120 THE TROUT ARE RISING 
fisherman he is, he now found the benefit of the 
habit, for while the rest of us were still finishing 
details, we heard his cheery announcement, “I’m 
in him!” His little eight-foot rod, kept well 
up and busy, was bending double, and we were 
uncommonly pleased to see him land a good- 
sized glittering grayling. It promised well. 
Long experience has shown that, grateful as 
it is, a trout or a grayling, risen, struck, played, 
and landed to your very first cast of the day, is 
not a sure forerunner of sport. But you always 
hope that it will be. The omens on this occasion 
were only in part propitious. 
It was not a blank by any means on the Lugg 
that day. Fish were caught in fair numbers. 
But there was one angler who had nothing to 
show for it. And here is the said angler 
audaciously writing a book connected with the 
subject! It served me right. Our kind hostess 
had given definite instructions: “If the grayling 
are rising, put the dry fly on; if they are not, 
then fish wet.” The grayling were not rising. 
The three others faithfully followed the hostess’s 
injunctions, and profited. I alone disobeyed and 
had an empty bag. The reason, I suppose, of 
my unwisdom was that fair success with the dry 
fly on the Teme had cast a glamour over me. I 
could not do without the amusement and pleasure 
of watching the dry fly sail along, with the 
succeeding fascination of tightening on a rising 
grayling at the right moment. I saw my fly sail 
along all right on the Lugg, but that was all. I 
