144 How to obtain it. 
presently another. Strange both are females, and yet not strange 
either, for the males are higher up, and we often find it so. Further 
on we go and get another fish—a female too, and ripe, and work- 
ing hard for more we take at length a couple, one of them a male. 
But the clouds are gathering on the mountain tops, and the pass 
is getting choked with mist and threatening snow. A storm is 
brewing, so we must be quick. There! we have another male, 
and letting this suffice we hasten down to lower grounds. The 
storm comes on apace. The raven croaks above, as wheeling in 
mid-air he bids defiance to the storm. We hurry on, but before 
we reach the valley it has burst upon us. There! we cannot do 
better now, so we will stop and spawn our fish under an overhang- 
ing rock; then having milted the ova, get our luncheon, after 
which we wash it and go home, first carefully returning the fish to 
the stream from which they came. Such is a brief description of a 
fairly successful day spent ova hunting, the result being some three 
or four thousand eggs. There were often many blanks, however. 
One November morning we started at four o’clock from Grange 
in Borrowdale to walk to Buttermere. It was cold, clear, and 
frosty, and “‘ by the pale light of stars” we partially ascended the 
hill whose summit forms the famous Castle Crag, and then 
bearing to the right we skirted the fell known as Borrowdale 
Hause. By the time we had gone a couple of miles a snowstorm 
met us, and as we proceeded the drifts in some of the gullies we 
had to cross became uncomfortable. By the time we reached the 
head of Honister Pass the ground was deeply covered with snow, 
and when we arrived at the place where we had leave to fish we 
found the water to be so full of snow broth that the fish were not 
obtainable. Most of them had probably run down into the lake. 
We tried in vain, and at last gave up the attempt as hopeless, and, 
with all our paraphernalia of nets and cans, commenced the 
homeward journey. Up under the famous Honister Crag, with 
its snow wreaths and black jutting rocks, we passed, and at last 
reached once more the top of the famous pass. By this time, 
fortunately, the snow had ceased falling, and we risked the hill, 
and more than once got buried in a drift for thus defying the 
elements. However, home was safely reached at last, though 
minus any ova. 
