6 ANGLING SKETCHES 



I can't see the natural fly on the water ; I cannot 

 see my own fly. 



Let it sink or let it swim. 



I often don't see the trout rise to me, if he is 

 such a fool as to rise ; and I can't strike in time 

 when I do see him. Besides, I am unteachable to 

 tie any of the orthodox knots in the gut ; it takes 

 me half an hour to get the gut through one of 

 these newfangled iron eyes, and, when it is through, 

 I knot it any way. The ' jatn ' knot is a name to 

 me, and no more. That, perhaps, is why the hooks 

 crack off so merrily. Then, if I do spot a rising 

 trout, and if he does not spot me as I crawl like 

 the serpent towards him, my fly always fixes in a 

 nettle, a hayeock, a rose-bush, or what not, behind 

 me. I undo it, or break it, and put up another, 

 make a cast, and, ' plop,' all the line falls in with a 

 splash that would frighten a crocodile. The fish's 

 big black fin goes cutting the stream above, 

 and there is a sauve qui pent of trout in all direc- 

 tions. 



I once did manage to make a cast correctly : 

 the fly went over the fish's nose ; he rose ; I hooked 



