EPISODICAL 235 



It lit exactly right first chuck, and in a moment the 

 nine-footer was a hoop, and the trout racing down-stream 

 on the far side of the big weed-bed. This suited me 

 well enough, and I, too, ran to keep the move on the fish, 

 and race him down below the weed-bed before he turned. 

 The manoeuvre almost succeeded, but suddenly the trout 

 became aware that he was missing chances, and plunged 

 into the weed-bed. Held lightly, however, with the hand 

 high, he soon beat himself free of the weeds, and before 

 he could bury himself again he was turned and rushed 

 down-stream into a more open part, where presently the 

 battle ended. . . . Two poimds four ounces. 



The rest of the evening yielded further sport, but it is 

 not worth recording. 



During the afternoon of the following day, when nothing 

 was doing, two fish were observed under the far bank, 

 about thirty yards apart. The water was fairly open, 

 weeds never growing very strongly in that bend. The 

 lower fish looked a big one until the upper one was seen. 

 The latter looked three and a half pounds, and the former 

 was guessed at two and a half pounds. He flooped the 

 Whitchurch dun offered him. Both fish were noted for 

 reference, and the place from which to approach them 

 was carefully marked. 



The evening was distinguished by just such a rise of tiny 

 pale duns as was that of the previous day. Again there 

 was a somewhat sudden fall in temperature, and again 

 the blue-winged olive rise began. The new pattern, 

 however, was contemptuously rejected, so the old stand-by, 

 a big Orange Quill, was knotted on. In quick succession 

 a one-and-three-quarter pound trout and a grayling of 

 one pound fifteen ounces were basketed, and then the big 

 fish round the bend were remembered. Either of them 

 was worth a new fly, and a new one was knotted on 



