212 THE WAY OF A TROUT WITH A FLY 



and no small part of the satisfaction lay in the fact that 

 by one of life's little ironies he had possibly, by his tug 

 at the gut, released the fly, and so contributed to his own 

 undoing. 



ANOTHER OF LIFE'S LITTLE CAST IRONIES. 



It was where the Enz runs under a primitive log bridge 

 at the head of a big flat, bounded by the timber-yard at 

 Calmbach. On the right side below the bridge the bank 

 was camp-sheathed, and about a foot above the water a 

 fringe of extremely adhesive herbage grew out of a gap 

 between the boards, which were laid lengthways and not 

 perpendicularly. 



One July afternoon in 1907 I crossed the bridge and 

 was about to walk down the timber-yard, when just below 

 me I saw a handsome trout a long way on towards two 

 pounds. I stopped dead, but unfortunately he had seen 

 me, and he made off. I made a mental note, however, of 

 the particular flower-head under which he had lain, and 

 as I came upstream again I made two or three tentative 

 casts to the spot. Several times I covered the place per- 

 fectly, but my Tup remained unappreciated. Then I made 

 a cast which took the gut over the herbage, and promised 

 me a fully-fledged tangle. I thought that my chance of 

 the fish was all up for the moment, but I crawled up, as 

 much out of sight as possible, and, lying on my face, 

 sought to lift the gut by hand from the clump of blossom 

 through which it passed, and taking the line betwixt finger 

 and thumb I raised it and drew it gently. For a moment 

 it came easily. Then, to my astonishment, the gut was 

 jerked from between my fingers. I leapt to my feet, 

 rushed to my rod and raised it, to find that not only were 

 line and fly clear of the weed, but that the fly was firmly 

 fixed in the trout's jaw. There are no finer fighters any- 



