a A DAY IN THE OBERLAND 



that to the left leading up to Grindelwald, under the 

 shadow of the Monch and the Wetterhorn, that to the 

 right bringing one to Lauterbriinnen and the Staubbach 

 waterfall, with the snow-fields of the Tchingel finally 

 closing the way — over which I climbed years ago to Ried 

 in the Loetschen Thai. 



The autumn crocus was already up in many of "the 

 closely trimmed little meadows, whilst the sweet scent of 

 the late hay-crop spread from the newly cut herbage of 

 others. 



At Zweiliitschinen, where the white glacier-torrent 

 unites with the black, and the milky stream is nearly as 

 cold as ice, and is boiling along over huge rocks, its 

 banks bordered with pine forest, I came upon a native 

 fishing for trout. He was using a short rod and a 

 weighted line with a small " grub " as bait. He dropped 

 his line into the water close to the steep bank, where 

 some projecting rock or half-sunk boulder staved off the 

 violence of the stream. He had already caught half-a- 

 dozen beautiful, red-spotted fish, which he carried in a 

 wooden tank full of water, with a close-fitting lid to 

 prevent their jumping out. I saw him take a seventh. 

 The largest must have weighed nearly two pounds. It 

 seems almost incredible that fish should inhabit water so 

 cold, so opaque, and so torrential, and should find there 

 any kind of nourishment. They make their way up by 

 keeping close to the bank, and are able, even in that 

 milky current, to perceive and snatch the unfortunate 

 worm or grub which has been washed into the flood and 

 is being hurried along at headlong speed. Only the 

 trout has the courage, strength, and love of nearly 

 freezing water necessary for such a life — no other fish 

 ventures into such conditions. Trout are actually caught^ 

 in some mountain pools at a height of 8000 ft., edg-d by 

 perpetual snow. 



