EPISODICAL 229 



The line, however, was by luck almost slack, and the fish, 

 instead of going to snag or weed, began to thrash about 

 on the surface; and before he could bethink himself I had 

 steered him down-stream into comparatively open water. 

 Here it was not a long business ere the net received his 

 sixteen ounces. 



Cautiously retracing my steps I waited to see if there 

 was anyone at home in the hole under the chestnut roots. 

 Presently there was a rise in the eye of the run just above 

 the midstream snag which divided the current. So I had 

 to cast across the stump to reach my fish. On ordinary 

 days I should have been hung up to a certainty, but this 

 was one of the days when I could do nothing wrong. I had 

 no intention of hooking my fish and having to pull him into 

 the snag, so I determined he should see my fly and come 

 back for it. I therefore cast wide of him to the other 

 side of the gut of the stream, and slightly below the spot 

 where he continued to break water. Sure enough he 

 came after the fly with his head down-stream, and was 

 hooked and steered away from the snag and out of the 

 rooty hole before he had time to turn. He was just above 

 the twelve-inch limit which I had set myself, but I turned 

 him down without regret and moved on. 



To pass the snaggy corner without risking a bootful I 

 had to get ashore and re-enter the shallows above the 

 alder roots. The trees behind made it impossible to cast 

 to the next trout available without getting too near him, 

 and I sent him to cover and disturbed one side of another 

 twenty yards of brook. The other side, however, con- 

 tained a run, from which I extracted another eleven-inch 

 trout, which went back. 



I had now reached a spot where the character of the 

 stream was somewhat changed. It was somewhat deeper, 

 and the bottom was still silver sand and gold gravel, 



