236 THE WAY OF A TROUT WITH A FLY 



accordingly. There they were both of them moving to 

 blue-winged olive, with curiously enough not another 

 fish rising in the length. The question of tactics arose, 

 which to tackle first ? Greed won the day. Both would 

 be a triumph. The lower one first. Out went the fly, 

 lighting just above him as he took a blue- winged olive. 

 There was a moment's suspense, and then a jar as the hook 

 went into his jaw. At once it felt as if the opposite bank 

 had been hooked, and was steadily, slowly, and irresistibly 

 forging upstream. Then, twenty, thirty yards it went, 

 and then with a big torpedo wave departed the last chance 

 of the three-and-a-half pound trout. Still, the length was 

 not quite fruitless. . . . Two pounds seven ounces. 



The next visit was on September 20. A leash of fair 

 trout and a brace of grayling rewarded the day's toil. 

 In the course of it a good trout was observed standing under 

 a tussock just below a certain bend where many a big 

 fish has met its fate. So famous is it that habitues know 

 it as No. 1 Tussock. The trout, however, was not having 

 anything, thank you. There was no evening rise that 

 night, but from a couple of hundred yards below it seemed 

 as if a sizable swirl occurred once by the No. 1 Tussock. 

 The large Orange Quill was on in waiting for the blue- winged 

 olive rise which never came. No. 1 Tussock was on the 

 way home to the inn. The Orange Quill fell just 

 above it, where the current cuddles round from the 

 bend. Yes, there had been a swirl. . . . Two pounds 

 two ounces. 



And so farewell to the river for the season. 



Curiously enough, each of these two-pounders was 

 fished to once previously during the day, and each 

 succumbed to the first chuck on the second occasion. 

 Lastly, it was the first time I ever took in that water a 

 two-pounder on each of four successive days' fishing, 



