SOME FLY-DRESSING 119 



numerable three-quarter pounders in this little river, 

 a good many pounders, and one day this year a friend 

 brought in three brace (the limit that may be kept), 

 totalling nine pounds. 



It was my ill-fortune on the two occasions when 

 I last visited the river to light on days which were 

 characterized by bitter north-easterly winds blowing 

 straight upstream, and by an almost total absence of fly. 

 Thus, after getting a nice brace in the one sheltered spot 

 in the whole length, I found the entire morning of the first 

 day blank, for the reason that each movement forward 

 seemed to start some queasy trout, who bolted upstream, 

 and disturbed the next fifty or sixty yards of shallow. 

 The morning thus resolved itself into a series of waits for 

 things to settle. 



Just before lunch-time I arrived at a sheep-bridge 

 which crosses the river and the entire marsh from side to 

 side. Here I resolved to eat my sandwiches and await 

 a rise of fly, as it had become evident that without such 

 a rise I was not going to emulate the eight to nineteen brace 

 days of a former visit. But as I approached the bridge 

 I saw two enormous trout (for the stream) rooting like 

 hogs in some weeds just above, and darting rapidly to 

 secure the shrimps or larvae which they had thus ejected 

 from their fastnesses among the weeds. The weeds were 

 in this part dreadfully full of flannel-weed, so I knew 

 it was no use to put up a wet fly. I put up a Pope's Green 

 Nondescript, size No. 000, and launched it over the sheep- 

 bridge, and over the nearest of the trout. He was on it 

 like a tiger, and on feeling the hook dashed down under 

 the bridge towards me, and smashed me with promptitude 

 and despatch, without neglecting to put down his com- 

 panion en route. 



The incident, however, gave me my cue, and after my 



