A SPRING FISHING 28 



The trout were still feeding, but the 

 fishing had become more difficult, for the 

 moorland lay with shoulders hunched over 

 the little stream. Here sound became 

 more useful than sight in detecting a rise ; 

 in fact, it was a game of "hide-and-seek." 

 A splash located the fish, and then began 

 endless attempts to get the fly past the 

 overhanging banks and down to the water 

 below. Once there, wet or dry, the fish 

 usually took it. Curiously enough, the 

 trout in these narrow gullies were larger 

 than in the more open water below, and 

 my last brace must have together weighed 

 over the pound. I followed up the wind- 

 ings of the stream, and eventually found 

 myself on a disused track which forded 

 the shallows, and there, marked by a line 

 of stunted oaks, stretched into the 

 distance. I came to a standstill, aware of 

 a sense of loss and change. The sound 

 of feeding fish had ceased, the glint of the 

 sunlight had vanished, giving place to a 

 creeping mist, which moved like a pall 

 above the waters. Before me the silent 

 moors stretched endlessly away. Only 

 those who have' known the Breton landes 



