264 THE TROUT ARE RISING 
as if the father of all Bushman’s trout was on. 
Yet, when the fish appeared on the surface—some 
time before being beaten—it was clear that he did 
not exceed a pound weight. The secret was ex- 
plained on his nearing the net; he was foul- 
hooked in the anal fin. 
Another time, a trout of some three-quarters of 
a pound was hooked, and on the line being reeled in 
he simply spun round and round in the water like 
a teetotum. He, too, was foul-hooked—close to 
the tail, Further details cannot be given, because 
just about netting-time he made a last furious 
effort, which gave him his liberty. I said—no, I 
said nothing. I remembered, however, the story 
of the American. He had just lost a real big one 
and he called the attention of a friend, with whom 
he was fishing, to a foaming, savage rapid, saying : 
“You see that! Well, it mildly represents the 
internal situation |” 
New grass was peeping through the fire-burnt 
patches, and gradually the veld was greening. 
Lawns of freshest grass sloped here and there, and 
willows attained to perfection of verdure, An hour 
before sundown, if nowind wasblowing,a great calm 
came. Infinite peace reigned in those vast spaces. 
Some excellent fly-fishermen farm alongside 
the Bushman’s. They are men who understand 
the ways of a trout, use fine, sound tackle, cast a 
fly with judgment, and strike, hook, and play their 
fish in good style. Useful flies are the Mooi 
moth, governor, coachman, a fly known locally as 
Kerr’s special, teal and yellow, woodcock-and- 
hare’s-ear, blue upright, and Hardy’s favourite. 
