ON THE FORDS OF TEME 107 
Grayling are gregarious, and once you are at 
a spot where they are at home you can get 
amongst them, taking one after the other. The 
Stroud man got his fish all from one reach, and 
probably did not move more than ten yards. 
Good sport continued daily, and my fondness 
for the dry fly increased. On four special occa- 
sions in former years had the dry fly impressed 
me, though I had previously always fished wet, 
and as a fact preferred it—then. Now I like 
both methods, each as occasion demands. One 
happy adventure with the Mayfly, fished dry, was 
on the Colne at Thorney Weir. A trout was 
steadily taking the naturals as they floated by 
under the opposite bank. I got my fly luckily 
across to the right spot, it floated over him, and 
he took it. I managed to keep a tight line, and 
to play and land him, 14 lbs. The second piece - 
of luck with the dry fly was on the same river, 
near the cosy cottage by the weir. Just on dusk 
I saw a trout rise, and soon a coachman, floating 
beautifully, was travelling towards him. I felt 
sure the fish would accept it, so attractively was 
it taking its course. And my faith was justified, 
The trout was mine. My third dry-fly adven- 
venture was on the other Colne, in Gloucester- 
shire. It was anevening latein June. The water- 
bailiff sat on a stile, watching. But one does 
not mind the official presence when one’s ticket is 
in order. A trout rose. A coachman was pre- 
sented dry, and, as it neared the trout, it seemed 
so natural that the fish must surely have a go. 
