fflEX LIBRIS 
 
A Study of Hope 
 at Blagdon 
 
TROUT FISHING 
 MEMORIES AND MORALS 
 
 BY 
 
 H. T. SHERINGHAM 
 
 ANGLING EDITOR OF " THB FIELD," 
 
 AUTHOR or "ELEMENTS or ANGLING," "AN ANGLER'S HOURS,' 
 
 "AN OPEN CREEL," "COARSE PISHING," 
 
 " SYLLABUB FARM," ETC. 
 
 BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
 HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 
 
PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY 
 
 RICHARD CLAY & SONS, LIMITED, 
 
 BRUNSWICK ST., STAMFORD ST., 8.E. 1, 
 
 AND UUNOAY, SUFFOLK. 
 
TO 
 
 GUY C. POLLOCK 
 
 "We twa hae paidl't i' the burn 
 From morniri' sun till dine . 
 
 9383 
 
PREFACE 
 
 THE framework of this book was put together 
 in the year 1915, the building of it being to a 
 great extent a distraction from the stresses of 
 war. For various reasons the book could not be 
 completed till last year, when many changes had 
 come about. So speedily, however, do things 
 move nowadays that it now goes out into a world 
 which is vastly different, not only from the world 
 of 1915, but even from the world of a few months 
 ago, and I am in some doubt whether it should not 
 have contained an appendix of trout-fishing econo- 
 mics the wonderful prices achieved by split-cane 
 rods, the kaleidoscopic changes in the ownership of 
 lands and the waters thereof, the ridiculous new 
 position of sixpence, the inadequate size of fishing 
 inns, the dearth of trout for restocking, and so on. 
 
 But I have decided that worthy handling of 
 some of these interesting phenomena is beyond 
 me, while others will receive adjustment at the 
 hands of time and so do not call for special con- 
 sideration. Hence I add no appendix. 
 
 The world, by the signs of the day, is turning, 
 or being turned, upside down, and in a few years 
 we may all be at the Antipodes of our former 
 states, as old Sir Thomas Browne might have said. 
 But it is some comfort to me that the real Anti- 
 podes are now very well furnished with trout. 
 
vi PREFACE 
 
 That being so, the figurative Antipodes will surely 
 not be without them. The future, therefore, need 
 not be wholly strange and alarming. 
 
 I find comfort, too, in another reflection. The 
 number of anglers has increased prodigiously 
 in a short year or two, and they will certainly 
 look after their own interests. That problem 
 of new waters to which I give brief and inade- 
 quate consideration in the fourteenth chapter will 
 no doubt be solved within the next generation. 
 Obviously trout-fishers must fish somewhere. As 
 for the rest of it a will must find a way. Here is 
 a moral. Some of the prettiest little fly-rods I 
 ever saw were made by a friend of mine out of the 
 canes you use in gardening as supports for chrys- 
 anthemums and other herbage. The material for 
 them cost about 2s. 6d. per rod all told. Now I 
 suppose it would cost 5s. But we can save up. 
 
 Anyhow, come what may, even a tax on the air 
 we breathe and a rise in the price of the dust in 
 which we walk, we trout-fishers will somehow 
 manage to go on fishing. And, if it be not in- 
 decent to say so, I hope we shall all go on reading 
 books about the sport ! 
 
 H. T. S. 
 
 March 1920. 
 
 NOTE. I have to express my gratitude to The Field for 
 permission to employ a good deal of material which I originally 
 published in its columns, and to The Cornhill Magazine for 
 similar indulgence in regard to Chapter III. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 PAOB 
 
 EARLY DAYS 1 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 SOME TINY WATERS ....... 19 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 A LITTLE CHALK STREAM 39 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 THE FISHING DAY 59 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 THE EVENING 75 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 THE FLY QUESTION 95 
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 SOME CONTROVERSIES 119 
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 MINNOW AND WORM ....... 142 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 THOUGHTS ON BIG FISH 160 
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 IN A WELSH VALLEY ....... 177 
 
 vii 
 
viii CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 PAOB 
 
 THE DUFFER'S FORTNIGHT . . . . 198 
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 A PECK OF TROUBLES 224 
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 WEATHER AND WIND . . . . . . .251 
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 NEW WATERS 267 
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 ODDS AND ENDS . 283 
 
CHAPTER I 
 
 EARLY DAYS 
 
 THE confession is, perhaps, ignominious; but for 
 some time after I first made the acquaintance of 
 the trout I pursued it with what the law calls 
 " engines." A set-line, a butterfly-net, a fishing 
 weir or " obstruction," a landing-net it is an unholy 
 progression from bad to worse. There is, however, 
 one sin which I have not upon my conscience, the 
 sin of tickling. Proudly I can assert that never in 
 all my days did I tickle a trout. In a lower tone, 
 if any one insists on the point, I may add that I 
 never succeeded in finding a trout that would abide 
 the preliminaries to the operation. The fault no 
 doubt was mine. But mine, also, is the honour. 
 I find in the Fly Fishers' Club and other centres of 
 efficiency that there is a certain distinction attaching 
 to the man who has never tickled a trout. That 
 he should have arrived at a fair comprehension of 
 the dry fly without this previous training in subtlety 
 is a somewhat notable thing. But he would never 
 do for a chairman at the annual dinner. He would 
 have nothing, or almost nothing, of which to repent 
 him with tears in his voice. 
 
; ; TROUT FISHING 
 
 All the same, I remember that my fishing weir 
 was an ingenious and effective thing. I built it on 
 a tributary of the Tweed one foot wide, and after- 
 wards applied the principle to a more considerable 
 river in Gloucestershire which needed a bucket 
 earnestly used in the after-emptying. But the net 
 result of both engineering feats was only one trout 
 about four inches long, the same which I had marked 
 down in the daughter stream of Tweed, and which 
 set me on the building of my dam. And at this 
 time of day I will not swear that even that trout 
 was not a parr. It had lovely red spots, and I tried 
 in vain to keep it alive in some receptacle as a pet. 
 The Gloucestershire foray was troutless, but not 
 therefore a failure. What eels ! My heart warms 
 to the thought of them. 
 
 Dear reader, if you have never, at the age of nine 
 or thereabouts, pursued an eel about the liquid 
 mud of a nearly baled-out pool in a little Gloucester- 
 shire brook, you have, I assure you, never really 
 lived. Shouting with excitement, a " mask of 
 mud " (as old-fashioned domestics used to put it), 
 you pursue the creature from corner to corner, from 
 end to end, often getting a sort of grip of him, as 
 often losing it. It is some time before you appreciate 
 the inwardness of eel-catching, which consists in 
 getting your hooked fingers under his middle where 
 he balances and hoisting him promptly ashore. 
 
EARLY DAYS 3 
 
 There your companion swiftly transfers him to a 
 sack, that is if you are the master-mind. If not, if 
 there is no great difference in ruling capacity 
 between you, your companion will probably be in 
 the mud, too. And two eels out of the three will 
 escape over the lower dam. There is a third alter- 
 native which places you on the bank, but it is less 
 dignified, and I will not dwell on it, even though it 
 means an eel or so more in the narrative. 
 
 Besides, there will be quite enough eels in the 
 narrative ere I have finished. Once in it, they are 
 as bad to get out as they are in a nearly -baled pool. 
 There was great plenty of eels in that part of 
 Gloucestershire, and many a time did I set out to 
 capture them from one of the insignificant ditches 
 into which they made their way. I used to wonder 
 how they came there, for, take it all in all, it was a 
 fishless part of the world. The brook I have men- 
 tioned, and two or three ponds I cannot remember 
 any other waters close at hand which held anything. 
 But in all the ditches, however small, which contained 
 water there were small eels, whose presence I 
 understand well enough now. The boundary of the 
 county was not far away, and it was nothing less 
 than the Severn, the greatest elver river in the land. 
 It was tidal down there, to be sure, but doubtless 
 the elvers ran up every streamlet which joined it, 
 and so made their way as far as they could get. 
 
4 TROUT FISHING 
 
 There were two or three even in the Holy Well, a 
 wonderful little pool of crystal water lying behind 
 a bush on the right hand of the road as you go from 
 the vicarage to the church. What a road to a child 
 newly escaped from London ! The very dust 
 seemed to be sweet-scented. And there were dog- 
 roses in the hedges, and baby rabbits which you 
 could very nearly catch. But the eels were the 
 greatest adventure to me. I could not catch them 
 either, the well being too deep. I remember them 
 with affection, with the delightful dust and the dog- 
 roses. Refer at si Jupiter annos ! 
 
 To try and get back to somewhere within range 
 of my subject the eel is in my opinion almost the 
 worst enemy that the trout has. Not nearly enough 
 stress has been laid upon him by the professors of 
 aquiculture. They have thundered against the 
 chub and fulminated against the pike, but about the 
 eel they have, for the most part, said little or nothing. 
 This is probably because about the eel they know 
 little or nothing. I do not know much myself, but 
 very early in life and within a short half-mile of the 
 Holy Well mentioned, I had an experience which 
 taught me the abilities of the eel. There was an 
 old fish pond which had formerly been made for 
 a small monastic establishment, and was now the 
 property of a farm. It was full of fish carp and 
 roach and there was reason to suspect that it also 
 
EARLY DAYS 5 
 
 held some pike the disappearance of ducklings and 
 other phenomena had to be accounted for. 
 
 With grown-up assistance I made an attempt to 
 catch one of these alleged pike, using live roach which 
 came from the pond and such primitive tackle as 
 was available. We got plenty of runs in fact, 
 it was a rare thing for the bait to be in the water 
 for more than half an hour without being attacked. 
 I had small knowledge of pike in those days, or I 
 should have suspected the curious and vacillating 
 behaviour of the float, its bobs and dips and brief 
 inconclusive movements of a foot or two at a time. 
 But, as things were, when, after many runs which 
 came to nothing, we succeeded in landing a great 
 eel of some three pounds, I was much surprised. We 
 got others afterwards, but nothing much bigger, 
 though one or two breakages suggested the presence 
 of monsters in the pool. What has remained in 
 my mind chiefly, however, is not the sum total of 
 success, but the broad facts of the case. These 
 were that the baits we used were not less than seven 
 or eight inches in length, that the eels would attack 
 them in broad daylight and also in mid-water, and, 
 further, that this cannot have been for lack of food 
 because the pond, as I have said, was plentifully 
 stocked with roach. All this proves conclusively, 
 to my thinking, what a ravening creature the eel 
 is. I am not at all surprised that the eels of New 
 
6 TROUT FISHING 
 
 Zealand, which grow to a weight of thirty pounds or 
 so, have the reputation of being dangerous to human 
 beings, seizing them by the foot as they swim, 
 drowning them, and, later, devouring them piece- 
 meal. 
 
 The trouble with the eel, so far as trout preserva- 
 tion is concerned, is that you may never know he is 
 there at all. A friend of mine stocked a pool with 
 yearling rainbows. They disappeared, and the 
 misfortune was not unnaturally attributed to the 
 habit of the race, which is to disappear. But it 
 seemed odd that they should have answered to the 
 call of the blood so young as a rule they tolerate 
 existence in an inclosed water till they have attained 
 their fourth year. And, doubtless, they would have 
 done so in this case also, but when the water was 
 drained off on the chance of another solution, a 
 colony of three-pound eels was discovered, and it 
 was evident where the little rainbows had gone to. 
 In a river or a big lake the presence of eels may not 
 be so much of a danger, but it is obvious that a 
 small pool may be quite unfit habitation for trout 
 until steps have been taken to eradicate the eels. 
 How this is to be done depends on circumstances. 
 If the water can be run off easily the eels can be 
 got out wholesale. If not, night-lines and eel 
 traps may gradually thin their numbers. Of course, 
 the draining of the pond would be best, because it 
 
EARLY DAYS 7 
 
 would serve a double purpose. The eels would 
 be abolished and, if the bed of the pool were left 
 dry for a few months, a plentiful crop of weeds 
 would spring up, and the trout when introduced 
 would start their career with splendid feeding 
 grounds. 
 
 How are you to find out if there are eels in a 
 pond ? Obviously by setting half a dozen night-lines 
 every evening for a week in July or August. Bait 
 them with lobworm, and if there is no sign of a bite 
 and no eel on a hook at the end of the week you may 
 pretty safely conclude that there are no eels in the 
 water. It is not only eels that may escape notice 
 in a pool. I once caught eight pike in a day, and 
 ran a good many others, on a small lake in which, as 
 every one supposed, there were only perch and roach 
 of no great size. On another day I got about a 
 dozen eels there. Of course, the water had hardly 
 ever been fished, or the pike, at any rate, would 
 soon have been noticed, being rather visible objects 
 when basking in hot weather or when on the feed 
 in cold. 
 
 It does not follow that when you have abolished 
 your eels you will have abated the nuisance for ever. 
 Probably others will appear when the pond is filled 
 up again. Elvers can creep in anywhere, and if 
 that be not enough, I have no doubt that mature 
 eels can and will travel overland on dewy or moist 
 
8 TROUT FISHING 
 
 nights. There is no accounting for the presence 
 of eels in some places unless this ability of land- 
 voyaging be conceded. But even if the creatures 
 do get back in time the trout will at any rate have 
 had a fair start, and a chance of making -enough 
 growth to be secure from attack. I fancy that eels 
 in ponds do not gain weight so rapidly as trout, and 
 a three-pounder has probably been in his pond for 
 a considerable time. But it is risky to give opinions 
 about eels. Their life-history is even less intelligible 
 than that of the salmon, of which it is the diametrical 
 opposite in the matter of migrations and breeding. 
 Old big eels in fresh water are said to be barren, but 
 that is not, to me, a very satisfactory solution of 
 their long sojourn in fresh water. When you come 
 to think of it, it is hard to support a charge of 
 barrenness against any fish at all. Habit of inter- 
 mittent or deferred breeding, perhaps, but barren- 
 ness ? The word is too lightly employed. I almost 
 doubt if it is in Nature's dictionary, unless man's 
 civilisation and man's fool-tricks have added it in 
 the supplement of improvements. 
 
 Of late the eel has received much attention as a 
 useful item in the national food-supply. I do not 
 question his merits, even in opposition to some other 
 fresh-water fish roach, for instance. But if it 
 comes to weighing his importance against that of 
 trout it is obvious that he is the less valuable fish. 
 
EARLY DAYS 9 
 
 As a result of war there is a tendency now to calcu- 
 late things in terms of market-supply, and there, it 
 may be, eels make a braver show than trout. But 
 the sporting factor counts for a great deal and, I 
 hope, always will. There the trout has the advan- 
 tage. After all there is plenty of room in this 
 country for developing the eel-fisheries very greatly 
 without interfering with trout, so there is not likely 
 to be any danger of a conflict of interests. But 
 enough of eels. 
 
 One of the bravest days that ever I had was on 
 the same brook near the Severn Sea. Another 
 boy and two landing nets formed my assistants, the 
 other boy really being the prime mover. Oddly 
 enough, I have forgotten both his name and face, 
 which is ungrateful of me, for he was a handy fellow 
 with a net in a brook, and I believe he let me take 
 all the trout a dozen there must have been home 
 with me. I remember the fishing much more 
 vividly than anything else, how we prodded under 
 tree roots and sloping banks, and how ejected trout 
 came with a thud into the waiting net. I remember, 
 also, a little fall near the farm which we drew blank, 
 and were much surprised thereat, until we discovered 
 a sort of secret drawer at the back of the foam. 
 Thence came the biggest trout of the day. I have 
 always considered him a pound and a half. He 
 bulked large among the others. 
 
10 TROUT FISHING 
 
 I remember that day also, because some years 
 later I sat down to immortalise it in what I con- 
 sidered prose, and because to my intense pride the 
 
 result was actually published by , but I will not 
 
 give the journal away for doing a kindness to me. 
 I am sure the article must have been full of " spotted 
 beauties," and " finny denizens," and " old Sol," and 
 things of that kind. It should have joined my 
 other early efforts in the waste-paper basket or the 
 fire. But, under Providence, I believe it set me on 
 the business of writing instead of some useful 
 occupation, such as studying torts and turbary, 
 whereby men rise to affluence and office. 
 
 I believe, also, that the day which it purported 
 to describe made me for ever a lover of small streams 
 rather than big ones, of odd corners rather than the 
 open river. I love to find a trout cruising about 
 with his nose just outside the scum at a hatch, I 
 glory in a fish which lies with his head pointed the 
 wrong way by reason of some back- wash, and if it 
 is at any time possible to pursue a by-stream instead 
 of the main river I pursue it. There is the additional 
 reason that I think the fish are easier to catch, and 
 sometimes rather bigger, in the carriers, but there is 
 a genuine affection for insignificance which moves 
 me too. 
 
 Nearly forty years of angling give a man a host of 
 memories, and I remember many tiny streams in 
 
EARLY DAYS 11 
 
 the landscape of the past, all fascinating in their 
 way, and some of them curious. There was one 
 which meandered into the sea in a Pembrokeshire 
 bay, tolerably well known now, but in those days a 
 long way from railways and the general public. I 
 do not remember ever catching a fish out of that 
 stream. 
 
 It ran at any rate, all of it which I explored 
 sinuously through the marshy flats and its banks 
 quaked like anything. Even the most cautious 
 approach to the water seemed to spread a panic 
 among its inhabitants, and I could see their vanish- 
 ing forms just leaving every corner when I got to it. 
 The tragedy of it was that they were much longer 
 than the forms which used occasionally to vanish 
 before me in the proper river a mile away. Doubtless 
 they were not very big fish, but very likely they 
 may have averaged a quarter of a pound, which is 
 considerable for that part of the world. Just 
 often enough to keep my determination alive I got 
 the pull of one, usually by dibbling a worm over the 
 bank before I approached it, a proceeding calling 
 for self-restraint. The pull would be full of vigour 
 and impressive, but it never came to anything. 
 I was a trout fisher then of the fortiter in re 
 type, which scores no great successes in circum- 
 stances where subtlety is required. Besides, the 
 excitement of a bite after long disappointment 
 
12 TROUT FISHING 
 
 no doubt made me previous as well as violent in 
 striking. 
 
 It is curious how places and events are associated 
 in one's mind with odd scraps of irrelevance. When 
 I was fishing that stream I was also every morning 
 engaged in the business of constructing Latin verses 
 under the eye of my dear old grandfather, whose 
 chief ambition it was, so far as I was concerned, to 
 make a scholar of me. 
 
 " Carpite dum liceat vos nymphae serta rosarum," 
 
 Never while I live shall I forget that rendering 
 of Herrick's " Gather ye rosebuds while ye may." 
 I think it must have been my rendering after it had 
 been " castigated," but I am not sure. It may have 
 been a model line out of Arundines Cami, or one of 
 the other authorities, in which case I ought not to 
 speak of it with disrespect. But the useful little 
 word " vos " coming in so pat to ease the scansion 
 reminds me of my own Latin verse policy, which 
 followed lines of least resistance, especially when I 
 thought of the trout in the stream with rush-grown, 
 quaking banks. " Old Time is still a-flying." I 
 am afraid I used cordially to endorse that statement 
 many a morning in those lodgings by the sea. Time 
 was flying, I thought, and though I was no amateur 
 of roses I badly wanted to be gathering trout, which 
 came to much the same thing in point of philosophy. 
 
EARLY DAYS 13 
 
 Boyhood has no prescience. What would I not 
 give now for a morning's verse-making with the dear 
 old gentleman, or even which used to be perhaps, 
 and would now be certainly, more terrifying an 
 hour or two of wrestling with the obscure and tedious 
 narrative of Thucydides ! 
 
 But in the afternoon, the tasks all done, I would 
 certainly make my way to that strange streamlet 
 and endeavour to prove that the years which have 
 robbed me of almost every particle of Greek have 
 done something to improve my fishing. I think 
 I know how to catch those trout now. It is a slow 
 business, but it can be done. The angler has to 
 grow into the landscape like a post or a willow tree. 
 After a time the fish get accustomed to him and 
 return to their places. Then he delivers his orange 
 partridge or his blue upright with an underhand 
 cast, and lo, the legend of their being uncatchable 
 is disproved. 
 
 It is easy, you may say, to theorise when one is 
 safe removed from an emergency by many years 
 and much country. And so it is. But it is not all 
 theory. I have proved this waiting game often 
 enough, and in all kinds of water. The shallows 
 of a tiny brook, the sluggish reach with quaking 
 banks, the dead unruffled flat such places are often, 
 a scene of tumult on an angler's approach, and long 
 ere he can extend enough line to cover them. His 
 
14 TROUT FISHING 
 
 policy in each case is to select a point of vantage and 
 wait there till the trouble is over. It wastes time 
 no doubt if he is for filling the creel, and he might 
 do better in point of numbers if he sought easier 
 places. There is, however, a great satisfaction in 
 solving a problem. 
 
 I have often chuckled at the theologian who, 
 meeting a difficulty, looked it boldly in the face 
 and passed on, but I can seldom emulate him in 
 trout fishing. I always have to prove that the 
 difficulty is my master before I can pass on. Some- 
 times, of course, there is a happier issue to the 
 contest. There was once a singularly perfect cast 
 which I made on the Windrush in Mayfly time. A 
 good trout was rising in a fiendish place, between 
 two willows which both drooped into the water, and 
 under a low bough. My fly evaded the willows, shot 
 under the bough, and floated beautifully over the 
 desired spot, the amount of slack line required 
 having been calculated to a nicety. " Ah," said my 
 friend and host, " if only that had happened ten 
 casts ago ! " There had been previous attempts, I 
 must own, and perhaps even a little splashing. The 
 trout, for all I know, is still in the same holt. 
 
 Of another tiny stream I have also an oddly 
 detached memory which is associated with a regret. 
 It, too, was on the coast, running into the sea within 
 view of the Isle of Wight. I had fished it for a 
 
EARLY DAYS 15 
 
 fortnight on and off during tropical weather and had 
 had remarkable sport considering everything one 
 of the things to be considered being that it was 
 apparently a discovery on my part that it held 
 trout at all. The particular memory, however, is 
 not so much of the fishing as of a notable thunder- 
 storm which raged the whole of one night. We were 
 awake for hours watching the lightning as it played 
 about the Needles, a wonderful sight. It was not, 
 however, this impressive display alone that kept me 
 awake, it was the thought of the fishing which would 
 follow such welcome rain. I made sure of a day 
 which would beat all my previous records and which 
 would prove my theory correct that a brook but a 
 yard wide may contain pounders and better if you 
 put it to the proof. Alas, I never did put it to the 
 proof for unexpected events made it necessary for 
 me to depart on the day after the storm. I think 
 I had touched fourteen ounces, however, which was 
 something. 
 
 I have another odd memory of the same stream. 
 One day as I was following it up, fly-rod in hand, I 
 came on another youth of somewhere near my own 
 age who was engaged in a queer form of fishing. He 
 was apparently employing expensive gut casts as 
 set-lines, and seemed to have adorned each with 
 fragments of cork. He had no rod, and I came to 
 the conclusion that he was the sort of individual who 
 
16 TROUT FISHING 
 
 would be a poacher if he knew how, but who, 
 fortunately, did not know and would have some 
 difficulty in learning. I scorned him silently and 
 passed on. Oddly enough, some years later, I 
 traced this amateur poacher in a valued friend of 
 later date, and found that he retained a memory of 
 an offensive person with a fishing-rod who had once 
 passed him on the side of that little stream. A 
 casual naming of the locality made the incident leap 
 to both our minds. My friend certainly is no fisher- 
 man, so my early instinct had been correct. But 
 it was a good thing that I did not give expression to 
 it, for he has ever been a singularly capable boxer, 
 and my first introduction to him might have been 
 less propitious than it was. 
 
 One learns something new from every fresh water 
 one visits if Fate is at all amiable. I remember 
 one lesson which that streamlet taught me, I think 
 for the first time, the lesson that sometimes one 
 must depend entirely on the sense of touch for 
 notice of a rise. There was a deep run under a 
 high bank (of course, to bring the water " to scale " 
 I ought to insist on inches rather than feet), and it 
 turned a sharp corner at the bottom end. Two or 
 three times I had spoilt my chances there by trying 
 to see over the bank as I fished, to the great con- 
 sternation of the half-pounder which I yearned to 
 catch. At last I decided that I must cast round 
 
EARLY DAYS 17 
 
 the corner upstream at a venture and trust to luck 
 for the issue. This plan succeeded. I do not 
 know how I became aware that something was 
 withholding my black gnat from me, but I did be- 
 come aware of it, the rod went up, and the half- 
 pounder in due course was mine. After more than 
 twenty years that fish still gives me a thrill of 
 satisfaction. 
 
 In those days I had not yet come to the dry fly 
 so the black gnat was fished wet, but since then I 
 have occasionally had a similar experience with a 
 floating fly. It is, however, much harder to detect 
 a rise round a corner in dry-fly fishing unless you can 
 hear it or catch sight of the advance party of the 
 betraying rings. I do not pin much hope on a 
 round-the-corner attack as a rule. With the wet 
 fly there is more chance. The line is, or should be, 
 fairly taut from the rod-point, which is raised as the 
 fly comes downstream, and when a fish takes the 
 fact may be notified by a check to the line, or 
 possibly by a definite sensation of stoppage which is 
 perceptible to the hand. A very slight thing ought 
 to be perceptible if an angler is on the alert, and 
 though he possibly could not express it more exactly 
 than by saying that " something is different some- 
 how," it has enough effect to make him strike, which 
 is all that is wanted. The sense of touch is much 
 more delicate than most people suppose, and it 
 
18 TROUT FISHING 
 
 may even be possible that a small vibration is set 
 up from the fish to the hand, enough to give warning 
 of a rise without the need for anything so definite 
 as a pull. Often one knows, just too late, that a 
 trout has been at one's fly though one has never 
 seen or definitely " felt " the attack. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 SOME TINY WATERS 
 
 IT would take me several volumes to record at 
 all adequately my gratitude to the lesser streams 
 which have given me delightful days in various parts 
 of the country. Some of them have wandered 
 slowly through the heavy land of the Midlands, and 
 their trout have been few and far between, but all 
 the more prized for that. When the worm for I 
 take no shame in owning to the worm for some of 
 these brooks has been cannily dropped through 
 the opening between the thorn branches, has trickled 
 down the narrow neck into the little round pool, 
 and then come to rest, there is a time of anxious 
 expectation before you decide that the pool is tenant- 
 less, and that you had better go on to the next likely 
 spot. Or you may have the good fortune of an 
 almost immediate bite, which takes the form of a 
 preliminary twitch, another, and then of a steady 
 pull, which makes the line cut the water as the fish 
 moves off with the bait, probably taking it back to 
 the retreat whence he emerged. If you strike when 
 he is fairly on the run with it you ought to have him, 
 
 19 
 
20 TROUT FISHING 
 
 especially if you are using Stewart or Pennell tackle, 
 though I must own that, as a rule, I have found two 
 hooks somewhat too many for these brooks, which 
 are apt to contain far more snags than trout. 
 
 They sometimes contain other things, too. The 
 very last time, I think, that I fished such a stream 
 it was not long before the war began my day's 
 fishing yielded one small dace, a ridiculous eel, and 
 a fat minnow. The last was the result of much 
 patient work in a very promising pool under a willow. 
 I was induced to persevere by occasional twitches 
 at the rod-point, which suggested a trout of vacillat- 
 ing disposition I have known plenty of fish like 
 that in free and unpreserved waters but in the 
 end the minnow somehow got attached to the hook, 
 though it was rather a large one. After that of 
 course I fished with him, but it was of no avail. 
 But for a momentary glimpse of a three-quarter- 
 pounder, which fled from a shallow corner at 
 my approach, I had no experience of trout that 
 day. 
 
 Yet it was by no means a day wasted. I counted, 
 as I fled from, at least a dozen wasps' nests. I had 
 a leisured lunch in the sun on a comfortable sheep- 
 bridge, and all the time I gloried in the minuteness 
 of the stream. It was no more than six feet wide 
 anywhere, and it made me a boy again for the time 
 being. As I came to each pool in turn I had the 
 
SOME TINY WATERS 21 
 
 old thrill of excitement. " There must be a trout 
 here. If I can only dodge that bramble and get 
 the worm under the root. . . ." The mental 
 process will be the same if one lives to be a hundred 
 and is still capable of angling then. 
 
 I have, of course, often wished that these odd 
 neglected little brooks had been rather better sup- 
 plied with fish, and yet I am not sure that their very 
 poverty is not part of their attraction. If one could 
 be sure of pulling a half-pounder out of every pool 
 the pursuit would, perhaps, lose some of its zest. 
 But when thirty pools yield no more than three 
 bites or other signs of fish, a trout becomes an event. 
 " I got two trout from the brook on Tuesday," you 
 will say in a tone of studious modesty, and the other 
 fellow will return a " Did you, though ? " which is 
 more than a little gratifying. 
 
 This is not the best conceivable state of such a 
 brook, of course, and if I had the opportunity of 
 dealing with one freely I should make an earnest 
 endeavour to improve it and make it into a fly- water 
 of an amusing, if insignificant, kind. Very much 
 could be done in this way by introducing suitable 
 weeds a property in which many such streams are 
 lacking cutting bushes and boughs, though not 
 too lavishly, and clearing the pools of some of their 
 rushes and other useless encumbrances. Here and 
 there small dams would be useful, here and there a 
 
22 TROUT FISHING 
 
 few minutes with a spade would improve the tiny 
 shallows; here and there it would be a good thing 
 to remove some mud. When one had worked faith- 
 fully for a week or two it would pay to introduce 
 some more trout, yearlings if one had patience to 
 await their growth. And in the end, with a small 
 rod and, say, a ten-inch limit, one might have very 
 pretty sport and occasionally capture a fish of 
 good size. On the brooklet where my chief capture 
 was the minnow some one once had a four-pounder, 
 and several have been taken over two pounds. The 
 stream is certainly one of the smallest which optim- 
 ism could associate with trout at all. 
 
 I do not know how many small trout streams of 
 this kind there are in the flatter portion of England, 
 but I think they must be quite numerous, a large 
 proportion of them being hardly realised. Travel 
 out of London in any direction, and you will see 
 frequent lines of willows which mark the course 
 of some streamlet of the same type. It may, of 
 course, be polluted and useless, or it may be too 
 nearly allied to some coarse-fish river to give the 
 nobler species a chance. But in, I believe, the 
 majority of cases every such brook is potentially 
 a trout stream and capable of giving sport of a kind 
 not to be despised. For the moment, of course, 
 I speak of districts away from the chalk. In the 
 chalk districts the trout-bearing possibilities of 
 
SOME TINY WATERS 23 
 
 every rill are well enough understood. The spark- 
 ling water is in itself a proof of them. 
 
 But the brooks of the clay and other less promising 
 localities look more like the sluggish rivers which 
 they ultimately join, and suggest bream and eels. 
 Unless, therefore, a man has by some chance dis- 
 covered that they may hold trout, it would not 
 occur to him to study them with that object. They 
 are bound to be found out and developed in time, 
 since the demand for trout fishing in accessible 
 places is much greater than the present supply, 
 and the man who once tries it will probably find 
 that the sport provided by such streamlets has 
 features of its own which are not to be matched in 
 any other kind of water. The very difficulties of 
 fishing, which are often immense because the water 
 is nearly always much bushed in places, are an 
 attraction. Possibly the survival of the trout at all 
 in a brook of the kind is due to this growth on the 
 banks. It is worth remembering that herons are 
 rather shy of the much-bushed parts of little streams. 
 Herons can play the mischief with trout which have 
 no protection. From the fishing point of view I 
 would always have a brook pretty difficult. " Plenty 
 of fish, but very hard to catch " is, it seems to 
 me, a very good character for a small stream to 
 have. 
 
 The description of a day on another brook, slightly 
 
24 TROUT FISHING 
 
 bigger than that which yielded me a minnow, a 
 dace, and an eel, and much better furnished with 
 trout, may be worth giving, since it illustrates some 
 of the difficulties which attend the brook-fisher. 
 
 " Difficulties," I said to myself airily, " add to 
 the fascination of angling. This stream was quite 
 beyond me last time, but now I'm prepared for it 
 and know what to expect." Last time had been 
 five years before and a rod of ten feet three inches 
 had been greatly prejudicial to success. For the 
 brook winds along like a very sinuous serpent 
 between lofty banks on top of which is an almost 
 unbroken succession of trees and bushes. It presents 
 a delightful little pool at every corner with a pretty 
 little ripple running into every pool, but all my efforts 
 had failed to get a trout out of it ; though several 
 had come at a cochybonddu, when I managed to 
 get it onto the water after many struggles, all had 
 kicked themselves off before I had made up my 
 mind how to get them out. I came home " clean," 
 and with a great respect for the accomplished angler 
 who, as I had been told, always managed to get a 
 dish whenever he visited the place. I had noted his 
 traces here and there in the clearing that had been 
 done. It was enough to make some of the pools 
 approachable for a very clever fisherman with a very 
 little rod, but it was of no use to a bungler with 
 more than ten feet of split cane in his hand. 
 
SOME TINY WATERS 25 
 
 At my second visit I was more suitably armed so 
 far as the rod went, a little gem of seven feet which 
 was really the result of that earlier experience. 
 Though I had not had to fish such a stream since, 
 I had determined not to be found unprepared in the 
 event of such an opportunity coming my way. 
 And meanwhile, on more open though equally small 
 waters, I had tested the tiny rod's qualities and found 
 them most satisfactory. So, if the rod could do it, 
 the stream was going to learn who was master. 
 There was about three-quarters of a mile of water 
 at my disposal (so curly that a straight line from 
 top to bottom would be but 600 yards or so) and 
 I determined to get in at the bottom and fish up- 
 stream wet or dry as circumstances might suggest. 
 Here and there it might be too deep to wade, in 
 which case I could clamber out and start again 
 above. 
 
 I began " as per programme," having solved the 
 problem of reaching the water at the boundary by 
 tobogganing involuntarily down the high bank and 
 entering the stream with a splash and a severe shock 
 to my system. While I was recovering from the 
 resultant palpitations I was startled by the sound 
 of some great animal rushing down upon me. " The 
 bull," I ejaculated in horror and surprise. For 
 I had, as I thought, located that animal two meadows 
 away, and had very carefully left him undisturbed. 
 
26 TROUT FISHING 
 
 The gates were open but I had hoped he would stay 
 where he was. So far as I know he was staying 
 there. It was not the bull, but merely the bank, 
 which had caught the infection from my example 
 and was tobogganing on its own account. 
 
 I then felt a nervous desire to imagine the sort 
 of story Mr. Algernon Blackwood or Mr. Hope 
 Hodgson might make out of the incident. There 
 is a pool on a salmon river of my acquaintance which 
 is called " Sliding Braes," and it occurred to me 
 that a peculiarly frightful ghost story might be hung 
 onto such a name. Imagine the angler, in the 
 gathering dusk, pursued by a bank ! " And then, 
 in that extraordinary hush, which I can only describe 
 as a vortex of silence in which I was the helpless 
 centre, I knew that something was going to happen 
 Looking up from where I was, waist-deep, I saw 
 as it were an undulation, an expanding and con- 
 tracting of the solid clay that frowned down upon 
 me. Frowned that is the word. It was literally 
 a frown. If you can imagine eyebrows twenty 
 yards long ! What happened afterwards I shall 
 never clearly remember. That portentous face 
 seemed to grow upwards and outwards. It bulged 
 at me as you may have seen the face of Aeolus 
 bulging in old prints. Great swollen cheeks ! And 
 then came the sliding down. The great slab 
 lips . . ." 
 
SOME TINY WATERS 27 
 
 However, I am not telling the story of Sliding 
 Braes, if there is one, and I had better get on to 
 what I am telling. The first pool, one of the best 
 on the water as I had been told, was too much 
 shaken up by the violent approach of me and the 
 bank, so I made as if to wade through it, so that 
 I might approach the next. But it was just too 
 deep, and I had to clamber out again at once, no 
 light job. I began to realise that the atmosphere 
 was oppressive and thundery, when I found the 
 net clinging to a briar and the rod entangled in a 
 low-hanging oak bough. Eventually, however, I 
 was up and out and able to descend, a second time, 
 above the pool. Then I began my fishing. 
 
 The manner of the fishing was this. Crouching 
 as low as possible I got into position for the glide 
 at the tail of a pool in which instinct assured me 
 there would be a half-pounder waiting all ready 
 for the cochybonddu. It might be a matter of 
 four yards away. So far arrived I began to lengthen 
 line for the cast. When line was about half length- 
 ened there was a hitch. The cochybonddu had 
 come to rest overhead. At that moment I saw my 
 half-pounder. He was proceeding upstream, to 
 vanish beneath a root under the left bank. Drawing 
 myself up to full height (as they do in the novels, 
 but seldom, I warrant them, with such relief to 
 the smalls of their backs) I caught hold of the line 
 
28 TROUT FISHING 
 
 and tugged, first gently, then with more determina- 
 tion. Later I looked out a fresh cast and a clean 
 cochybonddu. After these delays I came to the 
 ripple at the head of the pool, got a fly onto it 
 at the twelfth attempt and was rewarded by the 
 sort of " wink under water " that recalls the 
 proverb Ars longa trutta brevis, which means, 
 the longer you take to cover a fish the shorter he 
 rises. 
 
 The next pool was round a corner. I prospected 
 with one eye (no more) and had the pleasure of 
 seeing scurrying forms. Nothing more happened 
 there, for it was only a small pool and they scurried 
 all over it. Above was a short stickle and then 
 deep dark water on which I could see beautiful 
 spreading rings often repeated. I could hear the 
 " plopping " of a really noble trout. Nothing 
 under a pound makes all that noise. But these 
 manifestations were happening in the middle of a 
 bush. Not only could a fly not be got into it; 
 it even stopped the onward progress of a by now 
 infuriated angler who had to clamber out of the 
 ravine once more. 
 
 How often I got in and out during the next quarter 
 mile I do not know. It was very often. Now 
 and then a pool was too deep to be passed, now and 
 then it was choked with boskage, now and then a 
 fallen tree lay all across it. One thing had become 
 
SOME TINY WATERS 29 
 
 disconcertingly plain. The clever angler had done 
 no clearing this long while. The stream had been 
 difficult enough five years before. Now it was appal- 
 ling. I shudder to think what it cost me in cochy- 
 bonddus. Occasionally I got the feeblest kind 
 of offer from some fish whose isolated position pre- 
 vented him from knowing about the panic which 
 possessed all the others. But the sort of rise he 
 made proved that there was suspicion in the air. 
 The whole business was of course aggravated by 
 the impossibility of casting what you could call a 
 line. The trees and bushes were so thick and mostly 
 hung so near the water that the only method by 
 which a fly could be got out was by " catapulting " 
 it. And that can only be done with quite a short 
 line. I had one consolation such as it was. The 
 periodical thunder showers that enlivened the earlier 
 hours came at me viciously but quite in vain. Not 
 theirs the power to penetrate the jungle in which I 
 crept. 
 
 It would be about 3 p.m. that I decided that I was 
 beaten and climbed heavily out to the upper air. I 
 would have no more of that sub-silvestrian foolish- 
 ness. I would go home and say that there was 
 thunder in the air, on which account the fish were 
 out of humour. As I went I would look into such 
 pools as were approachable and see what might be 
 seen. I approached the first and gazed boldly 
 
30 TROUT FISHING 
 
 down into it. There was a trout immediately below 
 me, and we were apparently looking at each other. 
 Sardonically I plumped the cochybonddu down onto 
 his nose. He took it. I pulled him out of two 
 bushes and a hole and swung him up the precipice 
 into the meadow. He was quite half a pound. 
 This occurred again a little higher up, and I had 
 a brace. Presently I had two brace. And then 
 I sat down on a knoll overlooking a half-moon shaped 
 pool two yards and a half wide and five or six yards 
 long. Comfortably and leisurely I dibbled three 
 more here. And from a pool just below it I got 
 a beautiful pounder. I should mention that I 
 happened to have a worm with me, and I may as 
 well confess that there was another worm as well 
 and that another fish fancied it. But all the others 
 were caught on the artificial fly, if it can still be so 
 called in spite of the manner of its presentation. 
 If it had not been for tea time I am confident that 
 I should have got the catch up to double figures. 
 There may have been a third worm in the tin. Also 
 I had found myself the brook's master in spite of 
 everything. 
 
 But how or why it happened like that I cannot 
 explain. I had another day there afterwards, 
 pursued the same bold policy of the successful 
 afternoon, and terrified the trout into non-existence. 
 Just one fish rewarded me and for him I crept and 
 
SOME TINY WATERS 31 
 
 crawled most abjectly. It is a very queer little 
 brook indeed. 
 
 Mostly, as I have hinted, I have found the worm 
 the best and easiest bait for the brooks. The arti- 
 ficial fly may be of service in places, but it is much 
 more limited by the geography of the stream. Pro- 
 bably, if you stick rigidly to the fly, you will have 
 to leave a good half of the water untouched, since 
 you simply cannot get a fly to it. A worm, however, 
 can be insinuated into almost any nook, and, if 
 not, it can be swum downstream with the aid of 
 a small float. Other methods of getting at the 
 fish are dapping with a bluebottle, grasshopper, 
 or other handy insect, and drop-minnow fishing. 
 Both are more artistic than worm fishing, but 
 dapping may be a slow business if the trout are 
 scarce. The drop-minnow is perhaps the best 
 thing of all for brook fishing if you can get the baits. 
 I prefer the old-fashioned hook for it in such waters, 
 a No. 6 or No. 7 with a leaded shank. You can 
 make an efficient hook yourself easily with a little 
 lead wire. The hook link is threaded through the 
 minnow from mouth to tail, the lead lies in the 
 gullet, and the hook point projects from the mouth. 
 You can strike with this hook quite as quickly 
 as you do with a worm, and there is no great danger 
 of a small fish gorging the bait. For more open 
 waters, however, I rather prefer a drop-minnow 
 
32 TROUT FISHING 
 
 tackle which has a triangle somewhere outside the 
 bait; there are several good patterns on the 
 market. 
 
 Very different from these south-country stream- 
 lets are their cousins of the north and west, the 
 threads of moisture that make their way down from 
 the moors to join some rapid mountain stream. 
 It is marvellous how some of these burns manage 
 to support a head of trout at all. When they are dry 
 they are very, very dry ; what little water remains 
 in the depressions, which by courtesy one calls 
 pools, seems almost too stale, as well as too shallow, 
 to keep anything with gills alive; one realises the 
 value of water weeds by seeing what happens to a 
 little burn, where there are none, after a drought. 
 Weeds must be almost as important to oxygenate 
 water as movement and exposure to the air. But 
 these burns have no weeds, and they get very stale, 
 indeed, so stale that I think their trout must forsake 
 them and wander away into the heather. At any 
 rate, if you follow the stream up in low water I 
 will defy you to see anything over the status 
 of a fingerling, a little-fingerling, if I may so 
 put it. 
 
 But when the hills have been lost in grey wool 
 for half a day, when the thunder has crashed about 
 the rocks, and the good rain has poured as if it 
 knew its duty, then the trout all come back again 
 
SOME TINY WATERS 33 
 
 out of the heather and lie at every corner, behind 
 every stone, assimilating worms as fast as jaws can 
 work and stomachs digest. Set out while the water 
 is still porter-coloured and you will seldom find 
 it more definitely tinged at these altitudes, where 
 there are no road- washings and ply your worm- 
 tackle, and you will find that the neighbouring 
 heather must have been alive with fish, some of 
 them brave fellows of five and six ounces. I 
 do not remember ever getting a veritable half- 
 pounder in one of these mountain burns, but I have 
 had fish not far off that weight, and sometimes two 
 or three in a day to help out the average. 
 
 Now and again I have had very pretty fly-fishing 
 in one of these tiny streams, generally after two 
 or three wet days, when there is a good volume of 
 clear water coming down, but occasionally, too, 
 when the effect of a spate has almost passed off. 
 Once, I remember, when the Penydwddwr was in 
 thick red flood, having come down upon us rather 
 suddenly, I was caught unawares. It was much 
 too thick for the fly, and I had neither minnows 
 nor worms. Also, I had a very wet jacket and was 
 generally feeling morose, especially as I knew that 
 Caradoc and the rest of the party, who always go 
 prepared, must be having inglorious but solid 
 sport in the eddies lower downstream. So when 
 I came to the Forsaken Burn, and the sun came 
 
34 TROUT FISHING 
 
 out, I hung my coat to dry on a bush and 
 meditated. 
 
 The Forsaken Burn, which comes out of the west, 
 was an odd contrast to the turbid Penydwddwr, 
 being at its lowest. It looked lifeless and its pools 
 were in parts positively bescummed as a result of 
 the dry weather. Evidently the storm had been 
 very local, and the western hills had known nothing 
 of it. By way of doing something while my coat 
 dried in the sun and wind, I made a cast into the 
 nearest pool, and, to my surprise, immediately rose 
 a good trout, which gave a run, a jump, and was off. 
 After that I fished carefully upstream for some little 
 distance, and in each pool had a very similar experi- 
 ence. Altogether I must have spent an hour on the 
 stream, and hooked quite a dozen trout of decent 
 size. But I did not land one. It was a curious, 
 though unsatisfying, adventure, and I returned to 
 my coat in a worse temper than ever. But the day 
 turned out not so badly after all. I put on the 
 biggest and darkest flies I had, a zulu and a cochy- 
 bonddu on No. 5 or No. 6 hooks, and started to 
 fish my way homewards. And at once I discovered 
 that the Penydwddwr was not too thick, after all. 
 The trout simply raced after the flies, and I made 
 a good basket of twenty-two in a comparatively 
 short time, besides losing a good many, which were, 
 of course, the biggest. 
 
SOME TINY WATERS 35 
 
 But the Penydwddwr, though no Amazon, is 
 too wide a water for this chapter, which should 
 contain nothing across which a young man could not 
 jump pretty often in each quarter of a mile. I 
 should like to include in it some of the extraordinary 
 little streams which I have seen in the New Forest, 
 and which, I am told, contain trout. They are 
 very curious trickles, and should provide some 
 difficult and tangled fishing, but I have never been 
 in the way of trying one. Worthy of separate classi- 
 fication, perhaps, are the mill-leats, which are often 
 to be found beside the wet-fly streams of Devonshire, 
 Wales, and other districts. Many anglers pass these 
 places by with scorn. Nor will I seek to dissuade 
 them, for there is not much room on a mill-leat for 
 more than one rod, and there is no reason why it 
 should be bruited abroad that the fish in it are better 
 than those of the main river, brighter, fatter, and 
 heavier in proportion to their length. Besides, 
 it would be no use telling them that the mill-leat 
 has a bright gravel bed and quite an abundance 
 of food-producing weeds. They look at it, perhaps, 
 and they see that what with its natural narrowness 
 and the drooping grasses at each side, it offers no 
 more than a foot of water on which to place a fly. 
 So they say " Pooh I " 
 
 But what battles I have had with the quarter- 
 pounders and six-ouncers in that foot of water 1 
 
36 TROUT FISHING 
 
 What half-pounders, aye and better, have I not lost ! 
 I live in hopes of some day really doing justice to 
 the possibilities of a mill-leat, and getting at least 
 a dozen fish out of it, averaging three to the pound. 
 It certainly could be done with luck and a steady 
 hand. That is, perhaps, the trouble. As one 
 works the fly downstream upstream fishing in 
 so small a water, which is relatively deep, does 
 not seem to rouse the fish so effectually the trout 
 come at it with a bang, and the hand involuntarily 
 responds with violence, so that the fly is missing 
 afterwards, or, at best, the trout is off after a flounce 
 of surprise The fish should in such a place be 
 allowed to hook themselves, the angler doing no 
 more than hold the rod-point steady when they rise. 
 But it is much easier to preach this doctrine than to 
 practise it, and my progress down the leat has always 
 been a story of catastrophe. Occasionally I have had 
 three or four nice little trout, but what are they to 
 the splendid creatures that I ought to have had ? 
 
 Also to be included in the category of jumpable 
 streams are, I think, the top reaches of some of the 
 chalk streams, and many of the carriers which feed 
 the water-meadows all along their courses. But 
 these are too important to be squeezed in at the 
 end of a chapter, and I have spent so many happy 
 days on them that I owe them a better compliment, 
 which I hope presently to pay. 
 
SOME TINY WATERS 37 
 
 Here, however, I may touch on a topic which to 
 some extent concerns them, as it concerns all the 
 others, the question of a rod for small stream fly 
 fishing. I have found, and, I think, others would 
 find, that the possession of a really small rod adds 
 immensely to the pleasure and interest, and, in 
 many cases, to the comfort, of angling in tiny waters. 
 I began to fish them with a weapon of about nine 
 feet. Then I came down to eight feet six inches. 
 Then, to cope with a Yorkshire beck which ran 
 mostly under an avenue of bushes, I dropped to 
 six feet six inches, getting a short handle made for 
 the two upper joints of a small greenheart. Later, 
 however, I discovered the rod mentioned before in 
 this chapter, a baby split cane seven feet long, which 
 Hardy Brothers had built to a pattern prescribed 
 by that good French sportsman, Prince Pierre 
 D'Arenberg, and which bears his name. I made 
 myself a present of one of these and am now suited, 
 as they say in domestic circles. The rod weighs 
 something infinitesimal, and is small enough for 
 practically all purposes, and yet it will cast a sur- 
 prisingly long line if you need it, as you sometimes 
 do on the smallest stream. Also, it will handle a 
 fish with tact, a point on which I shall have some- 
 thing to say later, but also, if required, with firmness. 
 At this, I suppose, one ought not to be surprised, 
 if Dr. Mottram's theory, set out in his interesting 
 
38 TROUT FISHING 
 
 book, Fly Fishing : New Arts and Mysteries, is 
 correct; viz., that the shorter the rod the more 
 strain you put on the fish. All the same, I am 
 always surprised when a small rod puts up a valiant 
 fight. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 A LITTLE CHALK STREAM 
 
 IT would be hopeless to attempt a celebration of 
 all the carriers and drains which have given me hours 
 of delight on the Itchen, Test, or Kennet, though 
 they come under the category of little streams. 
 Each several one would tempt me on to a lingering 
 description of its features. There are carriers whose 
 every yard almost has some special significance to 
 me, as the scene of the capture, or loss, or sight of 
 some particular fish. It may be noted that a fish 
 which one has only seen may 4ive quite as long in 
 memory as a fish which has actually been caught. 
 
 I could, too, dwell lovingly on memories of the 
 small upper reaches of one or two of the lesser chalk 
 streams, such as the fascinating Gloucestershire 
 Coin round about Ablington, the Lambourn near 
 Boxford, Driffield Beck above Sunderlandwick, or 
 the Dun at Hungerford. They all have delightful 
 characteristics and each would require a volume 
 to do it justice. The art of catching trout in a 
 chalk stream which runs very shallow over a 
 relatively wide bed the upper Coin and the Dun 
 
 39 
 
40 TROUT FISHING 
 
 are of this character might in itself be expounded 
 in a treatise of many pages, though I should not be 
 competent to write it. 
 
 Instead of attempting to set down the catalogue 
 of days which I have at one time or another enjoyed 
 on these small waters, I will give some impressions 
 of a season on a little river which has been less 
 described in print than most of our southern streams 
 of any note, though it should perhaps have received 
 frequent celebration, because it was the stream by 
 which Izaak Walton must have spent many days 
 during the later part of his life. This stream is 
 the Meon, and anglers who are curious to trace 
 Walton's association with it should study the 
 chapter on " Izaak Walton at Droxford," in Canon 
 Vaughan's delightful book The Wild Flowers of 
 Selborne. It gives some information as to the 
 old man's Hampshire life and friends which I have 
 not found elsewhere. 
 
 The Meon must have been a trout stream after 
 his own heart, if it had the same character in his 
 day that it has now. In the part which I know, at 
 any rate, it may be described as a chalk stream in 
 miniature. Lower down it may be more consider- 
 able, but I do not know the reaches near the sea. 
 Near Droxford, which was Walton's abode, it is 
 like the Test writ very small, with all its features 
 clear but tiny. There are intoxicated little ripples, 
 
Droxford, the Haunt 
 of that "Big One" 
 
A LITTLE CHALK STREAM 41 
 
 sober little pools, contrary little eddies, turbulent 
 little hatch-holes, and all the rest of the scenery 
 complete. The weed-beds are circumscribed but 
 vigorous, the accumulations of mud insignificant yet 
 definite, and in places the banks quake like their 
 betters, while a man may subside into little quag- 
 mires just as he would in more important places. 
 Happily he does not subside very far, so he gets a 
 sense of adventure without undue risk or discomfort. 
 
 As the river so the trout. They also are built on 
 a small, though perfect, scale. Their average 
 weight is about ten ounces by that I mean the 
 average weight of trout killed on the fishing 
 which I have specially in mind. In some parts of 
 the stream the average may be a little lower than 
 this, half a pound perhaps. Nowhere, probably, 
 is it very much higher. A pounder is looked upon 
 as an achievement, and the biggest caught by any 
 rod on the water in question during two seasons 
 did not exceed a pound and a quarter. For a chalk 
 stream such weights are small, and there are moun- 
 tain streams which could show almost as good an 
 average in parts of their course, which certainly 
 yield bigger fish occasionally. The Usk in Wales 
 and the Deveron or Don in Scotland would possibly 
 not suffer by comparison with this Hampshire 
 stream. 
 
 Size, however, is not the only criterion of merit, 
 
42 TROUT FISHING 
 
 and smaller trout often have qualities denied to big 
 ones. That is certainly the case with these. If 
 the two-pounders of the Test behaved with their 
 impetuous vigour on feeling the hook, the diaries 
 of Test fishermen would show much less imposing 
 totals. It is on the whole fortunate that big fish 
 in weedy waters are not given to acrobatics; other- 
 wise they would seldom be landed with the little 
 hooks and fine gut that dry-fly fishing makes 
 necessary. It is not the trout that runs far and fast 
 that is dangerous to the tackle, nor is the trout that 
 dives into a weed-bed and stays there necessarily a 
 lost fish ; a gentle coaxing with the hand on the line 
 itself will in most cases persuade him to come out 
 again. 
 
 The really awkward opponent is the trout which 
 goes off at a burst for six or seven yards, turns 
 sharp to the left going slap through a patch of weed, 
 takes another burst straight upstream, turns to the 
 right into more weeds, dashes out on the other side, 
 and finally comes to anchor, having, for greater 
 security, taken two turns with the gut round a 
 convenient rush. This with certain modifications 
 according to circumstances is the customary pro- 
 cedure of the trout here. They are greatly helped 
 by the nature of the stream, since they need never 
 travel far to find some device for giving the angler 
 pain. It follows therefore that their capture, when 
 
A LITTLE CHALK STREAM 43 
 
 they are hooked, is anything but a certainty, which 
 adds of course enormously to the interest of the 
 game. It may be said, in fact, that these small 
 fish are just as hard to land as their heavier brethren 
 in bigger streams, and this is equivalent to a 
 statement that they are entitled to just as much 
 respect. 
 
 If a man wants to make the most of the small fish 
 in streams like this (for it is by no means the only 
 one in the chalk system) he can modify his tackle, 
 or, at any rate, his rod. A miniature rod, such 
 as I have before described, seems designed specially 
 to match those miniature rivers, and its use certainly 
 makes the fishing seem more important. I began 
 the season with a bigger rod, but one day took down 
 the little one in order to fish in a backwater which 
 is so overhung with trees and so beset with bushes 
 that a longer rod would not avail there. I found the 
 toy to answer so well and to handle the fish so 
 cunningly that I afterwards took it to the more 
 open water, and for the rest of the season used nothing 
 else there. These tiny rods rather tend to get you 
 hung-up behind if you attempt a long line, so they 
 necessitate an extra amount of creeping and crawling 
 in the approach of rising fish. As the dry-fly man 
 ought to creep and crawl it is part of the fun that 
 does not matter. A certain advantage is to be 
 found in the delicacy with which such a rod responds 
 
44 TROUT FISHING 
 
 to the movements of the fish ; it may stop him from 
 doing some of the more outrageous things that he 
 has in his head, by making him think that his less 
 elaborate devices are succeeding till he finds, too 
 late, that he has wasted his time and strength on 
 futilities. 
 
 Expert dry-fly men generally counsel the novice to 
 " bustle " his fish, to be as hard on him as the tackle 
 will allow, and to get him to the net as quickly as 
 possible. This is sound enough for some occasions 
 but not for all. Sometimes a trout may be hooked 
 in a place where his escape is an absolute certainty 
 if he chooses to put out his strength and exercise 
 his speed. A little, clear pool with tree-roots or 
 trailing brambles at its sides is such a place. Unless 
 the angler's tackle is strong enough for a sheer 
 pulling match, as it seldom is, his only chance is to 
 play the trout as though the cast was made of cobweb, 
 to yield to his every movement and humour his 
 every whim. It is surprising how often and how 
 quickly that treatment will bring the fish peacefully, 
 and without fuss, to the net. With a small, light 
 rod it is much easier to play a fish in this way than 
 with a long, heavy one. The susceptibility of trout 
 to gentle treatment shows that this violent behaviour 
 is due as much to shock and sudden alarm as to the 
 fact that they have been hooked. If you have 
 struck quietly and kept the lightest strain on after- 
 
A LITTLE CHALK STREAM 45 
 
 wards, the fish seems to be hardly aware of anything 
 wrong. If, however, you have struck hard and 
 begun to pull hard, he becomes a violent opponent 
 at once. 
 
 In one important feature our little chalk stream 
 differs from some of its peers the difference is 
 possibly more noticeable on this part of it than on 
 others and that is in the matter of fly, and the 
 consequent rising of the fish. I should hardly like 
 to say that fly was less plentiful, but it is certainly 
 less concentrated. The time of the rise is not 
 nearly so well defined as on the Itchen, for instance, 
 and it is not often that you could lay your hand on 
 your heart and say, " Why, every trout in the 
 stream is on the feed." On the other hand, it is 
 not often that you could say with gloomy certainty, 
 ic Not a blessed trout is moving anywhere." For 
 nearly always there is something moving, or willing 
 to move, somewhere, and you can get rises at any 
 time of day if you are persistent and alert. You 
 can catch fish, moreover, by speculative casting in 
 likely places, a method which is of doubtful value on 
 the Itchen in most parts that I know. 
 
 This freer habit of the trout is wholly commendable 
 to busy men whose fishing days are few, for it means 
 that less hours are absorbed in mere contemplation. 
 The catch may not be more numerous in the end 
 an Itchen rise is often a busy and crowded time but 
 
46 TROUT FISHING 
 
 it will have been more evenly distributed over the 
 day, and that counts in the balance of enjoyment. 
 
 Why, it may be asked, is there such a difference 
 in the habits of trout in two rivers not many miles 
 apart? Several explanations may be given with 
 some confidence. One is that the little river is 
 rather shallow and rapid, a character which makes 
 for greater alertness in its inhabitants. Another is 
 the fact that its trout are smaller. Half-pounders 
 are everywhere easier to rouse than fish of twice or 
 three times their weight. But most important, I 
 think, is the character of the food-supply. This 
 little stream is certainly richer in " oddments " than 
 a bigger one would be, or at any rate the oddments 
 make a braver show and stimulate more fish. 
 Plenty of beetles, caterpillars, crane flies, ants, and 
 other irregular fare must reach the trout of a big 
 river, but only as a rule those trout which lie close 
 to the banks. In a narrow stream such as this, 
 however, the fish which lie in the middle expect a 
 share in the good things too, and no doubt get it. 
 So the proportion of what may be called casual 
 feeders is greater than in the bigger rivers, and the 
 angler's chances are accordingly more numerous. 
 
 Where all is delightful it is hard to declare a 
 preference for one bit of the stream over another. 
 Looking back on that past season I get a series of 
 precious memories, from the first day when I hurried 
 
A LITTLE CHALK STREAM 47 
 
 down the great field which slopes from the church 
 to the ford (on a very hot day you can bear to the 
 right and have the grateful shade of an avenue of 
 elms for most of the distance), to the last day in 
 September when I hastened uphill along the road 
 from the top of the water, not without misgivings as 
 to the time left for catching the last train. 
 
 Near the ford, which is practically at the middle 
 of the water, is the choicest spot for luncheon that 
 Nature ever devised. Five big trees, chestnut, elm, 
 ash, oak, and beech, there combine to ward off the 
 sun, and then the stream, always in the shade, 
 babbles round three sharp corners with the impetu- 
 ous fuss of a mountain brook. With a brace in the 
 creel, or without it, an angler could never fail in that 
 spot of a divine content. Hard-boiled eggs, a crisp 
 lettuce, bread and butter, and a bottle of amber 
 ale a-cool in the water at his feet what could 
 appetite want better in so " smiling a corner of the 
 world " ? 
 
 And (let me but whisper it) if by lunch time the 
 creel is quite empty, and if a fish or two are urgently 
 required for some kindly purpose, and if last night 
 the evening rise was all sound, sight and fury, 
 signifying nothing, and if but the fisherman knows 
 these if's well enough to dispense with the list. 
 Granting the if's, there is the stream rippling along 
 under the boughs and over the gravel, as it had 
 
48 TROUT FISHING 
 
 been in Devonshire. What more natural than to 
 respond to so obvious an invitation, and to see what 
 a blue upright or GreenwelPs Glory may achieve 
 fished wet downstream? A wrong proceeding, I 
 grant you, yet not without the palliation of difficulty, 
 for the rod must be kept low and the line switched 
 cunningly to avoid the overhanging boughs. And 
 the fly must hang seductively in the eddy behind 
 the ash roots, must move convincingly across the 
 stream, and must be made to tarry here, to hasten 
 there. There is more in the wet-fly business than 
 contemptuous prohibitions would seem to allow, 
 especially in a place like this. And when the 
 tug comes, and a fierce fish is gone away down- 
 stream and round the corner, the angler is prepared, 
 puffing and splashing after, to vow that never did 
 trout hooked on orthodox dry fly make so fast a 
 run or pull so hard. It is surely the not impossible 
 two-pounder at last. 
 
 It is well that two anglers should be on the fishery 
 together, because there is then no difficulty as to 
 which part of the water it were best to visit. For 
 two rods there is an obvious division into an upper 
 beat and a lower. Alone, I sometimes knew fearful 
 indecisions, and if, after much turning of the swift 
 mind this way and that, I went upstream, there 
 would presently come a craving for the lower water. 
 If my feet carried me to the bottom hatch where the 
 
A LITTLE CHALK STREAM 49 
 
 boundary is, my heart would surely fly to the bridge 
 right at the top where, close against the brickwork, 
 would be rising that big one which I could always 
 move and never catch. Positively to get full 
 advantage of a very varied bit of fishing a man needs 
 to be " two gentlemen rolled into one," but capable 
 of unrolling at need. 
 
 If from the luncheon corner one goes up, one 
 comes to the water which is perhaps most typical 
 of a dry-fly stream, and the higher one goes the 
 more tempting does it become. There are two little 
 weirs, three bridges, and several stretches with a 
 steady and smooth current where rises and flies can 
 be easily seen. A good deal of the lower water is 
 too swift and broken for comfort of vision, and 
 frequently one has to guess at the exact position 
 of one's fly. Even keen-sighted and experienced 
 anglers probably have to do this more often than 
 the beginner suspects, but they are never quite 
 happy about it. It leads sometimes to distressing 
 incidents. I shall never forget a vast Test trout 
 which on a very windy day took my fly four several 
 times. My eyes on each occasion were earnestly 
 fixed on a natural fly which floated hard by the 
 artificial, and on each occasion I found out the 
 mistake just too late. A brisk ripple on the water 
 made spotting the right fly a matter of sheer 
 luck. 
 
 E 
 
50 TROUT FISHING 
 
 There are several very difficult bits on this upper 
 water. In two or three places a willow leans across 
 the stream, and under each is a deep hole with an 
 eddy behind the trunk. Practically the trout in 
 these strongholds are not to be caught. Occasionally 
 one may be hooked by the arduous process of 
 dibbling through the network of twigs, or by casting 
 a very short line just over the tree trunk upstream. 
 But an immediate retreat to the shelter of the roots 
 very soon frees that trout, and probably teaches his 
 fellows wisdom; at any rate it is quite a rare thing 
 even to get a fish on in these places. 
 
 Another difficult place is a delightful glide under 
 some bushes on the far bank. The bed of the stream 
 shelves gently here so that the water is only an inch 
 or two in depth on this side and perhaps two or three 
 feet on the other. For some reason connected with 
 the light it seems almost impossible to get a fly to 
 any rising fish in this piece without alarming him. 
 No matter whether you crawl close to the edge or 
 grovel out in the meadow, something your head, 
 your arm, the flash of the rod, or the curving line 
 is perceived by the trout, and he withdraws as 
 quickly as may be. None the less the angler will 
 certainly waste a lot of time here, because the place 
 is so tempting to his eye. 
 
 For the sake of the basket it were wiser to go on 
 a few hundred yards to a part of the stream which 
 
A LITTLE CHALK STREAM 51 
 
 is somewhat deeper and formed into a succession of 
 little runs and pools by beds of weeds. Here the 
 trout are not easily scared, and when the fly is 
 hatching they rise very freely, half a dozen or so in 
 each pool and two or three in each run. At the first 
 sight the angler says to himself " Ha ! they are 
 delivered into my hand," and probably forms a 
 resolution not to take too many. Such a simple 
 and confiding folk deserves chivalrous treatment. 
 But when he has been pegging away for half an hour 
 or so with no result but a few short and splashy 
 rises his mind is altered. He desires, and desires 
 very badly, to knock one or two of these fish on the 
 head. The trouble here is the drag. Owing to 
 the irregular growth of weeds the current varies in 
 pace with every few inches, and the result is that the 
 fly is made to do all sorts of unnatural things. The 
 drag can be overcome by very careful use of slack-line 
 but only after much study and experiment. One 
 learns to regard a brace of fish caught in this reach 
 as a solid and satisfactory hour's work. 
 
 It is not so very far from this point to the road 
 bridge, which may be called the top of the water. 
 Having attained to this the angler commonly begins 
 to think of tea, and of the little low-browed inn 
 which may be reached in five minutes, or perhaps a 
 little more, since the road winds uphill, and waders 
 and brogues make slow going. First, though, he 
 
52 TROUT FISHING 
 
 must spread his elbows comfortably on the parapet 
 and gaze into the deep pool below. Let me here tell 
 the story of the great fish. It was " no fisher but 
 a well-wisher to the game " (in Sir Walter Scott's 
 phrase) who discovered the great fish, and who made, 
 so to say, no small song about it, for it was creditable 
 in a well-wisher to have detected a monster which 
 the fishers had completely overlooked. So long it 
 was (hands two feet apart), and it lay just to the right 
 of the strongest stream, in the very deepest part 
 of the pool. The fishers, much perturbed, at once 
 set out to test the matter, for a two-foot trout is a 
 six-pounder at the least. Sure enough there in the 
 spot mentioned was a shape, broad and dark and 
 obscure by reason of what Blackmore might have 
 called the " nebules " in the water. " Golly " and 
 " Great Scott," said the fishers, and they went 
 away. 
 
 But at dusk for several evenings a stealthy form 
 would approach the pool from below, there would be 
 a swishing in the air, and presently a sort of plop, 
 as a sedge suitable to six-pounders hurtled on to the 
 surface of the water. Nothing came of it, but every 
 morning there was the dark form in its accustomed 
 place to inspire new stratagems and provoke fresh 
 efforts. Then at last came a morning of bright 
 sun and unusually low water a mill above was 
 perhaps holding the stream up for an hour or two. 
 
A LITTLE CHALK STREAM 53 
 
 And the murder (it might almost be called that) was 
 out. A child's toy boat lay waterlogged and 
 derelict on the river bed. Its lines were not at all 
 unlike those of broad-backed trout, and a straggle 
 of weed made a very passable tail. It was immedi- 
 ately evident that precious evenings had been wasted 
 and there was a sudden transference of affection 
 from the upper to the lower water, where men were 
 not mocked by simulacra. 
 
 For beauty the lower water could not compare 
 with the upper, being almost destitute of trees, and 
 open to sun and wind. But for interest it might 
 be held superior. The main stream is somewhat 
 swifter, rather deeper, a little narrower. Its fish 
 are, maybe, an ounce or two heavier as a rule and 
 perhaps rather better fed. One remarkable trout, 
 caught almost at the boundary, weighed a pound 
 though it was only twelve inches long, an exception- 
 ally deep, fat fish. 
 
 To me, however, the interest of the lower water 
 lay not only in the main stream. Here the meadows 
 are kept pretty constantly irrigated, " under water " 
 as it is somewhat largely termed, and the result is 
 that there are many carriers and side streams cris- 
 crossed about. In most of these you may find trout, 
 often, too, bigger trout than are commonly caught in 
 the river itself. The older fish of all chalk streams 
 seem to have a tendency to wander into the irriga- 
 
54 TROUT FISHING 
 
 tion channels where no doubt they get very good 
 feeding of minnows, slugs, beetles, and other 
 sustaining things. To me there is something very 
 fascinating about these outliers, and fishing the 
 carriers is a joy. These carriers are the more 
 amusing because they are so tiny. Getting a three- 
 quarter-pound trout out of a runnel two feet wide 
 and eighteen inches deep is the queerest adventure. 
 It is not orthodox fishing as a rule, for the fish 
 seldom rise there is no hatch of fly to speak of. 
 But deft casting in the likely spots will often fetch 
 up a fish whose existence was only hypothetical. 
 
 One day in one of these carriers I saw what looked 
 like a dimple under a dockleaf . I put a ginger quill 
 on the place, had an immediate rise, and then for 
 about five minutes walked solemnly up and down 
 in attendance on the biggest trout I ever hooked on 
 the fishery. He never hurried himself, but cruised 
 to and fro, and in the end the fly came away just as 
 I was wondering whether it would be a matter for 
 the taxidermist. I think that trout was a two- 
 pounder, though, of course, estimates of lost fish are 
 suspect by general consent, and it does not do 
 to be rash. Anyhow, I can say without hesitation 
 that I was filled with grief that bordered on 
 despair. 
 
 One of the two biggest fish I caught during the 
 season was the result of long-continued efforts on 
 
A LITTLE CHALK STREAM 55 
 
 what is known as the backwater in reality a little 
 side stream which joins the river near the ford. 
 Near the point of junction it is quite considerable, 
 though almost without current. Here big trees 
 shade it from the sun nearly all day, tall rushes 
 grow along the bank, and the trout cruise about in 
 droves lazily sucking in gnats, spinners and other 
 trifles, and occasionally splashing at the sedges 
 which are tempted out by the subdued light. There 
 are a couple of hundred yards of this still water, 
 and one can easily spend a morning here peeping 
 through the rushes and occasionally dropping a fly 
 in front of a fish which comes within reach they 
 patrol the place like peaceful pickets. On a very 
 hot day this waiting game is to be commended, and 
 a brace of trout may be caught without too much 
 hard labour. 
 
 Ordinarily the fish are no bigger than those else- 
 where in the fishery, but one day I became aware of 
 a mighty one which smacked great jaws as he fed, 
 and made great commotions as he moved about. 
 Presently I saw him, and he had fifteen or sixteen 
 inches to his credit. And then I rose him and 
 hooked him; the water heaved as he rolled over, 
 and the fly came away. For several week-ends I 
 pursued that fish in vain. He was sometimes in 
 one place, sometimes in another. Occasionally 
 he would make a pretence of rising, but he would 
 
56 TROUT FISHING 
 
 never really take a fly again till a day nearly at the 
 end of July, when I overcame his caution by a trick 
 which was probably very wrong. I put on a fly 
 with a long straggling hackle and placed it before 
 him. He came, looked, mocked, and went away. 
 I withdrew the fly and waited for some minutes till 
 he returned on his beat. Then I cast it in front of 
 him and as he came to look again twitched the point 
 of the rod ever so slightly. The fly waggled on the 
 water, the fish perceived that there was something 
 which had life and movement, opened his jaws 
 wide, closed them and in due course weighed one 
 pound three ounces. Without prejudice, he should 
 have weighed a pound and a half, for he was not in 
 good condition. 
 
 Higher up, the backwater gets smaller and smaller 
 till at last it has no obvious existence at all. Its 
 course is absolutely choked with coarse rushes and 
 other vegetation, and most of the little pools are 
 screened with impenetrable bushes and protected 
 by drooping boughs. Yet in some of the clear spots 
 there are trout, and good ones. I used occasionally 
 to get one here and there at the expense of scratches 
 from thorns, stings from nettles, an aching back, 
 and very undignified attitudes. 
 
 It was not bad fun but it was laborious, so one 
 day early in June I decided to make the place 
 fishable, and put in some perspiring hours with a 
 
A LITTLE CHALK STREAM 57 
 
 billhook, a saw, and an iron rake. By tea time there 
 was a real improvement visible, and for nearly half 
 a mile the stream was approachable at regular 
 intervals. Alas, for human aspirations ! A month 
 later when I inspected the water, things were worse 
 than ever. I could not get a fly on to it anywhere. 
 The nettles, rushes, bushes, and trees had acquired 
 so mighty an impetus from my pruning that they 
 had combined to choke the little stream altogether. 
 Perhaps it was not the pruning, but the power of 
 growth which is natural in the valley of a chalk 
 stream. 
 
 I do not resent my defeat by incensed Nature. 
 The experience in retrospect is even pleasant, for 
 it blends with the other impressions given by a 
 season on a Hampshire river, all of them testifying 
 to the wonder and beauty of life. Nowhere in 
 England could one get impressions more varied or 
 more vivid. The plovers which made a routine 
 business of trying to persuade one to leave the 
 lower meadow, where they had family affairs; the 
 little company of stoats which one day played like 
 kittens round a broken hatch-board; the tiny 
 dabchick which had just left its shell, and seemed 
 in danger of drowning till a landing-net rescued it, 
 and helped it to a patch of weeds; the friendly 
 carthorses and placid cows all these things 
 combine with the flowers, bees, butterflies, and 
 
58 TROUT FISHING 
 
 other lesser creatures^ to make up a rich feast for 
 memory. 
 
 Fair sights, sweet sounds, the scent of may or 
 meadowsweet, and a clear river rippling in golden 
 sunshine has life anything better to give ? 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 THE FISHING DAY 
 
 NOT long ago I got into a smoking-carriage and 
 found already seated therein, with his rod and bag 
 above him, a distinguished fisher who considers 
 himself one of the veterans of the angling world. He 
 often insists, to the surprise and protest of his 
 friends, that he was, so to say, in his young prime 
 during the consulate of Plancus. And we have to 
 admit that he seems to have a personal knowledge 
 of what a Berkshire keeper of my, and a good 
 many other people's, acquaintance delightfully calls 
 " times been gone by," which argues not a few 
 decades beneath the sun. " I should be afraid to 
 say," observed my friend, " how many years I 
 have been coming up and down now. And do you 
 know " here his face took on a slightly ashamed, 
 yet happy, expression " every time I get into 
 this train I enjoy it more. I feel like a schoolboy 
 just off for the holidays." As my friend steps into 
 that train at most week-ends during the trout season 
 it is obvious that his sensations have not lost their 
 keenness by being often repeated. Nor was there 
 
 69 
 
60 TROUT FISHING 
 
 any less fire in the narrative which soon followed of 
 last week-end's " pretty two-pounder " than there 
 has ever been in his tales of triumph, or any less 
 enthusiasm in the description of the birds that were 
 noted during the visit. To feel once a week like a 
 schoolboy going home for the holidays is a wonderful 
 aid to the preservation of enthusiasms. 
 
 And of course my friend is not alone in that. He 
 is, indeed, one of a great company. All trout 
 fishers, who are really fishers by nature and not 
 merely because sporting fashion prescribes a few 
 days with the rod as an essential to the complete 
 sportsman, must know the intense joy of being on 
 the way to their fishing with all its excitements 
 and thrills in prospect. For the time being they are 
 detached from the rest of life with its worries and 
 troubles, and every one they meet, everything they 
 see, the whole tangible and visible world is more 
 or less in keeping with the peaceful and blameless 
 nature of their errand. I often think it can hardly 
 be possible that the inhabitants of certain delightful 
 fishing resorts are quite perfect. There must be 
 some little flaw in them somewhere, because they are 
 human beings. But on a fine fresh May morning as 
 one takes one's way to the river the streets certainly 
 seem to be peopled entirely by the pick of humanity. 
 Even the small boys proceeding schoolwards with 
 shining faces would appear to be decorated with 
 
THE FISHING DAY 61 
 
 halos. That in itself casts a serious doubt on the 
 value of one's conclusions, because as a matter of 
 fact small boys are never, or very seldom, decorated 
 with halos. Still it is none the less pleasant so 
 to picture them for a few blissful minutes. 
 
 The trout fisher's day should by all means begin 
 at seven, or not later than a quarter past, and I 
 hope I offend no prejudices by suggesting that a cup 
 of tea and a slice of country bread and butter should 
 greet the awakening. The boots should say " Nice 
 drop of rain last night, sir," when he brings them in 
 and at the same moment a gleam of sunshine should 
 make its way into the room to show that there is no 
 fear of the rain spoiling the day. The morning tea 
 after rain and in the sunlight inspires the happiest 
 imaginings as to what will come about. Many is 
 the noble brace of trout (or round dozen of trout ; 
 it depends on the locality) that I have captured 
 soon after seven in that blessed half-hour of 
 prognostication. 
 
 Breakfast should be at eight, and the only com- 
 munications that have come by post should be 
 personal and of an encouraging nature. " I do 
 hope you will have good weather, and I should 
 certainly stay till Wednesday if . . ." That is the 
 kind of tone needed to start the day. It confirms 
 you in your opinion that you are doing the eminently 
 right and proper thing in taking a holiday. The 
 
62 TROUT FISHING 
 
 sort of letter which has a business complexion and 
 speaks of its writer's being " greatly disappointed 
 at missing you to-day " and hopes " that you will 
 be able to find it convenient " to make an appoint- 
 ment within the next two days that sort of letter 
 ought to be lost in the post. It casts a gloom over 
 everything, makes you suspicious of its writer, and 
 gives you the bother of composing and sending a 
 non possumus telegram. It may even delay your 
 starting for five minutes. Of the letter which causes 
 you to return to town by the next train I will not 
 speak. I hate that letter too much. 
 
 The only excuse for not being on the water by 
 nine is a visit to the local tackle shop if there is 
 one. Ten minutes there spent in selecting flies and 
 casts and hearing about fishing things in general are 
 by no means wasted. They serve to whet the 
 appetite, already keen, for the day that is coming, 
 especially if you receive full and particular intelli- 
 gence of certain big fish which have frustrated all 
 local efforts. About 9 a.m. on the first morning 
 you naturally have your own opinion as to local 
 efforts. They are perhaps the only local things 
 that have not that quality of perfection already 
 noted, which but makes them the better from your 
 point of view and fits them the more happily into 
 the general scheme of joyousness. 
 
 In due course the water is reached and with the 
 
THE FISHING DAY 63 
 
 first glint of it comes perhaps the finest sensation 
 of the day. Some men save a morsel of time at 
 this moment by being quite ready, the line being 
 threaded through the rings and the cast with the 
 fly or flies attached to it. I do not blame them at 
 all. Time was when I would have gone even farther 
 and extended line as I crossed the meadow so as 
 to hasten events by a few seconds. But now I 
 think I prefer the slight check that comes by not 
 having made the final arrangements. Very oc- 
 casionally it happens that I become aware that the 
 rise has begun the moment I get to the water, and 
 then there is a delightful feeling of running a race 
 with time. Perhaps, one feels, one of these early 
 morning rises of which one has heard may have 
 happened and this may be the tail-end of it. But 
 at the same time the alarm is not too acute. There 
 is underneath a comforting conviction of the proba- 
 bility of being busy for a good many hours. 
 
 Of course if you are late on the water it is different. 
 Once I remember getting to the Itchen about noon 
 and finding the rise well on. I caught the first 
 three trout that I covered all in a few minutes, and 
 then every movement ceased. There was nothing 
 more to be done all day till the evening rise began. 
 On another less prosperous occasion I got to the 
 Kennet at Hungerford in what should have been 
 good time, about ten o'clock, to see what I verily 
 
64 TROUT FISHING 
 
 believe was the last Mayfly honestly taken by a 
 trout that day. Between nine and ten there had 
 been a splendid show of rising fish, probably the best 
 of the season, and the only angler out so early had 
 made a fine basket. 
 
 It is curious how little definite information there 
 is among dry-fly men as to what goes on on their 
 rivers before the dignified hours at which they think 
 proper to begin their fishing. Nine o'clock may be 
 considered the earliest imaginable time for them to 
 reach the water, ten or half-past being much more 
 usual. Of course they have been led to this not 
 by dignity alone. It depends somewhat on the time 
 of year, but as a general rule they do not expect to 
 find fish rising much before ten. What I should 
 much like to know myself is what happens in the 
 early hours of a hot July or August day, or rather 
 not of a day but of the day, for isolated occurrences 
 are not much of a guide. Are there at all commonly 
 a hatch of fly and rise of fish before, say, eight 
 o'clock? It so happens that for two summers I 
 frequently had to cross the Kennet a few minutes 
 before eight in order to catch a morning train. 
 And on likely mornings I always saw a fish or two 
 rising as I hurried past the nature of things forbade 
 a leisurely inspection, because these early trains 
 take such a lot of catching. I had a strong wish 
 to reach the spot about 5 a.m. some fine morning 
 
THE FISHING DAY 
 
 65 
 
 and to study what happened between then and 
 eight. My suspicion is that what I saw at the later 
 hour was but the end of important doings, well 
 worthy of the dry-fly man's consideration. 
 
 But here even more is the nature of things a 
 hindrance to action. Besides, I suppose it might 
 be open to question whether a dry-fly man would 
 consider himself, and still less another fellow, a 
 dry-fly man at 5 a.m. Anyhow, the fact remains 
 that I do not remember ever fishing on a chalk 
 stream much before nine. Nor do I know more 
 than one stream on which an effort has been made 
 to solve the problem. Some of my friends have 
 returned thence to breakfast carrying rods, but 
 they have uniformly given short answers, which I 
 hesitate to accept as evidence one way or the other. 
 I think the weather has mostly been unpleasant 
 when I have seen them so returning, and, anyhow, 
 that stream is hardly typical, being subject to the 
 vagaries of a mill and apt to hold very little water 
 early in the morning. 
 
 The wet-fly morning by common consent may 
 begin soon after daybreak, but here again I have 
 little or no experience. I know that in hot weather 
 and with low water there is a fertile period which 
 ends just as I begin. Often enough have I had a 
 brisk little bit of sport for half an hour or so, which 
 has ceased abruptly as the sun has got on to the 
 
66 TROUT FISHING 
 
 water. But somehow I have never, at any rate for 
 many years, risen much earlier on account of this 
 knowledge. And most of my wet-fly fishing has 
 been done in the early part of the season when trout 
 are more reasonable in their feeding hours. Nine 
 o'clock seems to me a good Christian hour at which 
 to begin, with the wet fly or the dry. And when, 
 as sometimes happens, having begun at nine, you 
 are still waiting for encouragement to continue at 
 one, you begin to doubt whether on the morrow 
 you need be quite so early. The morrow comes and 
 you are there by ten, to find that, as in the instance 
 I have recorded, the fun to-day really did begin at 
 nine and is now just over. Fishing is an uncertain 
 business. 
 
 Time was when I held firmly to the belief that the 
 important part of the trout fishing day (setting 
 aside those possible hours in the company of the 
 lark, as to which I have confessed that I know little 
 or nothing) was the morning. The period from ten 
 till one was, I long considered, worth all the rest of 
 the day put together, with the exception of perhaps 
 an hour at the end of it. And if it came to be lunch 
 time with my creel still empty I had all the feelings 
 of depression which may be summed in the words, 
 " Well, here's another good day wasted." And, for 
 that matter, I still cannot rid myself quite of the 
 old notion, and I still feel pretty desperate if there 
 
THE FISHING DAY 67 
 
 are no trout to be admired or counted during the 
 luncheon interval; while, as for starting out in 
 the afternoon and getting to the water at two or 
 thereabouts, I cannot rid myself of the old notion 
 that it is bound to be a complete failure. 
 
 Yet I have had plenty of proof that the trout 
 fishing day is by no means necessarily over at one 
 o'clock. Often and often have I eaten luncheon in 
 gloom and fared rejoicing to tea. I remember a 
 lovely July day on Driffield Beck some years ago 
 when I sat almost desperate beside one of the little 
 weirs which give charming variety to the water 
 above Sunderlandwick. My desperation was not 
 so much due to the fact that trout had not been 
 rising as to the fact that they had, and that I had 
 been extremely unskilful or, at best, horribly 
 unlucky. Fish after fish had been hooked and lost, 
 and the climax had been reached by the loss of a real 
 beauty in that very weirpool. I may have had one 
 sizeable trout in the creel I think I had but that 
 was as nothing in comparison with those which 
 were not in it and ought to have been if I had had 
 my rights. So I ate my sandwiches and cake for 
 no more satisfactory reason than that one has to 
 keep exhausted nature going. How different is 
 such a repast from that seasoned by the honest 
 hunger which comes of carrying a fairly heavy 
 basket ! 
 
68 TROUT FISHING 
 
 And then, after I had thrown away the last 
 fragment of cake from a sensation of pure boredom 
 at having to eat it, the whole complexion of the day 
 changed. The trout which had been so hard to 
 catch before suddenly became easy. They took 
 hold of the ginger quill with determination and were 
 all duly played to the net. I shall never forget 
 that afternoon, the glorious warmth of it, the 
 myriad hum of insects, and the fat golden trout 
 rising so confidingly in the clear spaces between the 
 weeds. It was one of the days on which I have 
 occasionally had to pause and exclaim gratefully to 
 smiling Nature, " How I am enjoying myself ! " 
 I remember spending a long time over one really big 
 fish, probably a three-pounder, which was rising, to 
 all appearance recklessly, in a deep swirly place 
 below a thick bunch of weeds and above a clump of 
 rushes. Five or six times I got that fish up to 
 various flies, but he never seemed actually to take 
 one. At any rate I never felt him. Probably the 
 swirly nature of his feeding-ground made the fly 
 drag a little every time, enough to make him sus- 
 picious, though not enough to be perceptible to me. 
 It was some consolation, however, to be sure that if 
 I had hooked him he would almost certainly have 
 broken me in the weeds or rushes. 
 
 And even though I failed with him I had done 
 very well by the time I turned downstream with an 
 
THE FISHING DAY 69 
 
 eye to tea at the keeper's cottage. I had killed two 
 and a half brace since lunch and they averaged very 
 nearly a pound and a half, which was extra good for 
 Driffield Beck at that time. The biggest was a fat 
 specimen of one pound fifteen ounces, as high a 
 weight as Driffield ever gave me, during visits con- 
 tinued several years running. Though I believe there 
 were monsters (and no doubt still are) in the lower 
 part of the river, in the upper part two-pounders were 
 not often caught. The weight of the fish, however, 
 seemed to be going up by all accounts, so perhaps 
 two-pounders are more plentiful now. 
 
 In the same year, by the way, I had another good 
 day with the ginger quill, also getting most of my 
 sport in the afternoon. That was on the famous 
 shallows at Longparish on the Test. On that 
 occasion too I had troubles, not in losing fish, but 
 in finding a fly to suit them. When found the fly 
 proved irresistible, and at last I began returning 
 fish through sheer satiety. All the trout seemed 
 to run about the same size, about one pound two 
 ounces each, and I could find nothing bigger to fish 
 for except two or three tailers which were un- 
 responsive. My companion that day, the good 
 R. B. M. so well known to angling fame, had an exactly 
 similar experience. With the exception of one fish I 
 think our united catch would not have varied more 
 than an ounce or two, and it would have been hard to 
 
70 TROUT FISHING 
 
 find a more level lot of trout. The exception was a 
 rather ill-conditioned trout of a pound and a half 
 caught, not on the shallow, but on the narrower 
 water below. 
 
 The Longparish shallow is the place famous in 
 history as the scene of Colonel Hawker's equestrian 
 fishing. He used, we are told, to do his wading by 
 proxy and catch great store of trout from his horse's 
 back, fishing his wet flies presumably downstream. 
 After a wet winter I have no doubt such a thing 
 could still be done there with success. R. B. M. 
 and I were there after a wet winter, and the river 
 held a lot of water. We were able to wade upstream 
 abreast, and so wide is the Test there that we might 
 have been fishing different streams. There would 
 have been room for probably two more rods between 
 us. It was a memorable day, none the less because 
 I believe we were the first anglers on the water that 
 year. 
 
 More recently I had the privilege of another day 
 there in company with " D. O'C.," whose initials 
 are also well known to the brotherhood, and I was 
 interested to renew my impressions of the place. It 
 may have been imagination, but there seemed to be 
 less water than at the earlier visit, and it did not 
 look as though four rods abreast would be a possi- 
 bility any longer. There had, on this occasion, been 
 a dry winter, and of course it may have been that 
 
THE FISHING DAY 71 
 
 weed-cutting below had lowered the level of the 
 river. Anyhow the place looked different. What 
 also interested me very much was to find the fish 
 a good deal bigger than they had been before. We 
 saw plenty of two-pounders. It was a thundery, 
 flyless day, and there was little to be done with them, 
 but I got one nice fish of two pounds six ounces. This 
 second visit was in July, a month later in the year 
 than the first had been, and it may be that the big fish 
 are later in taking up their quarters, which was one 
 explanation given to me. I have noticed a similar 
 thing elsewhere, but one expects to find most chalk 
 stream trout in their chosen haunts by June. 
 
 I had a curious afternoon experience on another 
 very wide water, a portion of a beautiful Kennet 
 fishery, not long before the war broke out. It was 
 a bright day towards the end of June, the Mayfly 
 was over, and the trout were as timid as hares, 
 which they also resembled in their speed of de- 
 parture. I was fishing from the bank, and was quite 
 unable to get my fly to any fish without alarming 
 him. In due course I reached the top of the water, 
 where it is at its widest, decided that I was beaten, 
 and started to come down again. And as I came 
 down I became aware that some of the fish which 
 I had frightened were back in their positions near 
 the bank. At one, which looked a portly figure 
 seen end on, I aimed my fly, drifting it downstream. 
 
72 TROUT FISHING 
 
 The trout took it with the utmost confidence, and 
 I got him out after a good fight, a two-pounder. 
 And after that I hooked several more, landing 
 three not quite so big as the first, and losing others. 
 All were approached downstream by drifting, a 
 method which has very seldom before given me any 
 results worth mentioning. It was an eye-opener 
 to me that such shy fish should be more approach- 
 able from above than from below. And I am 
 afraid I must add that it was a pleasant surprise 
 to me to find that I could catch a trout of any size 
 by drifting. Previously I had had a sort of fatalistic 
 conviction that I should be absolutely certain to 
 pull the fly away out of the mouth of any large 
 trout to which I might succeed in drifting it. I 
 have since tried the plan again in that place with 
 some success, so I hope I may have learnt something 
 from the experience. 
 
 Though I have proved to myself that the after- 
 noon is probably as good as the morning, and some- 
 times better, I much prefer a day on which the 
 morning lives up to its good repute. I do not need 
 many fish to make me happy. If on the chalk 
 stream I have a brace by lunch time I am well 
 content, and to have got into double figures by 
 then seems good work in wet-fly fishing. Occa- 
 sionally, though not often, it has happened to me 
 that the morning has been too prosperous. Once I 
 
A Blazing Day 
 on the Test 
 
THE FISHING DAY 73 
 
 fished a ticket-water where the limit was three brace 
 of twelve-inch fish, where a pounder was considered a 
 good one, and where a brace of pounders was esteemed 
 good hunting. On that occasion I found it a very 
 good ticket-water indeed, the best ticket -water I 
 had ever happened upon. Or perhaps it was (a 
 thought which occurred to me in after-meditation) 
 that I was a much better fisherman than I had 
 imagined. For I could not help catching the trout. 
 They simply came and seized my fly and refused 
 to get off. I returned a number, but even so my 
 basket insisted on growing, and at two o'clock I 
 found that all was over. The three brace were 
 caught and killed (they averaged over one pound 
 too), luncheon was eaten, and there was nothing for it 
 but to go home. The real rise began at two, and the 
 fish were then madly on the feed. I went home, 
 thinking that in future I should be well advised not 
 to devote a whole day to so easy a fishery. Fate, 
 however, evens things up to us. Since that day the 
 best basket I have been able to make on that water, 
 doing all I knew, has been three. And I quite see 
 that a brace of pounders there is good hunting. 
 
 That day gave me a nightmare. With its brisk 
 sport and its anxiety as to not reaching the limit 
 too soon, it set me on dreaming during the night. 
 And I dreamed that I was fishing a stream belonging 
 to a club of which I am proud to be a member, a 
 
74 TROUT FISHING 
 
 club with very high ideals as to what is sporting. I 
 fished and I had exceptionally good sport, even for 
 a dream. And presently there came along the bank 
 our honorary secretary, who is perhaps the best 
 sportsman of us all. He asked if I had done any- 
 thing. " Yes," I said, " I have done very well." 
 And I showed him my creel, how it brimmed over. 
 " And here " I led him a little way along the bank 
 to where a glistening heap of trout lay covered with 
 fresh-cut sedges " and here " yet a few yards off 
 was another similar heap. There must have been 
 seventy or eighty large trout in all. But our 
 secretary said no word. He simply looked sorrowful 
 and turned away. And as he went I remembered 
 for the first time that our limit on the water was 
 at present two brace. I woke in a cold perspiration 
 of horror at the thing which I had done. 
 
 Or perhaps it was not that day which gave me 
 that nightmare, perhaps it was that other day on 
 Caradoc's preserve when I had a great basket of five 
 brace. " Five brace, my dear fellow, is our limit," 
 he had said, so I seized opportunity by the forelock 
 and slew them. And then when I reported progress 
 with great pride, he looked grave at me. " But for 
 our guests," he said, " the limit is four brace." 
 However, I fear I never took that misdeed much to 
 heart. These class distinctions are odious. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 THE EVENING 
 
 THE evening in fishing begins, to my mind, as 
 nearly as possible at five o'clock. The interval 
 between afternoon and evening is bridged by tea, 
 that modest stimulant which is so refreshing to mind 
 and body after a hot, tiring, and possibly unpro- 
 ductive day. Nearly all my friends laugh at my 
 enthusiasm for tea, but I do not mind how much 
 they laugh so long as they do not interfere with my 
 plans for ensuring it. And I have converted a man 
 here and there to my way of thinking, for which I 
 do not always get thanked. There is nobody so 
 desolate as the person accustomed to afternoon 
 tea when for any reason that luxury is not obtain- 
 able. The angler who has grown to be accustomed 
 to it would be well advised to take some trouble to 
 get it, The provision of tea sometimes seems a 
 new and rather revolutionary idea to dames who 
 inhabit riverside cottages, but after coquetting with 
 it awhile they usually come to see that it is not one 
 of the impossibilities, and presently you will find that 
 they take quite kindly to the business. Failing the 
 
 75 
 
76 TROUT FISHING 
 
 convenient cottage or handy inn, there is of late 
 years the new resource of the vacuum flask, so 
 nobody now need despair of tea at the proper time. 
 
 To some stern souls this zeal for tea may seem 
 contemptible, but I could advance many things in 
 extenuation. Apart altogether from the question 
 of food and drink, it seems to me no bad thing to put 
 a definite line between the afternoon and the 
 evening fishing. Thus you make your fishing day 
 more important, and perhaps more interesting. 
 Divided into parts the day has more variety, seems 
 longer, and gives more opportunity for the feeding 
 of that hope which is apt to be somewhat starved 
 after the lapse of a few hours. The intervals for 
 lunch and tea, if they do nothing else, afford oppor- 
 tunities for reflection, and reflection should calm 
 the mind and stimulate the imagination. By the 
 time the tobacco is lighted the angler is fit to fare 
 forth and conquer, however many reverses he may 
 have known during preceding hours. 
 
 I am inclined to think nay, I am sure that a 
 further interval for dinner is also an excellent thing 
 in circumstances where it is possible. It makes the 
 day still more important, and it also makes a sort 
 of midnight dinner unnecessary. In high summer 
 you can go on fishing till ten o'clock, but it plays 
 havoc with your conscience if you know all the time 
 that there are unfortunate people waiting to give 
 
THE EVENING 77 
 
 you a meal afterwards. Besides, it cannot be good 
 for the digestion to dine at half-past ten and to 
 go to bed almost immediately. A dinner interval 
 about a quarter to seven by all means, and if that be 
 not possible, take out what used to be called a " cold 
 collation " and eat it on the bank. The idea of 
 taking out supper never occurred to me till I read 
 Mr. Raymond Hill's attractive book Wings and 
 Hackle some years ago. Since, however, I have 
 frequently acted on his advice and have had great 
 gain from it. 
 
 For a good many years the evening has been more 
 associated in my mind with dry-fly streams than with 
 others because most of my summer fishing has been 
 done on them. A July evening should be divisible 
 into several distinct periods, each of which has its 
 special interest. First there is what I call the 
 smutting time, which greets you as you come back 
 from your tea. From five till perhaps six or a bit 
 later in certain spots which you know well there 
 will be the laziest possible dimpling of the surface 
 by trout which have found something just worth 
 eating, something invisible to you and not apparently 
 very filling to the eye even of fish. Of all risers at 
 any time of day or season these after-tea dimplers 
 in July seem to me the most difficult. They will 
 only condescend to notice the tiniest flies tied to the 
 finest gut, and if they do chance to rise at you you 
 
78 TROUT FISHING 
 
 do not hook them, or but hook them to lose 
 them at once. This period of the evening is 
 supremely unproductive, and I have practically 
 abandoned hope of doing anything with these fish. 
 This in itself is almost fatal to success. " I shan't 
 rise you and if I do I shall lose you " when the 
 angler thus addresses his prospective quarry he 
 invites failure to be his companion. 
 
 There was once a huge trout in a hatch-hole. I 
 knew him well but had never seen him rise, nor did 
 I believe him capable of it. He seemed to me one 
 of those established features which add dignity to 
 a fishing without any risk of being upset. Most 
 waters possess such fish, much as London possesses 
 the Tower and St. Paul's. Your only lawful chance 
 with them is with a red sedge at twilight, and if you 
 do hook one of them then, it generally proves to be 
 a smaller brother after all. Irish anglers, at any 
 rate, will know what I mean. Well, one evening 
 about half- past five I came to the head of the hatch- 
 hole, to find it low and placid ; the customary stream 
 was diverted into carriers, and the usual turmoil 
 had quite ceased. I looked and was about to cross 
 over and go on when I saw a dimple in the far corner 
 downstream. This seemed worth investigating so 
 I went round and peeped. There in but a few 
 inches of water was the big trout, and he raised his 
 nose as I watched and took another trifle. In great 
 
THE EVENING 79 
 
 alarm I put a fly to him, in greater I saw him open 
 his mouth at it, and in greatest I wildly pulled it 
 away just at the critical moment. Whereupon the 
 fish sought the depths, making a great wave as he 
 went. Nor did I ever see him again. I verily 
 believe I should have caught the fish and become 
 famous in that district if it had not been between 
 five and six. As it was, I knew I should not get 
 him and didn't. I never catch one of any size 
 during that barren hour, at any rate while the days 
 are long. Why fish, then ? some one will ask. The 
 fact that trout can be seen rising seems a sufficient 
 answer; and, besides, there are always surprises in 
 store even for the most unsuccessful. 
 
 The next period of the evening is one of absolute 
 nothingness. No fly, no rises, no casting. This is 
 the time in which the angler should have his dinner, 
 or collation, as the case may be. From half-past 
 six to half-past seven he ought to be otherwise quite 
 unemployed. But he should be on the water again 
 by half-past seven, for the fun may begin about 
 then, though it may quite well be deferred till half- 
 past eight. The most glorious evening rise that ever 
 I had a share in it was on the Test began exactly 
 at half-past seven, began badly for me, for I lost a 
 beauty, the first that rose. Afterwards, however, 
 I was kept busy till long past nine. It was an even- 
 ing to dream about. The fish meant business and 
 
80 TROUT FISHING 
 
 demanded nothing finicking in the way of flies, but 
 were satisfied with a substantial orange quill on a 
 No. 2 hook. After the first misadventure I think 
 I landed every trout that took the fly except the very 
 last, which got off in the dusk through being held 
 too hard. I had four brace averaging over one and 
 three-quarter pounds, and they fought so fiercely 
 that playing and landing them literally occupied 
 nearly the whole time ; there were very short inter- 
 vals between landing one and hooking the next. 
 I do not suppose I shall ever have such an evening 
 again. Very seldom indeed would it happen that 
 the fish were in a taking mood for long enough to 
 make such a basket a possibility. 
 
 As a rule, what fish are rising so early as half-past 
 seven are taking fallen spinners, and they generally 
 seem to me to be very hard to catch. Probably 
 their shyness is due to the angle of the light at that 
 time of day, and it is possible that some portions 
 of a stream would be easier than others. Where 
 shade falls earlier one's chances are certainly better. 
 There is room for a series of interesting experiments 
 as to the behaviour of rising fish at different times 
 of day in different parts of a stream. There must 
 be a considerable variation in the perceptions of 
 trout which at a given time are lying with their 
 heads due north and of trout which at the same 
 time are lying with their heads due west. And it 
 
THE EVENING 81 
 
 may be that one's conviction of the difficulty of fish 
 which are taking spinners is due to the geographical 
 situation of the piece of water where one usually 
 fishes. On another stretch one might find them 
 easy. 
 
 After the fall of spinner comes the beginning of the 
 evening rise proper when the blue-winged olives are 
 hatching out. And here we are faced with what 
 to me seems the greatest mystery that there is in 
 dry-fly fishing. This is the extraordinary fact that 
 on two evenings which seem exactly alike in point 
 of weather, quantity of fly, rising of trout, and so 
 on, the effect of fishing is so different. On the first 
 you may rise and hook every fish to which you can 
 place a fly properly. On the second you can do 
 nothing at all, or almost nothing. In some cases 
 the fish simply take no notice of any fly you offer 
 them. In others you get an occasional false or short 
 rise. In others the effect of floating a pattern of any 
 kind over them is to put them down at once. Unless 
 this curious contrast is also in some way due to the 
 light, I have absolutely no theory to account for it. 
 Nor did I ever meet any one who had. 
 
 Occasionally I have imagined that I have solved 
 the problem by finding a particular fly which would 
 do the trick on some such evening. I have, for 
 instance, at times been disposed to claim infallibility 
 for Halford's blue-winged olives, for the orange 
 
82 TROUT FISHING 
 
 quill which Mr. G. E. M. Skues introduced to me, 
 and for the blue upright, which I was led first to try 
 on chalk streams from previous experience with it 
 as an evening fly on mountain streams. 
 
 Not very long ago another fly surprisingly added 
 itself to the list of infallibles. It happened during 
 an evening rise on the Kennet, when the blue- 
 winged olive was hatching out well. For some 
 reason the fall of spinner, which usually makes a 
 certain number of trout rise, had not done so on this 
 evening, only an occasional ring having appeared 
 at long intervals. And for more than two hours 
 the rod had been quite idle. About half-past eight, 
 however, the duns began to hatch and soon after- 
 wards the trout were taking notice of them. 
 Obviously, according to my belief of the moment, 
 the orange quill or the blue-winged olive would do 
 what was required. But neither pattern gained the 
 shadow of a rise. I changed to a blue upright. 
 That failed. I tried a blue quill, an ordinary olive, 
 a red quill, and several other approved patterns such 
 as the coachman. They all failed. 
 
 I studied my fly-box gloomily and at last picked 
 out a GreenwelPs Glory. I felt no confidence in it 
 at all for it was a pattern which I could not remember 
 ever floating dry over a trout before; though, of 
 course, it is a fly which many anglers use with 
 confidence as a floating pattern, I had so far 
 
THE EVENING 83 
 
 never felt the need of it. The specimen in question 
 was a lightly-built affair intended for wet-fly work 
 and not meant as a dry-fly at all. However, it 
 could be made to float, nothing else seemed to be of 
 any use, and the trial could do no harm. By now 
 there was not a great deal of daylight left, and it 
 seemed improbable that the position could be 
 redeemed. But Greenwell's Glory did redeem it. 
 Every feeding fish that was fairly covered took it 
 well, and the result of about half an hour's fishing 
 was five trout over one and a half pounds landed, 
 and one hooked and lost. Obviously Greenwell's 
 Glory must now be a permanent occupant of the 
 fly-box, and one to be often tried. 
 
 Of course, as soon as it was promoted to being an 
 infallible, Greenwell's Glory failed me just as badly 
 as anything else. There seems to be no infallible 
 fly, and, what is worse, no infallible selection of 
 flies. I have been forced anew to the conclusion 
 that there are evenings on which trout are not to be 
 caught with anything. And the tragedy is that 
 they look the best evenings of all. 
 
 After the hatch of blue-winged olives is over 
 there is the chance of picking up a fish or two with 
 the sedge. Sometimes the chance is very good. 
 Well do I remember one occasion when the great 
 trout of the Test were, so to say, delivered into my 
 hand. It was to be my record day. Despite great 
 
84 TROUT FISHING 
 
 heat, I had during the earlier part of it caught four 
 averaging over two and a half pounds (one being 
 three and a quarter pounds), and during the evening 
 I proposed to kill other two brace without lowering 
 the average weight. 
 
 Things had not, however, prospered with me, for 
 the blue-winged olive and other small patterns had 
 failed, and I was reduced to the picking-up business 
 with a red sedge in the waning light. And then 
 the fish suddenly began to take. One after another 
 they hurled themselves on my sedge. One after 
 another they tried to pull it and the line and rod 
 away from me. Huge fish too ! And one after 
 another they let go and returned to their other 
 affairs. 
 
 At the end of all things I felt for my line in the 
 darkness, in order to take off the cast. I pulled the 
 gut gingerly through my fingers, as one does, that 
 the hook might do me no damage. And there was 
 no hook ! There was a sedge all right, but it had 
 lost not only its point and barb, but even the bend. 
 It was just feathers and silk on a piece of straight 
 wire. 
 
 I remember that I was profoundly moved by that 
 evening, so moved that I reported the whole matter 
 to headquarters, so to speak. I wrote to F. M. 
 Halford about it, letting him know generally what 
 I thought of the evening rise as an institution. I 
 
THE EVENING 85 
 
 wrote very strongly, asking what he thought we 
 could do about it. He replied to the effect that the 
 best thing we could do about it was for the future to 
 " Keep quite calm." 
 
 If memory serves me, Scott's little friend Marjorie 
 Fleming, in precocious rhyme, immortalised the fowl 
 who was " more than usual calm, She did not give a 
 single dam," when the ducklings undutifully made 
 for the water, or when some other domestic event 
 happened, whose precise nature eludes me. Halford 
 meant, of course, that I should be exceeding calm 
 like that, even when my fly undutifully sought the 
 thistles, or when other untoward things happened. 
 But he meant more. I might conceivably win 
 through an evening rise without profanity, but, as 
 for keeping quite calm, that is another thing. For, 
 though I have seen many an evening rise and 
 occasionally done right well, it passes my skill to 
 greet a new one with calmness unless for some reason 
 I do not particularly want to catch fish, which almost 
 never happens. Usually I want to catch something 
 very badly, because tea time has found me a 
 shattered wreck with nothing in my creel. And my 
 proceedings during the stages of the rise are too 
 often as follows. The evening rise, as said, begins 
 at 5 p.m. Its first portion consists of a few, very 
 few, depressed fish making tiny dimples at nothing. 
 As also said, I cannot catch these fish. I use a 
 
86 TROUT FISHING 
 
 hackle red quill on a " short " 00 hook, which I 
 flatter myself is no bigger to a fish's eye than a 000. 
 I do not use it, though, till I have put a black smut 
 on the new point, looked at it distrustfully, and 
 then taken it off again untried. This custom is 
 almost invariable. The mental process is something 
 like this : " That is the sort of fish that wants a black 
 smut. This is the black smut it wants. Good. 
 But, come to think of it, does the fish want a black 
 smut? Ought it to? The black smut is a thing 
 for the daytime. It is true that the sun is burning 
 a hole in my back, but this is the evening rise. No, 
 a hackle red quill is what must go on." So it goes 
 on, and as exactly as I can I have told why. 
 
 To continue, the depressed fish go on dimpling, 
 " here a trout, and there a grayling," till about six. 
 By that time I have put a selection down (boasting, 
 however, one short rise), and the others have gone 
 down of their own accord, or by the laws of gravity. 
 Then I go on to where, on a swift shallow, are what 
 an ingenious friend calls the " decoys." These fish 
 rise always, morning, evening, night, hail, snow, 
 shine, or earthquake at least, I believe so. They 
 constitute the second period of the evening rise. 
 On this shallow I always see two light-coloured duns, 
 and I always say : " Ha ! It's beginning." They 
 are decoys, too. So I put on a ginger quill, and a 
 pale watery, and a Wickham (which is so good for 
 
THE EVENING 87 
 
 chance fish), and a sherry spinner, and one or two 
 other things. The period ends with the decoy trout 
 not quite so exuberant as they were and a winged 
 red quill on my line. 
 
 I come now, having left the decoys, to the third 
 period. This begins with me sitting on my basket 
 at a bend in the stream favourable to observation, 
 and saying to myself that the two light-coloured 
 duns were one of Nature's accidents. I then tell 
 myself that I shall do no good by wasting any more 
 energy till the rise proper begins. The wise man sits 
 on his basket, and takes the gut ends out of the eyes 
 of flies which he has been changing. So, this decided, 
 I spring up and rush feverishly to the top of the 
 water to see if the evening rise is beginning there. 
 As I go I change the red quill (which has not yet 
 touched the water) for a blue upright. It is a 
 fumbling business to change a fly as you hurry 
 along, but it saves time perhaps. As I come back 
 from the top of the water the blue upright is changed 
 for a sherry spinner, because, of course, that is the 
 fly that is going to do the trick when the fish begin. 
 So the third period ends, with me sitting on the 
 basket and a sherry spinner stuck in a ring. 
 
 The fourth period begins with me standing watch- 
 ful at a bend of the stream, thoughtfully changing 
 the sherry spinner for a blue upright, a fly in which 
 I have the utmost confidence for evening work. 
 
88 TROUT FISHING 
 
 It ends with me standing on the qui vive a hundred 
 yards higher up. I am, if you do me the honour to 
 observe me, changing the blue upright for a Tup's 
 indispensable. 
 
 Now, at last, somewhere between half-past seven 
 and eight, begins the fifth period. A rise, two 
 rises, three rises, and there are flies of some sort, 
 transparent things, dancing in the air. So I change 
 the Tup for a blue-winged olive (which every one 
 knows to be the evening fly for July), and proceed 
 laboriously to put the fish down with it. I do not 
 realise that I am doing so, of course. A series of 
 mischances is attributed to unskilful casting, shyness 
 of the fish, to anything you like. Presently the 
 blue upright is given a trial, and it gains two or three 
 short rises. The hackle red quill is of no effect. 
 In a flash then comes the realisation that the sherry 
 spinner is, of course, the thing. It goes on, and has 
 not the slightest result. Then I remember that 
 those transparent things in the air were spinners. 
 The flat-winged imitation ought to have been tried 
 three-quarters of an hour ago, not now, when the 
 spinner is all over. 
 
 So now we enter upon the sixth period, when the 
 fish are really rising and the light is growing less. 
 What are they rising at? The blue-winged olive. 
 Am I keeping quite calm ? No, I am putting on a 
 sedge, and a black smut, and a red olive spinner, and 
 
THE EVENING 89 
 
 a blue upright, and a Wickham, and a red quill, 
 and a cochybonddu, and a coachman. And the fish 
 are disdaining each with a deeper disdain, or being 
 terrified of each with a greater terror, according as 
 is their mood. 
 
 The seventh period begins with a slackening of 
 rises as the fish find the blue-winged olives petering 
 out. Precisely as the rise ends I remember what 
 is the fly, and get it on to the cast somehow in the 
 gloom. Looking along the path of light towards 
 the west, by good luck I see a quiet dimple, at a sedge 
 of course. The blue-winged olive reaches the spot, 
 is taken (because darkness covers many sins), and 
 the miserable little hook fails to hold the four- 
 pounder, for which I have yearned all the season. 
 A good, sensible sedge on a No. 4 hook, and the 
 fish would have been mine. That sedge is put on 
 now at last with the aid of a match, but it is too 
 dark to see any more. So ends another evening 
 rise. 
 
 I will not pass on Halford's advice to any dis- 
 tressed reader. If an angler loses his calmness 
 during the evening rise I say that he is quite within 
 his rights. I am not sure that it is not his duty so 
 to do. Nine times out of ten it is a maddening 
 business. 
 
 Two special evenings remain in my memory as 
 illustrating how tantalising evening fishing can be, 
 
90 TROUT FISHING 
 
 though they remain with me pleasurably. My 
 feeling in regard to them is awed rather than 
 indignant. I was fishing a river which had suffered 
 grievously from pollution, and which was supposed 
 to have lost a large part of its stock of fish, either 
 because they had migrated downstream or because 
 they had been killed outright. My impression at 
 the end of a long hot tramp of some miles was that 
 there was truth in the story of pollution, that the 
 big trout and grayling had mostly disappeared, 
 but that things were now improving. I had seen a 
 sprinkling of small trout and myriads of tiny gray- 
 ling. But as for sport I had had none. 
 
 By the time the day was dead, and the evening 
 moribund, I reflected that the fishing had been very 
 much like the day, for hardly a rise was to be seen 
 anywhere, at any rate from anything of more than 
 six inches long. Perpetual observation of a river 
 which is dimpled in all directions by grayling under 
 that length is trying to the temper, especially when 
 you suffer all the time from great heat accompanied 
 by a thundery sort of glare. Even the most opti- 
 mistic angler gets tired of casting to those dimples 
 and pretending that they are worth the trouble. 
 
 But now all that was over and the evening also 
 was drawing to a close. It had produced one 
 disaster, a two-pound trout which had unhooked 
 himself after taking an orange quill, and further 
 
THE EVENING 91 
 
 there had been nothing. The whole side stream 
 had been patrolled without the sight of another fish, 
 and now I stood at the head of the hatch-hole 
 wondering what I had better do, whether follow the 
 main stream up against the light or go quickly 
 back and go over the side stream again. 
 
 Nothing of course was rising in the hatch-hole 
 nothing ever does when you are on the spot. Besides 
 it is not a " rising " sort of place, small, deep, 
 turbulent, and very difficult to fish without a drag. 
 Only in the right-hand corner is there anything like 
 a steady bit of stream, a short narrow run just 
 towards the eye of the eddy where it meets the 
 foam. It is the sort of place where a good trout 
 might rise, and where a good angler might be 
 excused for missing him. To cast a short line from 
 the wall above across a clump of rushes and hanging 
 grasses and also over a belt of drift weeds on to a 
 rather rippled stream, and to make sure of " con- 
 verting " a rise, is not an easy matter. 
 
 The eye surveyed this place disparagingly. The 
 hand to which the eye belonged had made sad 
 bungles of similar places. And anyhow there was 
 nothing rising. But, stay, what was that ? A trail 
 of dark weed? Surely. And yet and would 
 that be another trail of weed a bit further out 
 and higher up ? Confound the light, or rather lack 
 of light ! Who could be sure, looking southwards 
 
92 TROUT FISHING 
 
 at this time of a thundery evening, what those 
 shadows might be ? But ha ! Trails of weed do 
 not shift their position. They waggle sometimes, 
 but they do not move their centre of gravity. Have 
 at them 1 
 
 To be brief, it proved that the two shapes belonged 
 to two great red trout which had come up from the 
 foaming depths to lie " at the ready " in the back- 
 glide. And an orange quill made one of the shapes 
 tilt upwards at the first offer. And at the next 
 there was a disturbance among the ripples, and the 
 raised hand felt, just felt, a rock-like resistance. 
 One of the monsters had been risen and lost. Then 
 the atrocious light gave out and nothing more could 
 be seen. 
 
 Next evening the day had been almost as dead 
 as its predecessor was better and brighter, and the 
 point of observation was reached earlier. Ye gods, 
 what a sight ! Not two, but four great red shapes 
 lying in the narrow strip of backwash with a vague 
 suggestion of a fifth beyond. There was only just 
 room for them, and now and then one would cruise 
 out to the cheek of the eddy, now and then one would 
 drive another away. Believe me, it is an impressive 
 sight to see a trout of five pounds four ounces giving 
 the cold shoulder to a trout of five pounds two 
 ounces. It makes the spine crawl with varied 
 emotions. And presently, swimming tumultuously 
 
THE EVENING 93 
 
 across the centre torrent, came for a brief instant 
 into the field of vision a huge whitish figure which 
 positively dwarfed the others. But it sheered off 
 again and was seen no more. 
 
 As for the capture of a brace or a leash of these 
 prodigious fish I have no intention of relating it. 
 All flies, of course, were tried, tried with fury. Some 
 of them tilted a nose or so. One, and one only, 
 opened a cavernous pair of jaws. But eventually 
 the light failed as before, the shapes faded from 
 view one by one, and the opportunity was gone. 
 Never have I known anything more tantalising. 
 For I am sure I have never in my life seen so many 
 really big trout at such close quarters, or so massed 
 that one fly might conceivably rise any one of them. 
 In sober earnestness I believe the smallest of the 
 lot was well over three pounds. 
 
 The rest of the evening, about half an hour when 
 facing the afterglow, was ridiculous. I settled down 
 to besiege a big trout in the main river rising close 
 under my own bank. Sometimes he came up with 
 a resounding plop close in, sometimes more gently 
 about a foot out. I tried five different patterns 
 over him and finally hooked him on a blue upright 
 in the outer position. He jumped when hooked and 
 fell in again with a miserable little splash. There 
 had been two fish, great-grandfather and great- 
 grandson, rising side by side, and my long and 
 
94 TROUT FISHING 
 
 conscientious efforts had been rewarded by the 
 latter. And so home. 
 
 I shall never solve the mystery of those great fish 
 in a river which was supposed to have lost its stock. 
 I should have been tempted to think them ghosts 
 but for the fact that I felt one of them. Their 
 appearance under water was strongly suggestive of 
 the phantom ships in the late Mr. Hope Hodgson's 
 extraordinary book The Ghost Pirates. Presumably 
 what had happened was that the pollution had been 
 enough to kill the fly-food of the river down for a 
 time, but not enough to kill the big trout. They 
 possibly took to bottom-feeding from necessity, and 
 so to a large extent vanished from human ken. In 
 that part much of the water is deep and heavy and 
 trout resolutely near the bottom would be quite 
 invisible. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 THE FLY QUESTION 
 
 THE story of the message sent downstream by 
 G. S. Marryat to Francis Francis, who had inquired 
 what fly was responsible for the master's visible 
 and tantalising success, seems to me to enshrine 
 a considerable truth. Marryat, we are told, said 
 that the responsible agent was " the Driver." Where- 
 upon Francis asked what that might be. So a 
 second message came down, " Tell him it's not the 
 fly but the driver." 
 
 The fly question has probably produced more 
 puzzlement and brain-storms than anything else 
 in fishing. It seems absolutely impossible to reduce 
 it to anything like a clear and simple system. Even 
 when, after many years of experiment and the 
 collation of a great number of experiences, one has 
 apparently succeeded in evolving a few general 
 rules, the chances are that the next day's fishing 
 will make it necessary to revise them. The fish 
 will very likely refuse to have anything to do with 
 the patterns which one has just decided to be the 
 foundations of piscatorial faith. In despair one 
 
 95 
 
96 TROUT FISHING 
 
 looks through box or book again, finds some antique 
 or some exotic which has lain therein absolutely 
 neglected and despised, puts it on as a last resource, 
 and discovers that here is a new-fangled medicine 
 worthy of a hearty testimonial. This sort of thing 
 must happen to everybody, and it is very upsetting 
 to all plans for reducing things to a system. 
 
 Undoubtedly, the case is much worse for the 
 angler who is dependent, as I am, on flies tied by 
 other people. Of the five or six superlatively good 
 trout fishermen whom I know well only one is not 
 a fly-dresser, and that one knows exactly what he 
 wants when he gets his flies. I suspect him of 
 having at any rate passed his apprenticeship in 
 the art in earlier days. Most of us, however, who 
 cannot tie flies are not quite sure what we want, 
 and in consequence we get a great many things 
 that we do not want. I possess an incredible 
 number of abominable productions which call 
 themselves flies, purchased at various times in 
 foolish faith that they might come in handy. This 
 is bad enough, but it is much worse that one or 
 other of these monstrosities will sometimes in the 
 most insolent manner prove itself capable of catching 
 fish when other more respectable patterns have 
 wholly failed. 
 
 One of the most scandalous instances of this 
 occurred on the Penydwddwr some years ago. It 
 
THE FLY QUESTION 97 
 
 was at the end of April, and we had been having 
 a grievous time owing to the wintry weather and 
 lack of fly. Our united catches had for some days 
 barely found us in breakfast, and we had got into 
 the habit of going out each morning without any 
 hope of better things. One morning I started thus 
 handicapped (and more, for I was afflicted with a 
 chill as well), and flogged aimlessly downstream 
 with the usual assortment of flies and the usual lack 
 of result. Then something induced me to put on 
 the Bottle-brush. I have always thought of it as 
 the Bottle-brush because it has no other name and 
 deserves none had rather; it is now no more. 
 This creature was two sizes larger than anything 
 else in my book and was an unpleasing brown thing 
 with an inordinate quantity of stiff stark hackle 
 and no wings. It was exactly like a bottle-brush 
 in shape. Supposed to be a wet-fly it would have 
 needed a small paternoster lead to make it sink. 
 I never met with a pattern I disliked more on sight. 
 Well, I dragged this thing about the river in a half- 
 hearted way, and presently a trout hurled himself 
 upon it. I basketed him, and soon afterwards 
 another, and more followed until I had amassed 
 sixteen of excellent size. Then the disintegration 
 of the bottle-brush was complete it was badly 
 tied as well as horrible in appearance and there- 
 after no more could be done. But I had the best 
 
 H 
 
98 TROUT FISHING 
 
 basket, for quality, that I ever achieved in that 
 small river. The sixteen compared favourably with 
 the threes and fives that the other anglers produced 
 at tea time. And it was all due to a fly which I 
 should never have dreamed of putting on had I 
 not been dispirited and unwell. 
 
 I can remember a somewhat similar surprise on 
 the Kennet a good many years ago. This was due 
 to a red spinner. Your red spinner is a good fly 
 and a pretty, but for dry-fly work it should observe 
 certain conventions. This specimen did not. It 
 had a drooping whisk of soft hackle set rather askew, 
 and a pair of towering massive wings. It dated from 
 the days when professional fly-dressers (or some of 
 them) used to say to themselves, " Ha, a dry fly ! 
 That usually has double wings. Let us treble them 
 that it may hum in the air the better and bounce 
 upon the water." Adding just a memory of hen 
 hackle to make the creature fly-like, they issued 
 it to the unsuspecting, who assumed that a dry fly 
 owed its dryness to its bulk of wing. Such was the 
 red spinner which I tied on for the usual reason 
 that I could do no good with anything else. And 
 such was the red spinner which, floating sideways 
 or upside down, secured me two brace of good trout 
 that had refused all kinds of properly dressed flies. 
 
 Incidents of this kind are no doubt common to 
 the experience of every fly fisher, and they seem to 
 
THE FLY QUESTION 99 
 
 me to prove that trout are more than a little prone 
 to run after new things, an error of judgment which 
 undoes them as it undoes human beings. This is 
 more the case probably on waters which are pretty 
 hard fished. There the inhabitants undoubtedly 
 get to know a great deal about the conventional 
 patterns which are so much brought under their 
 notice. Give them something new, however, and 
 they will occasionally display extreme foolishness. 
 One of the experiences which has given me most 
 satisfaction was something of this kind. It was the 
 first time I ever visited that famous bit of ticket- 
 water at Winchester known as Chalkley's. I knew 
 it by repute, of course, as an extremely difficult 
 fishery, where, for a new-comer, the capture of a 
 trout was esteemed good work and of a brace fine 
 sport. The fish were plentiful and they rose freely, 
 but they had been educated with all the thoroughness 
 that befitted such a home of learning as Winchester. 
 I approached the water in consequence in great 
 humility, and was not surprised to find that ginger 
 quills, red quills, and the rest made no impression 
 on the tantalising creatures that I could see rising. 
 After half a day I retired worsted. The morrow, 
 however, found me there again still full of zeal and 
 eager to try a new plan. This was to give the trout 
 something to which they were not accustomed. I 
 had gathered from conversation with some of the 
 
100 TROUT FISHING 
 
 habitues the day before that most people fished with 
 winged-flies, and I thought I would try the effect 
 of tiny hackle patterns. The result was a modest 
 triumph of two brace, besides which there were two 
 or three decent fish lost owing to the inadequate 
 hold of the small hooks. As a stranger I felt that 
 I had done very well. 
 
 This is not, of course, quite the same thing as 
 surprising the fish into taking by offering them some 
 strange new thing, for tiny hackle patterns are 
 nothing startling. The startling fly, however, does 
 succeed. A good many anglers must remember 
 how for a series of years on the hard-fished water 
 of a certain well-known society the ingenuity of 
 one or two members used to be directed to inventing 
 new flies, which proved very successful. Some of 
 those flies were strange enough to deserve the names 
 which were given to them " terror," " paralyser," 
 and the like. But they killed fish. It may perhaps 
 have been due to the energy of the chief inventor 
 in designing new patterns and so making the earlier 
 successes seem old-fashioned, but my impression 
 used to be that each new fancy outlived its usefulness 
 by the end of a season, and that next year something 
 different would do better. And I still think that 
 the trout after a time got to know a fancy pattern 
 too well and distrusted it. Such a thing is perhaps 
 more noticeable in lakes where the wet flies used 
 
THE FLY QUESTION i<Jl 
 
 are chiefly of the fancy pattern kind. Some startling 
 new fly will often succeed very well, noticeably well, 
 for a time, but in due course it loses its magic and 
 becomes no better than one of the dozen or so of 
 general patterns which are generally worth trying. 
 Blagdon Lake has known several ups and downs 
 in fashion of this sort. 
 
 But I have little doubt that, generally speaking, 
 there is considerable merit in something new in fly 
 fishing for trout, and that an angler who finds him- 
 self at a loss on some occasion would do well to try 
 the effect of it. Of course the novelty need not 
 consist in purely fancy attributes. There is a much 
 more effective kind of novelty in an attempt to copy 
 a natural fly by some new method, or in the use of 
 some material for body or wings which has not often 
 been seen on the water you are fishing. This is 
 where the man who can tie his own flies scores 
 so heavily. He need never be satisfied with a 
 rendering of a fly which seems to him inadequate, 
 and he can always be trying the effect of some slight 
 change. He probably has his materials with him, 
 and he can do it then and there when an idea comes. 
 The rest of us have to wait patiently while some one 
 else does it for us, and at the quickest the obtaining 
 of a new fly takes several days. 
 
 The longer I fish the more I see the value of skill 
 in fly-tying, and were I to begin over again, I think 
 
102 TROUT FISHING 
 
 I would learn to handle fly-dressing materials before 
 I learnt the management of rod and line. I do not 
 think that a man enjoys his fishing any the less 
 for not tying his own flies, nor do I think that he 
 would save much money by tying them (for cabinets, 
 materials, tools, silks, and the other paraphernalia 
 are attractive enough to induce lavish outlay), but 
 I do think that he must be less efficient in the art 
 of catching fish if he cannot himself construct the 
 lures with which he pursues them. " But think," 
 some one may say, " how many fine fishermen there 
 are who have this disability." It is true, but it is 
 no less true that if they were fly-tyers they would be 
 better fishermen still. And I fancy there are very 
 few of them who would not admit it. 
 
 Occasionally the question, a curiously interesting 
 albeit not a very profitable one, has been raised 
 as to what trout -fly individual anglers would select 
 if they were confined to the use of a single pattern 
 for a whole season. The problem is as difficult 
 as the other test of irresolution which seeks to pin 
 a man down to the choice of a single book for a 
 sojourn on a desert island. To the individual who 
 finds neither the hundred best patterns nor the 
 hundred best books enough for his normal require- 
 ments, such a making-up of the mind would be a 
 fearful proceeding. But of course for academic 
 purposes and with the comfortable certainty that 
 
THE FLY QUESTION 103 
 
 one is not likely to have to put the matter to the 
 proof it is amusing sometimes to dally with the 
 idea. Moreover, there are anglers who have fished 
 a season through with a single pattern, or with but 
 one or two changes. Lord Grey in his book on 
 fly fishing has set down a short and simple list of 
 flies which comes very near the single-fly ideal. 
 For dry-fly work he expressed his content with 
 four patterns (besides Mayfly and sedge), to wit, 
 medium olive, iron blue, red quill, and plain black 
 hackle. For wet-fly fishing his selection was March 
 brown, Greenwell's Glory, the Pennell No. 1, red 
 quill, and black spider. W. C. Stewart evidently 
 favoured a short and simple list for his own use, 
 and he advocated but six patterns. 
 
 That veteran angler and writer, " Red Quill," 
 once described in the Field the result of a season's 
 dry-fly fishing in which he used but a single pattern, 
 the fly which gives him his pen-name. And there 
 are a certain number of single-fly men about. A 
 friend of mine had for some years one unvarying 
 reply to the question " What did you get them on ? " 
 It was " A Wickham." He may sometimes have 
 used some other pattern, but I never saw anything 
 else on his cast. Another friend of mine in answer 
 to the same question might be depended on to reply, 
 " A red tag." And a few years ago on a wet-fly 
 stream in the spring I met an angler who told me 
 
104 TROUT FISHING 
 
 that he always used the coachman. I think he 
 always fished it dry wherever he might be. And 
 though my memory of that visit is one of rather 
 inclement spring weather, when one would have said 
 that dry-fly fishing would be badly handicapped, 
 that angler certainly used to bring back fish, not 
 many perhaps, but good ones. I fancy he gave 
 himself a biggish size-limit. My red tag friend 
 is similarly a devotee of the dry-fly method, and I 
 know that he has done quite well with his red tag 
 on all mountain streams as well as in the chalk 
 district, and likewise with coarse fish, for which he 
 also angles. 
 
 At one fishing inn which I have often visited a 
 certain angler has left an enduring reputation 
 behind him. I never had the pleasure of meeting 
 him, for his visits had ceased shortly before mine 
 began, but I know him by repute as well as any 
 angler in history so often have his name and 
 achievements come up for discussion in the smoking- 
 room of an evening. Never did any visitor at 
 the inn ever bring back such distinguished trout 
 indeed I am not sure that he did not achieve half- 
 pound averages, which is a thing almost incredible 
 in that district and, his chroniclers will always 
 conclude, " he never fished with more than one fly, 
 a very big cochybonddu." Early spring, high 
 summer, or cool autumn, it was apparently the same 
 
THE FLY QUESTION 105 
 
 at all times, a very big cochybonddu, and baskets 
 of trout with which no one else might vie. Yet 
 another angler once told me that he always fished 
 with a single pattern everywhere, a plain black 
 hackle with silver ribbing down the body, and he 
 seemed quite contented with the results of this 
 procedure. 
 
 Probably there are plenty of other anglers who 
 have reduced their perplexities to nil by a similar 
 resolute policy. I remember that my friend Caradoc 
 all one season on a chalk stream which we fished 
 together seemed to use nothing but what he called 
 " the haystack " it was a bunchy sort of hackle 
 hare's ear, if I am not mistaken, but I took a dislike 
 to its appearance and shape, and would have nothing 
 to do with it. When Tup's indispensable first 
 dawned on the dry-fly world a good many men 
 must have used it pretty consistently in the same 
 way. The river reports were for a long time full 
 of the doings of this excellent fly. And there are 
 other instances of the same kind of thing. One 
 very famous fishing club would probably be willing 
 to pass a unanimous vote of thanks to the fly which 
 has the inspiring name of " the extractor " ; though 
 I fancy that that particular pattern has since had 
 rivals in the general esteem, it is still good for a 
 brace most days. 
 
 Reflecting on such examples of procedure as those 
 
106 TROUT FISHING 
 
 on which I have touched, one cannot help coming 
 to a conclusion that one ought to be able to simplify 
 one's method without any great loss to one's take 
 of fish. If different men are able to go contentedly 
 on with single patterns so diverse in character as 
 Wickham, red tag, coachman, and silver-ribbed 
 black hackle, the implication is that, take them by 
 and large, trout are not a fastidious race. And so 
 the ordinary angler need not, unless he chooses, 
 embarrass himself with a confusing mass of patterns 
 which many of them have but small points of differ- 
 ence. Which is as much as to say that the brief 
 list advocated by some writers is sound policy after 
 all. 
 
 Looking at one's own customary procedure one 
 is on the whole strengthened in this belief. The 
 flies which I use most are as follows : 1, olive ; 
 2, red quill ; 3, Wickham ; 4, blue upright ; 5, hackle 
 red quill ; 6, black hackle ; 7, half stone ; 8, orange 
 quill; 9, blue-winged olive; 10, March brown; 
 11, orange partridge; 12, Greenwell; 13, hare's 
 ear ; 14, cochybonddu ; 15, blue dun ; 16, February 
 red or early brown. Of course there are other flies 
 which are on my cast occasionally, and I would 
 not venture to say that at some future date the list 
 given would not have to be altered or modified. 
 But so far as my present practice is concerned these 
 sixteen patterns are the flies on which I chiefly 
 
THE FLY QUESTION 107 
 
 depend. Nearly all of them serve both for wet 
 and dry-fly work, with, of course, the necessary 
 difference in build in the case of the winged flies. 
 And nearly all of them are applicable for either 
 chalk streams or mountain rivers. Some of them 
 serve equally well for lake fishing, though for that 
 I would add a few purely fancy patterns which 
 I should not think necessary for river work, and 
 also one or two imitations of the gnats and midges 
 which are important on still waters. 
 
 There is, to my mind, no hard and fast line between 
 chalk streams and other waters in the matter of 
 appropriate flies, and a pattern considered specially 
 designed for one district may do equally well in 
 the other. The half stone and the blue upright 
 convinced me of this. Both are essentially Devon- 
 shire flies by tradition. But both are extremely 
 valuable for chalk stream fishing. The pattern 
 of half stone which I use is as a matter of fact a 
 Welsh dressing, bigger and more straggly than the 
 Devonshire variety, but it is practically the same 
 fly in essentials. It is not particularly like anything 
 you find on a chalk stream, but the fish seem to take 
 to it very kindly whether fished dry or wet in the 
 minor tactics fashion. It must be an excellent 
 instance of the typical fly. I have not the least 
 doubt that many of the essentially wet-fly patterns 
 of which there is such a large variety would give 
 
108 TROUT FISHING 
 
 surprising results if introduced to the Test or Itchen. 
 Some of the Yorkshire patterns, for instance, have 
 every attribute that ought to command success. 
 And in many cases the skimpy build of a wet-fly 
 seems to be an attraction. If it has no wings that 
 does not prevent its floating. Life is not long 
 enough to try any great series of experiments of 
 this kind, but so far as I have experimented I am 
 convinced that a good fly will kill trout anywhere. 
 As for the " local pattern " I have no belief in it 
 as a sort of talisman for a particular district. Given 
 a good set of typical flies, a reasonable measure of 
 skill in using them, and a knowledge of water craft, 
 an angler will always give a decent account of 
 himself anywhere. The undue exaltation of local 
 patterns is due principally to the skill of local 
 anglers who know every yard and every mood of 
 their own waters. There a stranger must always 
 be handicapped, and blame for his comparative lack 
 of success may be ascribed to his flies rather than 
 to the proper cause. 
 
 The best test of the matter would be to take away 
 the local patterns of some skilful local angler and 
 equip him with a set of flies from some district where 
 a different convention of imitation prevails with a 
 similar result in the glorification of certain dressings. 
 Provided that he was not so conservative as to 
 despair of new-fangled ideas at the outset, I would 
 
THE FLY QUESTION 109 
 
 wager on his doing just as well with the new equip- 
 ment as with the old. This, of course, applies to 
 districts in which conditions of water, etc., are more 
 or less similar. But I am also convinced that if you 
 took a really skilful wet-fly man, told him the rudi- 
 ments of dry-fly practice, gave him a tin of grease 
 for his line, and set him loose on a chalk stream with 
 his own patterns, he would quickly find himself on 
 excellent terms with the trout. In fact, I have 
 seen that occur more than once. 
 
 I have dwelt on the difficulty of systematising one's 
 selection of a stock of flies ow r ing to the way in which 
 some pattern heretofore little esteemed may sud- 
 denly justify itself by a marked success. For all 
 that, however, I suppose every angler has his 
 favourites, and I certainly have mine, the result 
 of gradually accumulated experience. On the whole, 
 I think, my tendency is to reduce rather than increase 
 their number ; though now and then some new one 
 may be added, it probably replaces an old one or 
 at any rate detracts from its importance by doing 
 part of its work. Of course it would not be easy to 
 set down a dozen patterns either for dry-fly fishing 
 or for mountain streams and say that these met 
 every possible need. They would not, and the 
 heterogeneous array in box or book proves that they 
 would not. One carries a great many patterns 
 which one seldom uses and in which one has no great 
 
110 TROUT FISHING 
 
 belief for ordinary occasions. But one recognises 
 that they may be required some day, and possibly 
 one has memories of days on which they were 
 essential. 
 
 Some of these flies are possibly only needed if 
 one is on the water at a certain time of year. The 
 grannom, for instance, is a creature with a well- 
 defined season, often a short one. Where it occurs 
 you generally know when it is due more or less. So 
 too with the Mayfly and Welshman's button on the 
 south-country streams, and such a fly as the gravel- 
 bed on some of the mountain rivers. Other flies, 
 which also have definite seasons, according to my 
 experience may or may not be wanted. Insects 
 like the hawthorn and the brown ant are about each 
 year at their special times, but it does not follow 
 that they come within reach of the trout. If they 
 do you may want imitations of them very badly. 
 I have once or twice been very glad of having a 
 few imitations of the hawthorn in my fly-book, and 
 have owed a modest basket or so to its agency. 
 
 But the most noteworthy instance of its value 
 that I ever came across was not a personal experi- 
 ence. This was on the Exe in May. It was lovely 
 weather, the water was rather low, and the half- 
 dozen rods at the hotel had for some days been doing 
 but moderately. I myself had been counting my 
 
THE FLY QUESTION 111 
 
 catches by the brace, a fact which tells its own tale, 
 though I had no reason to complain of the sport, 
 as the fish reached a very good size for the Exe 
 and gave great fun on gossamer tackle and tiny 
 flies. One of my fellow-anglers attracted my atten- 
 tion. He obviously knew all about it, but he took 
 things very easily, did not seem to care whether he 
 caught anything or not, pottered about a good deal, 
 and appeared to do more watching than fishing. 
 Then suddenly one day he addressed himself to the 
 business seriously and returned with a splendid 
 basket of trout over two dozen, I think, and of 
 good average size. He confided to me that the 
 hawthorn was the fly, and added that he had been 
 waiting for the opportunity. It has always struck 
 me as one of the most scientific fishing achievements 
 I ever came across waiting patiently till the chance 
 came, and then using it to such good purpose. 
 
 I have never had the luck to find the hawthorn 
 causing chalk stream trout to rise, though I believe 
 that happens sometimes. Nor have I ever seen 
 a big fall of ants on the water, though I have occa- 
 sionally found the ant a very useful fly towards 
 the end of August or beginning of September when 
 the insects have obviously been about. The alder, 
 of course, has served me very well in its season, but 
 for a long time I must have given to it credit which 
 
112 TROUT FISHING 
 
 properly belonged to the Welshman's button or 
 caperer. I am not sure that the latter name is not 
 preferable on account of the confusion between the 
 Welshman's button of Hampshire and that of Wales. 
 Anyhow I had no knowledge of Sericostoma persona- 
 turn till Mr. Halford's new patterns opened my eyes. 
 Since then for chalk stream work I have used it 
 far more than the alder, principally because I find 
 it easier to see. It is not necessarily more effective. 
 More than once when I have been killing fish with 
 it I have afterwards found that another angler 
 close by has been doing equally well with an alder 
 of the same shape. 
 
 The cowdung fly is one for which I have an affec- 
 tion, though I have used it but little of late years. 
 I have memories of cold blustering days in early 
 spring when these brown-coated creatures of dubious 
 habit were about the only sign of insect life. A 
 certain number get blown into the water, and so on 
 such days the pattern is certainly useful. It has 
 given me a good many trout in the past, and so I 
 generally have a few in my book in the present. 
 The zulu is another fly of which I always carry a few 
 examples both for wet and dry-fly fishing, though 
 I do not often use it now. But I have once or twice 
 found it very valuable as a wet-fly when the water 
 has been rather thick, and, as for dry-fly work, I 
 
THE FLY QUESTION 113 
 
 always remember that a friend of mine got a fish 
 of well over four pounds with it on one occasion. 
 
 Setting aside the comparatively few anglers whose 
 practice is really scientific and who have and use 
 a wide knowledge of fisherman's entomology, I 
 suppose most of us are more or less guided by the 
 rough general principle of wishing to use something 
 more or less like what the fish happen to be taking 
 at the time. And I suppose that I am not alone 
 in believing that on a good many occasions what one 
 may call a " typical " fly is good enough. Suppos- 
 ing, for instance, that there are lightish olives on 
 the water, it would not be surprising if the trout 
 were equally ready to take a light olive quill, a 
 ginger quill, a hare's ear, a light-blue quill, or perhaps 
 some other variety of cock-winged dun, supposing 
 all the patterns to be of the same size and shape. 
 Any one of these patterns presumably gives the 
 fish a representation of the natural fly good enough 
 for their needs. At one time I pinned my faith 
 to the ginger quill as the typical pattern and had no 
 cause for dissatisfaction. Then Mr. Halford brought 
 out his new patterns, his medium olive took my 
 fancy, and since I have hardly used the ginger quill 
 at all. I must confess that I have never found any 
 difference in the killing power of the two sexes, but 
 I have used the female most as it has a slightly more 
 
114 TROUT FISHING 
 
 toothsome appearance a thoroughly unscientific 
 reason ! 
 
 As a general rule I am not much impressed by any 
 tendency in trout to be over particular as to shades 
 of colour. The ginger quill and Halford's female 
 olive are not a bit alike in colour, but the latter 
 seems to me to do the work which used to be done 
 by the former. And I think a light hare's ear would 
 probably serve me just as well. But and this 
 prevents me being a hearty sceptic as to the colour 
 question I certainly sometimes find the fish inclined 
 to pick and choose. Especially is this the case in 
 the evening when the blue-winged olive is on. 
 Several times I have proved that the trout would 
 take Halford's blue-winged olive, the female, when 
 they would have nothing to do with any other pattern 
 I offered them. And I presume that the colour 
 has been responsible for this, though it is marvellous 
 that subtle distinctions, as between that fly and an 
 ordinary dark blue quill or blue dun, should be 
 perceptible to them in the dusk. But, to show 
 how one's mind wobbles in these matters, I had 
 just made it up to the effect that Halford's female 
 blue-winged olive was the fly, when, as previously 
 recorded, Mr. Skues introduced me to the orange 
 quill on quite a big hook No. 2, I think. This fly 
 immediately ousted the other in my affections, 
 
THE FLY QUESTION 115 
 
 for it seemed a sure killer, and its size of hook was 
 a great advantage for evening work when you want 
 to hold fish rather hard and get them out quickly. 
 And now at any rate, for the time being I have 
 lost faith in both blue-winged olive and orange 
 quill ! Neither kills fish for me any more. But 
 I have said all that I need say as to the uncertainties 
 of the evening rise and the selection of patterns 
 for it. 
 
 For a good many years now I have depended to 
 a large extent for dry-fly fishing, and to some extent 
 for wet-fly work, on a simple series of hackle flies, 
 blue, red, ginger, and black, three of them with 
 quill bodies, and the fourth with silk body, all 
 rather sparsely hackled, and somewhat varied in 
 shade. The blue, for instance, may be dark, medium, 
 or light, and the red may be dark or light, and may 
 or may not have a couple of turns of gold tinsel 
 as a tag. The black must have jet-black hackle. 
 The value of this series, which practically consists 
 of wingless blue, red and ginger quills, and black 
 gnat, is most apparent in hot bright weather, and 
 smaller sizes are usually more successful than larger. 
 The blue fly on a 00 hook l is particularly good in 
 
 1 With a view to getting more holding power in these small 
 flies I adopted the plan of short-shanked hooks. The result of 
 this is that with a 00 length of body you get a gape of hook. 
 Mr. Forrest, of Forrest & Sons, Thomas Street, Oxford Street, W., 
 kindly interested himself in the matter, and got some hooks 
 
116 TROUT FISHING 
 
 the evening rise, especially if rising fish are few and 
 far between. The black one is excellent for smutting 
 trout; indeed, all four have their uses in that 
 emergency. I suppose that the success of the series 
 simply depends on the fact that each fly is sufficiently 
 typical of some series of insects, diptera as well as 
 duns, on which trout feed. Oddly enough, though 
 I have carefully tried a hackle olive of the same type 
 I have never done any good with it worth mention- 
 ing. But Mr. Rolfs " Sylph," a little grayling 
 fly with a green silk body, has sometimes been very 
 useful, and ought perhaps to be added to the series. 
 At one time I found myself hoping that this 
 hackle series would render floating winged duns 
 unnecessary, but I have now relinquished that 
 hope. Winged patterns seem emphatically better 
 in certain circumstances, as when fish are rising 
 freely at a good hatch of olives. Also, on some very 
 shy day, when I expect the hackle series to do best, 
 I occasionally find that the old-fashioned winged 
 red quill beats them all. I also had great hopes of 
 Mr. Halford's beautiful spinners when I first made 
 their acquaintance. These dainty creations seemed 
 likely to do all that could be required of a series 
 of " typical " flies. But only one of them has really 
 
 specially made. They are round-bend, very light in the wire 
 and you must not treat them too roughly, but for delicate work 
 and shy fish I have found them admirable. 
 
THE FLY QUESTION 117 
 
 done much for me, the olive (red) spinner. I have 
 found that invaluable on many occasions, but I 
 have been able to do very little with any of the 
 others, and the old range of simple hackles still 
 holds its own. 
 
 In giving my impressions on the subject of flies 
 I am acutely conscious that they are only of value 
 as showing what happens to one angler of unscientific 
 mind. Many of the flies which I find unsuccessful, 
 or, more probably, have never sufficiently tried, 
 are greatly valued by others. When I look into 
 such a volume as Mr. Leonard West's The Natural 
 Trout Fly and its Imitation I see a great variety of 
 patterns which are obviously good killers and which 
 have never come within my scheme at all. And 
 then there are the new doctrines of " impression- 
 ism " in fly-dressing, set forth by Dr. Mottram 
 and others, the chase of the silhouette, the fashion- 
 ing of shaped bodies, the use of hackles fore and 
 aft, and so on. Both for wet flies (nymphs) and 
 dry flies I believe the new conventions are more 
 likely to achieve accuracy in imitation from the 
 trout's point of view than did most of the old ones 
 Dr. Francis Ward's optical experiments taught us 
 many things, but I confess that so far I have 
 not found in practical fishing any absolute necessity 
 to renounce the old in favour of the new. 
 
118 TROUT FISHING 
 
 The fact is that one man can only get to know and 
 fish with a certain number of flies unless he combines 
 the longevity of Methuselah with the single-minded- 
 ness of Stoddart. And so the confession of such 
 crude practices as mine must be woefully inadequate 
 as a contribution to the fly question. 
 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 SOME CONTROVERSIES 
 
 IT is one of the proofs of the strong hold which 
 trout fishing has on their affections that its devotees 
 are at any moment ready to engage in prolonged 
 argument about its various methods and devices. 
 I suppose all of us have at some time or other upheld 
 with vigour a point of view which has not com- 
 mended itself to our very good friend and neighbour, 
 and consequently been let in for that battle of 
 irrelevancies which commonly constitutes the human 
 disputation. The worst of argument is that people 
 get led on by sheer lust of battle, and in the hope of 
 scoring some minor point are betrayed into saying 
 something which is in excess of their real opinion. 
 That said, they are then under the regrettable neces- 
 sity of sticking to it, have to find further support 
 for it in contentions which are purely advanced for 
 that purpose, and so end up in a thoroughly false 
 position, ruefully conscious of the fact that they 
 are now committed to a confession of faith which by 
 no means coincides with their inner belief. 
 
 Probably that fine old battle-cry " upstream or 
 
 119 
 
120 TROUT FISHING 
 
 down " has put more anglers into this quandary 
 than any other. I have more than once been present 
 at, even engaged in, arguments which have had 
 some such conclusions as that, on the one hand, 
 nobody but an imbecile or a novice would dream 
 of fishing downstream, and A. may please himself 
 as to which class he belongs to ; while, on the other 
 hand, if anybody ever makes a decent basket by 
 fishing upstream, B. would be very glad to see it, 
 that's all, and meanwhile he will be happy to wager 
 any sum A. likes to name that his friend X. would 
 fish against him on any day and any water and give 
 him at least twelve tails and a beating. 
 
 The clear-water worm is another fruitful cause 
 of discord. Start a discussion upon it and you will 
 probably go away halting between the two opinions 
 (1) that the clear- water wormer is on the whole 
 the highest type of angling man, situate on a finer 
 eminence even than the dry-fly purist ; (2) that he 
 is a gloomy survival of the troglodytes, whose 
 motto was " Slay and spare not," and that he ought 
 to be swept away by the broom of civilisation. 
 
 Then, when the light and heavy rod controversy 
 raged a dozen years or so ago, I sometimes had a 
 fear that it might at last develop into an argu- 
 mentum ad hominem baculumque, in which case the 
 heavy-rod man would have an obvious advantage 
 not altogether justified by the nature of the dispute, 
 

SOME CONTROVERSIES 121 
 
 for a fishing-rod is, after all, intended for fishing 
 rather than discussion of the more violent kind. 
 But of course almost any fishing controversy may 
 end in a similar way if the disputants are by nature 
 rather fierce. And something depends on the way 
 in which the question is raised. When, for example, 
 the fly-only salmon man says to the prawn-cum- 
 minnow salmon man, " Sir, your methods are 
 damnable, and I have a great distaste for your 
 personality, so now let us discuss the question of 
 ' fly versus bait ' when he begins in this way it is 
 not surprising that the two fail to arrive at any 
 sympathetic understanding of each other. And 
 I do not suppose it is any more probable that they 
 will do so if the discussion is invited by the other 
 with some such words as, " Blank again ? Well, 
 if you will be such a benighted ass as to stick to 
 your mouldy flies in water like this . . ."etc. 
 
 Whether started thus provocatively or more 
 mildly, as with, " My dear fellow, I should immensely 
 value your opinion on a point," these discussions 
 are always very interesting both to participants and 
 onlookers. For everybody has, or has had, decided 
 views on the main controversies which rage at 
 different periods. But there comes a time with 
 regard to most of them when the blessed word 
 compromise seems a useful addition to the other 
 words which fly about. As one's fishing experience 
 
122 TROUT FISHING 
 
 grows so does it seem more likely that both parties 
 to a dispute have a good deal of justification for 
 their opinion, and that the discreet third party 
 by keeping his ears open and his mouth shut may 
 learn not a little that will be to his advantage. It 
 is perhaps indicative of a grovelling spirit not to 
 plunge into any fray that is going on, but it keeps 
 a man out of difficult situations, and enables him 
 to turn a calculating eye on the profits of the affair. 
 Take, for instance, that " upstream or down " 
 question. Suppose you have a skilled exponent 
 of either method arguing on each side. By listening 
 quietly to their respective statements you will 
 probably pick up a good many wrinkles as to the 
 conditions in which the two methods do best, and 
 also as to the ways in which each man makes his 
 own method effective. There was a time I will 
 admit it when I was one of the upstream disciples, 
 and so convinced that if I saw a man fishing down- 
 stream I immediately set him down in my own 
 mind as evidently a poor performer. But that was 
 a long time ago, and since then I have angled in 
 many waters, talked with and watched many anglers, 
 and entirely lost my old attitude towards the down- 
 stream plan. At the same time, I have not lost 
 my affection for upstream work, so I consider 
 myself greatly the gainer. If one method does not 
 succeed, to have an alternative method which may 
 
SOME CONTROVERSIES 
 
 123 
 
 do better is decidedly a good thing. In the old 
 days, if circumstances made upstream fishing 
 impossible, it was a very half-hearted effort that 
 I made in the other direction. Now I should be 
 just as hopeful whichever way I was casting. 
 
 Of course there are different methods of fishing 
 downstream. You can, if you please, cause your 
 flies to behave very much as if you were fishing 
 in the other way. By casting across with a little 
 slack to your line you can cause them to float down 
 unimpeded for a few yards. I fancy this method, 
 which is well suited to big rivers and deep or difficult 
 wading, is the one that the crack downstream men 
 mostly employ. In principle there is little to 
 distinguish it from the across-and-up plan. But 
 there are other ways of getting fish. You can work 
 your droppers on the top, which is a pretty and 
 sometimes a successful art, you can let your flies 
 drag round in the stream, which rises fish well 
 enough, though they do not always get hooked so 
 surely as might be wished. You can cast your 
 flies at an angle of forty-five, as in salmon fishing, 
 and work them with movements of the rod-top. 
 You can if you come to a tunnel of bushes, a wide 
 bridge, or some similar otherwise inaccessible place 
 let a lot of line out on the stream and simply wind 
 it back again, a plan which is often good for a trout 
 or two. 
 
124 TROUT FISHING 
 
 In fact, when one comes to consider all the possi- 
 bilities of the downstream method, it is clear that 
 deliberate rejection of it would be to inflict a volun- 
 tary handicap on one's efficiency. There are occa- 
 sions on which it is not only just as good as, but 
 even better than, the upstream plan. One of these 
 occasions which has impressed me forcibly of late 
 years is the period when trout are not definitely 
 taking. If you have been fishing up for some time 
 without stirring a fin, it is always worth while to 
 turn round and fish down. Cast your flies under 
 the bushes or bank and work them out and across- 
 stream with short draws of the rod-top, and it will 
 be odd if you do not get a rise or two, and very 
 likely in the same spots where the upstream method 
 scored nothing. The movement of a fly fished in 
 this manner may be unnatural, as some maintain, 
 but it certainly has an effect on the trout, arousing 
 curiosity at least, if nothing else. I do not know 
 if wet-fly men at all commonly work their flies in 
 this way I rather think not but the plan is well 
 worth a trial by any one to whom it is new. I 
 have owed to it many a brace of trout before the 
 take has come on or after it has ended, which I 
 am sure I should not have had if I had gone on 
 plodding upstream. 
 
 One of the principal arguments of the supporters 
 of the upstream method, as against the other, 
 
SOME CONTROVERSIES 125 
 
 is that as trout lie with their heads to the current 
 the angler is less visible to them when he comes up 
 behind them. It is the sort of obvious benefit which 
 I should never have dreamed of questioning but 
 for an experience on a small mountain river during 
 a period of dead low water and great heat one August. 
 The stream was so fine and so clear that I found 
 it impossible to cover the tails of the little pools even 
 by the most cautious approach. Do what I would 
 I could not get a fly to them without starting a 
 sauve qui pent among the trout lying in the shallow 
 water. They ran up into the pools, of course, and 
 spread the alarm everywhere, so that, except for a 
 chance with dry fly in certain places, it seemed 
 hopeless to fish before dusk. But one day I tried 
 fishing downstream, to see if it would be possible 
 to get anything out of the stickles at the heads of 
 the pools. And to my surprise I found that the 
 fish were very much more approachable in this way. 
 Indeed, at last I succeeded in killing some, though 
 not many, and had to revise my ideas as to the 
 invariable superiority of the upstream method on 
 the score of visibility to the fish. 
 
 I have previously related an experience on the 
 Kennet which also cast doubts on the visibility 
 axiom. In that case I should have said that fishing 
 downstream I must be a much more visible object 
 than when fishing up. But the trout did not behave 
 
126 TROUT FISHING 
 
 as if this was the case. They fled when I was behind 
 them, and they rose when I was in front of them, 
 and I can only conclude that they saw me in the 
 one position and not in the other. There is an 
 interesting diagram in one of Mr. F. G. Shaw's books 
 which shows the presumable field of vision of a fish's 
 eye, and from it one may deduce that a trout can 
 see much further behind him than would generally 
 be supposed. 
 
 There is no up or down controversy among dry- 
 fly men, of course. Downstream fishing is a well- 
 approved branch of the sport, and it is only because 
 drifting is a difficult art, and because it does not 
 give much chance of a second cast at a fish, that 
 it is not more generally employed. There are waters 
 on which it scores heavily, especially in Mayfly 
 time after the trout have been hammered very hard 
 by many rods. Then they become extremely wary 
 and suspicious of objects which are connected with 
 some remote danger by a string. Offer them a fly, 
 however, which floats down to them with its string 
 tucked away behind it, and they may be more inclined 
 to take it. 
 
 The question of the best kind of rod is another 
 of those things which have led to controversy, but I 
 think the debates have been more profitable than 
 some of those on other matters, because they have 
 undoubtedly led to definite results in the develop- 
 
SOME CONTROVERSIES 127 
 
 ment of the most important item in the trout 
 fisher's equipment. Had it not been for the " light 
 v. heavy" war of pens, which I have before mentioned, 
 I am pretty sure that I for one should not fish with 
 half the comfort and pleasure that I get out of 
 the sport to-day. 
 
 The old trout-rod was a heavy affair because it 
 could not be otherwise. The convention of a gradual 
 taper from a fat butt to a very fine point necessitated 
 a liberal use of timber, and of course timber means 
 weight. As we realise now, a great deal of this 
 weight was quite unnecessary, since you can get 
 a better action for ordinary fly-fishing purposes with 
 much less taper and therefore much less timber. 
 The typical old fly-rod had its action mostly in the 
 top-half, and that of course is no sort of action for 
 such a purpose as getting out a heavy dry-fly line 
 against the wind. 
 
 The directions for casting a fly found in many 
 of the older books of instruction suggest the pro- 
 ceedings of the novice who seeks to get his line out 
 by making his rod, his arm, and himself into one 
 rigid implement which moves slowly and gingerly 
 backwards and forwards. He hopes, probably, 
 that the wind, or providence, will see to the progress 
 of the line in the right direction. I have often 
 thought it a touching instance of the vanity of human 
 wishes when I have seen the ardent beginner leaning 
 
128 TROUT FISHING 
 
 out over the water as far as he, and his arm, and his 
 rod will go in the hope that thus he will achieve the 
 further bank. 
 
 There is a line in Virgil descriptive of this situa- 
 tion : " Tendebantque manus ripae ulterioris amore." 
 Many is the disquisition I have heard in the Sixth 
 in ancient days on the poignancy of this simple 
 tribute to the unattainable. But I think I never 
 fully realised it till I had studied a few fly-fishing 
 novices. The yearning countenance, the out- 
 stretched appealing hand (two hands sometimes), 
 the futile dejected rod, and the miserable line cutting 
 an eight, a three, a question mark, and a spread 
 eagle on the surface of the water within a few feet 
 of the hither bank it is intensely Virgilian. It 
 is the " alight like thistledown " nonsense which 
 undoes the modern novice of course. He has heard 
 that phrase from his youth up. He has gone into 
 the meadows and studied thistledown floating 
 gently on the breeze. And he has sought to make 
 his artificial fly do the like, until it has dawned on 
 him after much discouragement that a fly-rod is 
 capable of doing some work, after which he gets on 
 better. 
 
 The old rods would, of course, do some work, but 
 not the kind of work one wants of a rod in many 
 circumstances now. You cannot use a heavy line 
 with a rod which does not play well down. The 
 
SOME CONTROVERSIES 129 
 
 strain on the top part is much too severe. The 
 lines such rods were accustomed to were light, made 
 of horsehair, or horsehair and silk, and propelling 
 them was no great strain. Presumably their owners 
 never attempted to fish against a strong wind, and 
 if they wanted to make longer casts they used longer 
 rods. That must be the explanation of the twenty- 
 two-foot salmon-rods of which heroic tales are told. 
 No one would fish with a twenty-two -foot rod out 
 of sheer gaiety of heart, though possibly the actual 
 labour of using it with a light line would be no 
 greater than the labour of using a modern eighteen- 
 foot rod with a heavy line. The common use of 
 trout-rods measuring thirteen or fourteen feet 
 was probably due to a similar need which exists 
 no longer. Now that a ten-foot rod will cast twenty 
 yards with ease and comfort, there is no reason 
 to be bothered with a weapon which requires two 
 hands. 
 
 Not that the old-fashioned two-handed rod is 
 without its uses still. To my mind it is the best 
 possible weapon for lake fishing where you want to 
 have a good reach, and to use fine gut. A two- 
 handed rod seems to me better in boat fishing than 
 a short rod, but if it is built on the modern lines 
 it is apt to be too powerful for fine gut and small 
 flies. In this respect the old light-topped rod is 
 much more suitable. At different times I have 
 
130 TROUT FISHING 
 
 purchased two modern split canes, fourteen feet 
 and thirteen feet, primarily with an eye to lake 
 fishing, and both have been failures for that. But 
 both have proved fine little salmon-rods. 
 
 The fact is that with the new system of rod- 
 building you can get too much power, and the old 
 system still has its points of superiority for some 
 kinds of fishing. A really good fourteen-foot trout- 
 rod of the old type is a treasure. For lake work 
 and also for sea trout in some places it cannot be 
 beaten. The same thing applies to salmon-rods 
 also, of course. That is digressive in this considera- 
 tion, but I may perhaps mention the case in which 
 you have to fish a big river when it is low. You 
 want a good reach of rod, but at the same time you 
 must use a light line and fine gut. An old-fashioned 
 eighteen-foot rod seems to meet the case better than 
 anything else, for a modern fourteen-foot rod, though 
 it would cast the distance all right and would not 
 be too hard on the gut, would not hang the fly well 
 enough. The same sort of thing has to be considered 
 in trout fishing at times. 
 
 Generally, however, I am heartily in accord with 
 the modern idea of what a rod should be and with 
 the tendency to reduce all necessary weight. I 
 often discussed this question with the late Mr. 
 Halford, who was by no means disposed to welcome 
 the new light-rod ideas with enthusiasm. He used 
 
SOME CONTROVERSIES 131 
 
 to point out truly enough that a well-built dry-fly 
 rod of the type favoured by him did not feel heavy in 
 the hand, because though it might actually weigh 
 several ounces more than a modern light rod, a 
 good deal of that weight was in the handle and so 
 served to bring about a nice balance. However, 
 I always thought it a notable sign of the times that 
 Mr. Halford himself capitulated to the new move- 
 ment to some extent. His later patterns of rod 
 were much lighter than the earlier. I doubt if 
 he would ever have come down to the half-ounce- 
 to-the-foot standard though. He liked a rod which 
 was obviously powerful and which by its solidity 
 of build gave him a feeling of mastery however 
 hard the wind might blow. The dubious eye which 
 he would cast on the kind of rod I generally fish 
 with showed that he would have small confidence 
 in it for rough work. 
 
 Personally I am, I suppose, what is called a 
 light-rod man, and I simply would not fish with one 
 of the old dry-fly rods if I could get anything else. 
 But it is not the question of weight that seems to me 
 most important. The quality I find in the light 
 rods which seems most valuable is delicacy. For 
 putting a fly to the proper place, for hooking a fish 
 without fear of mishap, for playing it with judgment 
 and a proper sense of what strain you have got on, 
 a sensitive rod is a great advantage. The bulkier 
 
132 TROUT FISHING 
 
 and heavier your rod the less can you appreciate 
 the subtleties of fly fishing. That, at any rate, 
 is how it seems to me. The modern light rod of 
 ten feet which weighs, say, six ounces, is to my mind 
 vastly superior in this respect to the old rod which 
 weighed twelve ounces or more. I do not say 
 definitely that it will stand so much hard work or 
 that it will throw so good a line against a wind, 
 but I do say that it will enable a man to catch more 
 fish, simply because with it he is on more intimate 
 terms with his fly. With such a rod I use a slightly 
 lighter line than I should with a heavier rod, and 
 that of course is a help to delicate fishing. 
 
 I think the evolution of this kind of rod is one 
 of the chief triumphs of tackle-making, and we 
 certainly owe a debt of gratitude to America for 
 stimulating our first interest in it. The slender 
 split-cane rod, weighing little more than half an 
 ounce to the foot, with a resiliency like steel and 
 with what seemed almost miraculous power of 
 casting, was a revelation to some of us at one time. 
 But it has proved that there is no miracle about it, 
 and our own makers now turn out light rods which 
 answer every requirement of the angler's ideal. 
 For all that we owe the impulse to America. So 
 long ago as 1873, when W. C. Prime wrote I Go A- 
 Fishing, our cousins were using seven-ounce rods. 
 Twelve years later Francis Francis, in A Book on 
 
SOME CONTROVERSIES 133 
 
 Angling (sixth edition), was weighing the merits 
 of four of his rods, which varied in length from 
 eleven feet seven inches to twelve feet eight inches, 
 and in weight from thirteen ounces four drams to 
 fourteen ounces six drams. Not, of course, that 
 light rods were unknown here till the American 
 type was discovered. I have a little greenheart 
 of nine feet six inches which is essentially a light 
 rod and is perhaps forty years old. But it is not 
 split cane. 
 
 While the general topic of fishing controversies 
 is in mind, there is one which cannot well be dis- 
 missed as of small account, and that is the debate 
 which arose a few years ago over the question 
 of reintroducing the wet fly to the chalk streams, 
 which had become more or less consecrated to the 
 dry fly. The debate is, indeed, scarcely concluded 
 yet, and I have no doubt that there are still plenty 
 of dry-fly men who would bend a severe eye upon 
 the minor tactician, as Mr. Skues's classic book 
 leads one to call him. As I have frankly been a 
 minor tactician myself ever since I read an article 
 in the Field entitled " The Wet-fly Oil Tip,"and even 
 before that used to fumble after chalk stream trout 
 according to my poor lights with wet flies if it 
 seemed necessary, I suppose my consideration of 
 the subject must be set down as a piece of special 
 pleading. But it seems to me that we have a strong 
 
134 TROUT FISHING 
 
 enough case for me to go forward in confidence 
 none the less. 
 
 The arguments against minor tactics are mainly 
 two, one that the method is of very little service, 
 the other that even if it be of service it offends 
 against the proprieties. The first argument seems 
 to me unsound and the second absurd. To deal 
 with them in turn : My own small experience has 
 proved to me conclusively that you can catch chalk 
 stream trout with a wet fly carefully delivered up 
 or across stream, and that the capture of an indivi- 
 dual feeding fish is to be achieved in this way just 
 as readily (in certain circumstances) as with a 
 floating fly. I have heard some of the more rigid 
 purists admit that a few of the smaller fish in a 
 chalk stream may perhaps be fools enough to take 
 a wet fly, but assert that nothing big would ever 
 so far demean itself. 
 
 This by no means accords with the facts so far 
 as my own experience has gone. The two-pounder 
 is just as likely to take a wet fly properly presented 
 as the pounder, and it is merely a question of finding 
 either in the right frame of mind. It may not be 
 very important, but it seems to me to have some 
 significance that both my biggest fish from the Itchen 
 (they weighed two and a half pounds apiece) were 
 taken with a wet fly. One was so caught more or 
 less by accident that is to say, I intended to put 
 
SOME CONTROVERSIES 135 
 
 my hackle-fly over him floating, but it sank as it 
 fell. The other was sought with a wet fly after he 
 had refused two or three patterns on the surface. 
 I have caught a number of fish of similar weight 
 on wet flies from both the Test and the Kennet, 
 where the trout run to bigger sizes. 
 
 There is, however, no real need for me to labour 
 the point that the new doctrine of nymph fishing 
 is justified by its results when there is so convincing 
 a book as Mr. Skues's Minor Tactics ready to any 
 one's hand. Suffice it to say that I thoroughly 
 agree with him that the method is an invaluable 
 addition to the chalk stream fisherman's stock of 
 subtleties. 
 
 The other argument of the " Non placets," that 
 it is unseemly to use a wet fly on a chalk stream in 
 any method whatsoever seems to me to be based 
 to some extent on ignorance of what this particular 
 method really is. The ignorance may in some 
 cases be wilful, and reminiscent of the resolute mode 
 of debate charmingly summed up in a recent bio- 
 graphy by " I'm not arguing, I'm telling you." 
 In such cases there is little to be said with any 
 profit, because the most honeyed talk is of no avail 
 with the deaf ear. But in other cases there is doubt- 
 less a genuine hesitation as to whether minor tactics 
 is not part and parcel of the old system of fishing 
 which consisted in raking about with a brace of 
 
136 TROUT FISHING 
 
 big wet flies in windy or rainy weather, a method 
 which our forefathers employed because they knew 
 no better way of catching the fish, except perhaps 
 the minnow or the worm. 
 
 The brief answer to this supposition is that minor 
 tactics is different from ordinary dry-fly fishing 
 only in the matter of the fly. You mark down your 
 feeding fish, or your fish that looks like feeding, 
 in exactly the same way. You take exactly the 
 same precautions of approach, you cover him in 
 exactly the same manner, and to the best of your 
 ability you offer him an imitation of something on 
 which he is feeding. But you so arrange things 
 that the fly comes down to him beneath, instead 
 of on, the surface of the water, because he is taking 
 subaqueous and not surface food. This, at any 
 rate, is a sufficiently accurate general statement 
 of the case. Individual anglers may elaborate their 
 proceedings by seeking to impart a little motion to 
 their fly as it comes down, so that it may the better 
 imitate a live nymph. Others may try to give an 
 impression of " aliveness " to the artificial by careful 
 selection and arrangement of the materials from 
 which it is built. But without such elaboration 
 the method briefly described will serve and will 
 catch fish. 
 
 A point which I believe might weigh favourably 
 with some of the opponents of minor tactics is the 
 
SOME CONTROVERSIES 137 
 
 difficulty of the method. It is often a hard job 
 to make your fly sink when you want it to. It is 
 always a hard job to be sure when a fish has taken 
 it under water in time for a strike to have the desired 
 effect. The chalk stream as a rule does not help 
 you to a conclusion as does a rapid mountain river 
 when you are casting upstream. There any stoppage 
 of the line is marked enough to be visible to the eye 
 and often perceptible to the hand, while the rapid 
 movement of the fish very likely causes a disturbance 
 in the water which is immediately noticed. But 
 the chalk stream has not enough pace for the passage 
 of the line to be of much help, while the fish, being 
 more or less in a position to intercept the fly just 
 by opening his mouth, possibly causes no disturbance 
 in the water at all. The minor tactician must make 
 up his mind to be content with very inadequate 
 indications of a rise, and he must expect, if things 
 are not too favourable, to miss a good many fish 
 which certainly take his fly and give him a chance of 
 hooking them if only he could take advantage of it. 
 One does get a sort of instinct as to a rise with 
 practice, but I am never quite sure how I detect one 
 unless there is a definite commotion of the water 
 (what you have to look for was recently celebrated 
 in the Fly Fishers' Club Journal as a " wink under 
 water"; it describes it very well) or unless I can 
 actually see the fish. The last is the condition most 
 
138 TROUT FISHING 
 
 desirable in this kind of fishing. If you can watch the 
 trout you get an idea as to what he is doing, and can 
 pretty soon make up your mind whether a dry or wet 
 fly is more likely to suit him. And if you decide on the 
 wet you have a very good chance of knowing accur- 
 ately whether and when it is taken. You cannot 
 (at least I cannot ; very keen eyesight may stand a 
 better chance) see the fly itself under water, but 
 you know pretty well where it is, and if you see 
 the trout turn to right or left and open and shut his 
 mouth at about the right moment, you tighten up 
 with a good deal of confidence that the fly is in the 
 said mouth. Which generally proves to be the case. 
 It is a fascinating sight to see a good fish come up 
 at a dry fly, but I am not sure that the spectacle 
 of the same fish turning under water to one's nymph 
 is not even more attractive. It has an element of 
 sporting chance in it which appeals to human nature. 
 Minor tactics, if the foregoing account of it be 
 allowed correct, is obviously a great advance on the 
 old convention of wet-fly fishing in the chalk stream. 
 But to my mind it is also, or may be, a great advance 
 on the old convention of wet-fly fishing in mountain 
 streams also, even on the upstream method which 
 it so much resembles. I remember vividly one 
 occasion when I was grateful for minor tactics on 
 such a stream. It was fairly early in the season, 
 but the weather was summerlike, and an evening 
 
SOME CONTROVERSIES 139 
 
 rise was developing. I had come to a pool where I 
 knew there were always a number of good fish, and 
 these I found feeding vigorously in a sort of chain 
 in the glide at the head. They were rising just 
 as chalk stream trout do, and must have been lying 
 close to the surface, though I could not actually 
 see them. I tried them first with the three-fly 
 collar which I had on the line, with no result beyond 
 putting some of them down. Then I retreated to a 
 rock, sat down on it, and told myself that this was 
 just such an occasion as the dry-fly man in a strange 
 country hopes for. And I made preparations for 
 a bit of dry-fly work. Meanwhile the trout which 
 had been put down seemed to recover confidence, 
 and by the time I was ready all were as hard at work 
 as ever. 
 
 To my disgust when the far-famed dry fly came 
 to the test it was as futile as the three-fly collar 
 had been. One or two fish seemed to push it (or 
 them ; there were several patterns) contemptuously 
 with their noses, but nothing else happened. I 
 had to own myself defeated, in spite of progress. 
 But as a last resort, I decided to try a single wet 
 fly, a small blue upright, fished as carefully as I could 
 manage it over individual fish. And this I did 
 with the satisfactory result of getting five respectable 
 fish out of that single pool, besides hooking and losing 
 one or two more. It did not occur to me at the 
 
140 TROUT FISHING 
 
 time, but afterwards I realised that I had tried wet 
 fly and dry fly in vain, and had finally scored by 
 the use of what was really minor tactics. 
 
 To the really expert wet-fly man I expect minor 
 tactics displayed in this way is nothing new; pro- 
 bably that it is his natural way of fishing in circum- 
 stances resembling those described. If he finds trout 
 rising steadily he no doubt approaches them with 
 very accurate casting and generally with a single fly. 
 I should now endeavour to do the like, but until 
 I had that lesson I used to blunder on with my two 
 or three flies and often to wonder why visibly feed- 
 ing fish gave such poor response. The fact that they 
 are comparatively rare in mountain streams owing 
 to the nature of the water encouraged this. If I 
 failed in one place I merely went on to the next, 
 so I never learnt anything about such fish. 
 
 There is, by the way, one more objection to minor 
 tactics which is worth considering, and that is that 
 it probably makes the fish shyer than they would 
 otherwise be. I do not think it is possible yet to 
 prove this one way or the other, because the art 
 is comparatively new, and at most has only been 
 employed occasionally as an alternative to dry-fly 
 fishing. My belief, however, is that so far from 
 making the fish shyer it might tend to improve their 
 nerves. If you hammer away at bulging trout 
 with a dry fly you are sure to make them suspicious 
 
SOME CONTROVERSIES 141 
 
 every Mayfly season proves that anew but I 
 do not think that a wet fly, even several times 
 offered, affects them nearly so much. They may 
 not take it, but they seem to go on feeding unper- 
 turbed. And in any case it is a relief from dry-fly 
 hammering, and so may even tend to improve the 
 prospects of the dry fly when the fish are really on 
 surface food. Time may show what the truth of 
 the matter is. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 MINNOW AND WORM 
 
 IT is some time since I have done much spinning 
 for trout, and a long time since I used to keep the 
 apparatus for this art ready and in order. If I 
 should happen to want to spin now I could lay my 
 hand upon rod and reel, but it would be an arduous 
 business to collect the other essentials. Some- 
 where, I know, there are spinning flights of various 
 kinds and sizes, somewhere there should be an 
 envelope full of traces, somewhere there is a varied 
 assortment of artificial minnows in a state of more 
 or less dilapidation, but I could not say for certain 
 where most of these things may be. Time was 
 when I had most of them ready for use and took 
 them out several times in a season, but now spinning 
 for trout is only a very occasional thing with me. 
 
 This is decidedly not a matter of principle, rather 
 of circumstance. For a good long time I have had 
 very little to do with waters where spinning is a 
 seemly and possible thing. But supposing that 
 Fate again cast my lines for me at all frequently 
 in the Thames or some such river they would often 
 
 142 
 
 
MINNOW AND WORM 143 
 
 have spinning baits at the end of them. Not that 
 previous experience of the Thames has encouraged 
 me to boast much about that water. My total 
 catch of Thames trout could be counted on one 
 finger of one hand. And my only claim to distinc- 
 tion in this fishing is that my capture is the smallest 
 authentic Thames trout on record at any rate I 
 do not think any one else can have landed one of 
 seven and a half inches in a district where there had 
 been no restocking with yearlings. Somebody may 
 counter me with the proud claim of a six-inch 
 specimen, but if so I shall be surprised, and anyway 
 I hope he will be no more able to produce his evidence 
 than I am to produce mine. 
 
 The Thames has treated me very badly, for I 
 have done a certain amount of angling for its trout 
 on and off. For two or three years a week-end 
 cottage on an upper reach gave me opportunity, 
 and I made fairly diligent use of it, both with spin- 
 ning bait and fly. But I never even hooked a fish 
 at that time save the baby mentioned, though one 
 day I had the excitement of seeing two pretty big 
 ones roll over at a gold-bodied salmon-fly, unhappily 
 without touching it. And I had other thrilling 
 times too. Well do I remember two or three 
 summer evenings spent on Benson weirpool, and the 
 really alarming sight when just before dark heavy 
 trout came on to feed in various portions of the big 
 
144 TROUT FISHING 
 
 pool. They made a tremendous pother for their 
 size, and it was quite nervous work casting for 
 them. I do not suppose that I covered one properly 
 at all, for very odd things kept happening to the 
 reel and line, over-runs, tangles, and so on. I had 
 all the time, too, a feeling that it was quite useless 
 casting to a spot where a trout had shown, because 
 by the time the bait reached it the fish would be 
 somewhere else. The period of feeding was very 
 short, not more than twenty minutes each evening, 
 so I never seemed to have a chance of getting cool 
 and deciding on a definite policy. Good resolutions 
 formed earlier all went to the winds. If I could have 
 the time over again I would " lay for " the fellow who 
 jumped off the weed-bed in the neck of the pool and 
 try to ignore the others. I am sure he was well 
 into the 'teens. But I never got a bait near him. 
 
 I suppose most Thames weirpools contain a num- 
 ber of big trout. Certain it is that they all have a 
 number of assiduous anglers. Except for the period 
 in the Benson district I have only fished seriously 
 for trout at one place, Penton Hook. That fine 
 combination of stream and pool took my fancy 
 mightily at the first sight, and whenever I have 
 wanted a day of solid spinning for trout I have been 
 to the Hook. It is a water which, from the bank, 
 needs long casting. Once, in May, I found two fish 
 furiously feeding on the shallow below the weir. 
 
MINNOW AND WORM 145 
 
 On that occasion I had a light grilse-rod and was 
 trying the fly. The fish were quite close together, 
 they fed for an hour or more (probably on minnows, 
 for they hardly moved a yard), and I nearly broke 
 my back trying to get out the extra five yards of 
 line that would just have placed the Silver Grey 
 under their notice. I failed. 
 
 On another occasion I had better luck up to a 
 point. At about sunset a big trout showed at the 
 other end of the Hook, in the deep water off the sill 
 of the overflow weir. He was well out in the river, 
 and it was a long cast for a light bait. However, 
 for once in a way I did what I wanted, and dropped 
 the bleak almost exactly in the swirl. And then I 
 began to pull it home as steadily as I could. At 
 once it was plain that things were stirring. For 
 neck and neck with my revolving bleak raced another 
 bleak with hops and skips, going hell for leather, 
 while behind both came a tidy wave. My heart 
 rose into my mouth. Which was the trout going to 
 take ? The race lasted to within a yard or two of 
 the bank, and then of course I knew and sorrowed. 
 While it lasted it was as exciting an experience as 
 I have ever had in fishing. Even now it almost 
 makes Thames trout fishing seem worth while. 
 
 There are some other rivers where spinning in the 
 Thames fashion with relatively strong tackle and 
 big bait pays, but in general the business is more 
 
146 TROUT FISHING 
 
 delicate. On the mountain streams it can be a very 
 pretty art. On a coldish day with a ruffle of wind, 
 even though the water be rather low, a small natural 
 minnow mounted on some inconspicuous flight and 
 very fine gut may do great execution and account 
 for big fish. I have found it best as a rule to fish up- 
 stream. Though the bait has to be spun home 
 more quickly, I think the fish take it better. It is 
 more difficult to handle rod and line in upstream 
 fishing, but that I take to be an advantage. Per- 
 sonally, I always cast from the coil for this purpose, 
 never having had a reel with which I could throw a 
 very light bait accurately enough for short casts, 
 often among bushes. But with two or three coils 
 on the left hand one can do all that is needed. For 
 downstream fishing, where one can use more lead 
 and make longer casts, I rather prefer casting from 
 the reel. It is less trouble, and I think the steady 
 spin of the bait is more attractive to trout. 
 
 On the whole I have found the natural bait do 
 better than an artificial, though its superiority has 
 not been very marked. It certainly induces bolder 
 runs, as might be expected, but it does not neces- 
 sarily move more fish. I remember a day on a small 
 river, where the water was rather full and slightly 
 stained, and the weather rather blustery. I fished 
 with a small gold Devon for several hours, and I 
 should think I must have moved every considerable 
 
MINNOW AND WORM 147 
 
 trout that saw it over two miles or more of water. 
 I had a most optimistic report of half-pounders, 
 and better, to make in the evening. But I was not 
 able to produce any in proof, for of all the good fish 
 that followed or came up at my minnow I did not 
 land one. One or two were just pricked, and that 
 was all. If I had had any real minnows I might 
 not have seen so many trout, but I am pretty sure 
 I should not have had quite a blank. 
 
 Mountain trout take an artificial minnow better 
 when the water is decidedly coloured. A gold 
 minnow in a porter-water is sometimes extremely 
 effective. And, where it is allowed, it may be very 
 useful then, because as a rule the porter-water 
 means that there has been a yellow flood, and that 
 the trout, gorged with worms, are indifferent to 
 flies. The bright little spinning bait stirs them up. 
 
 Fancy in types of bait must be largely determined 
 by accident. I happen to have done best with the 
 Devon minnow in one of its forms, so I depend on 
 it more than on anything else. I do not remember 
 ever killing a trout on a Phantom, though I know 
 quite well that some men find it all that they need. 
 And on the other hand I have never killed a salmon 
 on a Devon, though I have done pretty well with 
 the Phantom. Which shows how oddly things may 
 turn out for the individual. Probably the reason 
 in my case is that I do not find a Phantom revolve 
 
148 TROUT FISHING 
 
 so quickly as I could wish for trout, while in salmon 
 fishing I find a big Devon too heavy and too fond 
 of the bottom. So as a result my use of the baits 
 is strictly limited. At one time I was very fond of 
 some Devons made of clear quill, and I found them 
 quite killing among some trout that knew a deal 
 about the ways of the world. The trouble with 
 those minnows was that they were rather fragile 
 and were apt to lose their metal fans. If quill 
 minnows could be made all in one piece, with quill 
 fans, I think they would be excellent. 1 The Wagtail 
 is rather good for big trout and so, sometimes, is 
 the spoon. But it would be hard to find any well- 
 made artificial bait which would not do execution, 
 and I should be about equally hopeful with anything, 
 having, however, first regretted that it was not a 
 natural bait. 
 
 In an earlier chapter I touched on the drop- 
 minnow, an art which is closely allied to spinning, 
 though it is different in essential points. I then 
 extolled its merits for fishing small overgrown brooks, 
 and there is really not much more to say about it, 
 except that it is extremely deadly in other waters 
 too. On some of the Border rivers they know all 
 about the drop-minnow, and many is the fine trout 
 
 1 The pretty celluloid minnows made by the Dreadnought 
 Casting Reel Company, Newport, Isle of Wight, to a great 
 extent meet this need. I have found them good for both trout 
 and pike in clear water. 
 
MINNOW AND WORM 14, 
 
 that with its aid is cozened out of the deep, still 
 pools even in time of drought. One sometimes sees 
 complaints, especially from the West Country, that 
 streams are being spoilt by too great a survival 
 of old cannibal trout, the big-headed fish of some 
 two pounds which possibly do more harm in a water 
 than good. 1 Occasionally these complaints result 
 in a crusade against the cannibals with nets. I 
 believe that a careful use of the drop-minnow in the 
 pools when they are low would materially reduce 
 the number of such fish, and it would be a simpler 
 job than an elaborate netting. 
 
 There is one other use of the minnow of which I 
 was told one autumn when I was salmon fishing a 
 Border river. I have never seen it practised, but it 
 was described to me as being extremely deadly. 
 It consists simply in legering with a dead minnow in 
 an eddy when there is a yellow flood on. There is 
 a bullet on the line about two feet from the hook, 
 the minnow is attached to the hook, and the rod 
 rests on a forked stick such as roach fishers use. 
 The " deid minnow," as it is called, seems to be the 
 local stand-by in certain districts in circumstances 
 where other districts would favour the worm. I 
 
 1 Since this was written, Dr. Knut Dahl has published in the 
 Salmon and Trout Magazine his very interesting experiments 
 with trout ova. Put succinctly the results are : big parents, big 
 ova, big and quickly growing offspring. I think our attitude 
 towards the alleged cannibals needs reconsidering. 
 
150 TROUT FISHING 
 
 suppose the line is so arranged that the minnow 
 wavers to and fro in the stream, but it may be that 
 trout in some circumstances will take a bait which 
 is frankly dead and without movement at all. I 
 have heard of their being caught on a quite dead 
 minnow suspended below a float. But I must 
 own to a prejudice in favour of some attempt to 
 simulate life in one's bait in whatever way it is 
 employed. 
 
 I have touched on the worm in relation to trout 
 before in this book, but I hope that my readers will 
 not impute to me too great a fondness for the subject 
 because I return to it. As a matter of fact, I am not 
 over and above fond of worm fishing for trout. 
 And yet memories stir in me which forbid my 
 saying that I do not like it at all. One of my 
 earliest experiences of trout of any magnitude was 
 gained on some extremely pretty ponds which run 
 in a kind of chain down a Worcestershire hill, the 
 two or three at the bottom forming a feature of a 
 delightful garden. I forgot how I came to be fishing 
 them, but I think I must have asked for permission 
 in an extremely brazen manner. It was, I am sorry 
 to say, a custom of mine as a small boy to apply 
 for fishing leave without any respect for persons or 
 places. Nor do I remember ever getting " No " for 
 an answer. The long-suffering displayed by grown- 
 ups to small fishing boys is marvellous. 
 
MINNOW AND WORM 151 
 
 Anyhow there I was on the lawn with a stiff rod 
 in my hand, a float before my eyes, and a worm 
 somewhere under the water. I remember that the 
 float had been dropped in quite close to the camp- 
 sheathing which fortified the hatch between the two 
 ponds. I knew a lot about perch in those days, 
 though little about trout (and nothing about trout 
 in ponds), and I picked for my first venture a spot 
 which perch would naturally choose in the hope 
 that trout would not be far different in habit. The 
 float disappeared with very little delay I still 
 retain the freshness of the incredulity with which I 
 saw it sink and after very little more delay I pos- 
 sessed a large trout. I think he was three-quarters 
 of a pound. I certainly wasted no time in playing 
 him. 
 
 The rest of that day is less vividly before me, but I 
 remember that it did not go on as it began, and that 
 I did not make a huge basket of fish. I got three 
 only, one I think about a pound, the other a fat 
 creature of six ounces which was the most beautiful 
 object I had ever seen, as golden as a new sovereign. 
 That fish came from the top pond of all, a mere 
 puddle up in the wood, which must have been above 
 the fishery proper. Very handsome treatment in 
 the matter of luncheon, and a seven-mile walk home 
 in the evening are my other memories of the 
 day. 
 
152 TROUT FISHING 
 
 There is a curious circumstance about those 
 ponds. I fished them once again, and once only, 
 so far as I can remember, and then with the fly, 
 which I had studied assiduously in the interval of, 
 I think, a year. I know I had a fine catch then, 
 and I am pretty sure it consisted of eleven fish 
 averaging probably three-quarters of a pound. I 
 know also that I was intensely proud of them. 
 Now I sometimes meet the present owner of the 
 estate, and he always assures me positively that the 
 effect of me on the fishery was as the effect of a net, 
 followed by a draining dry, with a dressing of lime 
 to wind up. The cataclysm, such as it was, occurred 
 before his day, and I suspect a twinkle in his eye. 
 But obviously I somehow gained a great and terrible 
 reputation, and the only conclusion I can come to 
 is that I must have talked at large and multiplied 
 that catch by at least ten. Small boys do that sort 
 of thing when exchanging notes. If you listen to 
 them comparing their fathers you are pretty sure 
 to hear one, in the crescendo of effort, make some 
 such claim as that " My father can hold six lions in 
 each hand." And I fear it has not been otherwise 
 with any of us. 
 
 I have seen some big trout caught with a worm 
 in my time, especially trout of the type found in 
 rivers which are mostly stocked with coarse fish. 
 I remember a brace weighing over five pounds 
 
MINNOW AND WORM 153 
 
 and over six pounds respectively being caught 
 within half an hour of each other from identically 
 the same spot in the corner of a small weirpool. 
 One man would doubtless have had the two, but 
 after catching the five-pounder he naturally thought 
 that honour was satisfied and that he might go off 
 to lunch. By which the next comer benefited. A 
 curious feature connected with that incident is that 
 never another really big trout was taken from that 
 pool with the worm, though one or two were had 
 afterwards by spinning, and one or two, I believe, 
 with the fly. 
 
 On another fishery I can remember the capture 
 of heavy trout with worm, generally by a method 
 ludicrous in its straightforwardness. The honest 
 angler marked his big trout down where it lay on 
 some gravel patch near the bank. Then he went and 
 drove it away. This done, he placed a fat lobworm 
 on a hook just where the fish's nose had been, let 
 out some line, and afterwards retired into the 
 meadow with his rod. When he had waited a 
 reasonable time the fish came back, found the worm, 
 and the drama was played to its conclusion. I am 
 afraid there is not such a store of great trout in that 
 water now as there was then, but even if there were 
 employment of the old device would scarcely be 
 possible. A female olive, or a male black gnat, or 
 some such device, is the general rule in these days, 
 
154 TROUT FISHING 
 
 though it does not succeed so well with the six- 
 pounders, of which there must be some left. 
 
 I have never caught a really big trout with the 
 worm myself, but I have had occasional three- 
 pounders when perch fishing. I remember travelling 
 down for a day with the Kennet perch in October, 
 and being rewarded with but a solitary bite, from a 
 trout of over three pounds, and a similar thing has 
 happened to me more than once. People who 
 only fish for trout do not know the experience of 
 returning three-pounders with revilings. I would 
 much sooner not get a bite at all than be tantalised 
 in that way. This brings me to a point on which I 
 want to touch. The large trout has, except in waters 
 which are much fished in that way, a disconcertingly 
 wholesale method of dealing with a worm. He just 
 swallows it. If you want to return him the only 
 thing to do is to cut the gut off as short as possible 
 and let him go. If you injure him by trying to 
 disgorge the hook he dies. I think a trout dies if 
 he bleeds at all on being unhooked. The only 
 safeguard that I know is never to use a single hook 
 in coarse fishing where there are trout. Use two 
 hooks, Pennell fashion, about two or two and a 
 half inches apart, and strike as soon as you get a 
 bite. Then you will almost always hook any fish in 
 the mouth and there will be no swallowing. It is 
 a decided advantage for perch as well as trout. 
 
MINNOW AND WORM 155 
 
 In waters where the trout know quite well that the 
 arrival of a worm on a hook means that they are 
 being fished for they will often niggle with it as 
 daintily as a roach with a piece of paste, but now-a- 
 days such waters are growing less numerous, as the 
 worm-fishing fraternity either dies out or becomes 
 converted to the fly. So the danger of a trout's 
 swallowing everything at a gulp is generally con- 
 siderable, and that is why the worm does not appeal 
 to me except in special circumstances. It makes 
 fishing altogether too crude a business, and shows 
 a noble fish up in such a bad light as the worst kind 
 of glutton. It is preferable to ignore this side of 
 his character, and when possible to appeal with fur 
 and feather to that better self which he also 
 undoubtedly possesses. 
 
 But as I have said, there are special circumstances. 
 There is the little overgrown brook which you 
 cannot fish with a fly. Its case I have considered 
 earlier. Then there is the pea-soup flood on the 
 mountain river. This is a kind of fishing which 
 every one unites to condemn in the loudest tones. 
 I condemn it too at the top of my voice. And yet, 
 and yet there is a kind of fascination about the 
 thrill that comes up the line when you have let 
 down your worm into the yellow eddy or slack to 
 find a trout ready for it at once. Very occasionally 
 I must confess to enjoying an hour with the worm in 
 
156 TROUT FISHING 
 
 a spate. But I do not care to go on long at it or to 
 try for a big catch. Three or four fish, just to 
 recapture old thrills, and I am done with it. 
 
 It is otherwise on the tiny burn which you fish 
 upwards, moving from pool to pool. There I will 
 take my full day with gratitude. The worming I 
 mean is in the bigger river, where you can take a 
 dozen fish from a single lay-by if you give your mind 
 to it. When you know that in a day or two you 
 would be able to catch those same fish or their likes 
 with a fly worming in a flood seems a poor game after 
 a bit. It is one of those things which have deterior- 
 ated with the lapse of years. There is no such 
 worming now as there was on that wet morning when 
 I found that the free water at Rhayader, far from 
 being destitute of trout as I had supposed, was 
 replete with great fish. How they rushed for the 
 worm 1 And how they fell back one by one into 
 the turbid stream with resounding splashes ! I am 
 sure I lost twenty pounds of trout that morning, 
 little fool that I was. That was worming if you 
 like, and such sensations will never come to me 
 again. 
 
 The clear-water worm by fairly common consent 
 (exceptis excipientibus !) should be placed in a differ- 
 ent category, and it represents an art of fairly high 
 order. It calls for many of the qualities required 
 by the fly fisher, as an eye for water, a sensitive 
 
MINNOW AND WORM 157 
 
 hand, and so on. And it demands great expertness 
 in the use of rod and line. The clear-water wormer 
 must be able to pitch his bait into a tea cup, as the 
 saying is, and he must keep in constant touch with 
 it as it travels downstream towards him. But, 
 when all is admitted, I am not particularly fond 
 of the method, and, though I sometimes set out 
 determined to give it a thorough trial, after catching 
 a few fish I generally find myself getting bored. 
 But here again I differentiate between a river and a 
 burn, and it is the river which bores me, not the 
 burn. Given the conditions of low water and hot 
 weather which make clear- water worming a success, 
 on a river I enjoy myself far more by picking up odd 
 fish under trees and bushes with a dry fly. You 
 don't get so many, but you enjoy the catching of 
 them far more. 
 
 Possibly as a clear-water wormer I am hampered 
 by not yearning for very big catches of trout at any 
 time. When I read in some of the old chronicles, 
 such as Henderson's My Life as an Angler, of creels 
 bursting, pockets stuffed, and a residue of fish slung 
 on withy twigs, I simply cannot understand the 
 frame of mind which requires satisfaction to brim 
 over in that manner. I am sure Mr. Henderson 
 could not have eaten sixty trout, and in the wilds 
 of Northumberland in those days he could hardly 
 have found means of despatching them to friends. 
 
158 TROUT FISHING 
 
 He must have " seen red." And so must Mr. 
 Stewart and some others of the great anglers of that 
 time who counted on from fifteen to twenty pounds 
 of trout as a reasonable day's catch. 
 
 Possibly some one will wish to say, " Ah, you say 
 you don't want big catches because you cannot 
 make them." And part of that would be true 
 certainly. I do not think I could catch twenty 
 pounds of trout on any Border stream in a day either 
 with worm or fly. But, apart from lack of Border 
 skill, I should be handicapped by not wanting to, 
 unless of course the fish were three pounds apiece or 
 more, when the impulse would be different. After 
 a time I should find myself returning quarter- 
 pounders, and if that did not check the run of luck 
 I should return fish of six ounces. A red-letter day 
 seems to me an opportunity for big average weight 
 rather than for a gross total. 
 
 Only once do I remember having such a day as 
 the mid- Victorians seemed to consider their due. 
 On that day I consigned to their fate seventy-two 
 trout ranging from about a quarter of a pound to 
 about three-quarters of a pound. I put it in that 
 way because as I caught them the fish were taken 
 away alive in water cans to be placed in the hotel 
 stew. It was on a German stream which, so far as 
 I could learn, had never been properly fished with 
 fly before. It was a great day certainly, and the 
 
MINNOW AND WORM 159 
 
 catch must have weighed over twenty pounds, 
 but it did not seem like fishing. It was more like 
 gathering in the harvest. It was on that day that 
 I landed three trout at once, all over six ounces, and 
 one of them three-quarters of a pound, the only 
 occasion on which I have had such an experience. 
 They got tangled round a bush stranded below a 
 little fall, and the youth who gillied me had to wade 
 in and scoop them out with the net. Which shows 
 you at once that it was not real fishing. Had it 
 been, a German youth entrusted with a landing-net 
 would certainly have knocked them off the hooks 
 one by one. But Kultur had not really become a 
 live issue in those days, and it was also practically a 
 virgin water. 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 THOUGHTS ON BIG FISH 
 
 A TROUT is, I take it, a big one according to 
 circumstances. I have seen a man in one water- 
 shed with mouth open and eyes a-goggle on a fish of 
 one pound being produced for his inspection. On 
 another watershed I have seen the same man 
 carefully returning a fish of over that weight to the 
 stream with hardly a groan, or anyhow with no more 
 complaint than is permissible to a wet-fly fisher 
 newly introduced to a chalk stream. One's 
 memories of big ones, therefore, must necessarily be 
 coloured by the conditions in which they were 
 caught or seen in my case more often seen than 
 caught, and I think it is those that were merely 
 seen that have left the most piquant memory behind 
 them. 
 
 I remember once taking a country walk with a 
 friend who is now dead. It was just a country walk 
 with no atmosphere of fishing about it. He was no 
 fisherman, and so far as I knew there were no trout 
 within miles. But it was lovely country and hot 
 summer and I was quite happy. About lunch time 
 
 160 
 
THOUGHTS ON BIG FISH 161 
 
 we sought the hospitality of a cottage standing a 
 little back from the road in a clump of trees and there 
 procured a simple meal. It proved to be one of 
 the lodges of some big estate, and after eating we 
 trespassed a little, because I had seen the glint of 
 water through the trees and I can never resist 
 looking at water. It proved to be the narrow end 
 of a large lake, and there on its bank we sat us down 
 to smoke and digest for a little before going on our 
 way. 
 
 Presently we became aware of several large fish 
 which sailed lazily in and out of a sort of weedrack 
 or grating which crossed the water. " What are 
 those?" asked my friend. "Carp," I said 
 promptly, for they were too big to be anything else, 
 though they were too far off to be clearly dis- 
 tinguished. Presently, however, their wanderings 
 gradually brought them nearer, and to my astonish- 
 ment I perceived that if they were carp they had 
 miraculously acquired adipose fins. Of course they 
 were trout, and they were certainly the most dis- 
 tinguished company for average size that I have 
 ever seen in my life. The smallest must have been 
 over three pounds and the biggest may well have 
 been six or seven pounds. I suppose there were 
 eight or ten of them in view. I have often 
 wondered since whether they were a fair sample 
 of the stock in that lake, and speculated what, in 
 
162 TROUT FISHING 
 
 that case, a day's fishing there would be like. They 
 did not give the impression of being educated fish, 
 and I have always believed that the water would 
 give a sort of record bag. But one cannot tell. I 
 have tried one or two lakes where trout reach a 
 heavy old age almost undisturbed, and found that 
 the patriarchs seem to absorb wisdom without the 
 customary course of instruction, which has been 
 very disappointing to me. Perhaps it is as well that 
 I have never had the chance of being disenchanted 
 on that other water. It can remain a sort of dream 
 fishery with a five-pound average and no reserva- 
 tions, mental or actual. 
 
 The biggest trout I ever saw alive and in the 
 water was in the Kennet at Newbury, at the extreme 
 bottom of the Piscatorial Society's stretch which is 
 known as " the Three Fields." It was about 6 a.m. 
 I had come out soon after daybreak with some idea 
 of fishing, but had found the river too low for any- 
 thing owing to the action of the mills which, I 
 suppose, were holding back water for their day's 
 work. So I sat on the boundary fence and medi- 
 tated on things in general and on the differing 
 aspects of a river when it is full and when it is 
 nearly empty. I was roused by a splashing a little 
 below, and looking round I perceived a really 
 enormous trout with half its back out of the water 
 rolling about and gathering in minnows by the 
 
THOUGHTS ON BIG FISH 163 
 
 mouthful. It was a magnificent fish with deep 
 golden flanks, and it looked fully a yard long, 
 perhaps more. I never dared to say what I really 
 thought at the time as to its weight, but I have 
 always boldly maintained that it could not have 
 been less than fifteen pounds. That would be a 
 modest and retiring estimate for the fish I saw. 
 Later in the same year there was some confirmation 
 of the existence of this monster, when an angler 
 who had been trying for the barbel which sometimes 
 lie in a hole a little higher up or even, in the early 
 weeks of the season, on the shallow itself returned 
 with a thrilling story of a colossal trout which had 
 taken the worm and smashed his tackle after a 
 furious battle. What was the fish's ultimate fate 
 I know not. I never heard any more of it. 
 
 I have seen a few other very big trout in the 
 Kennet, nothing to compare with that one, but fish 
 that might be nearly ten pounds. In most years 
 there are one or two which live close to the water 
 bridge right in Newbury town, and I have seen a 
 monster or so in other parts of the river. The 
 biggest Thames fish I ever saw was the one in 
 Benson weirpool which I mentioned in the last 
 chapter, a fish of possibly thirteen or fourteen 
 pounds from the splash of him. I remember 
 a huge trout that used to live in the Colne 
 at Uxbridge, which looked like a ten-pounder, but 
 
164 TROUT FISHING 
 
 it was a black fish and may not have weighed so 
 much as its length suggested. In one or two other 
 rivers I have seen an occasional trout which might 
 be getting on for that weight. One of them, oddly 
 enough, was the Great Ouse, which is as little of a 
 trout stream as any river we possess. It was at 
 Holywell Ferry, and I was drifting quietly down- 
 stream in a boat, looking into the water for some 
 signs of those big perch which haunt that part of 
 the river, when my eye lighted on a great fish with 
 spots, an undoubted trout and a big one. I believe 
 there have always been a few trout in the reach 
 below St. Ives, which is much of it gravelly and not 
 very deep, and recently I have seen accounts of 
 some being noticed in the Staunch Pit below St. 
 Ives' lock. Perhaps they are descendants of the 
 fish I saw. 
 
 For those who have never seen a really big trout 
 in the water and who yearn to do so, the observation 
 post I could best recommend from my own experi- 
 ence would be the great dam at Blagdon. You 
 may not fish from the dam, but you are allowed 
 to walk along the top of it to get to the lake shore 
 beyond. On a bright, calm day you are very 
 likely to see, with its chin resting on one of the 
 sloping concrete blocks, a trout which will make 
 your heart beat faster. On one occasion I saw two, 
 about forty yards apart, which I am sure were fully 
 
THOUGHTS ON BIG FISH 165 
 
 twelve pounds apiece. One was a light fish, the 
 other a dark one. The next evening I was in a boat 
 and I need hardly say that I made for the dam in 
 the hope of stirring one of the giants. Nor need I 
 say that I might just as well have fished away at 
 Ubley for all the response I got. You can often 
 in calm weather reconstruct big fish at Blagdon 
 from certain signs, the tip of a nose at one point, 
 a back fin behind it and a tail behind that. Some- 
 times there are appalling distances between these 
 objects as some veteran lazily rolls among the olive 
 midges after sunset. But that is not the same as 
 actually taking in the length and width of the 
 creature at your leisure, as you can from the 
 vantage-point of the dam. Therefore I recommend 
 that promenade for the purpose. Sometimes, of 
 course, one sees nothing there except a three- 
 pounder or so, but I am always disappointed if I 
 have passed along without spotting something out 
 of the common. 
 
 To the end of one's angling life, I suppose, one 
 will continue at times to be misled by the appear- 
 ance of things, and of fish among them. Every 
 season I get an occasional disappointment on catch- 
 ing some trout which, seen at a distance, had struck 
 me as being beyond the common in point of size. 
 But a short time ago I had a rather ignominious 
 experience of the kind. In a tiny stream in which I 
 
166 TROUT FISHING 
 
 had acquired angling rights, though circumstances 
 had prevented me from making much use of them, 
 I discovered a red trout lying at the point where the 
 water, from being a system of two or three nothings 
 making damp threads through a meadow, con- 
 centrates itself into a single channel and is recognis- 
 able as a brook. There is, in fact, a little pool at 
 this point, and in this pool I could see two or three 
 trout, particularly the big red one. 
 
 He looked very impressive in so small a place, 
 and I unhesitatingly estimated him at two and a 
 half pounds, which would be a huge fish for the 
 water, whose average weight is more like ten ounces. 
 And I was confirmed in my opinion when after 
 taking my Wickham's fancy he bolted downstream 
 into a clump of rushes, and smashed my cast as 
 if it had been cobweb. Worse than this, I confided 
 my opinion to one or two others who might be 
 interested in the matter, and committed myself to 
 the story that the brook held trout up to two and 
 a half pounds. That sort of story gives a fishery 
 dignity and importance. 
 
 I only had one more day's fishing there before 
 the season closed, and then I was unfortunate 
 enough to catch, among others, my red trout, 
 whom I found lying in exactly the same place and 
 on whom I tried forcing tactics as soon as I had 
 hooked him, on a cochybonddu this time. I 
 
THOUGHTS ON BIG FISH 167 
 
 found the forcing tactics unexpectedly successful, 
 the reason being clear when the fish came to the 
 spring balance and made no more than one pound 
 five ounces. Seldom have I been worse deceived by 
 a fish; I suppose the confined space in which he 
 had his abode made him seem disproportionately 
 big. Fortunately on the same day I discovered 
 another trout in a little hatch-hole which enabled 
 me to stick to the " up to two and a half pounds " 
 account. His head and shoulders must have 
 weighed that, though I question whether the rest 
 of him weighed anything. He was a lamentable 
 twenty inches of trout. 
 
 I fully expected to catch him when I saw what 
 he was like (though as a matter of fact I did not), 
 for the reason that if there is a decrepit fish anywhere 
 about which only weighs half what it should, it is 
 almost certain to come and take my fly. Possibly 
 my fondness for fishing in odd places, backwaters, 
 carriers, millheads, and the like, lays me open to 
 this, for bad old fish certainly tend to inhabit the 
 quieter and less vigorous parts of a water. Even 
 the well-known monster which lies under a bridge 
 often turns out to be mostly head, and presumably 
 he has some easy nook behind a buttress or in an 
 eddy where he can avoid the exertion of constantly 
 breasting a strong stream. You do not often 
 catch one of these bridge trout, and when you do it 
 
168 TROUT FISHING 
 
 almost always disappoints you by not coming up 
 to your expectations of its weight. 
 
 One of my most grievous disappointments I have 
 related elsewhere. I marked a great trout feeding 
 in a portion of the Kennet and Avon canal, suc- 
 ceeded in getting him to take a dry Wickham, and 
 for several minutes was convinced that I had on 
 the fish of my dry-fly career. He proved indeed to 
 be about twenty-four inches long when at last I got 
 him out, but unfortunately he was one of the old 
 breed which has become dolefully familiar to me, 
 and instead of weighing a good seven pounds as 
 he should have, he only touched four and a half 
 pounds. In the water, of course, he seemed much 
 more than that owing to his great length, and as I 
 was using fine gut the fight was long enough to have 
 been put up by a six or seven-pounder. 
 
 As a matter of fact I have only once caught a 
 bigger fish with dry fly, and that was at Blagdon, 
 so it could scarcely claim special honours. It was 
 satisfactory, however, as rewarding a real bit of 
 dry-fly work. I found the fish rising late in the 
 evening in the river at the Butcombe Bay end 
 (the lake was low that summer, so there was a good 
 deal of river in evidence), covered it with a sedge 
 just as if it had been a Kennet fish, and landed it 
 after a real hard fight, four and three-quarter 
 
A Good Corner 
 at Blagdon 
 
THOUGHTS ON BIG FISH 169 
 
 pounds. I remember the clock striking ten as I 
 lifted it out in my landing-net. 
 
 This was a fish of reasonable shape and solidity, 
 but I remember another big Blagdon trout which 
 was less satisfactory. This was also caught on a 
 dry fly. It had been found rising steadily just 
 inside a clump of weeds which was within easy 
 casting distance of the bank. It was feeding in 
 the very deliberate manner which is suggestive of a 
 heavy trout, and when after some time I persuaded 
 it to take a fly a hackle-fly not unlike the brown 
 silverhorns that were about in plenty I expected 
 something extra special in the way of a battle. 
 The result was surprising. The hooked fish hardly 
 resisted at all, gave a feeble waggle or two, and then 
 allowed itself to be towed ashore. The reason for 
 this was plain then it was very badly deformed. 
 Though it had the length and framework of a big 
 one, it also had a double spinal curvature, and, as 
 might be expected, was anything but athletic, and 
 poorly nourished to boot. The surprising thing 
 was that the fish, a rainbow, had been able, despite 
 physical disabilities which must have attended it 
 from the fry stage, to live and grow to a weight of 
 nearly three pounds. 
 
 Rainbows are rather apt to be disappointing on 
 the scales because of their short life and their 
 
170 TROUT FISHING 
 
 tendency to deteriorate at an age when brown trout 
 would still be putting on ounces. I caught one 
 once at Ravensthorpe Reservoir, the lake which is 
 famous as one of the early proofs of what results 
 can be got from trout culture in water storage lakes, 
 which was rising just like that Blagdon fish, with 
 heavy deliberation suggestive of great size. And 
 it was a big fish, or rather it had been once. It 
 was shaped more like an eel than a trout, and, even 
 so, it weighed two and a half pounds. I have no 
 doubt that in happier days it had been at least 
 twice as heavy. 
 
 But, as I have said, it has been my luck to meet 
 with that sort of fish very frequently, so an instance 
 more or less no longer surprises me. I could wish 
 that I was less favoured with regard to big ones of 
 that type. 
 
 I do not remember ever hooking and losing the 
 sort of trout that makes history, or at any rate the 
 sort of trout that I honestly believed would have 
 made history. I am not exempt, of course, from the 
 common fisherman's failing of estimating " the big 
 one that got away " on a perhaps too generous 
 scale. The biggest trout that I ever hooked, of 
 which I am certain, I was fortunate enough to land. 
 It came from the famous weirpool at Uxbridge 
 and weighed two ounces under eight pounds. It 
 took a dilapidated metal spinning bait of the Devon 
 
THOUGHTS ON BIG FISH 171 
 
 type and gave me a great fight. I had at that time 
 never seen a trout out of the water of anything like 
 such a size, and I had no idea what it would weigh. 
 Five pounds was as much as I dared to hope for, so 
 my pride and joy when the scales at the keeper's 
 cottage revealed the truth can be imagined. It was 
 a beautiful fish twenty- five inches long and with 
 deep, gleaming flanks, a picture of an old Colne 
 trout. I had other good and handsome fish from 
 that pool and the stream below afterwards, but 
 nothing to approach that one. The biggest was 
 four and a half pounds. Another angler a few 
 years later got one of seven and a quarter pounds. 
 The Colne has in its time yielded a good many fish 
 of about that size, but I am afraid that some parts 
 of it have now seen their best days. The extra- 
 ordinary catches at West Drayton made during 
 the years when the water was heavily stocked with 
 big fish, suggest that the river may yet be capable 
 of recovery. The fish seem to thrive well enough 
 in its lower reaches, though of course the Thorney 
 Weir records are not due to the natural breeding 
 capacities of the stream. 
 
 I should not like to assert positively that I ever 
 hooked anything bigger than the second trout on 
 my list either. This weighed six and three-quarter 
 pounds, and was caught at Blagdon on a gold- 
 bodied fly which has since done a good deal of 
 
172 TROUT FISHING 
 
 execution on the lake, and which Donald Carr, I 
 believe, christened " The Field." It is really not 
 much more than an elaboration of the Wickham 
 by the addition of a topping and a red tail ; but it 
 is a very killing pattern for big trout of minnowing 
 propensities. Such a fish on my first day at Blagdon 
 made me very pleased with myself, especially as it 
 was companioned in my bag by two others of four 
 pounds ten ounces and three pounds eight ounces. 
 Another man got one of nearly the same weight on 
 that day, and it was an extraordinary circumstance 
 that there was not another trout over six pounds 
 caught for some years. The eight and nine- 
 pounders, average weights of five pounds or more, 
 and other portents that made Blagdon so famous 
 all belonged to the two seasons before my first 
 visit. 
 
 Afterwards the weight of the fish caught fell 
 considerably, though latterly it has been going up 
 again. The big ones were still there as I said 
 earlier, I have seen some of them but for some 
 obscure reason nobody caught any for several 
 seasons. There were tragic losses each year though, 
 and it may have been simply luck. One reason 
 why fish used to be lost there at first was the fact 
 that so many men visited the lake with ordinary 
 trout tackle, the sort of gear which would be well 
 enough for waters where the fish run up to a pound 
 
THOUGHTS ON BIG FISH 173 
 
 and a half or so, but which was no good for a 
 six-pounder which behaved like a torpedo. Gut, 
 should be strong for such a fish, and there should 
 be plenty of backing on the reel. 
 
 When I get down to lesser weights I can point 
 proudly to considerable losses. The worst certainly 
 was that of a trout which I hooked on a dry fly in 
 a small tributary of the Kennet. I am sure that 
 trout was over five pounds and he would have been 
 the most valued of all my trophies. I had him on 
 for a full quarter of an hour, most of which he spent 
 in a thick clump of sedges right at my feet. He 
 had run a good long way downstream after being 
 hooked, and then turned into the sedges and 
 burrowed well in before I realised what he was 
 doing. I tried every conceivable method of getting 
 him out, and finally endeavoured to tail him by 
 wetting my arm almost to the shoulder I could just 
 manage to get a hold on him. But, alas ! the tail 
 of a trout is not as that of a salmon, and he slipped 
 through my grasp, broke the gut, and was gone. I 
 can remember sitting on a gate for half an hour 
 after that wondering whether I should drown myself 
 immediately or take the next train back to London, 
 for I knew that I should never have another chance 
 with that trout, and I never did. In earlier days 
 there had been a hatch of Mayfly on that little 
 stream, and then it was possible to look forward 
 
174 TROUT FISHING 
 
 hopefully. There was a fish of just under four 
 pounds which I had lost three times in one season, 
 and finally killed on a Mayfly. But to find a five- 
 pounder taking small flies on a second occasion 
 was beyond expectation, for such fish are very 
 incurious about small flies as a rule. 
 
 I once had a Mayfly day on the Kennet which 
 must have totalled up a large number of lost 
 pounds. It seemed to my excited imagination 
 that I hooked all the biggest trout in the fishery 
 one after the other. They varied from four pounds 
 to six pounds. I do not think there was anything 
 over six pounds though I was quite in the vein to 
 have lost Big Ben himself had I been able to find 
 him. Big Ben was a local institution, said to 
 weigh fifteen pounds but he never gladdened my 
 eyes or subsequently filled my heart with sorrow. 
 His smaller brethren did their best, however, and 
 I was quite sufficiently desperate at the day's end 
 with a paltry brace just over the limit of a pound 
 and a half in my basket and a long list of defeats 
 in my mind. 
 
 Sedge fishing has provided most of us with 
 experience of trout which were presumably of 
 unusual size, but it is not at all easy to be certain 
 even in one's own mind. I well remember a tre- 
 mendous battle with a Kennet trout hooked on a 
 sedge when it was nearly dark. That fish took me 
 
THOUGHTS ON BIG FISH 175 
 
 downstream for quite 300 yards and felt like a 
 salmon the whole way. Had I lost him at the end 
 of it I should unhesitatingly have put him down as 
 seven pounds at least. As a matter of fact he 
 weighed three pounds five ounces and proved to 
 have been hooked in one of the ventral fins. For 
 that reason I have never liked to be too positive 
 about trout which have got off after being hooked 
 in the late evening. But I have twice had to do 
 with fish that felt as the Kennet fish, and for a 
 considerable time had me absolutely helpless to 
 stop or turn them on their downward course. One 
 was in the Itchen and the other in the Test, and 
 both made nothing of a powerful rod and strong gut. 
 Both got off before I had a chance of seeing them. 
 I have had one similar contest besides in the Itchen, 
 but that was in daylight, and I was, and am, pretty 
 sure that the fish was a huge grayling; there were 
 known to be several very big ones at the spot where 
 it was hooked. 
 
 Except in southern waters I have had very little 
 experience of big trout, and I have never had the 
 luck to catch anything out of the common on 
 mountain streams or lakes when I have been 
 definitely fishing for trout. I have had a few 
 relatively big ones when salmon fishing. Once I 
 got hold of one of those old stagers for which the 
 Coquet is famous. I thought it was a grilse when it 
 
176 TROUT FISHING 
 
 fastened at the end of a long line, but after quite a 
 respectable fight, considering the sixteen-foot rod 
 and salmon gut, I pulled in a big brown trout of at 
 least four pounds. Fortunately it was in October 
 he was lightly hooked and kicked himself off, 
 so the experience cannot have done him any harm. 
 Had I got him out I should have been tempted to 
 weigh him, and that might not have improved his 
 health so near the spawning time. 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 IN A WELSH VALLEY 
 
 To the convinced trout fisher it is not essential 
 to have a constant succession of red-letter days or 
 to keep up a two-pound average. No one esteems 
 either benefit more than I, but I can manage to get 
 along quite happily without them, and so can the 
 rest of the little company which assembles year by 
 year on the bank of the small Welsh river, mentioned 
 already more than once in these pages, which I 
 always call the Penydwddwr. It is now some 
 years since we were all together there war has 
 upset many a good old custom but odd members 
 of the party have been there at some time or other 
 since 1914, and now that it is possible to look forward 
 again, great plans are being laid for a united descent 
 upon the well-loved valley. 
 
 The Penydwddwr is a typical Welsh trout stream, 
 that is to say a typical upland trout stream. So far 
 as I have visited them I have found very little 
 difference between the mountain streams of any 
 part of the kingdom. Even the variation in the 
 size of the trout which is noticeable is, I think, more 
 
 N 177 
 
178 TROUT FISHING 
 
 a matter of a stream's normal development than of 
 any special characteristics. The further a river runs 
 from its rocky beginnings the richer the land through 
 which it winds, and, in consequence, the more 
 bounteous its food-supplies and the fatter its trout. 
 Some of the famous mountain streams, such as the 
 Usk or the Don, have a greater proportion of rich 
 land to their mileage than others which produce 
 smaller trout. 
 
 But even some of the barrenest rivers may have 
 their fertile reaches. Nothing, I should say, could 
 well be more suggestive of an eight-to-the-pound 
 average than the top part of the Cumberland Der- 
 went. In a solid week's fishing round about 
 Seathwaite I think I only got one trout which 
 exceeded six ounces. That was some twenty years 
 ago, but I do not suppose that conditions have 
 altered since then. Lower down, however, it is 
 a very different story. One day below Cocker mouth 
 a few years back I got a dozen trout which averaged 
 half a pound, and I heard of a catch of a dozen or 
 more which averaged over one pound. The lower 
 Derwent is naturally rich in fly and on the day 
 recorded I saw the biggest hatch of iron blues that 
 has ever gladdened my eyes. Of course I had no 
 such thing as an iron blue in my fly-book, and I had 
 to make shift with the darkest hackle-fly I could find. 
 It served fairly well, but if I had had some real iron 
 
IN A WELSH VALLEY 179 
 
 blues I might have caught some bigger fish and more 
 of them. I never saw trout rise with more enthu- 
 siasm for an hour or so. 
 
 I have not had enough opportunities to be didactic 
 about it, but I fancy that wet-fly streams, and parts 
 of them, could be divided into about three classes 
 so far as the size of fish is concerned : (a) The very 
 barren, rocky streams and parts where seven or 
 eight fish would be needed to weigh a pound and 
 where the exceptional half-pounders have big heads 
 and long lean bodies, (b) The normal streams and 
 parts where a five to the pound average is to be 
 expected. Here the half-pounder is better shaped 
 and looks less of a cannibal, (c) The rich streams 
 and parts where the average goes up to three to the 
 pound, and where you may expect a sprinkling of 
 pounders, and may hope for an occasional fish of 
 two pounds or even more. 
 
 The Penydwddwr, where I know it, belongs to the 
 normal class, and it is not so lavish of its half- 
 pounders as to make us blase in regard to them. 
 We have, in fact, in that valley a very proper 
 respect for a half-pounder. Indeed, the word 
 " respect " is scarcely adequate. You really ought 
 to hear Caradoc tell the story which takes him cast 
 by cast to the very top of the run below the bluff, 
 and which ends with two leaps, one despai r, and the 
 words " a real big fish, my dear fellow, half a pound." 
 
180 TROUT FISHING 
 
 Having heard this, you will understand how it is 
 with us, with Caradoc, with the schoolmaster, with 
 the ornithologist, with the angler to whom I must 
 make only the most distant reference, and with me. 
 And those others, the estimable folk who inhabit 
 the same inn with us, also appreciate a half-pounder. 
 They know how long and broad and deep and thick 
 he feels when you lay an eager hand on him in the 
 meshes of the landing-net. Persons who only fish 
 in chalk streams have no inkling of the merits of 
 half-pounders. " Just not sizeable " is a poor way 
 in which to speak of fishes which make Caradoc 
 arise early in the morning, pedagogues forget the 
 Greek for " strike," bird-men accept a statement 
 that a cuckoo in winter turns into a hawk. All 
 which strange things I have, so to speak, watched 
 happening. 
 
 One spring we had a drought and then it was 
 lamentable but true that half-pounders did not 
 happen at all, not the real, unquestionable, eight- 
 ounce-to-the-half-pound creatures which alone pass 
 the severe inspection of Ap Evan. I did all that I 
 could in the way of asseveration for a seven-ounce 
 specimen brought back one evening by the rod 
 fourth on my list. If that were not a half-pounder, 
 then might I never behold half-pounders more 
 and so on. But it was all no use. Seven ounces 
 
IN A WELSH VALLEY 181 
 
 were all that Ap Evan and the scales would concede 
 when it came to the ultimate test. 
 
 We had, for sheer self-respect, to fall back on the 
 classification method, invented I believe by the 
 bird-man in one of his inspired moments. By that 
 device you really can catch some half-pounders in 
 the Penydwddwr, and it is an ill day on which you 
 do not have at least one. It is quite a scientific 
 plan of grouping your fish into growth-classes rather 
 than labelling each one with pedantic minuteness. 
 You find something like it in Blue Books. By this 
 method " half-pounder " is a group term inclusive 
 of all grades of fish from six and a quarter ounces to 
 eight ounces. The next group contains " big fish," 
 which may vary from four and three-quarter ounces 
 to six and a quarter ounces. Then come the quarter- 
 pounders, inclusive, of course, of " rising " quarter- 
 pounders. Decent fish follow, separated by some 
 little margin from " breakfast " fish. And lastly 
 the bird-man rose superior to the droughts and 
 dearth of that hard time with " visible " fish. It 
 was a handy new group and generally approved. 
 
 The river was lower than it possibly could be 
 when we got there and it went on dwindling for a 
 solid week. Daily we went out with less hope of 
 doing anything, and daily we came in justified of 
 our expectations. Even " visible " fish were loth 
 
182 TROUT FISHING 
 
 to rise, while all others became events. " Did you 
 do anything on the long flat ? " one would ask. To 
 which another would reply, " Yes, I had quite a 
 brisk bit of sport there. Got two breakfast fish, 
 and lost a real big one, a quarter-pounder at least." 
 The " big one which got away " was, I think, 
 unusually prominent that year. He afflicted me 
 personally to a grievous extent. 
 
 Perhaps the worst experience was with the 
 detestable button on the sleeve of Caradoc's mackin- 
 tosh. It was on the last day of all, when we really 
 had had a nice drop of rain and the river was in 
 grand order. In quite a short time during the 
 morning I had accumulated five handsome fish, of 
 which two were half-pounders by the class test. 
 But then trouble began, for the wind uprose and 
 beat the rain on my glasses, no fish stirred, I lost 
 half a cast and both the flies, and generally things 
 went wrong. Just as I was getting desperate I 
 hooked a fine trout, and my spirits went up with a 
 bound. He played fast and far, but I was his 
 master. That trout, half-pounder though he might 
 be, was as good as in the basket. I felt with un- 
 hurried left hand for the net in the sling, meanwhile 
 drawing the trout downstream. And then the 
 button on the sleeve saw fit to catch in the meshes 
 of the net, and in a flash my mastery was gone. 
 Not only could I not get the net out; I could not 
 
IN A WELSH VALLEY 183 
 
 even free my left hand. So in due course the trout 
 kicked himself off, leaving me alone with the wind 
 and the rain and the conviction that all was over. 
 I do not wish to blame Caradoc in any way after 
 all, he had kindly lent me the garment, and that it 
 failed to keep the rain out was not his fault but 
 I do blame the button. Anglers ought to tie 
 themselves together with tapes or string, not 
 imperil their immortal souls by the use of buttons. 
 The chub also lost me a fine trout the day before 
 by swinging about my legs and nearly upsetting me 
 at the critical moment. I had better explain the 
 chub. There were nine of them, weighing from 
 about three-quarters of a pound to a pound and 
 a half, and they were the fruits of an amusing hour 
 or so at the pool by the wall. The custom of the 
 river is, I believe, to kill chub in the most violent 
 manner possible, and then to kick them about the 
 landscape, cursing as you kick. Truly chub are not 
 wanted in a small trout stream, but I have an 
 affection for those despised fish, and besides nine 
 of them made a brave show and might be valued 
 by some poor body. So, since they were too big 
 and many for my little creel, I slung them on a 
 leather bootlace presented to me for other purposes 
 by the schoolmaster, and slung that to the landing- 
 net sling. An uncommon nuisance they were, 
 eleven or twelve pounds of them a-dangle, and as 
 
184 TROUT FISHING 
 
 I have said, they nearly upset me when I was playing 
 the best trout of the day. After that I declined to 
 be burdened with them more, dragged them to the 
 nearest roadway, and there left them, in the hope 
 that the not impossible poor body would find them 
 for himself. I have reason to believe that this 
 happened, for next day the chub were gone. It 
 may have been that the poor body coveted the 
 bootlace. One never knows. 
 
 The gravel bed caused us all bad quarters of an 
 hour from time to time that spring. The gravel 
 bed is an inferior sort of fly which appears in vast 
 numbers and makes the trout go half mad not 
 quite mad just not so mad as to take any sort of 
 artificial fly. Ap Evan had two counsels for coping 
 with the gravel bed rise. One was to use something 
 else, as a March brown or half stone. The other 
 was to give the affair up as hopeless. My feeling 
 is that he thought more highly of the second plan. 
 Yet people do catch trout during gravel bed rises; 
 and some describe the opportunity afforded by them 
 as a thing not to be missed. All I know is that we 
 made nothing of the business. Some of us even- 
 so it was reported danced with rage at seeing 
 so many and so big trout moving without being 
 able to catch them. It was a new experience to see 
 trout moving in numbers in the Penydwddwr. It 
 was a new experience also to see abundance of fly, 
 
IN A WELSH VALLEY 185 
 
 not only gravel bed, but also March browns and the 
 spinners thereof, besides smaller kinds. And it was 
 new also to have warm weather. If only there had 
 been a decent quantity of water ! But the water 
 came as our time was practically up. 'Tis ever thus. 
 I have said that there were no genuine half- 
 pounders. Nor were there, but one evening we 
 were all staggered to behold a trout of some fourteen 
 inches' length which weighed within a trifle of a 
 whole pound. It was a portent, and we stood in a 
 dumb row before it, wondering how such a thing 
 might be. It had been hooked in a fin, moreover, 
 and had kept its captor in play for some ten minutes. 
 You might go to Penydwddwr many times without 
 seeing such another. But you might see my three- 
 and-a-half -pounder in the big flat if you looked 
 close. I saw him one evening and came home and 
 talked about him at length, not unmindful of the 
 proverb about " having lived near the rose." On 
 the whole, I did well out of the incident. It was 
 unlucky that I should see him again a day or so 
 after. I found that while men slept he had turned 
 into a chub. People laugh easily at Penydwddwr. 
 I had made similar little mistakes there before. I 
 question whether honesty is invariably the best 
 policy. But, on the other hand, had some one else 
 discovered the truth they would have laughed 
 more. Perhaps honesty stands where it did. 
 
186 TROUT FISHING 
 
 The most remarkable incident of the expedition 
 was the humour of the bird. It pounced down 
 upon the artificial fly of one of the anglers. That 
 was no uncommon thing. It had happened to me 
 often. But I had never before heard of a fowl with 
 such a sense of fun that, having seized the fly, it 
 would carry it to the top of a tree and leave it there. 
 If any should doubt, we were told that the fly was 
 there yet, and half a cast with it, and that any one 
 might prove the matter by climbing. 
 
 Another spring visit to the Penydwddwr Arms 
 was spoilt by an exactly opposite condition of 
 affairs, due, it was supposed, to comets, of which 
 there had been much talk. We had many trials 
 that year. Apart from the weather, we found that 
 the local farmers had had a burst of energy and had 
 been consolidating their fences. We spent a good 
 deal of time extricating ourselves from the traps 
 they had set, and it was a warmly discussed problem 
 why barbed wire was necessary as a lining to trout 
 streams, in some places reinforcing stout hedges 
 and serviceable railings, and whether, as one angler 
 gloomily opined, it had been arranged with one 
 eye on beasts and the other on fishermen. 
 
 The Welsh farmer is not invariably sympathetic. 
 Nor are his bulls, of which we discovered an unusual 
 profusion that year. They glowered at us in all 
 sorts of unexpected places. Given plenty of barbed 
 
IN A WELSH VALLEY 187 
 
 wire, a river in half flood and rising, and a bull 
 waiting for you to come out of it, and you have your 
 day's excitement fully provided. 
 
 The sort of weather we all had can be gauged by 
 the fact that from time to time one of us would 
 rise silently from his chair and step from the sitting- 
 room into the hall. Then would come the sound 
 of hammering the barometer. Our landlord, easy- 
 going man that he is, even he was moved to protest. 
 He said that the instrument could not be expected 
 to do its honest duty when beaten like that. Where- 
 upon Caradoc told him the story of the irate gentle- 
 man who threw his expensive but unresponsive 
 barometer into the garden with the remark, " Go 
 and see for yourself, you beast ! " Certainly our 
 barometer did very strange things. It climbed to 
 a giddy height, leaped suddenly down to " much 
 rain," and then climbed again just as quickly. 
 Perhaps there ought to be a mark for comets on 
 barometers. 
 
 While I was away a dry-fly friend wrote to ask 
 why I was wasting time over " Welsh minnows," 
 a question begotten of a recent victory over a five- 
 pounder in the Kennet. He would have had his 
 answer had he felt the thrill that I felt on the one 
 satisfactory day when waist-deep in the chub pool 
 I saw that I had hooked, not after all a chub, as I 
 feared, but a veritable trout of great size. He 
 
188 TROUT FISHING 
 
 weighed half a pound, a real half pound, and the joy 
 that seized me when I saw him, to be followed by 
 immediate quaking lest he might get off, was 
 certainly no less than that which was mine at Mayfly 
 time when a supposed chub proved to be a noble 
 Kennet trout of three and a half pounds. In the 
 evening I got another half-pounder in the same pool, 
 and the brace will live long in my memory, if only 
 for the effectual manner in which they enabled me 
 to answer Caradoc, who also had one, and was 
 prematurely jubilant over it. 
 
 One day, rendered desperate by the weather, 
 I angled with worm in a flood and tore out several 
 unfortunate trout by brute force. Time was when 
 I thought worming in pea-soup eddies the height of 
 bliss, and I was curious to see if the glamour of 
 youth could be recaptured. There is a moment 
 I have before confessed it when you live at this 
 business, the moment in which you feel the first 
 twitch at the line as a trout essays the worm. Nor 
 will I deny that the four quarter-pounders which I 
 got out of the little channel below the mill-wheel 
 gave me pleasure, nor that, as the six ounce fish 
 fell back, I lived once more some of the old agony. 
 These things I confess. But there came a moment 
 when I was conscious of blood and slime, and that 
 I was engaged on a very black venture. And, 
 moreover, I had no half-pounder. So I put away 
 
IN A WELSH VALLEY 189 
 
 worms and fished to no purpose with a Devon 
 minnow. We had that day a hailstorm which gave 
 me a cold. It was incredibly fierce and chilled me 
 to the marrow, so that I had to go home to get 
 early tea and warmth. 
 
 On the last day of that visit I had a useful lesson 
 in humility. The " local expert " had always 
 appeared to me an overrated person. In London 
 I had ventured to state in conversation that he was 
 not likely to be much more successful than any 
 visitor of reasonable skill. I had to retract all that. 
 I toiled exceedingly all that cold day, struggled 
 with an abominable wind, fished, methought, very 
 well considering, and returned at tea time with 
 eleven fish, convinced that all that man could do in 
 the way of tempting sulky trout had been done by 
 me and that my basket represented the limit of 
 possibility. But I found that Ap Evan had been 
 out and between about half-past one and four had 
 captured some two dozen very nice fish, all with 
 the March brown, a fly which had caught me nothing 
 at all. The fact is that local experts are very fine 
 fellows ; we visitors are nought. 
 
 The biggest fish I caught at all was, oddly enough, 
 a dace of nine ounces, a fish which, so far as I could 
 learn, had never been caught there before, though 
 chub are fairly plentiful. I saw it rise at the tail 
 of a long flat, and put my tail fly over it dry. The 
 
190 TROUT FISHING 
 
 disappointment of finding that it was not a good 
 trout was somewhat mitigated by the interest of 
 its identity. I think it was envy which made certain 
 persons asseverate that it was a chub, in defiance of 
 all the indications of shape and fins. The oddest 
 experience I had was being spectator of an affray 
 between a sparrowhawk and two thrushes. I was 
 knee-deep in a quiet pool when I suddenly became 
 aware of a commotion in the hedge that bordered 
 the water on the left bank, of great fluttering, out- 
 cry, and flying of feathers, all not five yards from 
 me. It proved that the hawk was attacking a 
 thrush, probably on its nest. Then the thrush's 
 mate arrived in a hurry, and some further battle 
 ended with one bird's flying away with the hawk in 
 pursuit and the other's vanishing, perhaps following 
 on the other side of the hedge. I hope the hawk 
 got defeated, but events passed beyond my ken. 
 
 The most vivid realisation of Penydwddwr as a 
 place unspoilt and good to be in perhaps came when 
 I conversed with the friendly policeman. Comets 
 and aeroplanes were the topics, and then he told me 
 about the balloon. It passed over the district one 
 misty day, to the unqualified terror of the inhabi- 
 tants, who had never seen or heard of such a thing. 
 Flying low, it almost grazed the hill beyond the 
 river, and a lonely shepherd caught sight of a rope 
 hanging from the miraculous bird or whatever 
 
IN A WELSH VALLEY 191 
 
 it might be. This, running, he vainly tried to seize 
 and fell flat. And as he fell to his horrified amaze 
 he heard mocking laughter from the skies. Wonder 
 was not dead then, though even at Penydwddwr 
 they must now be used to men who travel with 
 the clouds. 
 
 The last visit I paid to Penydwddwr was shortly 
 before the war, and it was at an unaccustomed time 
 of year. The fact was that I had heard of salmon 
 there if one was on the spot during August floods, 
 and it struck me that a salmon or two a day from 
 those little pools would be very pleasant amusement. 
 So it would be if it ever happened, but so far as I 
 could judge it does not happen. 
 
 Caradoc, who exhibited symptoms of jealousy 
 when he heard I was going, said, " I told you so," as 
 soon as I had returned. For I had to confess that 
 the expedition, from the point of view which regards 
 heaps of slain fishes as the summum bonum, had not 
 been a complete success. Not that I would impute 
 such a point of view to Caradoc. In the spring 
 we do not pile our fishes in heaps. We say that we 
 do not like our fishes so, that a few trout, and those 
 good ones, are what we prefer. And we get the few 
 trout all right, while as to goodness I never met 
 any that were better on a breakfast table. There 
 are, be it noted, different kinds of goodness which 
 trout may have. An ability to stretch head and 
 
192 TROUT FISHING 
 
 tail beyond a dish does not exhaust the cardinal 
 virtues. 
 
 Accustomed to the Penydwddwr of spring, I was 
 astonished and saddened at the stream which 
 greeted our eyes on arrival. The Colonial, who was 
 one of my companions and who has since eschewed 
 my company on fishing holidays, was of opinion 
 that it would be rather like the thing called " a 
 creek," only the creeks where he came from had 
 water in them which ran along. (I shall never get 
 quite reconciled to the notion of Greater Britain that 
 a creek is a small stream, a burn or beck ; to me the 
 word always suggests a convenient ditch by the 
 Thames into which you can run your punt.) Closer 
 inspection showed us that the Penydwddwr was 
 moving along, for " even the weariest river winds 
 somewhere safe to sea," but it was patent that the 
 fishing would be nought until what the third member 
 of the party called the " great rains " should come. 
 As for the fourteen -foot and sixteen-foot rods which 
 formed part of my armament, they were as out of 
 place by the attenuated stream as a racing eight 
 would have been upon it. I took them, blushing, 
 and hid them in a corner. 
 
 Then we composed ourselves to await the great 
 rains. There were kingfishers, herons, and other 
 birds to be seen daily on the stream. In the little 
 wood behind the garden were three brown owls, 
 

 A place for 
 "Breakfast" Fish 
 
IN A WELSH VALLEY 193 
 
 of which we could generally obtain a view by going 
 cautiously to look for them. Their large round 
 eyes would look down at us reproachfully from the 
 upper branches, and their large round bodies would 
 sooner or later remove noisily to a less visible perch. 
 I got the impression that, nocturnal though they be, 
 brown owls can see quite well enough in the day 
 time to serve all their necessities. 
 
 In the roadway before the inn door commonly 
 strutted an important turkey cock. I was privi- 
 leged to behold this bird in two sets of circumstances 
 of delightful contrast. A little lady emerged from 
 the inn one day. She wore a red tie, but had about 
 her no other sign of fierceness or offence. Suddenly 
 across the road came a resonant gobble, and the 
 big bird came purposefully from the farmyard, 
 giving his opinion as he came. " What a funny 
 bird," was the amused greeting he received, as he 
 stalked majestically on. Amusement, however, 
 gave place to hesitation, for he came closer and 
 closer, and his gobbling waxed louder and louder. 
 And the next thing was a vision of flying skirts the 
 red tie and its wearer were gone, and the turkey 
 was alone in his glory. 
 
 On the other occasion from out the door came not 
 a lady, but an eight-weeks-old black spaniel puppy. 
 This waddling atom saw the dignified bird but two 
 yards away. To see was to act, and we had the 
 
194 TROUT FISHING 
 
 inestimable privilege of beholding a turkey hunt 
 conducted by a pack of one. Nothing could have 
 been more ludicrous than the ignominious flight of 
 so large a bird before so small and round a pursuer. 
 
 Besides birds there was a rich vegetable world 
 to study. Development seemed to be a month 
 later than in the south, and the meadows were rich 
 with hay and with some of the flowers which had 
 greeted me in Hampshire in June. The lanes 
 winding upward to the moors contained quite a 
 store of wild strawberries, which gave us an agree- 
 able kind of mild hunting, and here and there were 
 wild raspberries of excellent flavour. Of an evening, 
 too, there was occasionally an Eisteddfod to which 
 one listened out of the window. Several really 
 beautiful voices well maintained the reputation of 
 Wales for folk music. 
 
 This, of course, is not fishing, but I am not sure 
 whether our actual efforts with the rod were much 
 better deserving of the name. We frankly pottered, 
 limiting our ambitions to getting enough trout for 
 breakfast, and occasionally making a raid on the 
 chub. Here I have an observation on gratitude to 
 make. It had struck me that the Colonial was 
 getting " kind of homesick." He did not consider 
 the Penydwddwr a real creek in real creeks you 
 can, it appears, catch brook trout in dozens on No. 6 
 flies, and you take them home on a string and his 
 
IN A WELSH VALLEY 195 
 
 baskets had been light. " What you must do," 
 I said, " is to have a go for the chub." " What are 
 chub?" he asked without enthusiasm. "Chub 
 
 are " I hesitated for a comparison " I know. 
 
 Chub are just like squaw fish." 
 
 His eye brightened. The good old squaw fish 
 it was like a message from home, though, I have 
 gathered from his conversation, at home the squaw 
 fish is not exactly a prized trophy, but contrariwise. 
 Anyhow, I had rekindled hope in his breast, and he 
 had a go for the chub. 
 
 That evening I returned to find that he had 
 captured a really considerable chub, a fish of nearly 
 three pounds, which is big for the Penydwddwr. 
 Was he pleased ? He was not. He thought meanly 
 of the chub. He spoke meanly of it. He regarded 
 the escape of just such another not as a misfortune, 
 but as an incident of no importance. Didn't they 
 fight ? No, not worth naming. Weren't they like 
 squaw fish ? No gloomily squaw fish had teeth. 
 And he was not a bit impressed by the chub's throat 
 teeth, as described. Altogether the matter turned 
 out disappointingly, and it was not long after when 
 the Colonial " hit the ties," " boarded the cars," 
 or whatever Greater Britain calls going by train, and 
 went off to London to see about some " real estate," 
 or " preemptions," or " town lots," or something. 
 Nor did he return. 
 
196 TROUT FISHING 
 
 Meanwhile I went on waiting for the great rains. 
 Not a drop was granted to us, though clouds appeared 
 promisingly on several occasions, and though once 
 we even heard the rumble of thunder in the hills. 
 For the most part we had blazing, windless days, 
 and it was only by dry fly in shady corners or by 
 drop-minnow in the deeps that I could extract a 
 few trout while the light was strong. Now and then 
 I went out, and caught breakfast between dusk and 
 dark, a dragging of big flies which involves little 
 skill and some alarms. The riverside at night is 
 an unfamiliar place, full of queer shapes and uncanny 
 noises. On the whole I did not do so badly con- 
 sidering. Though the trout were few, and to be 
 counted by the brace rather than by the dozen, they 
 ran to a better size than they do in spring. Then I 
 have found the average size on a decent day to be 
 under four ounces. On this last visit the trout 
 I caught averaged between five and six ounces, 
 and a fair proportion nearly or quite reached 
 the half pound. Moreover, there were the chub, 
 of which I took toll daily, and with which I had 
 plenty of fun. Chub in a low, clear mountain 
 stream require a lot of stalking, and the sport was 
 not to be despised. 
 
 There was also one salmon which took a shrimp, 
 and a few other salmon which would not take any- 
 thing. Only the first deserves more than passing 
 
IN A WELSH VALLEY 197 
 
 notice, and he, not because he was caught, but 
 because he took at all. He was lying in less than 
 four feet of water near the bank, and I was hiding 
 behind my own rod, as a friend puts it, when I angled 
 for him. He must have seen the rod, and me, 
 clearly, and yet he took the shrimp the moment it 
 came near him. If only we had had rain, even a 
 little rain, to freshen things up, I believe some of his 
 fellows would have proved equally accommodating. 
 But we had no rain. If I live to be a very old man 
 and visit Penydwddwr twice or thrice a year, I have 
 hopes of some day getting the right conditions for 
 fishing. Then it would be something uncommonly 
 like Paradise. 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 THE DUFFER'S FORTNIGHT 
 
 IT begins somewhere about June 1 maybe a 
 little earlier, maybe a little later, according to local 
 circumstances and the nature of the season. A 
 warm spell may hasten it a little, though it does not 
 seem so certain that a cold spell will delay it much 
 beyond the date which custom has ordained for its 
 beginning. At any rate, it will probably not delay 
 the duffer, whatever it does to his fortnight, and he 
 will be anxiously expecting his opportunity on a 
 given day every year. " Duffer's fortnight " is not 
 at all a bad name for the Mayfly carnival, though it 
 needs a somewhat more elastic interpretation than 
 has usually been given to it. Presumably it was 
 first so called because of an impression that when the 
 Mayfly was on the duffer could show himself an 
 angler. The origin of the expression is lost in the 
 mist of antiquity, so it is unsafe to assert too con- 
 fidently that it was not so in those days. Perhaps 
 it was so. The veriest bungler may then have 
 been able to fill his creel, and his pockets, and carry 
 the residuum of three-pounders slung on a withy 
 
 198 
 
THE DUFFER'S FORTNIGHT 199 
 
 twig. We cannot say that it did not happen 
 like that in those good old times, because we simply 
 do not know. 
 
 But we can say heartily, and with one accord, that 
 so far as the present is concerned the true inter- 
 pretation of " Duffer's fortnight " is " the fortnight 
 wherein the angler proves himself a duffer." You 
 do not carry any residuum of three-pounders on 
 withy twigs nowadays. Your pockets can be kept 
 for their proper functions, as receptacles for 
 tobacco, matches, fly-boxes, and the like, and your 
 creel will always have room for a big bunch of 
 marsh marigolds, or other trophies, with which the 
 fisherman likes to fill up emptiness, and at the same 
 time to placate his womenfolk at home. After 
 giving many and wonderful proofs of incompetence 
 in one direction, it is pleasant to be able to show 
 signs of abilities in another. To be able to recognise 
 marsh marigolds when one sees them and thereupon 
 to gather of them largely does afford some consola- 
 tion. " If I can't catch fish I can, at any rate, 
 appreciate flowers " that is the sort of attitude. 
 Later in the year a habit of seeking such extraneous 
 comfort may be even more useful, as when the 
 meditation runs, " I don't care much about fish, 
 but I do like mushrooms." This, however, is a 
 digression. 
 
 The Mayfly is an extraordinary insect, and it 
 
200 TROUT FISHING 
 
 produces extraordinary results on, in, and about a 
 river. Observing it in its numbers for the first 
 time, you would hazard a guess that a river must 
 be very prolific to stand the drain on its resources 
 that is undoubtedly going to take place. There, 
 on the one hand, are all the trout intent on feeding 
 to such a degree that they hardly take notice of 
 their natural enemy, man, as he stalks along the 
 bank. There, on the other hand, is the whole army 
 of anglers turning out for the destruction of the 
 said trout, armed with every device that can make 
 their victory certain. The contest is surely going 
 to be very unequal, and you begin to wonder whether 
 this is sport or a form of butchery. A short Act, 
 The Trout in Mayfly Time Preservation Act, occurs 
 to you. Its scope may be gathered from the 
 shorter title which you also think out, The Ten 
 Brace Act. Obviously, unless some such provision 
 is made for the future, trout which behave as those 
 trout are behaving in the presence of anglers who 
 look so capable and well equipped as those anglers, 
 are to all intents and purposes an extinct race. 
 Most of us have had some such impression in our 
 time. Some of us even find it recurring year after 
 year when we get the first glimpses of the Mayfly 
 rise. But it passes like many other first impressions. 
 There is no better cure for it than to take a rod and 
 begin under the hot sun. 
 
THE DUFFER'S FORTNIGHT 201 
 
 On the whole, the worst feature of the Mayfly 
 rise to the disillusioned angler is the remarkable 
 contrast between possibilities and performances. 
 He finds all the big fish, which at other times are 
 just traditions or, at best, dimly-seen shadows, 
 become concrete realities which wallow and splash 
 and surge over the whole stream. They are all 
 feeding or waiting to feed, or taking a hurried 
 interval for digestion so that they can begin again, 
 and it looks as though a man could hardly fail to 
 catch as many as he may want. But when he comes 
 to put the matter to the test, he finds that things 
 are not at all what they seem. Most of the fish 
 are bulging, as may be gathered from their restless 
 journeys hither and yon. Of the rest, a good 
 proportion have come to the stage of discrimination, 
 and will have even the natural fly just so or not at 
 all. An artificial fly obviously can never be " just 
 
 so." 
 
 There remain just a few "possibles," and the 
 angler's relations with them are commonly as 
 follows : (a) Fly pulled away at the critical time, and 
 first possible put down ; (b) fly seized by a quarter- 
 pounder in a barefaced manner, to second possible's 
 disgust and retreat; (c) and (d) two sixpenny flies 
 left in two three-pound mouths ; (e) fly hitched up 
 in tree behind just as fifth possible has made up his 
 mind that he can manage two more, and two more 
 
202 TROUT FISHING 
 
 only ; (/) fly floats beautifully over fine possible of at 
 least four pounds, and is taken without hesitation. 
 Battle less strenuous than was expected. Reason 
 apparent later when possible turns out to be one and 
 a quarter pounds, which is a quarter of a pound under 
 the size limit; (g) another sixpenny fly left in 
 another three-pound mouth ; and so on. 
 
 All this happens amid a scene of general turmoil, 
 which adds to the angler's naturally overwrought 
 condition of mind. Finally, he is reduced to a wild 
 state in which he rushes from place to place and fish 
 to fish, thrashes the unoffending air with his pro- 
 testing rod, and generally does his best to prove 
 that he is as a fact a duffer engaged in his fortnight. 
 He returns home in the cool of night with a solitary 
 two-pounder, which he caught on a sedge after the 
 Mayfly hatch was over for the day, and wonders 
 why things should be ordered as they are. 
 
 They say and, of course, many of us know that 
 it is true that the duffer's fortnight is not all like 
 this. Provided you are able to see the head and 
 body and tail of it, you may get a true Mayfly day, 
 a day on which big fish are in the mood and on 
 which you can pick and choose, as is the delightful 
 theory of Mayfly fishing, and come home with one 
 or two really fine specimens, which you have 
 besieged and conquered in the approved style. You 
 
THE DUFFER'S FORTNIGHT 203 
 
 will have nothing to say to two-pounders on such 
 a day, for their betters fill your eye, though if you 
 chose you could levy big toll on them. Such days 
 are on record. 
 
 Two or three brace averaging four pounds there 
 have been such baskets, and possibly will be again. 
 There are waters where the thing could easily be 
 done with a stroke of luck to help. And there are 
 waters which offer greater inducements to effort 
 even than these, waters where lurk real monsters, 
 hardly seen all the rest of the year except as an 
 occasional wave and a splash under a glittering 
 cascade of small coarse-fish fry, but possibly to 
 become surface feeders on one or two days of the 
 duffer's fortnight. The ten-pound trout does exist 
 in some rivers, and he has been seen feeding on 
 Mayflies as heartily as his smaller brothers. But 
 even to get a rise out of him means a waiting game, 
 for he does not come up for the Mayfly as a matter 
 of course. The best you can hope for is that he 
 may come up. And if he comes up you may not 
 be able to do anything with him. Still, it is worth 
 a June fortnight even to have watched such a trout 
 feed. 
 
 That is the spirit which has animated nearly all 
 my Mayfly fishing for years and it explains, if it 
 does not altogether excuse, a very poor total of fish 
 
204 TROUT FISHING 
 
 caught in relation to the amount of time and 
 enthusiasm expended. One season, I remember, 
 which I spent on a portion of the Kennet noted for 
 its big fish, yielded almost no trout to me though 
 other rods were getting their three-pounders and one 
 got a beauty of over five pounds. 
 
 I hardly got a chance of a three-pounder that 
 season, the reason being that I spent practically 
 the whole time right at the bottom of the water 
 waiting for my. eight-pounders to begin to rise. 
 There were eight-pounders there at any rate there 
 was one, for I saw him one day but a few inches 
 from my eyes; I was looking over the camp- 
 sheathing and he was swimming slowly upstream 
 close beside it but the trouble was that there was 
 no Mayfly, or not enough to make the big fish rise. 
 Day after day the appearance of odd flies en- 
 couraged a hope that the rise was just about to 
 begin, but day after day it stopped short of the 
 desired point. So I got no sport worth mentioning 
 and never saw one of my eight-pounders take a fly. 
 
 I have spent other seasons quite as unprofitably, 
 but I have usually succeeded in getting at least 
 one rise out of a fish which has seemed to me worth 
 long waiting. The ambition to get a monster has 
 of course given me some thoroughly dull days, dull 
 at least so far as active employment is concerned. 
 
THE DUFFER'S FORTNIGHT 205 
 
 I remember one snatched with difficulty amid the 
 stresses of war-time which almost beat my own 
 record of nothingness. 
 
 It differed from previous days of the same kind 
 in that the train of arrival was an hour earlier and 
 that of departure an hour later, with reference to 
 the sun, than of old owing to the new summer-time 
 business. The Mayfly does not know about summer- 
 time, or, if it knows, it is like those valiant North- 
 amptonshire farmers, who were said to have greeted 
 the new measure with contempt and contumely, 
 and does not care. 
 
 The day was hot, distempered by fitful, thundery 
 gusts. The available shade was limited to one 
 extremely insufficient willow, hardly big enough to 
 make a cricket stump, let alone a whole bat. This 
 tree, though it did not exactly wither away like the 
 scriptural gourd, was almost equally deceptive 
 because of its immobility. In the morning and the 
 early part of the afternoon it offered a little pro- 
 tection provided I crawled round as the sun's angle 
 altered. Afterwards only by sitting in the river 
 could I put the treelet to any use as a sun filter. 
 You will deduce that I did not do this. But earlier 
 I spent a good many recumbent hours. I was 
 mostly occupied watching insects on and about the 
 water a wonderful show of fly life. At times my 
 
206 TROUT FISHING 
 
 eyes may have closed ; I do not remember. Certain 
 it is that there was no occasion for using the rod in 
 spite of all the fly alder, button, sedges (various 
 and many), olives and their spinners, black gnat 
 in droves, yellow May duns, and occasional green 
 drakes. Not a fish more important than a small 
 dace moved to anything. 
 
 It was about four o'clock when the Mayfly began 
 to hatch, induced thereto by an interval when clouds 
 covered the sun. But the clouds passed, the heat 
 returned, and the hatch ceased abruptly. I left 
 the riverside thereupon in quest of some sort of 
 meal to hearten me against the work in prospect 
 when the fly really should come on. I timed the 
 thing well, for the hatch really did begin as I 
 returned. And a very good hatch too. But I 
 cannot say that it made much difference. The 
 dace dimpled a little more freely and may have been 
 a bit bigger, but it was long before I saw a trout, 
 one of those few big ones which the water holds, 
 make any sign of life. So there was still no fishing 
 to speak of. One gets soon tired of spoiling May- 
 flies over dace. After a while, however, there was 
 a plop from a heavy fish, and up he came again in 
 the stream between the two eddies, the place where 
 day dreams had figured the record trout a-rising. 
 Not to waste words, he took at the first fair cast, 
 and plunged deep down into the twelve-foot pool, 
 
THE DUFFER'S FORTNIGHT 207 
 
 strong as a submarine. The real thing at last ! 
 But the triumph ended in a netful of silver scales 
 and red fins a distressing four-pound chub. And 
 there was a similar triumph a few minutes later a 
 three -pound disappointment. 
 
 Further, there was nothing to record until almost 
 the last moment when a move had to be made 
 upstream in view of the last train for home. Then 
 at a corner (where by the way in the morning was 
 seen a great length of something which head-and- 
 tailed once, but seen from such a distance that it 
 might have been a trick of the imagination), at that 
 corner was evident a feeding fish of great size. 
 And it cruised on a definite beat, up and down, a 
 hopeful sign. It was a long cast and an awkward 
 owing to a bush and tall rushes, but at last the fly 
 reached the right spot, was taken, and ye gods, 
 what a moving of the waters ! That, alas ! was all, 
 for the line came back without the fly. There sad, 
 and so home, as Pepys said when the minikin string 
 broke. A bad end to a poorish day. But it was 
 worth while to have had it, if only to see that 
 monster swirl. He may have been another chub 
 of course, a colossus among chub. But I hold that 
 I am entitled to be of different opinion. In fact I 
 must be, in order to justify my attitude towards 
 Mayfly fishing in general. 
 
 That day was in 1916. I also had a little Mayfly 
 
208 TROUT FISHING 
 
 fishing in 1917 which I will duly record, since it 
 fits in well with the scheme by which my sport with 
 this fly is ordered under Providence. 
 
 At any more normal period I should have made 
 bold to complain a little. I still do not think I 
 was treated well. Providence does things too 
 thoroughly. It began by tantalising me with the 
 sight of a Mayfly sitting on a sailor man's white cap 
 in the Baker Street- Waterloo Tube Railway. 
 
 I might so easily have been spared that unusual 
 sight. Come to think of it, you might travel the 
 line year in year out for a decade and never see the 
 like again. It was a real live Mayfly, not an imita- 
 tion, which, I imagine, would be contrary to the 
 King's Regulations and might be provided for under 
 some comprehensive article. For the insect itself 
 I am sure there is no provision of any kind. 
 
 Well, as I say, I saw that sight, had speech with the 
 unconscious wearer of the cap, and deduced that 
 the Mayfly was up in a district where I should be 
 on Bank Holiday. That, of course, set me to 
 thinking about fishing in spite of much graver 
 preoccupations which then were mine. 
 
 For in that district lives what an amusing writer 
 has called "the occasional trout." What better 
 opportunity of making the acquaintance of that 
 mysterious but attractive fish? I have a firm 
 conviction that he is never under three pounds, 
 
THE DUFFER'S FORTNIGHT 209 
 
 and usually somewhere between seven and ten 
 pounds. To be brief, I laid all my plans for 
 catching him, and proved to my own satisfaction 
 at those rehearsals which take place on the edge 
 of sleep that he was certainly a seven-pounder, and 
 maybe a bit over. Meanwhile I laboured abun- 
 dantly so as to have a few hours free during the 
 holiday. How fortunate, I thought, that the 
 district is early in the matter of Mayfly. 
 
 To condense the story, I succeeded in snatching 
 two evenings. The first was ushered in by a thunder- 
 storm and chased out by another thunderstorm. 
 It was a wretched sandwich of an evening, flattened 
 utterly by the two convulsions on either side of it. 
 Nothing rose which I could honestly claim to be 
 other than dace or bleak. Fly was in evidence, 
 but sparse and dispirited. 
 
 The morrow was lovely. It inclined to a fresh 
 wind all day, but as I toiled with papers that did 
 not worry me. About tea time, moreover, the 
 wind began to drop, and my hopes rose. It was 
 going to be one of those perfect Mayfly evenings 
 which mellow from gold to rose, from rose to opal, 
 and from opal to the deep blue of a summer night. 
 I set out across the knee-deep grass, drinking in 
 the goodly scent of the may, and thanking a benevo- 
 lent Providence for a few hours of perfection. And 
 so I came, leisurely rejoicing, to the river, at whose 
 
210 TROUT FISHING 
 
 margin even from a distance I could see the spinners 
 beginning their evening dance. 
 
 Thus to the water's edge. I looked down, and 
 behold the river w r as as soup in a tureen ! And so 
 it remained till I came sadly home, having seen a 
 magnificent hatch of fly with not a fish paying the 
 smallest attention to it. I learnt afterwards that 
 higher up the valley the thunderstorms of the day 
 before had brought with them floods of rain lasting 
 for hours. Which was an explanation, but no 
 comfort. On the whole this was the poorest 
 Mayfly season I have ever had. 
 
 In other and better seasons I have had some fine 
 opportunities on first-rate waters, thanks to the 
 kindness of their owners or lessees, but I have never 
 succeeded in doing anything with them worth 
 mentioning. Somehow or other I always make the 
 worst of Mayfly opportunities, and the occa- 
 sional successes, which even I have not been able 
 wholly to avoid, have usually left a regret, amari 
 aliquid, behind. 
 
 There was one very queer season on the Kennet 
 below Newbury, which started with a deluge, con- 
 tinued with a flood, and wound up with a spell of 
 winter. I got to the river on a Saturday morning to 
 find things not wholly inauspicious. Albeit in a close 
 and thundery air the morning hatch of fly was 
 satisfactory, and for about half an hour it seemed 
 
THE DUFFER'S FORTNIGHT 211 
 
 as though the fish were about to feed in earnest. 
 Two admirable trout, indeed, turned themselves 
 miraculously into chub in the brief space that 
 ensued between hooking and landing, while several 
 plump dace made mess of several dainty flies which 
 had been dressed for their betters. Then in the 
 distance arose a dark mysterious cloud, which 
 muttered ominously as it approached. 
 
 Having been caught in that way before, and 
 having recently read warnings as to the " conduct- 
 ing " properties of fly-rods, I retreated without loss 
 of time, and presently, safe under cover, was, 
 watching a storm of malevolent vehemence, which 
 threatened to stop Mayfly fishing for the day. It 
 not only threatened, but performed, and by 6 p.m. 
 the river was running pea-soup in appalling 
 quantities. 
 
 On Sunday it continued thick, only beginning 
 to fine down towards evening; and on Monday, 
 though the river was fairly clear, the wind arose in 
 its might to rob angling of any small chance it 
 might have had. Some small hatch of fly about 
 2 p.m. there undoubtedly was, but the wind and 
 cold prevented any rise from anything that looked 
 even remotely like a trout, and the fly ceased 
 abruptly in about an hour. 
 
 Dispirited and shivering but inspired with the 
 doggedness of ill temper, I hung about the river 
 
212 TROUT FISHING 
 
 all the rest of the day, waiting for something to 
 turn up. It was quite 8 p.m. before the wind 
 dropped and disclosed a grey, cold river flowing 
 sullenly beneath a grey, cold sky. So cheerless 
 was the prospect that I made a movement for home 
 and supper, when " plop " and again " plop " 
 caused a hurried return to the river. 
 
 Yes, by the powers ! there was a great trout 
 feeding close under the camp-sheathing, rising 
 with a cheerful abandon begotten of the Mayfly 
 season. What he was taking was undiscoverable ; 
 nothing was visible on the surface, and spent gnats 
 were out of the question ; all signs of Mayfly had 
 ceased hours before. Still, there he was, and he 
 must be tried. He was in an awkward place, just 
 in the eye of a swirling eddy, where the first fly 
 offered was promptly drowned. It was drowned a 
 second time, and then taken off to make room for 
 a dry one. This swept down the run, hovered for a 
 second at the eye, and was just about to be drowned, 
 too, when " plop " the trout had it. There 
 followed a tearing rush straight downstream, 
 through the deep pool, past a bush, over which the 
 twelve-foot rod could just be lifted, and on for the 
 swift water and the thick weeds. Here he would 
 be a free fish to a certainty, for there was another 
 bush in the way over which the rod could not be 
 lifted. Therefore it was a case of butt or break. 
 
THE DUFFER'S FORTNIGHT 213 
 
 Butt had it, mercifully, and he came slowly and 
 doggedly back, fighting deep, and trying to get in to 
 the bank. Then on a sudden he caved in, came to 
 the top, rolled over on his side, and so into the net, 
 as pretty a four-pounder as eye could wish to see, 
 a thought long perhaps for a Kennet fish, but small- 
 headed and thick-shouldered. 
 
 Now if Providence had stopped there it would 
 have left me with a completely happy and triumphant 
 memory of a great occasion. My biggest Mayfly 
 trout (he weighed four pounds one ounce, and I have 
 only caught one other on Mayfly which just touched 
 four pounds) would have served me as a perpetual 
 and pleasant reminder of the beauty of " sticking 
 to it." But what did Providence do ? 
 
 It did this. Scarcely was my four-pounder on 
 the bank when a few yards higher up there were 
 more " plops," and another great trout was hard 
 at it in exactly the same way, feeding vigorously 
 on nothing. He was covered, and he rose fair and 
 square, but, alas ! a hand, shaking from the recent 
 conflict, had lost its cunning. The response to 
 the rise was too rapid, the fish evidently objected 
 to having the fly pulled away, and went down, to 
 rise no more. Marvellous to relate, twenty yards 
 higher up yet a third big fish began to feed almost 
 at once, but there was more excuse for missing him, 
 for he was right under a willow bough, and could 
 
214 TROUT FISHING 
 
 only be reached by a side flick, in the course of 
 which the line got entangled in the nettles on the 
 bank. Therefore, though he took the fly all right, 
 the rod could not get on turns with him, and he 
 departed untouched. 
 
 Think what a leash it would have been, for the 
 other fish were quite as big as the one I caught ! 
 But Providence evidently meant me to suffer the 
 pangs of regret, and to make sure of it, sent me to 
 the same spot on the following morning. Then, a 
 few yards lower down, I at once hooked yet another 
 four-pounder, played him for several minutes, and 
 was just preparing to use the net, when a voice said 
 " Hi," or " Good-morning," or " Any Sport ? " or 
 some other offensive thing, my attention was dis- 
 tracted for a moment, and the fly came away. For 
 twopence I would have pushed the owner of the 
 voice into the river. Providence I would have 
 pushed in for nothing at all had I had the chance. 
 I have never had to do with four such big fish in 
 such close succession before or since. 
 
 Francis Francis and others used in old days to 
 begin the Mayfly season on the Itchen and continue 
 it on the Kennet, thus getting some three weeks 
 of fishing. One season I tried to emulate this 
 achievement and pursued the insect to three different 
 rivers. It was not a great success. Here is the 
 record of the business as I set it down at the time. 
 
THE DUFFER'S FORTNIGHT 215 
 
 I leave the confession unaltered as it points a moral 
 or two. 
 
 " There was a certain piquancy about my first 
 view of the Mayfly this year, because it came within 
 a week of my last view of the March brown, and 
 I was able to compare the creatures with a freshness 
 of interest that was gratifying. I remember think- 
 ing well bf the Mayfly, and disparaging the March 
 brown, because I was sure that the larger and later 
 insect would make ample amends for the scandalous 
 behaviour of the smaller and earlier. Now I want 
 something larger and later still, which shall make 
 good the abominable deficiencies of the Mayfly. 
 Not to put too fine a point upon it I should like 
 dragon-flies to become trout-food all through July 
 and to enable me so to catch something. I badly 
 desire to have some satisfactory standard of com- 
 parison by which I may disparage the Mayfly 
 thoroughly and reduce it to the level of the yellow 
 May dun which trout do not take. They do not 
 take the Mayfly either, of course, not really, but 
 people think they do. I wish to expose that fiction 
 by the aid of a dragon-fly carnival and enormous 
 fish safely landed with No. 10 hooks. People would 
 know then that the Mayfly is not the real thing. 
 
 " By way of preparation for this, let me with 
 brief dignity relate my experiences. First there 
 was a day on the Surrey stream which of old misled 
 
216 TROUT FISHING 
 
 me into the idea that the Mayfly was a none-such 
 I apologise for the expression, but it dates from 
 Cavalier-Roundhead days, and my mood is Round- 
 headed. Well, on this Surrey stream I saw such 
 plenty of Mayflies as never was before. Usually 
 twelve flies in an hour make you excited, and twenty- 
 .four are the cream of the cream. But on May 14 
 I saw more flies in five minutes than would last 
 half an ordinary day. And the fish ignored them, 
 practically. The manner of their behaviour was 
 this. Upstream, a hundred yards or so away at a 
 vague point A. round a corner, would come a resound- 
 ing splash, and I would hurry thither to await its 
 repetition. Ten minutes would pass, and then 
 would come another splash, somewhere near the 
 spot I had left, an indeterminate B., and I would 
 hurry back. Followed more waiting, and then a 
 third splash at or about A. Renewed expectancy 
 there would be rewarded by a fourth splash at B. 
 Why, a man will ask, did I not display presence of 
 mind and remain at B. ? I tried that. The result 
 of it would be two and even three splashes at A., 
 which was more than human nature could stand. 
 Also I tried casting at the place where the rises 
 seemed to be as judged by the ear. And that was 
 more than the trout could stand. 
 
 " The day yielded me one wretched trout and 
 one indelible disaster. I did at last find a glorious 
 
A 4 Ib. Trout 
 from the Kennet 
 
THE DUFFER'S FORTNIGHT 217 
 
 fish feeding persistently, an easy fish, a fish close 
 to my own bank, a five-pounder. He was what, 
 from hearing about other men's sport, I have learnt 
 of late to call a ' sitter.' I fished for him as I 
 imagine those other men do, with no mistake, 
 no drag, no mischance. And he took as those other 
 men's do, felt as heavy as theirs, made my reel 
 scream as theirs and got off as mine do. Sitters ! 
 
 " Now let me tell of the visit to one of the most 
 charming streams that join the Thames, with one 
 of the best of fellows and hosts that ever cast line. 
 The Mayfly had appeared ten days too soon and 
 was over. 
 
 " And now let me sing the Kennet, and the 
 Brethren, and the seven streams and seventy carriers 
 and seven hundred thousand three-pound trout, 
 which all welcomed me in pouring rain. Even 
 as I got there I trembled at the sight, so much was 
 the fly and so furious the rising of the three-pounders. 
 It was a bewildering spectacle to a man who had 
 known trouble. The Brethren as usual were admir- 
 ably calm and surveyed the scene unmoved. 
 ' When,' they said, ' the rise begins, we'll put 
 him on the Grove.' I was speechless. ' When 
 the rise begins ! ' ' Isn't,' I presently said feebly, 
 c isn't this a rise ? ' 
 
 " It wasn't. The rise began at two. I saw a 
 great river simply heaving with three-pounders, 
 
218 TROUT FISHING 
 
 and naturally my mind became unhinged. I rushed 
 up and down the seven streams and the seventy 
 carriers, and the seven hundred thousand three- 
 pound trout rushed too; we all rushed. My rod 
 went up and down like a flail, my fly fled hither and 
 thither like a snipe, the sun came out, the sky took 
 on a blue face it was a mad and merry time. I 
 arrived at the point of tea with a brace weighing 
 just under four pounds, and I expect I ought to have 
 had five brace weighing forty. 
 
 " And then after tea there was the five-pounder 
 to be caught at the point of the island, and the 
 four-pounder under the hedge, and much more 
 to be crowded into a delirious evening. To reach 
 the five-pounder needed a twenty-two-yard cast, 
 with about five yards of slack over and above to 
 counteract the weed bed and the eddy. But the 
 strength of the insane was upon me, and after a 
 strenuous hour I succeeded in losing him. And 
 I lost a three-and-a-half-pounder just below him, 
 and a three-pounder just below him, and the four- 
 pounder under the hedge, and had other brave doings 
 worthy of the opportunity and of me. The end 
 of it all was one more fish below the size limit, which 
 had swallowed the fly and made himself bleed. 
 What a day it would have been for a calm, capable 
 person who had not known trouble. 
 
 " I could tell of another day on a water scarcely 
 
THE DUFFER'S FORTNIGHT 219 
 
 less desirable in my eyes, a day spoilt by floods 
 of rain and a thickening of the stream, and of another 
 day when pusillanimous retreat before a storm 
 deprived me of the half -hour in which the trout 
 really were on. But what is the use of more ado ? 
 How am I to persuade trout to take dragon-flies, 
 and so repair my fortunes? That is now become 
 the question." 
 
 One more moral and the chapter must come to its 
 close. This is connected with the conditions which 
 prevail on a hard-fished ticket-water on which I 
 took a rod one year. 
 
 With the Mayfly on the wing every single soul 
 who could be on the water was on the water, which 
 meant a considerable congregation of souls. And 
 that meant what is pleasantly called " intensive " 
 fishing that is to say, wherever you happened to 
 be a brother angler would be within exclamation 
 distance, possibly even within a whisper. Where 
 there are plenty of trout intent on Mayfly this does 
 not perhaps seriously affect sport, but still, one 
 prefers a little more elbow-room when one can get 
 it, if only because exclamations are not always 
 intended for other ears. Also I still hold, despite 
 sea-angling festivals and the like, that angling 
 is of its nature a solitary diversion. 
 
 I got out none too early (several experiences 
 on that water ultimately convinced me that to 
 
220 TROUT FISHING 
 
 make sure of the rise you should be out with the 
 lark and home with the owl), and I received a 
 delightful surprise on finding myself quite alone 
 on the first stretch I came to, where the smaller 
 river rounds a corner lined by trees on the far bank. 
 This smaller river is not of so much account as 
 the big one, and though it holds good fish, it has the 
 reputation of being dour. Besides, it is later than 
 the other, and the Mayfly was not really due on it 
 yet. It seemed to me that so far it, or, at any rate, 
 this topmost, rather inaccessible, corner, might 
 have been overlooked. 
 
 Having evolved this theory, I saw several Mayflies 
 and, immediately after, poised near the surface a 
 trout of such calibre as I had not deemed possible 
 in the stream. Then I saw another even bigger, 
 and after him three more, all big and all in evident 
 expectation of the hatch. " This," I said to the 
 solitude, "is good enough. Here I am; here I 
 remain." I will not deny that I was excited. To 
 have lighted on a practically virgin piece of water 
 during the Mayfly time on one of the hardest flogged 
 fisheries in England was a piece of superb luck, by 
 which I hoped to profit to the tune of three brace 
 weighing at least twelve pounds. Afterwards no 
 doubt the stream would be fished as intensively 
 as the rest, but for the moment I seemed to be not 
 
THE DUFFER'S FORTNIGHT 221 
 
 only alone, but also the first to burst into that 
 silent scene. 
 
 Let me now confess that the affair did not turn 
 out quite as I had hoped. Those large trout, so 
 visible and apparently so ready for me, displayed 
 an unexpected amount of self-control. I laboured 
 over them for about an hour, and the net result 
 was three short rises. It struck me that they could 
 not really be on terms with the Mayfly yet, and that 
 they might be the better for a rest while I had lunch. 
 One thing was practically certain they could not 
 fail to come on some time, when the fly should get a 
 bit thicker, and then, not having seen any other 
 artificial flies, they would certainly take mine. 
 
 So I lunched, sitting peacefully on my basket, 
 with one eye cocked for a proper rise at a fly 
 so far it had been a matter of occasional bulges 
 after nymphs. To me, thus sitting, entered then 
 he whom I shall call the First Angler, both by reason 
 of his priority and of his acknowledged skill. With 
 him there was a pleasant chat. In the course of 
 it it appeared that he knew all about the corner. 
 More than that, I learnt that its fishable condition 
 was due to him, for he had recently been among 
 the withies with a pruning-knife. The result, easy 
 casting, combined with good cover, did him great 
 credit. But it was evident that I was in no sense 
 
222 TROUT FISHING 
 
 a discoverer. Probably, indeed, the good fish which 
 he had lost early that morning was the topmost 
 of my five. 
 
 I was still sitting on my basket meditating whether 
 those big trout were, after all, quite the untutored 
 beings I had hoped, when the Second Angler arrived, 
 to take up a watchful position some way lower down. 
 A common boredom (the rise had either petered out 
 or not properly begun) caused us to drift together 
 eventually, and to converse awhile. From our 
 talk I gathered that the corner was not only the 
 favourite resort of, but had even been named after, 
 the Second Angler. I became doubly certain that 
 I was not its discoverer. 
 
 Presently, the Second Angler having gone down- 
 stream, arrived the Third Angler. " Yes," he 
 said, " I had hold of a good one there this morning," 
 pointing to the spot where No. 2 (of my five big ones) 
 had been displaying his massive charms. The 
 Third Angler confessed to not being a patient fisher- 
 man, and departed, after assuring me that the bottom 
 of the water was the best place thus early in the 
 rise. Soon after I went away myself to get some 
 tea, as nothing was doing and the fly had not yet 
 begun. 
 
 I stayed away too long. The Fourth Angler, 
 who was hard at work when I came back, and who 
 landed two or three fish while I was getting to work 
 
THE DUFFER'S FORTNIGHT 223 
 
 again, pointed out the exact spot where he had just 
 lost a four-pounder. The fly must have appeared 
 the moment it caught sight of my departing form, 
 and the Fourth Angler cannot have been long behind 
 it. But the take, such as it was, was over by the 
 time I got back, and I saw no more big fish move. 
 My friend's big trout, by the way, was not one of 
 my original five, but a fish some little way below. 
 I knew about him in the morning, and had mentally 
 decided on him for the completion of my three 
 brace he was a worthy fish. 
 
 I will now pass hurriedly to the late evening and 
 the Fifth Angler, who was plodding philosophically 
 home. I had left the corner by then, and was wait- 
 ing about for sedges lower down. " I've only got 
 a brace," said the Fifth Angler, " but I had bad 
 luck. I lost three really good fish up at the top 
 under the bushes on my way down in the morning." 
 So there were the rest of my big ones duly accounted 
 for! 
 
 The moral is that a corner may not be so quiet 
 as it seems, and that visible big fish are not always 
 as good as in the basket. 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 A PECK OF TROUBLES 
 
 MANY is the wise word (borrowed from better 
 heads) that I have written on the angler, and on 
 what he ought to do or ought not to do. Once I 
 remember I was severe on the folly of forgetting 
 things, not without a sort of righteous pride in the 
 fact that for some time I had forgotten nothing. 
 This was due in part to the working of my new 
 system (whereby everything wanted for a day's 
 fishing is kept in the creel ready), in part to luck, 
 and in part, as I hoped, to genuine mnemonic im- 
 provement. At one time I really thought I had 
 made an end of forgetting, and had some notion 
 even of writing further on the subject. 
 
 I am doing so, but there is, believe me, a difference 
 between this and the might have been. I am not 
 going to blame anybody, not I. Here are some of 
 my recent achievements. One day I went out 
 fully equipped, save for the landing-net sling. Let 
 him who has tried to attach a telescopic, knuckle- 
 jointed net to the inadequate strap of a creel pity 
 me. Let him who, tired of that juggling trick, has 
 
 224 
 
A PECK OF TROUBLES 225 
 
 fashioned a sling out of a piece of string, and tried 
 to get the net out of it in a hurry pity me also. 
 On another day I forgot my spring balance, and, 
 of course, it chanced that I was then on a water 
 where weight, not length, is the criterion by which 
 fish are judged. There may be men outside fish 
 farms who can say for certain whether a fish is 
 one pound nine ounces or one pound seven ounces, 
 but I am not one of them. There are others who 
 would be quite happy to guess, happier, indeed, 
 but I am not one of them either. The sad shake 
 of a keeper's head would annihilate me. So I 
 probably returned several quite sizeable fish. 
 
 On the third day I did an extraordinarily foolish 
 thing. Invited to fish on a fine Mayfly water, 
 I turned up equipped with two bedraggled winged 
 flies, three very spent gnats, of which only one was 
 in even fair condition, and one straddlebug that had 
 seen better days. These were the occupants of my 
 hat-band. Boxes full of admirable flies of all kinds, 
 bursting with flies, lay on a table miles away. The 
 fish proved to be in one of their very particular 
 moods that day, so you can imagine me ringing my 
 miserable changes with equally miserable results. 
 Besides, I very soon lost the best of the spent gnats 
 in a tree. On the fourth day of the series I set out 
 in the morning for a nice long day with the grayling, 
 with hope of a brace of trout if I was lucky. It was 
 
226 TROUT FISHING 
 
 to be a day of fine gut, small flies, and exact science. 
 The trap set me down at the mill and drove away. 
 I proceeded to prepare for action. I had had the 
 forethought to put two casts a-soak in the damping 
 pouch. It is my custom to soak the points at the 
 waterside, adding so many and of such strength 
 to the main cast as occasion requires. My main 
 cast is quite a strong thing, ending in stoutish 
 undrawn gut, and to it I add four or five points 
 of lessening sizes, so that in the end I have a four- 
 yard cast tapering to 3x. F. M. Halford taught 
 me the merit of a long cast years ago, and now, 
 unless the wind is contrary, I hardly ever fish with 
 less than four yards. 
 
 I put up the rod, threaded the line, attached a 
 cast, and then felt in my pockets for the gut -case. 
 It was not there. I was committed to a day's gray- 
 ling fishing with gut which would be somewhat 
 strong even for the Mayfly, and which would scarcely 
 go through the eye of a 00 fly at all. Then, by a 
 stroke of good fortune, I found two points coiled 
 in the corner of the pouch. How long they had 
 been there I knew not, but I soaked them and tied 
 them on, hoping for the best. Nothing much 
 happened for a while, but presently I caught a nice 
 grayling, and began to think out an article entitled 
 " Lucky Points," or something like that. Soon 
 after, however, I had the misfortune to find a good 
 
A PECK OF TROUBLES 227 
 
 trout rising, to fetch him up, and to hook him. 
 And the next thing I knew was that he had gone, fly, 
 points, article and all. After that I made a little 
 seeming of fishing with a big Wickham, took no 
 good out of it, and descended to a big March brown 
 fished wet. The March brown flew away in the 
 air, and then I gave it up, and went away to the 
 canal to try for some of the big chub. And then 
 I went away altogether. 
 
 Troubles which arise from one's own forgetfulness 
 or foolishness are, of course, hard to bear, but one 
 is forced to admit that they are deserved. There 
 are other troubles, however, which are not, so far 
 as one can honestly judge, due to one's own short- 
 comings but seem to be the work of a malign Provi- 
 dence. Possibly there is something meteorological 
 at the back of some of them. 
 
 There are several matters which at intervals 
 puzzle me as well as annoy. One is the occasional 
 unwillingness of my lines to float for more than a 
 short time. The same lines, dressed with the same 
 unguents, float quite well at other times. They do 
 not seem to be unduly worn, and each has its proper 
 period of rest and drying, but on some days they 
 all behave badly. It may be something to do with 
 the weather, but what I could not say. 
 
 Perhaps the trouble is more noticeable when there 
 has been a good deal of thundery weather. 
 
228 TROUT FISHING 
 
 Perhaps, too, that is responsible for the accursed 
 curl in the gut, 'from which I have suffered frequently. 
 Up eyes, down eyes, straight eyes I have tried 
 each kind of hook, and the gut has curled with each. 
 Of one thing I am certain the trouble has been 
 worse with drawn than with undrawn gut. But 
 it has not been of daily occurrence. The same gut 
 which curled on Saturday might be as straight as a 
 ruler on Monday. As I always soak it well, I am 
 coming to the conclusion that the weather is in 
 some way responsible. We have still a lot to find 
 out in connection with fishing. 
 
 Another trouble is harder to define in exact terms, 
 since it is rather displayed in a state of affairs than 
 in any particular incident. Consider the following 
 cumulative series of little annoyances. 
 
 Twenty yards above the railed inclosure whither 
 the cattle come to drink a handsome trout is rising 
 just at the tail of a streamer of weed. The current 
 at this point is of even flow ; there are no difficulties 
 in the shape of trees or bushes at the side or behind ; 
 the wind is barely perceptible. To all appearances 
 it is an easy matter to put a fly properly over the 
 spot, and in due course to get a rise out of the fish, 
 lying as it is about two yards out from the bank. 
 Yet at the first trial, though the length of line has 
 been judged correctly, the fly shoots off at a tangent 
 
A PECK OF TROUBLES 229 
 
 and falls nearly two yards wide of the mark, the 
 cast lying in an irritating loop. 
 
 Line is recovered and another effort is made. 
 This is frustrated by a sudden jar at the rod -top 
 at the third false cast, the fly having come into 
 violent contact with the rod during its forward 
 progress. It has to be disentangled, and it is found 
 that the gut -point is twisted several times round the 
 top. It must be carefully straightened and wiped 
 with the handkerchief to get rid of any grease that 
 may have got on to it from contact with the line 
 before the attack can be resumed. 
 
 The next cast falls wide of the trout on the other 
 side, and after that there is an ominous crack in 
 the air behind the fly is whipped off. A new fly 
 does not take long to put on, and soon the rod is 
 at work again. This time both aim and distance 
 are correct, and the fly falls at the right place, but - 
 it falls heavily like a small brick, and the trout is 
 put down for the morning. Over the next rising 
 fish discovered a similar set of incidents occurs, 
 and when at last all difficulties of approach are 
 overcome, and a third trout is fairly risen, the 
 hooking of it is found to be impossible because the 
 reel line has begun to sink. 
 
 These events of a dry-fly morning, repeated with 
 variations through all the hours of it, are related not 
 
230 TROUT FISHING 
 
 in a tone of complaint (though there is usually some 
 of that at the time), but in a spirit of inquiry. Why 
 is it that on some days everything goes wrong, not 
 so much with the behaviour of the fish, for that is 
 more intelligible, but with the performance of the 
 fisher ? He feels in normal health ; there is nothing 
 the matter with his zeal ; the light is good, the wind 
 no hindrance ; and yet he cannot for the life of him 
 make his fly do what he wants it to, even though 
 at normal times he is a fair performer. 
 
 To reach a certain spot he first tries the ordinary 
 easy cast, in which the rod does most of the work, 
 and gut and fly fall in a ghastly heap. To counteract 
 this at the next attempt he puts a little more force 
 into it and adds a downward cut ; then the fly falls 
 with a splash. Next he essays an underhand cast, 
 and gets hung up in the nettles. After that, a trial 
 of a strictly vertical position catches the hook in 
 the top ring. No matter what he does, he does 
 wrong, until a day which dawned with fair prospects 
 and promised tranquil pleasures produces violence 
 and gnashing of teeth. Should his adjoining neigh- 
 bour, as generally happens, choose that moment to 
 disembarrass himself of superfluous weeds, the condi- 
 tion of the fisher is likely to be very serious indeed. 
 Floating weeds in addition to the other troubles are 
 quite enough to develop any homicidal tendencies 
 which may be latent in the most placid of natures. 
 
A PECK OF TROUBLES 231 
 
 That, however, is beside the subject, and the real 
 question remains unanswered. No doubt there are 
 answers more or less satisfactory, but it is hard to 
 see them. The personal element has been eliminated 
 because the fisher is not " off colour." If he were 
 he would not be surprised, but he knows he is not; 
 he slept soundly, and ate a large breakfast with 
 hearty appetite. At starting he felt himself a 
 match for any kind of difficulty, and the master 
 of all methods. There remain impersonal things. 
 Is it anything to do with the rod ? "I am sure 
 rods get tired," said an accomplished angler to me 
 one day, " especially split-cane rods ; but they 
 recover all right after a rest." It was a very sugges- 
 tive remark, which may possibly have some bearing 
 on the point at issue. If a rod does get " tired " 
 and the day of troubles comes after it has been 
 through a spell of hard work, one need not be 
 surprised that it refuses to behave properly. 
 
 Yet this sequence of events is not invariable, 
 for the troubles often come when the rod has had 
 no work to do for a long time often, alas ! on the 
 solitary day which the angler has snatched for fish- 
 ing out of a busy life. The rod seems to be also 
 eliminated by this very fact. 
 
 Another possible solution remains wind. Are 
 there, even on days apparently all but windless, 
 awkward little currents of air near the surface of 
 
232 TROUT FISHING 
 
 the water and ground, too slight to be perceptible, 
 yet cogent enough to spoil the neat finish of a dry-fly 
 cast ? If so, are they of no fixed direction, blowing 
 where they list, so that the same zephyr which 
 frustrates the first easy cast by opposing the fly 
 brings the downward cut to nothing by turning 
 wilfully round, and helping the fly along ? The 
 more one thinks over the problem, the more one 
 inclines to this explanation, though it brings small 
 comfort in its train. 
 
 There are many other kinds of trouble to which 
 we anglers are heirs, and which we have to endure 
 as manfully as we may. One of the worst perhaps 
 is the loss of fish after fish for no apparent reason. 
 There must be a reason of course, and I have come 
 to be of opinion that the fault lies less with the 
 angler (though it is right and proper that he should 
 blame himself that way lies humility) than with 
 something in the condition of light, weather or water, 
 which makes the trout take the fly gingerly. There 
 is no mistaking the days on which fish take whole- 
 heartedly. The merest trifle of a 000 hook will then 
 suffice to hook and hold a three-pounder. But on 
 the other days such a hook hardly seems able to 
 inflict a scratch, much less to get a hold. And even 
 the sort of hook you use for a Welshman's button 
 or a March brown, a good sensible No. 3 or No. 4, 
 is of very doubtful efficacy. Perhaps the trout 
 
A PECK OF TROUBLES 233 
 
 on these days do not really close their mouths on 
 the fly, and when one tightens on them the hook 
 gets no hold at all or at best an indifferent lodgement 
 in some outlying part of the jaw. 
 
 In rather similar category are the wet-fly days 
 on which there are many rises that lead to nothing. 
 Here again the angler is prone to blame himself, 
 to think that by striking more swiftly, or more slowly, 
 he might have made better use of the opportunities. 
 I do not believe that this is so, in the case of any 
 angler of fair skill. I think that the trout which 
 rise in this way, making a lot of show but not getting 
 hooked, do not mean to take the fly at all. They 
 are interested enough to gambol close to it, but 
 not to make trial of its flavour. 
 
 Nor do I think that it is often accurate to say 
 that a trout " missed " the fly. It does happen 
 sometimes in a lake when a fish has come out of the 
 deeps that he " loses " it, but the angler usually 
 helps there by pulling it out of the water prematurely. 
 If he can get it in again while the fish is still looking 
 about like a terrier for a vanished rat, he will pro- 
 bably get a real rise. But a genuine " miss " must 
 be very rare even in rough water. A trout has a 
 very good aim, though he is perhaps outdone in 
 this by a grayling, which can come up from deep 
 water and seize a fly on or near the surface with 
 marvellous precision. 
 
234 TROUT FISHING 
 
 Another trouble, frequent on the chalk streams 
 though less met with on other waters, is weeds, 
 both on and below the surface. The miseries 
 inflicted by weeds floating down the Test or Itchen 
 on fine fresh mornings of May and other months 
 could inspire a whole series of penitential psalms, 
 with a supplement composed of versified objurga- 
 tions. Though no poet myself, I would gladly 
 contribute to the volume. 
 
 There is perhaps no problem of the chalk streams 
 which produces more heart-burnings, more abuse 
 of one's neighbours, than this, unless it be mudding 
 carried on at untimely periods. There is one real 
 remedy for it and only one that every fishery should 
 take out its weeds as it cuts them. When the 
 Hampshire rivers adopt this system it is enforced 
 by the conservators on the Thames and its tribu- 
 taries, which include several chalk streams 
 the first weed trouble will to a great extent have 
 disappeared. The system of course involves some 
 extra expense in labour and in the provision of 
 weedracks, fixed or movable, but considering how 
 valuable chalk stream fishing is and how short 
 its season I think the outlay ought to be worth 
 while. 
 
 The other weed trouble is caused by the fish, 
 which like their weeds thick and strong and handy. 
 
A PECK OF TROUBLES 235 
 
 Some trout are much more prone to go to weed than 
 others. I remember getting several good trout of 
 about two pounds from the Avon one hot summer 
 when the weeds had not been cut for some time, 
 and each fish seemed to be in a little round hole 
 with a belt of thick herbage protecting him on every 
 side. It was most interesting and attractive fishing 
 because there was little or no fly, and hardly any 
 stream in the holes, and one had to stalk one's 
 quarry, lying near the surface probably from force 
 of habit, and drop a Wickham or a red quill as 
 close to its nose as possible. The trout took the 
 fly well enough, when one got the preliminaries right, 
 and the odd thing was that they made little or no 
 use of the weeds. I remember no interludes of 
 hand-lining. Casualties there were, certainly, but 
 mostly due to my custom, when possessed by panic, 
 of pulling a fly away from a fish or else of trying to 
 do so too late and leaving it in his mouth. Two- 
 pounders visible in small round holes usually give 
 me panic. 
 
 As a contrast to this fishing I remember a day on 
 the Gloucestershire Coin when fish after fish ran 
 straight into the weeds on being hooked and mostly 
 remained there. Hand-lining, which is effective 
 in some cases, was useless there because as the weeds 
 were not very thick the fish improved them by 
 
236 TROUT FISHING 
 
 running through, then coming back, and if 
 necessary running through again. They were very 
 thorough about it. 
 
 The oddest, and perhaps the saddest, experience 
 I ever had with weeds was when a trout in a branch 
 of the Test tried the expedient of diving straight 
 down into a bed after a high jump into the air. 
 The weeds were very dense and the unhappy fish 
 just stuck in them with his tail-end in the air. He 
 could not move, I could not move him, it was too 
 deep to wade, so I was forced to pull the line till 
 the gut broke and so leave the affair. Whether 
 he ever escaped I do not know, but I fear not, as 
 some hours later that lamentable tail was still in 
 the same position. He was not a sizeable fish and 
 would have been duly returned had he not tried 
 what our airmen call " stunts." 
 
 Some trout fishing troubles are less tangible than 
 those caused by wind, weeds and other things that 
 one can recognise and blame, or even than those 
 caused by things that one can surmise, such as 
 " tired " rods. One of the queerest perhaps is the 
 depression that comes of failure after success, the 
 sense of futility in contrast to an earlier suspicion 
 of being a man of parts. 
 
 A priest once told me that intellectual pride was 
 a very grievous sin, and I believe he was right. 
 Like all grievous sins, too, it brings its proper 
 
A PECK OF TROUBLES 237 
 
 penalties, sometimes hastening, sometimes lagging, 
 but always following in its train. Every human 
 preoccupation may lend itself to the indulgence 
 of this pride, fishing no less than the others, and 
 I know that the sequence, sin first and penalty 
 afterwards, may be expected by the river as in 
 the street, the mart, or the chamber. 
 
 One Friday evening I reached Winchester bliss- 
 fully conscious of several clear days for leisure and 
 the dry fly. Unhurried, I sauntered to the Itchen 
 with about an hour of daylight left, and, caring 
 little whether I killed a fish or no (was there not 
 store of days in front ?), tied on a female blue-winged 
 olive. I was proudly conscious that it was a female 
 blue-winged olive, and pleased that I, who never 
 can remember these subtle distinctions, actually 
 had remembered them and profited by the teaching 
 of the master a short while back. I crossed the two 
 planks, threaded my way through the little 
 wood, and gained the meadow, where my big 
 fish are (they are not really mine; the wish is 
 parent to the expression), in a mood quite ripe 
 for committing the grievous sin hereinbefore named. 
 
 Everything conspired against me. I found four 
 trout rising. Two rose, refused the fly, and went 
 about their business. The others I killed in the 
 inevitable manner that marks the really skilful 
 dry-fly angler. A well-judged attack, a perfectly- 
 
238 TROUT FISHING 
 
 placed fly, a timely strike, and a light yet controlling 
 hand these distinguished the achievement; and 
 the brace weighed respectively one pound nine 
 ounces and one pound ten ounces very handsome 
 fish. Honour thus satisfied, I essayed no more 
 slaughter, but turned serenely in my tracks and 
 strolled homewards through the dusking meadows 
 and under the solemn avenue of over-arching trees. 
 
 My thoughts ran somewhat as follows : i4 Here 
 am I, knowing the difference between blue -winged 
 olives, male and female, which in itself is much. 
 But more than such book-learning, here am I able 
 to profit by it. Half an hour by clear-flowing 
 Itchen, and, behold, a brace of noble trout ! Marryat 
 himself could have shown no better result. If I am 
 able to do this in a first brief thirty minutes, what 
 shall I not do in the many hundreds of minutes which 
 lie before me? Positively I am a menace to a 
 fishery ; ut puto malleus fio. But no, I will not tell 
 the tale in dozens. I will hold that terrible hand; 
 I will hammer discreetly. And my reasonable 
 number of trout shall be made up only of the finest 
 and fattest specimens that Itchen affords. Two- 
 pounders I will retain; the rest I will return." 
 
 So climbed my thoughts, and even to worse 
 eminences, which I forbear to describe. It only 
 shows what a great and besetting sin is this pride 
 that so much pother should come of a brace of 
 
A PECK OF TROUBLES 239 
 
 trout, even though they were caught not unskilfully, 
 as still I maintain, for all the chastening that came 
 after. I am the less indisposed to say so because 
 I soon felt as though I should never have either wit 
 or luck to catch any more trout at all ! So much 
 for the sin, and now for the chastening. 
 
 On Saturday I put on wading stockings because, 
 as everybody knows, they are extremely useful 
 for kneeling about in moist places, fending off the 
 penetrating attack of wet grass, and so on. The 
 result of this was that everything, moist places, 
 grass, and the rest, was as dry as a bone, thanks to 
 warm sun and airs, with the sole exception of the 
 waders themselves inside. They after the manner 
 of their kind condensed, as a learned friend of mine 
 calls it, like anything. 
 
 They were heavy, cumbrous, and the plague of 
 my life as I toiled from place to place, upstream 
 to get sight of the rumoured four-pounder below 
 the bridge (and I saw disturbances which might 
 have been he), downstream to the little inn where 
 tea was to be had, and close to which a fish of eight 
 and a half pounds had been caught on bread a few 
 days before (a poor spirited fish, so the landlord 
 told me, which fought not at all), and round and 
 round as I avoided the bull who lords it over the 
 meadow which is the gateway of the fishery. It 
 is two gateways really, because in it you may strike 
 
240 TROUT FISHING 
 
 either the main river or a side stream. And when 
 I yearned to fish the one there was the bull waiting for 
 me in the path, and when the other there was he 
 also. So, of course, I had to go round and round. 
 He did not, I think, like my hat, which is a large 
 hat and a sensible ; it is resented by all four-footed 
 beasts and by some who have only two feet. 
 
 To return, nay to come, to the fishing, the long, 
 long day yielded me two smallish trout and one 
 smallish grayling, and as for skill, and comparisons 
 with Marryat, and nonsense of that kind, I blushed 
 for that self of the evening before. After losing 
 five or six fish and putting down all the others there 
 was precious little pride left in me. I crept home 
 under the now gloomy avenue a humble man. 
 
 On Sunday there was no fishing, but a great peace 
 born of glorious music echoing down the cathedral, 
 and afterwards of slow wanderings round the pre- 
 cincts, whose fair paths, smooth lawns, and ancient 
 houses, with deep-blue sky overhead and sunlight 
 flickering through the trees, are like a dream-picture 
 of some golden age. If the spirit of Walton ever 
 revisits the earth it surely does not wander far 1 
 
 On Monday, still humble, but refreshed by the 
 spirit of old Winchester, I came to the fishing again, 
 hoping for a modest little basket which might enable 
 me to work off an obligation or so by means of a 
 brace of trout here and another there. But I 
 
A PECK OF TROUBLES 241 
 
 had not yet paid my penalties, and my score was 
 one smallish trout and two smallish grayling, with, 
 imposed on this defeat, an appalling disaster. 
 During the evening rise, which was not a rise but 
 a display of " oncers " (Red Spinner, all men thank 
 thee for that word !), I hooked the biggest trout I 
 ever had to do with on the Itchen. And the fly 
 came away at the end of his first rush of nigh thirty 
 yards ! Tuesday may be summed up thus : wind, 
 rain, and a twelve-and-a-half-inch grayling. And 
 so back to London, where I found that I had for- 
 gotten how to distinguish the blue-winged olives, 
 male and female. One of them had a red head, 
 but which ? 
 
 This sort of thing repeats itself in my fishing 
 career, for I still cannot forbear to congratulate 
 myself when I have been successful, nor do I cease 
 sooner or later to regret that I was so uplifted in 
 spirit. I suppose similar ups and downs come to 
 everybody. 
 
 There is of course no end to the fisherman's 
 troubles if one came to catalogue them, but it would 
 be a needlessly depressing task. We anglers do 
 not want any one to anatomise Melancholy for us 
 after the manner of old Burton, though it could be 
 done with the proper wealth of detail and illustra- 
 tion. Melancholy is our companion often enough, 
 without our needing to scrutinise her every feature. 
 
242 TROUT FISHING 
 
 But there are some troubles which one might 
 avoid by dwelling on them a little and especially 
 those which are brought upon us by the actions 
 of others. Like all other fishermen I have some 
 store of memories which brings this lesson home. 
 There was, for instance, the bright, hot day on the 
 Kennet, when I had been able to do nothing at all. 
 Nothing in particular was rising, and my plan in 
 such a case of looking for fish in position and fishing 
 by sight (often good for a brace on a bad day) had 
 been brought to nought by the fact that the fish 
 saw me long before I could see them. By the after- 
 noon I was depressed and gloomy. 
 
 Then came one of those gleams of fortune which 
 sometimes flash athwart the darkest hour. I saw 
 a rise, which was repeated, and then a fine big fish 
 cruising about in a quiet corner. It was a real 
 opportunity. My fly was taken boldly, and I 
 settled down to a long fight. I dared not bustle 
 the fish, because the gut was fine, and because just 
 below was a hatch, for which he might bolt if too 
 much agitated, so I played him gently, and, in 
 consequence, for a much longer time than would 
 have been the case ordinarily. But all went well, 
 and at last I dipped the net into the water and drew 
 the trout towards it. 
 
 Then a voice behind me said, " Good-afternoon." 
 I jumped, and looked round, to find an amiable son 
 
A PECK OF TROUBLES 243 
 
 of the soil full of information about the fineness of 
 the weather. And, of course, as I looked round the 
 line slackened, the fly lost its hold, and the two- 
 and-a-half -pound trout faded away out of reach. 
 It was hard in such circumstances to express any 
 interest in the weather, but I think I managed it. 
 My friend went on his road content, and I believe 
 he never realised that he had witnessed a tragedy 
 at all. The whole fight had been of the quietest, 
 and the fish never splashed or swirled. A spectator 
 might well have been ignorant of what was going 
 on, save for the bent rod. Later in the day I lost 
 another fish of equal bulk, which did not cheer me 
 at all. 
 
 The moral of this incident is undoubtedly this : 
 when you have a considerable fish seen, rising, risen 
 or hooked, be deaf and dumb to the outside world, 
 unless of course it threatens to molest, frighten, 
 or otherwise interfere with the said fish. In that 
 case say what is given to you to say. You will 
 in due course acquire a certain reputation for aloof- 
 ness, but your sport will improve. 
 
 The outside world is not much considered in 
 fishing meditations. More or less dimly, however, 
 every angler must from time to time be conscious 
 of an alien impinging something which meets him 
 at various points in his placid career, and which 
 has on him effects of various kinds, according to his 
 
244 TROUT FISHING 
 
 circumstances and his moods. No matter how 
 single-eyed his devotion to the brave pastime, no 
 matter how remote the solitudes to which he retires 
 for its better prosecution, he can never wholly 
 be free from the possibility of collision with this 
 something, and it is just as well that he should 
 realise the fact and be prepared to accept it. 
 
 It is not wise for a man to be betrayed into unseemly 
 wrath, unless he has a reasonable prospect of carry- 
 ing matters through with a high and heavy hand. 
 Nor is it well for a man to add fuel to the foolish 
 fire of mirth by obviously and ridiculously resenting 
 the guffaws of the uninstructed. Nor should the 
 discreet angler unguardedly permit himself, by 
 some scruple of weak politeness or uncalculating 
 good nature, to act on such advice as may at any 
 moment be proffered by any stray comer. Nor 
 should he suffer his strong mind to be unnerved by 
 the glare of apparently stony and critical eyes 
 directed upon his proceedings. Nor should he 
 but it is needless to tabulate the many things which 
 are inadvisable. The main thing is that those 
 mentioned and the others implied are all likely to 
 come to a man to his undoing, unless he is prepared 
 to meet emergencies and to suffer untowardness 
 with some measure of philosophy, and even gladness. 
 
 For this something is widespread and pervading. 
 You may meet it in curiously -topped stockings, 
 
A PECK OF TROUBLES 245 
 
 spats, and an eye-glass, near the source of a moun- 
 tain-born streamlet ; you may see it leaning, collar- 
 less and pipe in mouth, over the chalk stream bridge ; 
 you may hear it, loud-voiced and discordant, 
 addressing you in many-tongued insult from the 
 passing char-a-banc ; it may take on a reverend and 
 misleading guise, as with whiskers eloquent of a 
 cathedral close and a hat from Messrs. Vanheem 
 and Wheeler; or it may disturb both your sport 
 and your emotions by stepping in white " tempestu- 
 ous petticoats," and brandishing a white parasol 
 along the marge of the crystal river; it may even 
 appear as what Homer called " a shameless stone," 
 hurled from a safe strategic position by some 
 probable, but unidentified, small boy. There are, 
 in fact, endless ways in which the Public may come 
 into touch with the patient men (if there be any 
 patient enough), who read these lines, and are 
 otherwise worthy to be called anglers. 
 
 Not all these ways are to be considered as 
 altogether unfortunate, though. The saving grace 
 of humour is spread over some of them, and often 
 an incident occurs which, rightly considered, should 
 keep a man happy for quite a long time. I remember 
 one. It happened that at the end of the trout 
 season three anglers, all famous in more ways than 
 one, were sedately taking their homeward way from 
 a famous fishery on the Itchen, thinking, I make no 
 
246 TROUT FISHING 
 
 doubt, of dinner, the day's lack of sport, the weather, 
 and such other things as have filled the minds of 
 returning anglers since time immemorial. To them 
 appeared a fourth, a member of the Public, whom I 
 will make bold to conceal as Agricola, and some 
 conversation took place by the side of what some call 
 a carrier, others a drawn, others a ditch, others an 
 eligible bit of fishing, two miles of it, one on each side. 
 
 Then to all four appeared a trout, which rose twice 
 within tempting distance. A trout which rises 
 twice when you are going home (according to my 
 experience) is not a fish to be disregarded, and I am 
 not a bit surprised that one of the anglers at once 
 unlimbered for the attack. Nor, I must add, am I 
 surprised that the attack ended abruptly in the 
 flight of the trout I know the carrier in which he 
 lives, and if I have not known him, I have known 
 several of his brothers. To continue, the trout was 
 visible in the clear, shallow water, a rapidly diminish- 
 ing form, and the anglers, recognising the inevitable, 
 were for continuing their progress in the opposite 
 direction. 
 
 Then Agricola rose to the occasion. Was he, 
 a member of the Public, to suffer the unfortunate 
 disciples of Walton to go away discomfited while 
 he had legs to run and arms to wave ? Not he. 
 Like the intelligent sheep-dog of the mountain, he 
 was after the trout to turn it in its tracks, and to 
 
A PECK OF TROUBLES 247 
 
 drive it back to the place whence it started, the 
 place where an angler could easily cover it with a 
 fly again. He ran, and as he ran he promised that 
 he would do these things. And as he promised 
 the anglers protested that his labour was in vain. 
 Yet still he ran. 
 
 The story ends there, and I do not know whether 
 the fish was caught, turned, and driven back. I 
 imagine not. Certainly it did not resume its posi- 
 tion, begin to rise again, and ultimately succumb 
 to the blandishments of GreenwelPs Glory or what- 
 ever the fly was. If that had happened, naturally 
 the story would have had a long and ecstatic con- 
 tinuation, and I should have had to put it in another 
 chapter. As things are, I am not distracted by the 
 intervention of miracles. And, indeed, it would 
 be a miracle if any member of the Public by taking 
 thought ever assisted the angler to catch a fish, 
 because members of the Public are not so constructed 
 as to understand the ways of fishes. 
 
 It is only necessary to reflect on some of the cus- 
 toms of the Public to realise this. How often have 
 we not seen a worthy gentleman, obviously possessed 
 of all the qualifications for being a kind uncle and a 
 good churchwarden, stop athwart our rising trout, 
 stand at gaze for a while, and then make vigorous 
 pointing motions with his walking-stick. How 
 often have we not heard him say as he pointed : 
 
248 TROUT FISHING 
 
 " There's a fine fish here," and, after a little, " It's 
 gone away now." There are some of us even who 
 have had the evil luck to be assisted by just such 
 a good man in the landing of a fish. I once had 
 to exercise considerable force and to strain a promis- 
 ing, though incipient, friendship in order that I 
 might take the landing-net away from him. He 
 had " jabbed " horribly three times, and I felt that 
 the gut would not stand any more of it. Our parting 
 was not so cordial as I could have wished, but I do 
 not see what else could have been done, and, anyhow, 
 I got the trout. 
 
 It is not so very long since I read in some pro- 
 vincial paper of a police-court case which arose 
 out of the throwing of stones at a float. I cannot 
 remember all the details, but the float was certainly 
 fons et origo mali, and stones were thrown at it 
 with intent. An affray followed because the justly 
 incensed angler was not of the meek kind, and in the 
 end the thrower was mulcted in a sum, to my think- 
 ing, scarcely proportionate to the gravity of his 
 offence. 
 
 Stones, of course, represent a mood in the public 
 mind quite different from the moods which provoke 
 obvious information, unwanted advice, or unskilled 
 assistance. Usually they are symptomatic of youth. 
 Hardly any small boy is without the desire to throw 
 a stone at a float. Even a small boy who is also 
 
A PECK OF TROUBLES 249 
 
 a fisherman may succumb to a sudden longing of 
 this kind. Well do I remember an incident which 
 occurred in my own youth, and in the contem- 
 poraneous youth of a now distinguished surgeon. 
 We each had a float, and we were both overcome 
 by the ballistic impulse at the same moment. Un- 
 happily, we also went armed in those days, and the 
 subsequent duel between air-gun and catapult 
 was a sad affair. I can still feel the shrewd smart 
 of a marble which smites the calf of a stockinged 
 leg, and I am sometimes reminded that the slug 
 from an air-gun may inflict pain even less endurable. 
 Let me now draw a veil over a scene of carnage. 
 
 Grown persons, I am glad to think, do not throw 
 stones at anglers very much, except in out-of-the- 
 way places. In this respect manners must have 
 mended somewhat. In his Fishing Catechism 
 Colonel Meysey Thompson mentions an old rule in 
 the code of a certain fishing club, which ran : " Any 
 one throwing stones at another's line will be severely 
 dealt with by the committee." I am glad to think 
 that such a rule is no longer wanted as between 
 angler and angler. As between Public and angler, 
 I don't think it is much wanted either, which is 
 fortunate, because there would not seem to be much 
 remedy for us save in dignified retreat or impetuous 
 battle. And usually the Public is on the other side 
 of the river when it does throw stones, so, unless 
 
250 TROUT FISHING 
 
 the angler can throw more and bigger stones with 
 better aim, battle is less admirable than flight. 
 
 But I have already said that the Public does not 
 throw stones much, and generally I do not think 
 it hostile to us. It is just a great alien thing, which 
 is not unfriendly but simply does not understand. 
 That is deplorable from one point of view, and it 
 leads to troubles as I have said, but there are com- 
 pensations. If the Public understood it would also 
 angle, and where should we be then ? It would be 
 all troubles and no fish. 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 WEATHER AND WIND 
 
 THE books of the rules at one time used to insist 
 forcibly on the desirability of a cloudy day for trout 
 fishing, and, indeed, some of them do so still. A 
 theory in fishing, once it has taken hold of people's 
 minds, takes a lot of uprooting, not, indeed, that it 
 is intended here to suggest that the praise of grey 
 skies is altogether mistaken. Doubtless there are 
 conditions of drought and calm when they deserve 
 all that can be said for them, especially if they 
 bring the much-needed refreshment for the parched 
 earth and shrunken streams. But without depre- 
 ciating unduly the value of dull weather, it is 
 certainly possible and right to maintain that a bright 
 sun is not the foe to sport which some authorities 
 would have had us to believe, and that there are 
 times when it is even necessary to successful trout 
 fishing. You have only to consider the conditions 
 of a normal spring to appreciate this. For days, 
 perhaps weeks, the wind has been set in the north 
 or east and skies have been hard and steely. If 
 
 251 
 
252 TROUT FISHING 
 
 rain has fallen it has been first cousin to snow or 
 sleet. The trout have been backward in condition 
 and little inclined to rise, insect food being very 
 scarce. Then comes a change of wind and a burst 
 of warm sunshine. Even if there is no rain to speak 
 of, the improvement in fishing is immediate, for 
 flies appear and trout rise to them. 
 
 Looking back on past experiences, the angler 
 does not find any lack of sunshine in the retrospect. 
 It may be that we are more inclined, as is the sundial, 
 to record the bright hours, and there have certainly 
 been bits of sport enjoyed when the weather was far 
 from delightful. But, for all that, it is obvious that 
 a great many of our best days have been lived in the 
 countenance and favour of a glorious sun. Big 
 fish or big baskets it does not matter there is 
 proof enough that the sun is no hindrance to 
 achieving either ambition, while it is certain that it 
 helps us to appreciate our luck much more keenly. 
 
 Once it is settled that sunshine is not bad for trout 
 fishing, it becomes a matter of some interest to 
 consider why anglers used to think that it was. 
 Possibly the reason lies in the tackle they used. 
 There must have been more difficulty in approaching 
 trout in days when a very long rod was required for 
 throwing even a moderately long line. And the 
 old artificial flies were many of them crude pro- 
 ductions of great size as compared with the little 
 
WEATHER AND WIND 253 
 
 things we use to-day. Certainly they would show 
 to better advantage when wind and weather com- 
 bined to conceal their more prominent features. 
 On south-country streams, at any rate, such patterns 
 attached to coarse gut would not stand much chance 
 on a calm day under a bright sun. 
 
 These are possible reasons for the old dislike for 
 sunshine. But there is another thing worth con- 
 sidering. Possibly the old writers, like the new, did 
 not know everything, and there may have been 
 plenty of silent fishermen, as there are now, who 
 went on their efficient way without heeding the 
 rules laid down for them by the prophets. Experience 
 is the best teacher after all, and probably at no 
 time did experience ever say that grey was always 
 to be preferred to gold. 
 
 On the whole, except in grievous droughts, I 
 would always have it sunny when I go trout fishing, 
 even though I may possibly suffer in basket thereby. 
 One very definite reason which I have for this is 
 that I dearly love to see all that is to be seen, and 
 more especially to see the fish which I am trying to 
 catch. In some conditions, indeed, I feel as though 
 I could not catch any without seeing them. 
 
 Take a rather dour river like the upper Kennet 
 on a morning in July. The Mayfly has been over 
 some time and there is little to bring the fish up to 
 rise steadily before the evening. Then probably 
 
254 TROUT FISHING 
 
 they will come on to blue-winged olives or sedges 
 with much the same eagerness as the fish of Itchen 
 or Test. But in the daytime there is considerably 
 less visible activity in the Kennet than in either of 
 the Hampshire streams. I believe that a good deal 
 could be done to make it a " better-rising " river, 
 but that is beside the present question. 
 
 The fact is, that on the Kennet in the dog-days 
 you see little to fish for if you judge solely by rings 
 on the surface. And yet you can catch trout, and 
 good trout, in certain places if you give your mind 
 to the business of hunting for them. I find it almost 
 essential to have the help of strong sunlight and a 
 fairly calm surface, because my aim is to spot the 
 fish and to try and tempt them without necessarily 
 having seen them rise. But here I may mention 
 what seems to me an odd circumstance. Supposing 
 I sat on a seat with my rod spiked in the traditional 
 manner and waited for rises to appear, hours might 
 pass without any definite encouragement to make a 
 cast. But if I prowl slowly along, find a fish lying 
 quietly near the bank, and watch him, it is very 
 probable that in a few minutes I shall see him tilt 
 himself and take some floating trifle, or, which is 
 even more likely, I shall see him turn and take 
 something beneath the surface. What, I believe, 
 it amounts to is that many fish in hot weather are 
 feeding so quietly that from a little distance you 
 
 
WEATHER AND WIND 255 
 
 would never detect any sign of movement. The 
 trout that you stalk, therefore, may well be rising 
 fish though you would not know it without actually 
 seeing them. It is hardly necessary to dwell on 
 the fascination of trying to catch such visible fish. 
 To watch a big mouth opening and shutting on one's 
 fly is a sensation of blissful terror. 
 
 Exactly the same kind of fishing is possible on 
 wet-fly streams in certain conditions, of which low 
 water is one. The still pools and flats always have 
 a number of trout which cruise at the edge of the 
 bushes or near the banks, and when the light is 
 favourable you can see and fish for them. But 
 stalking them is not quite the same thing as stalking 
 chalk stream fish. There is less movement about 
 it. You get better results by standing still in a 
 likely place than by patrolling the banks. For the 
 trout themselves are moving, in and out, up and 
 down, round and round, and sooner or later one, 
 two, or even more will come into view. A single 
 fly accurately delivered will generally get a rise 
 from one of these fish, and I do not mind whether 
 it floats or sinks. Some of the items which fall 
 from bushes float, some probably sink, and the 
 trout are ready for either proceeding. 
 
 Sometimes, of course, the sun makes too much of 
 himself for his most cordial admirer. There are 
 days on which the heat in the open meadows is too 
 
256 TROUT FISHING 
 
 great for any exertion, when the trout are dormant 
 and even the little silvery grayling are too exhausted 
 to splash about on the shallows in their peculiar 
 and rather annoying manner. The big hatch-hole, 
 where the great trout may usually be seen cruising, 
 is a horrid sight, a vast bed of weeds going round and 
 round like the dappled horses at a fair. Even the 
 abstract interest of speculating why weeds can 
 revolve for ever on an eddy without being swept 
 into the main current, and so carried away down- 
 stream, yields at length to indignation that such 
 things should be, to amazement that perfect chalk 
 stream fisheries should have the almost inevitable 
 drawback of other people's weeds whenever one is 
 privileged to visit them. 
 
 Lunch is eaten in melancholy, and the conviction 
 of an impending blank grows more profound. Not 
 a dun has been seen all the morning. Yesterday, 
 in like weather, not a dun, or hardly a dun, was seen 
 from morn till eve ; the prospects of a rise of fish 
 are remote, especially as each evening the sky is 
 overcast with heavy masses of cloud, masses which 
 threaten thunder, yet do not perform, masses which 
 make the light bad and the fishing hopeless. The 
 effect of meditation on a bad day is not conducive 
 to energy, but all is not yet lost. The other side of 
 the river, perhaps, might disclose a fish smutting 
 close to the bank. A path runs across the sluice- 
 
WEATHER AND WIND 257 
 
 gate bridge, through a bed of withies (in each of 
 which the aggravating rod manages to entangle 
 itself), and so to a plank across a carrier. Up this 
 the eye travels, for it is a pleasant sight on such a 
 day, its water being cool, clear, and, above all, 
 shaded. Happy thought ! Why not follow it up ? 
 There must be trout in it, for all such streamlets 
 in a chalk stream country hold trout, if only they are 
 permanent and not mere channels of temporary 
 irrigation. Trout or no, one thing is certain; this 
 little tree-shaded rush-girt brook is the coolest 
 place within miles, and that alone is inducement 
 enough to explore on such a day. 
 
 There are some signs of fish, too. Waves in all 
 directions prove it, waves caused by the appearance 
 of the angler's head over the rushes at the first 
 corner. The advance was most cautious, too, with 
 nothing sudden about it. If you want to look for 
 a trout, you must move very slowly, and the rule 
 was carefully observed, yet there are the waves to 
 show failure. Ah, there is a fish 1 Its forked tail 
 and slim shape show it to be a dace, which explains 
 matters. Dace in the first place have bad con- 
 sciences, and in the second swim in companies, 
 which makes them harder to approach in such a 
 small stream than trout. Many pairs of eyes give 
 them an advantage. Once disturbed, however, 
 they are not necessarily uncatchable as a trout 
 
258 TROUT FISHING 
 
 would be ; if you keep still, they will generally return 
 in two or three minutes, and then you can catch one 
 as though they had never been frightened at all. 
 A trout, on the other hand, takes disturbance hardly, 
 except in waters where he is accustomed to human 
 beings. There he will hasten away, and return 
 almost at once. In streams where he hardly ever 
 sees a man, the sight of such a thing gives him a 
 serious panic, and he will very likely appear no 
 more for hours. 
 
 Proof of this is afforded presently. After several 
 bends and corners have been explored without the 
 sight of anything but a few more dace, a bold, 
 spreading rise is observed under some bushes at the 
 head of a long, straight reach, and between an 
 island of rushes and the far bank. Nearer inspection 
 reveals the cause, a fine trout which comes out from 
 under a bush, takes some invisible fly and retires to his 
 holt. By reason of obstructions there is only one way 
 of covering him properly, and that is to take to the 
 water, wade cautiously up behind the rushes, and then 
 to switch a short line under the bush. This manoeuvre 
 is effected with the utmost care it takes some ten 
 minutes and, behold, the trout has fled ! He must 
 have seen something, despite all precautions, and 
 a long wait neither reveals whither he has gone nor 
 brings him back. The angler goes on sadder, but 
 not much wiser ; he does not see how he could have 
 
WEATHER AND WIND 259 
 
 been more like the proverbial Red Indian. A little 
 higher up is observed a tiny rise, evidently from a 
 dace. But, no, as it is repeated, there is a slight 
 disturbance below the dimple, which shows that 
 the fish's tail is a long way from its nose. Obviously 
 this is a trout, and a good one. 
 
 Again there is a slow, stealthy descent into the 
 stream, and knee-deep the angler waits, hardly 
 daring to draw breath, for the rise to be repeated. 
 The spot where the fish lies is flecked with sunlight, 
 which finds its way through the interlacing twigs 
 of the bushes on the bank, and if there is a move- 
 ment one ought to be able to see confound it all, 
 one can see, and the beast is but a small one after 
 all, barely three-quarters of a pound from the look 
 of his back. Never mind, after all this trouble, 
 have at him. The Welshman's button drops just 
 above, a gentle rise is followed by a slow strike, and 
 by Jove, it is not a little one after all. The indig- 
 nant swirl shows that he is a fine fellow. Bushes 
 to left, roots of a stump to right, weeds above, and 
 bushes below, there is only one way of playing a 
 heavy trout on light gut here with a light hand. 
 Whenever he gets near danger, ease the pressure; 
 whenever he wants his head coax him back. It 
 takes time, but it secures a fish which, with the 
 least rough treatment, would bolt like a runaway 
 horse, and smash you all to pieces. At last the 
 
260 TROUT FISHING 
 
 angler steps out on to the bank with a beauty, all 
 red, brown, and gold, in the meshes of the net. Ah, 
 a pound and three-quarters good weight, and so 
 home to tea well content ! 
 
 The sun has his advantages even when there is 
 too much of him, if he drives the angler to the shady 
 places and so promotes sport of this thoroughly 
 attractive kind. 
 
 The late Mr. F. G. Aflalo, whose premature death 
 has recently been so much deplored by all honest 
 anglers, once compiled a very interesting book 
 called Fishermen's Weather. In it he assembled the 
 views of a large number of prominent anglers on 
 the affect of various kinds of weather on their sport. 
 
 I am not sure that anything very definite in the 
 way of precept emerged from all that mass of evi- 
 dence. How should it indeed ? For the ordinary 
 angler's invariable rule is, and from the nature of 
 things must be, " Fish on and hope for the best." 
 The collection of data may affect the intensity of his 
 hope, according as it indicates favourable conditions 
 or unfavourable, but it will hardly affect the question 
 whether he fishes or not. If accumulated experience 
 says, " You will have very little sport," he will 
 probably retort, " There is always an off-chance." 
 
 As indeed there is, especially in trout fishing. I 
 have pretty definite ideas as to the effect of certain 
 kinds of weather on some other fish for instance, 
 
WEATHER AND WIND 261 
 
 I am convinced that a big drop in the barometer 
 with the approach of heavy rain or wind, or both, 
 is very bad for pike fishing but I have no settled 
 convictions in regard to trout. They seem to me 
 less affected by weather, and even by violent changes 
 than any other fresh-water fish, and I never saw a 
 day yet which I should honestly describe as hopeless, 
 except by reason of the water being too thick or 
 flooded for fishing. There are very bad days, of 
 course, on which you cannot expect to catch much, 
 but there are no days on which you may not hope 
 to catch something. 
 
 Extremes of heat or cold, days of thundery 
 depression or of bad light owing to the east-wind 
 " glare " these seem to be the worst in themselves, 
 and the day of bad light is at the bottom of the list. 
 Rain, whether steady or intermittent, is unpleasant 
 for the angler, but it is not necessarily hostile to his 
 sport. Some of the best hatches of fly I have ever 
 seen have occurred on very wet days. I remember 
 one Mayfly day whose morning soaked me to the 
 skin through mackintosh and everything. I changed 
 at lunch time, borrowed more mackintoshes, and 
 fared forth again to find the rain as hard as ever. 
 But early in the afternoon the fly came on and the 
 trout began to rise with a heartiness that I have 
 never seen surpassed. Every fish which I covered 
 took my fly properly. Circumstances over which 
 
262 
 
 TROUT FISHING 
 
 I had insufficient control such as nerves, hand and 
 so on combined to make the basket unimpressive 
 in relation to the opportunities. But that was not 
 the fault of the weather or the fish. 
 
 I do not like fishing in heavy rain, but that is not 
 because I expect to find the trout out of humour. 
 I have seen such brave doings in spite of rain that 
 on the whole I am surprised if there is not a good 
 rise at some time on the wettest day. It is mere 
 human weakness that makes me prefer a dry jacket 
 even if the rise is not quite so good. 
 
 Even more does human weakness prejudice me 
 against wind. Frankly, I hate wind when I am 
 trout fishing, in spite of the fact that, like rain, it 
 seems sometimes to induce a good hatch of fly and 
 consequently a rise of fish. Often, I must admit, 
 the wind is really no great matter, though it has 
 great power to annoy. The gusty puffs which 
 wreck an occasional delivery, crack off a fly here and 
 there, or cause the gut-cast to wrap itself round the 
 rod now and again these, though a stimulus to 
 what is pleasantly called " langwidge," in very old 
 as well as in new spelling these puffs can be endured. 
 They colour, but they need not destroy, a day's 
 fishing. Once a foolish fish, or an exhibition of 
 fancied skill, has improved the mental condition, 
 the puffs have to a large extent lost their power to 
 madden. Recovered sanity makes it plain that a 
 
WEATHER AND WIND 263 
 
 breath of wind more or less does not ruin one's sport, 
 and one learns to watch the grass or the reeds for 
 signs of an approaching gust. Eventually one 
 becomes quite complacent and satisfied. Cheating 
 and beating the wind is after all not a fiction of 
 the poets. It is more than that an actual possi- 
 bility. It is more even than that an accomplished 
 fact. An excellent demonstration has been going 
 on all day, had any learner been there to benefit 
 by it. But there are two and a half brace of eloquent, 
 though silent, witnesses. 
 
 And so a dry-fly man, after a time of easy airs, 
 may come to believe himself in truth able to captain 
 his soul against any wind that blows. " My dear 
 fellow," he will say, " it's all a question of manage- 
 ment. Slowly does it. Don't hurry, and don't 
 forget the downward cut." And he will say, " Oh, 
 I don't much bother about wind. I've got a power- 
 ful rod and a heavy line." And he will smile the 
 sort of smile that he conceives Marryat to have 
 worn when consulted about the first beginnings of 
 knowledge. 
 
 Then, without warning, comes the day of annihila- 
 tion. It is often a deceptive sort of day, breaking 
 fair, and showing adequate patches of blue amid the 
 heavy clouds that roll up, and on, towards noon. 
 From the haven among the trees and backed by the 
 hill one would at starting be prepared to assert 
 
264 TROUT FISHING 
 
 that the day was going to be calm, or at worst no 
 more violent than may be managed by the skill 
 already mentioned. But when the river is reached, 
 such fond imaginings have to yield to solid and 
 unpleasant fact. The wind is much more than a 
 rustle among tree-tops. It is a potent reality, 
 which makes the dry-fly man clutch his hat and 
 debate within him whither he shall go for shelter, 
 so that he may find a quiet stretch of water where 
 flies and rises shall be visible, and where it may be 
 possible to cast without having to put out all the 
 skill which is in him. Of course, it would be possible 
 to fish in the exposed parts, for a man who knows 
 his business; but still, the bow should not always 
 be bent, and it is wise to reserve some measure of 
 strength. 
 
 Accordingly search is made for the quiet place 
 desired. Just below the bridge that is the spot 
 and steps are taken thither. But on actual trial 
 the place is not so sheltered as it seems. True, the 
 water is not lashed into foam as lower down, and two 
 or three rises can be seen on the broad shallow, but 
 when it comes to covering them, the line is taken by 
 a sort of whirlwind and deposited suddenly and 
 forcibly on the bank, the gut being coiled ingeniously 
 in and out of the herbage, so that it needs patient 
 disentangling. Nothing daunted, though possibly 
 a little surprised, the angler tries again, putting 
 
WEATHER AND WIND 265 
 
 more power into the cast. This time there is a lull 
 in the wind, and the line comes upon the water like 
 a flail, putting two of the rising trout down at its 
 one fell swoop. Then follows another struggle 
 with the herbage, and then a third rising fish is put 
 down, and lastly the fly hits the top of the rod with 
 a crack, which suggests that both must be broken. 
 After this the angler wonders whether conditions 
 would not be better on the other bank, where the 
 trees are, and he goes round to see. 
 
 They are not better, only different. It proves 
 that on this side the wind comes straight down on 
 the water and then rebounds upwards. On its first 
 rebound it takes cast and fly with it into the maze 
 of young greenery, and there they remain probably 
 till autumn does her beneficent work of decay. The 
 angler goes away from the bridge, and starts on his 
 pilgrimage in search of calm. Up, down, back- 
 wards, forwards, round, behind, in front there is 
 no peace anywhere. The wind is all-embracing, 
 all-compelling. It absolutely fills the whole of that 
 valley, and no nook or corner is safe from it. And 
 everywhere it is resolutely set with its face down- 
 stream. 
 
 What is the result? The dry-fly man struggles 
 on desperately till lunch time, and with despairing 
 eye watches the morning rise gradually petering 
 out into occasional belated splashes from yearlings, 
 
266 TROUT FISHING 
 
 which are quite useless to him. At last, with fury 
 in his heart and emptiness in his basket, he eats 
 his wretched sandwiches, sips from his inadequate 
 flask, and spends seven matches in the task of pipe- 
 lighting. Then he rises in his might, puts on a big 
 March brown or an alder, and becomes a wet-fly 
 man. It is sad to have to tell it, but for the rest of 
 the afternoon he " rakes " away downstream in the 
 most abandoned fashion. 
 
 It is more cheering to finish the tale it is really 
 a true history of a real day's angling. After some 
 hours of raking, the angler desists and retires. And 
 his summary of the day's sport given to a kind 
 inquirer is : " No, not a good day. A few little 
 things returned, that's all." " Brother," said Mr. 
 Petulengro, " there's the wind on the heath." 
 " Brother," I would reply, " by all means. And 
 let it stay there. We don't want it on the river." 
 
 We get it on the river, of course, in full measure, 
 as we get so many other unpleasant things that 
 make up what we call our weather. But we go on 
 fishing all the same. So it is not much use com- 
 plaining. And every now and then we get one of 
 those perfect days which make all the rest worth 
 while. So we have nothing really to complain about. 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 NEW WATERS 
 
 THE chief need of the trout fisher nowadays is 
 more trout fishing, especially in the neighbourhood 
 of the big centres of population, or at any rate 
 within possible reach of them. It is daily becoming 
 more difficult for the ordinary man to get any sport 
 worth mentioning without going a long way for it, 
 and without paying a good deal of money into the 
 bargain. As for rights of fishing on the famous 
 south-country streams such as the Test and Itchen, 
 they are almost out of the question except for the 
 wealthy. And even rich men may be heard lament- 
 ing that they cannot get a bit of chalk stream for 
 love or money. 
 
 If you go further afield you can get fishing 
 enough. The hill-districts of Great Britain are 
 mostly well supplied with trout streams, and in some 
 parts there are lakes which add to the opportunities. 
 Also in those districts there are quite good facilities 
 for the stranger who turns up with a rod. Associa- 
 tion or hotel waters give him considerable scope. 
 
 The fishing of the hill-districts is, however, for 
 
 267 
 
268 TROUT FISHING 
 
 the most part, a matter of the wet fly and of small 
 trout, and though it has points of superiority to 
 other fishing, it does not satisfy all cravings. The 
 man who has once known the pride of a three- 
 quarter-pound average weight will always yearn 
 to repeat the experience from time to time, even 
 though he enjoys the five-to-the-pound day as 
 keenly as ever. It is, in fact, the bigger trout 
 which are hard to come by, and this is chiefly for 
 geographical reasons. The streams which naturally 
 produce them in abundance lie, for the most part, 
 near great cities and especially near London. There- 
 fore they have become highly valuable and much 
 prized. It is a significant fact that for many years 
 the only part of the Itchen on which it has been 
 possible to get day tickets has been the short length 
 at Winchester known as " Chalkley's," while on 
 the Test, so far as I know, it is not possible to get a 
 day ticket anywhere. The other chalk streams 
 are hardly more hospitable to the casual fisherman. 
 The Chess and other Buckinghamshire and Hert- 
 fordshire rivers, the Meon, Hamble, Whitewater, 
 Lyde, Wylye, Frome, Avon as trout streams, 
 these and others like them are practically closed 
 to the public. There are some small facilities on 
 the Kennet, and on the Gloucestershire Coin, but 
 generally speaking there is no public fishing in 
 any of our southern waters which rise in the chalk 
 
NEW WATERS 269 
 
 and which ure famous for their trout. A man has 
 to travel to Derbyshire before he gets anything like 
 a good extent of available water producing fish 
 bigger than those of the ordinary mountain streams. 
 
 This is a melancholy story, and it is not easy to 
 see how the situation may be bettered so far as the 
 chief trout streams are concerned. It has always 
 been a matter of surprise to me that some enter- 
 prising person has not taken a good length of one 
 of the best chalk streams with the definite object 
 of making a ticket -water of it. As an annexe to an 
 hotel I should have thought it could be made to 
 pay handsomely. The thing has not been done 
 so I suppose it has not seemed a sufficiently safe 
 venture. 
 
 Though we may have to rule out the famous 
 streams from our imaginings of a world better found 
 in trout fishing, I do not think we need therefore 
 give up hope of improvement. There is much water 
 in England which is undeveloped and which might 
 be made quite productive if it was taken seriously 
 in hand. There is much land which could be turned 
 into water with a little engineering skill, some labour, 
 and a certain amount of expense, land at present 
 of small value for any agricultural purpose except 
 as very rough grazing. A survey of the more 
 southerly counties would, I am sure, suggest a 
 surprising wealth of possibilities. 
 
270 TROUT FISHING 
 
 Of course there are many difficulties to be over- 
 come. Pollution has played the mischief in some 
 districts ; in others the available waters are already 
 occupied by coarse fish; in others the rumour 
 of an extant trout is enough to rouse the neighbour- 
 hood with all its lethal weapons ready for the pro- 
 digy's destruction. But nearly all difficulties can 
 be dealt with by perseverance and ingenuity. Pollu- 
 tion could in many cases be abated by amicable 
 arrangement. In regard to coarse fish, a working 
 compromise could be reached it is not impossible 
 for good trout to co-exist with numbers of coarse 
 fish so long as the water suits them ; and destructive 
 neighbourhoods could doubtless be educated to 
 higher standards by improved opportunities. The 
 existence of one trout per mile invites counsels 
 of despair such as guns or night-lines. But the 
 appearance of many trout would turn men's thoughts 
 to flies. 
 
 I have seen some interesting and hopeful experi- 
 ments in making trout fishing out of nothing more 
 or less, and I am sure that much more might be 
 done in this way. It needs co-operation and it 
 calls for patience. Anglers must learn to look 
 forward to a rather distant future if they are seeking 
 to put a new trout fishery on an established footing. 
 It takes two or three years for young trout to grow 
 to a good size and to start breeding properly, and 
 
NEW WATERS 271 
 
 it is the breeding that one most hopes for. Once 
 it has come about that a stream can every year 
 show a certain number of indigenous fry, it may be 
 assumed that everything is going well. Artificial 
 stocking may still perhaps be carried on with advan- 
 tage if there is a good deal of fishing, but one has 
 the comfortable assurance that the new fish, if 
 they survive the rods, will settle down as useful 
 naturalised citizens of the community into which 
 they have come. 
 
 One of the most interesting experiments in making 
 a trout stream which I have had the opportunity 
 of studying was carried out on a little river in the 
 Home Counties a few years ago. It was one of 
 those neglected waters which had been given over 
 to small coarse fish, probably because no one ever 
 thought it would be fit for anything else. A group 
 of friends, however, had the luck to stumble on it 
 as they stepped out of London (so to speak) one 
 day, cast a discriminating eye upon it, and divined 
 that though then practically derelict it was capable 
 of serving worthy purposes, among them that of 
 supplying hard- worked people with trout fishing 
 at a very small outlay of time in travelling. Doubt- 
 less they were influenced by the fact that the brook 
 it is little more than that ran through a delight- 
 ful valley of its own, with downs swelling up on 
 either side, and with plenty of boskage all about 
 
272 TROUT FISHING 
 
 to cut off the view of a world which is always too 
 much with us inside the forty-mile radius. Doubt- 
 less, also, they found that the streamlet, albeit 
 not strictly belonging to the chalk, was pretty 
 well and constantly supplied with water, which is 
 no small matter in the history of a river. Perhaps, 
 too, there were traditions which told of trouting there 
 in the past. 
 
 This, indeed, was my first thought as I surveyed 
 the stream while I put my tackle together. " Surely," 
 I said to the keeper, " there were some big trout 
 here before ? " " Well," he replied, " when we 
 netted the pool below the mill we only got two, 
 besides the dace and things." " And were they 
 big?" I asked. "About eight or nine inches," 
 was the answer. Which seemed pretty conclusive, 
 for if there be big trout anywhere, obviously the 
 place in which to find them is the pool below a 
 milL 
 
 So it was reasonable to assume that when taken 
 in hand the stream was in no sense a trout water, 
 though the existence of a small one here and there 
 argued that it should be capable of that develop- 
 ment. And the sequel proved the justice of the 
 contention. The discovery resulted in the forma- 
 tion of a little club, in a spell of intensive water 
 culture, and in the ultimate creation of as delightful 
 a little trout stream as soul could desire. Within 
 
NEW WATERS 273 
 
 the limits of the fishery, some three miles perhaps, 
 I found every type of water brattling shallows, 
 deep, swirling holes, ripples under tree roots, dry-fly 
 glides, and also some of that almost dead water, 
 where trout cruise round and round and give the 
 angler such fascinating problems as to getting his 
 fly to the right spot at the right moment. All through 
 there was every indication of really intelligent 
 management, as might be expected of an enterprise 
 undertaken by experts, and it was evident that the 
 right weeds were being encouraged, that mud had 
 been sedulously removed, and that the stream had 
 been coaxed into its most suitable channels even 
 a little brook running through pretty " stiff " 
 country is liable to make mistakes of direction. 
 An accumulation of mud, for instance, may easily 
 divert the flow from one side, where bushes offer 
 good cover to the fish, to the other, where there 
 is no such advantage. Good keepering is not un- 
 mindful of such things as that. 
 
 What of the fish ? Well, I came upon them on 
 a very bright day after a sharp night frost, and right 
 at the end of the season, and I hardly expected to do 
 anything at all, having been warned that the brook 
 was not a chalk stream. On that account I did 
 not hope for anything of a hatch of fly in the day- 
 time. The time of the brief evening rise, moreover, 
 would see me hurrying to the station to begin a 
 
274 TROUT FISHING 
 
 return journey across country which would be the 
 reverse of brief. Circumstances, therefore, were 
 not favourable. And yet I had very good sport, 
 thanks partly to a decided hatch of fly which came 
 on in the afternoon, and partly to the eagle eye of my 
 friend the keeper, which was very swift to mark a 
 real rise, and availed much in preventing me from 
 wasting effort over water-rats and other interesting 
 but irrelevant phenomena. In all I landed three 
 and a half brace of pretty little fish running from 
 about ten inches up to fourteen inches, keeping 
 a brace and a half of the bigger ones for breakfast 
 purposes. I had also the satisfaction of slaying 
 three small chub, remnants of the former population 
 of the stream. 
 
 The trout had, of course, been turned in either 
 that year or the year before (though I saw a few 
 tiny ones on the shallows that were probably the 
 result of the last winter's spawning), and so were 
 open to the imputation of being stock fish. But 
 they had none of the silliness characteristic of typical 
 stock fish. The influence of a company of very 
 clever anglers may be calculated on to eradicate 
 silliness before the end of a season, especially when 
 many trout are returned to grow wiser and better. 
 Lest I should have any doubt on this point (having 
 a brace and a half in the basket), the keeper led me 
 to a corner where there was a persistent riser whom 
 
NEW WATERS 275 
 
 he called Jones. He insisted on my angling for 
 Jones, and smiled when, after a considerable time, 
 I told him that angling for Jones had no interest 
 for me. And on our return journey an hour later 
 he said, " Better have another cast at Jones, sir. 
 He's still rising." But I told him the truth. I 
 was not man enough for Jones, or he was too much 
 of a trout for me. 
 
 There was another fish, too Robinson hight, I 
 think. His story is not without humour. Quite 
 early in the afternoon the keeper had been telling 
 me of the many attainments of the fish on the upper 
 water. " There is one," he said, " whom we call 
 Robinson, and he won't let you get within forty 
 yards of him." I put this fact away in my mind, 
 and thought no more of it till about half -past four. 
 Then it recurred to me. From the distance we 
 had seen many rings oft repeated. " There's one," 
 said the keeper with much eagerness, and he inti- 
 mated that if I wanted to make up my two brace 
 now was the time. Needless to say I at once made 
 ready to cover the trout, and crept up to within 
 casting distance. After waiting there for some 
 minutes I looked round. " Is that the trout that 
 won't let you get within forty yards ? " I asked. 
 14 Is that, in fact, Robinson?" And a smiling 
 face assured me that it was. 
 
 That little stream still goes on successfully after 
 
276 TROUT FISHING 
 
 several years, though I believe it knew trouble 
 incidental to the later years of the War (it was not 
 alone in that), and it may be cited as a satisfactory 
 example of what can be done. I am quite sure that 
 its story could also be told of other small streams 
 if they were treated in a similar manner. It is 
 important to realise that its improvement does not 
 only consist in the introduction of trout, but also 
 in the establishment of a good show of fly, both 
 duns and sedges. This is presumably due in part 
 to the introduction of suitable weeds, of which 
 I believe good store was brought from the Itchen. 
 Another experiment in the creation of trout 
 fishing which is of interest is the making of a fishery 
 by what may be called force majeure. The Thorney 
 Weir water at West Drayton has afforded the most 
 notable instance of this. The Colne used in old days 
 to be one of the finest trout rivers in the south of 
 England. What it was like is shown by the chapter 
 in Sir Humphry Davy's Salmonia which describes 
 Mayfly fishing at Denham. But there has been a 
 sad falling off since then. During the twenty 
 years or so that I have known it myself I should 
 never have described it as a trout stream, though 
 it has always held a certain number of trout. 
 Latterly it seems obvious that abstraction of water 
 combined with a good deal of pollution has made 
 the chances of trout worse than ever. The prob- 
 
NEW WATERS 277 
 
 ability is that though older fish may contrive to get 
 along well enough in some parts of it, the ova and 
 fry stand a poor chance. A big head of coarse 
 fish naturally adds to their difficulties. 
 
 The experiments at Thorney Weir were based 
 on the theory that to get trout fishing on a big scale 
 it must be, so to say, ready-made, and as a result 
 a sort of tour de farce was accomplished. Mudding 
 was performed on an extensive scale and gravel 
 was laid down in places. And then stocking was 
 carried out in the grand manner. In the first year 
 over two thousand big trout were released. Seven 
 hundred of them weighed from three pounds to 
 about four and a half pounds and many others 
 were from fourteen to sixteen inches in length. 
 In later years this colossal business was repeated 
 and even bigger fish were turned in up to seven 
 pounds or more. 
 
 The result, of course, was remarkable fishing 
 after its kind and the weekly reports contained 
 lists of monsters, all captured on the dry fly. The 
 trout fishing had certainly been " made " success- 
 fully. The work was interfered with by the War 
 and at last it became impossible to get big stock 
 fish from the hatcheries, so the Thorney Weir fishing 
 is, as I write, marking time. I understand, however, 
 that the present owner intends to re-establish it as 
 soon as conditions permit. 
 
278 TROUT FISHING 
 
 The prejudice against big hand-fed trout that 
 undoubtedly exists may lead many people to question 
 the value of such stocking when it has been done. 
 It must be conceded that the whole business is 
 artificial, which is against it. But there is a great 
 deal to be said on the other side in this instance. 
 In the first place, by no other plan could the fishery 
 have been turned into a heavily-stocked trout water 
 at once; possibly by no other plan could it have 
 been turned into a heavily-stocked trout water at 
 all. Further, the water is only half an hour away 
 from London, and it is obvious that even artificial 
 trout fishing within such easy reach is a very valu- 
 able thing. The fact that practically all the rods 
 available were taken up at once shows that the 
 opportunity was keenly appreciated. When you 
 have a water on the Test which is capable of growing 
 trout easily, quickly, and naturally to a large size, 
 the big deteriorating stock fish is almost certainly 
 a mistake; but the Colne, with its long tradition 
 of coarse fish, is in a very different category at 
 present. 
 
 I had one or two opportunities of observing the 
 results in different years and was not so impressed 
 with the idea of fishing for tame fish as I expected 
 to be. They were rather easier to catch than wild 
 fish, perhaps, but not much. Anyhow I failed 
 dismally to allure any of the monsters, and I came 
 
NEW WATERS 279 
 
 to the conclusion that even the most artificial of 
 trout very soon acquire a sense of discrimination. 
 A few weeks of hard fishing will teach them a lot 
 about the ways of the world. 
 
 There was one feature about the stocking at 
 Thorney Weir which struck me as worth noting 
 for other places. When all the big fish were first 
 turned in they were not left to fend for themselves 
 but received a daily allowance of artificial food. 
 This allowance, liberal to begin with, was gradually 
 decreased, the idea being that as the fish became 
 accustomed to their new quarters they would 
 make more and more use of the food-supplies they 
 found there;and so would be less dependant on hand- 
 feeding. I believe the theory worked out all right 
 in practice. 
 
 It is hardly to be expected that there can be 
 many attempts to emulate the Thorney Weir pro- 
 ceedings the expense would be prohibitive for 
 most people but I think the lesson of artificial- 
 feeding gradually reduced is a useful one. I have 
 more than once found that hatchery trout of con- 
 siderably less size (say ten to twelve inches) 
 take a long time to get acclimatised to a water and 
 to begin to put on weight. I think this must be 
 due to the abrupt cessation of their accustomed 
 food-supplies. Where the thing is possible I believe 
 it would make a great deal of difference if they were 
 
280 TROUT FISHING 
 
 hand-fed for a time and weaned gradually, say 
 in about six weeks. Then they should not receive 
 the check to their growth which must result from 
 a temporary loss of condition. 
 
 Of course the ideal fish for stocking are trout 
 which have never had any artificial food at all, 
 or at any rate not since they were fry. But they 
 are very hard to get and are naturally expensive, 
 as they require so much more pond space in a fishery. 
 The fortunate owner of a trout stream which runs 
 in several channels, as do some of the chalk rivers, 
 can get the desired result by turning fry or small 
 yearlings into one of his carriers and transferring 
 them to the main river when they are big enough. 
 Something can also be done in a river itself by 
 screening off an area of shallows, but this has its 
 drawbacks. The screens must be cleared frequently 
 and a flood will probably upset the whole arrange- 
 ment. For most people, however, hand-fed stock 
 fish are a necessity and therefore the question of 
 carrying on the feeding for a time is important. 
 
 The other method of creating trout fishing is the 
 one suggested by the success of Ravensthorpe, 
 Blagdon, and other artificial lakes. This, on any- 
 thing like a big scale, is a costly business, but in a 
 small way it should be within the scope of some 
 landowners, and I expect that the future will see 
 a considerable increase in the number of artificial 
 
NEW WATERS 281 
 
 trout waters. Such a fishery as that of the Enton 
 Fly Fishing Club in Surrey encourages similar 
 schemes elsewhere. Engineering difficulties apart, 
 it seems such a simple matter to dam a small valley 
 and so to cover a few acres of land permanently 
 with water that the proceeding must commend 
 itself, especially as trout grow very well on such 
 submerged land. 
 
 The chief thing to aim at in the management 
 of such fisheries is, I imagine, ensuring a periodical 
 lowering of part of the water so that the land may 
 be dry for a time. Then with a renewal of rich 
 vegetation it seems to renew its power of fattening 
 the fish. If such an alteration of levels is not 
 feasible probably the best policy is to ensure a strong 
 growth of useful water plants, and the stock of 
 food which they promote, before any fish are put 
 into the water. Then they are less likely to deterior- 
 ate after this initial rapidity of development. One 
 more safeguard has always seemed to me very 
 desirable, the screening-off of certain shallow areas 
 as food nurseries. If larvae, shrimps, snails, etc., 
 have sanctuaries into which the fish, or at any rate 
 the bigger fish, cannot pursue them, they will 
 increase very rapidly, and so the rest of the water 
 will always receive the surplus stock as it spreads 
 beyond the borders of the protected areas. 
 
 Though there is, as I have said, not enough trout 
 
282 TROUT FISHING 
 
 fishing to go round at present, I believe it rests 
 with trout fishers to make more, and it can be done 
 in the ways suggested. The secret, for anglers 
 of small means, is co-operation and hard work 
 intelligently applied. 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 ODDS AND ENDS 
 
 IT is, when you come to think of it, rather odd that 
 on some fisheries the standard of retainable trout 
 is one of weight, while on others it is one of length. 
 Would it not be better if clubs and fishery owners 
 all had a length standard? Supposing you have 
 a standard of one pound and catch a fish of fifteen 
 and three-quarter ounces or sixteen and a quarter 
 ounces, you could not venture to retain it (nor 
 would you lightly return it) without first ascertaining 
 whether it really reached the lawful pound. That 
 would mean weighing it, and that would mean a 
 great deal of unnecessary handling and messing 
 about which is not good for the fish if it proves to 
 be below the specified weight. 
 
 There may be ways of attaching the hook of a 
 spring balance to a trout which are unobjectionable 
 (if it is going back into the water), but I do not know 
 them. The best, I suppose, is just to hang the trout 
 on the balance by the gill cover, but if the fish gives 
 a kick when hanging a serious wound to the gills 
 may be the result. If it has been out of the water 
 
 283 
 
284 TROUT FISHING 
 
 long enough to have no kick left in it, when you 
 return it you will have to nurse it back to life, a 
 tedious process to yourself and also probably not 
 too good for the trout. To have been half suffocated 
 cannot have a beneficial effect on any living creature. 
 
 If you must weigh a fish, the best plan is to do so 
 in a wet duster, having previously ascertained the 
 weight of the duster. Or, of course, it would be 
 possible to construct a little weighing net with two 
 strips of wire and a piece of muslin. This would 
 be a useful thing to carry, and would take up no 
 space. The landing-net might be employed, but if 
 your spring balance only registers up to some four 
 pounds, it would in some cases prove too heavy. 
 Whatever your receptacle, it should not weigh more 
 than a few ounces. One thing, however, is certain, 
 and that is that a fish which may have to be returned 
 ought not to be attached directly to a spring balance, 
 and probably a good deal of harm has been done 
 where such a custom is in vogue. 
 
 It is obviously better to have a length standard, 
 and either to carry a measure or have one marked 
 on the landing-net handle. The moment a fish 
 is on the grass you can measure it and decide at 
 once whether it is sizeable or not, in the latter case 
 slipping it back into the water without delay. The 
 only objection to the length standard that I can see 
 is in the case of ill-conditioned fish which do not 
 
ODDS AND ENDS 285 
 
 weigh as much as they ought. In the early part of 
 the season, of course, such trout ought to be returned. 
 Possibly it would be practicable to have a girth and 
 length formula. With a tape measure it would 
 take very little time to ascertain both dimensions. 
 But as a rule the length measurement ought to 
 suffice. The weight of trout varies in different 
 localities, but on the chalk streams the following 
 scale should be approximately correct : 11 in., 8 oz. 
 to 10 oz. ; 12 in., 10 oz. to 12 oz. ; 13 in., 13 oz. to 
 16 oz. ; 14 in., 1 Ib. 1 oz. to 1 Ib. 4 oz. ; 15 in., 1 Ib. 4 oz. 
 to l Ib. ; 16 in., l Ib. to If Ib. Well-fed fish from 
 such streams ought always to be nearer the higher 
 weights given, and, of course, now and then they 
 are much above them. The late Mr. Halford in one 
 of his books mentions a Wandle trout fifteen inches 
 long which weighed three pounds two ounces, but 
 that must have been a sort of freak, even among the 
 old Wandle trout, which were very heavy for their 
 length. 
 
 It is, I think, worth while laying some stress on 
 the fact that a good deal of harm is done to under- 
 sized trout which have to be returned by inexpert 
 handling. Some men never seem to acquire the 
 knack of holding a fish gently and yet with that 
 even pressure of all the fingers which ensures a 
 sufficient grasp. Nothing like a " clutch " is ever 
 required. The thing to aim at is to poise the fish 
 
286 TROUT FISHING 
 
 at the point of balance, the fkigers serving as little 
 more than supports. It seems to me that there 
 must be some affinity between the correct method 
 of holding a trout out of the water and the delicate 
 manipulation of the sportsman who smears his 
 arm with clay and embarks on the business of 
 " tickling " one under water. Anyhow I am sure 
 that when held properly a fish even out of the water 
 will struggle comparatively little, and this makes 
 a lot of difference in the heartiness with which it 
 resumes life when returned. 
 
 Sometimes, in hot weather or after a long fight, 
 a returned trout shows no heartiness, but rather a 
 pessimistic tendency to lie on its back and give up 
 all attempts to live. In that case it must be coaxed 
 by being held in the proper position with its head up- 
 stream until it decides that life is worth while after 
 all. In obstinate cases a gentle movement back- 
 wards and forwards in the water seems to stimulate 
 the action of the gills, but as a rule it is enough to 
 hold the trout in the proper position for a minute 
 or two. If time is precious, as when the big fish 
 have just begun to feed properly on the Mayfly, 
 first aid can be given by propping the sufferer up 
 against the bank with a bit of stick which is stuck 
 into the bed of the stream. 
 
 This matter of returning fish has provoked a 
 good deal of discussion on account of its presumed 
 
ODDS AND ENDS 287 
 
 results on the fishing. The contention is that too 
 much returning makes trout bad risers and that 
 the sport suffers by a large proportion of the older 
 fish being abnormally suspicious. There may be 
 something in this, but I do not think it a very 
 serious risk. Fish have not long memories and I 
 doubt if the sense of perils past lasts through the 
 close time into a new season. A grave objection to 
 returning fish is the possible physical effects of mis- 
 handling. This will almost certainly affect the 
 condition of the trout, interfere with that good 
 digestion which is necessary to their growth, and so 
 prevent their becoming sizeable in the normal time. 
 I suspect that some of the lanky, ill-conditioned 
 creatures which are found in our rivers are fish 
 which have been injured in this way. 
 
 While one admits that returning trout may have 
 bad results, it is difficult to see what alternative there 
 is, at any rate for waters which are much fished 
 and where the stock is not practically unlimited. 
 A suggestion that anglers should keep everything 
 they catch would plainly be impracticable. The 
 best policy seems to be to adopt the length rather 
 than the weight standard, and to add, if possible, a 
 few precepts to the rules, one being that where a 
 rising fish is plainly undersized (on the dry-fly 
 rivers, at least, this is generally pretty obvious), 
 the angler should refrain from casting to it, and 
 
288 TROUT FISHING 
 
 another that due care should be taken in unhooking 
 and handling any trout which is not to be kept. 
 Perhaps a third might be that it is undesirable to 
 fish consciously for trout which have recently been 
 turned in, even though they do not come quite 
 within the category of small ones. Where a size- 
 limit is, say, twelve inches and the new stock fish run 
 up to eleven inches, the temptation to see sizeable 
 trout rising everywhere is considerable. It may 
 perhaps be considered absurd to suggest differentia- 
 tion between a stock fish of eleven inches and an old 
 inhabitant of about the same size, but the feat is 
 not difficult really while the stock fish are new to the 
 water, which is the period that matters. There is 
 no mistaking their splashy and " unfinished " way 
 of rising after one has studied it a little. I admit, 
 however, that abstinence may be a hard doctrine. 
 The stock fish will display themselves when no other 
 fish are rising and the angler always hopes for the 
 best! 
 
 Trout are worth careful treatment while they are 
 alive, and they are also worth careful treatment 
 when they are dead death by the way should be 
 administered promptly when the fish has been 
 landed, before even the fly has been extracted. Two 
 or three smart taps on the back of the head, given 
 with a small weighted stick or even the end of a 
 spring balance, will do what is required as they are, 
 
ODDS AND ENDS 289 
 
 in a manner of speaking, valuable property, and even 
 though their captor may not appreciate their flavour 
 himself, there are numberless people to whom they 
 would come as a real treat, perhaps a greater treat 
 than salmon. Though trout make their appearance 
 in the market, they are not so essentially a feature 
 of the stalls or slabs as their larger cousins, and the 
 sale of trout, luckily for our waters, is a relatively 
 small affair. 
 
 The angler should always treat his fish with 
 respect after he has caught them so that their edible 
 value may not be in any way lessened. Probably 
 the best method of treating them after they have 
 been killed is to wrap them in a dry cloth. Paper is, 
 however, equally good as a covering and will serve 
 quite well if the cloth has been forgotten. Some 
 men carry a linen bag to hold their fish, which is a 
 good plan. Failing either cloth or paper, the creel 
 may be lined with rushes, and more rushes may be 
 sprinkled over the fish, or a dockleaf or two will 
 serve to keep them cool and protect them from a 
 hot sun. Grass seems to be very bad for fish, which 
 is a pity, as it shows them off to advantage. Hay 
 would be better if it is easily to be got, the main 
 thing being to keep the trout dry as well as cool. 
 
 In very hot weather the angler would be well 
 advised to clean his fish at once, if he can bring 
 himself to do so. It is in the stomach that decom- 
 
290 TROUT FISHING 
 
 position first starts, so it is obvious that if the intes- 
 tines be removed the fish will keep fresh considerably 
 longer. The trouble of course is that most anglers 
 do not like to spoil the look of their trophies so soon, 
 especially if they expect to have to display them to 
 admiring eyes later. Cleaning fish is rather a messy 
 job, which consorts but ill with the poetical side 
 of fly fishing though it enables the fisherman to 
 investigate the food which has been taken a pro- 
 ceeding recommended by some experts. In any 
 case, however, the trout should be cleaned before 
 they are sent by post or rail to friends, and their 
 chances are improved if a little salt or vinegar be 
 sprinkled inside, especially along the backbone. 
 
 Different anglers, of course, have different ideas as 
 to the receptacle which is most comfortable for 
 carrying fish. It is not easy to improve on the 
 ordinary wicker creel so far as efficiency goes. It 
 admits of ventilation, does not crush its contents, 
 and does not get unduly hot. The only things 
 against it are its size, shape, and weight. It is 
 certainly not the most comfortable thing in the 
 world to carry, though it is greatly improved by a 
 combined waist and shoulder strap which eases 
 the shoulder of a lot of weight. The ordinary 
 waterproof partitioned fishing bag is more com- 
 fortable than the creel, and it is very convenient 
 for carrying impedimenta as well as fish, but it is 
 
ODDS AND ENDS 291 
 
 apt to be rather heavy. Also in the height of 
 summer it must be a very hot abiding place for such 
 delicate flesh as that of the trout. The bag is 
 excellent for winter fishing and the colder days of 
 spring and autumn, but it leaves a good deal to be 
 desired in summer so far as keeping the fish in good 
 condition goes. 
 
 It sometimes happens that the simplest things are 
 also the best, and this occurred to me when I first 
 saw a friend equipped with the light rush basket 
 which fishmongers call a " frail " or " bass." There 
 can be nothing better for fish than this, as long 
 commercial usage testifies, and why should not the 
 angler have the benefit of so excellent an article ? 
 On the score of weight alone it is worth a trial, 
 weight being very important on hot days. The 
 two handles in the middle are not perhaps quite 
 adapted for fishing purposes, but it is quite easy to 
 remove them and attach rings at more convenient 
 points to which could be fastened the ends of a 
 shoulder strap. Of course the bass offers no con- 
 venience for carrying tackle and lunch it is purely 
 a receptacle for fish but a fishing-coat has, or should 
 have, big pockets, and if they are not enough it is 
 always possible to carry a small haversack as well 
 as the bass. The two together will not weigh so 
 much as a creel or bag whose capacity would be no 
 greater. I believe that an angler who has once got 
 
292 TROUT FISHING 
 
 accustomed to a bass will not readily take to any 
 other form of receptacle in hot weather. 
 
 In a book of this sort I do not think there is any 
 necessity to go into the minutiae of equipment, a 
 matter which has been sufficiently dealt with by 
 many competent pens. A modern catalogue of 
 fishing tackle shows that we have reached a very 
 high standard of efficiency and comfort in regard to 
 our gear. Where development is most probable is 
 in flies. In a previous chapter I have hinted my 
 belief that the new conventions are in fact more true 
 to nature than the old, though the belief does not 
 move me to bonfires or other drastic action. While 
 the trout continue, in their irresponsible manner, to 
 rise at buttercups, cigarette-ends, defunct lucifer 
 matches, and other poor imitations of the insect 
 kingdom, I believe I shall continue to get as much 
 sport as is good for me with the flies which take my 
 own vagrant fancies from time to time. Those flies 
 may be old, or they may be new. I have no pre- 
 judice either way. So there is nothing earnest or 
 useful to be said here. 
 
 There are, however, just a few things connected 
 with equipment on which I have definite views, as 
 I am sure that they have had a considerable influence 
 on my fishing. One relates to reel-lines and it is of 
 more importance to novices than to old hands. 
 When I was a boy I used to do my fly fishing with 
 
ODDS AND ENDS 293 
 
 any line a fly fishing line was, I supposed, a thin 
 one, as opposed to a pike fishing line which was 
 a thick one. Everybody knew, of course, what 
 ravening monsters were those pike, much like 
 crocodiles in fact. I pegged away with my thin 
 lines and used, I remember, to be much bothered 
 when an extra long cast had to be made. 
 
 In course of time I was introduced to the dry 
 fly and incidentally to the heavier line which so 
 many of the masters used, and then I got my first 
 understanding of the essence of casting which is the 
 balance between rod and line, and also of the excel- 
 lent device of " shooting " a yard or so which saves 
 so much labour. The increase of comfort and ease 
 brought about by using a heavier line impressed 
 me so much, that I came to the conclusion (by 
 which I still abide) that no novice ought ever to 
 begin his career with a light one. Later, it is a 
 different matter. A light line has many advantages 
 in fishing. But having learnt the mechanics of 
 casting with a heavy one a man has no difficulty 
 in adapting himself to the other. The point is that 
 he should learn in comfort and without tears, and 
 to this end the heavy line (suited to the rod of 
 course) doth marvellously contribute. 
 
 I have certain fixed ideas concerning gut also, 
 elementary enough, no doubt, but still from my 
 observations new to some people. The wet-fly collar 
 
294 TROUT FISHING 
 
 of these flies for instance is often level. If tapered 
 it follows the convention of a dry-fly cast and tapers 
 very gradually. Both these fashions are, I am sure, 
 a mistake. A level three-yard cast of, say, 3x gut 
 is liable to bad tangles which involve the whole of 
 it, and the top part near the reel-line is apt to get 
 frayed and worn. Also it does not make for such 
 accurate delivery as does a tapered cast. 
 
 On the other hand the tapered cast, whose descent 
 from thick to fine is very gradual, offends against 
 reason for wet-fly work. When three flies are used 
 not less than two feet six inches apart the top 
 dropper will be found depending from gut which is 
 considerably thicker than that to which the end 
 fly is attached. This handicaps the said dropper 
 unreasonably in its presentation to a fish which has 
 an eye for suspicious circumstances, and is quite 
 unnecessary. As I see it a wet-fly collar should 
 cease its taper at a point at least a foot above the 
 top dropper. I find it an advantage to have the collar 
 rather longer than the usual three yards, especially 
 if three flies are to be used, and so to get about four 
 or five feet of taper to about six feet of level. 
 
 Another small point the flies should not be dressed 
 on gut finer than that forming the untapered part 
 of the cast. If they are there is, I think, more risk 
 of breakages, especially with the droppers. Indeed, 
 when using eyed flies as droppers I always attach 
 
ODDS AND ENDS 295 
 
 them to links one grade stronger than the end of 
 the cast, as it makes them stand out better and 
 there are less tangles. 
 
 The only special point about dry-fly casts, in 
 which my practice seems to differ from that of other 
 anglers whom I meet, is that in calm weather or 
 following winds I use a length which some of them 
 seem to think excessive, eleven or even twelve 
 feet. F. M. Halford recommended this to me as a 
 remedy for cracking- off flies and an aid to delivering 
 them without a bang, and I have found it so helpful 
 that I possibly now carry the plan to extremes. 
 I must own to having sometimes had difficulties in 
 landing trout when a twelve -foot cast has been 
 associated with a nine-foot rod. 
 
 Of the many " tips " which the years have 
 brought to me from one source or another I think 
 the discovery of Amadou, that admirable fungus, 
 is one of the best. The most ingenious fisherman, 
 the late Mr. Basil Field, first gave me a small piece 
 of Amadou, but he did not tell me what it was. 
 I got the impression that it was some very scarce 
 and precious material from France. My little 
 piece was worn out in a short time and I mourned 
 it sincerely for some years. Then one day another 
 most ingenious fisherman, Dr. W. J. Turrell, the 
 authority on old angling authors, led me into a 
 chemist's shop in Oxford and revealed to me great 
 
296 TROUT FISHING 
 
 heaps of what I had supposed to be about as plentiful 
 as radium. It was a glad moment. 
 
 It was still some time, however, before the full 
 merits of Amadou were revealed to me. I used it 
 for drying flies with pleasure and profit, but never 
 thought of further use for it till some correspondent 
 wrote to The Field to suggest that it would prove 
 a remedy for a sodden line. The sinking line had 
 always been one of my chief bugbears in dry-fly 
 fishing, and I used sometimes to cumber myself with 
 a second reel, in case the first failed me after a few 
 hours of casting. But Amadou has quite removed 
 the necessity for that. It will dry a line, so that, 
 after a new application of grease, it will float almost 
 as long as it did when the day began. An admirable 
 fungus indeed. 
 
 It is tempting to take up a tackle catalogue and 
 work slowly through its contents, dwelling on the 
 virtues of fly-boxes with transparent lids, on reels 
 with melodious voices, on handy folding-nets, on 
 agate rings, and other excellent devices for increasing 
 the happiness of the angler. But there would 
 really be no end to it, and this book is a thing which, 
 however imperfect in other respects, must, at any 
 rate, be perfect in one its reader must be able to 
 say at a given point, " Well, that really is all." 
 
 This is so important that I will withhold that 
 satisfaction from him no longer. 
 
THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE LAST DATE 
 STAMPED BELOW 
 
 AN INITIAL FINE OF 25 CENTS 
 
 WILL BE ASSESSED FOR FAILURE TO RETURN 
 THIS BOOK ON THE DATE DUE. THE PENALTY 
 WILL INCREASE TO SO CENTS ON THE FOURTH 
 DAY AND TO $1.OO ON THE SEVENTH DAY 
 OVERDUE. 
 
 AUG 14 1936 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 -.. : ii 
 
 
 
 
 M 2? : - 
 
 
 
 
 
 */> ; 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 MAR 5 1943 
 
 
 
 
 JAN 2 1946 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 LD 21-100m-8,'34 
 
VC 12340 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY