, with a blob of dirty- 

 coloured dubbing representing head and thorax at the 

 bend of the hook, which might represent him at a pinch 

 if the hackle be cut down. Let us try it first on the fish 

 below in the river. The first chuck is not quite far enough 

 over. The next is a little too far, and drops the nymph 

 in the eddy. What's that ? It looked like a turn of a 

 fish under water. The hand has instinctively responded 

 and the hook has gone home. Down-stream he tumbles, 

 battling bravely, and presently the net receives his fourteen 

 inches. 



Is the biggish black fish still in the break in the embank- 

 ment ? Yes, there he is, stemming the smart little current 

 as busily as ever. It is quite imperative to get the fly 



