fearful emotion when what appeared to be quite a big trout came up, deliberately opened his jaws, and took it. But the sequel was unlucky. The fish dashed hither and thither, then gave a rush into the bank below me, and the fly came back. It was really heart-breaking, but as some more good rises appeared in a few moments near the spot, I determined to try once more. Again I dangled the little black fly on the surface, and again it was at once taken. This fish I landed with infinite difficulty. I kept a tight line and the rod-point over him so that he swam round and round in a circle until he turned on his side. Then I fixed the rod in the bushes and crawled on my hands and knees under the bushes to the edge so as to get hold of the line just over the water. In this way I pulled the fish ashore. He was well hooked and fairly played out. It was a good deal of trouble and anxiety for a quarterpound trout; and I doubted, as I wiped the blood off my cheek and picked the thorns out of my hands, whether it was worth it.

next misfortune. When I got

Then came the

back on to the

top of the bank and picked up my rod I gave

SUSSEX TROUT

139

a pull to release the line which dangled in the water, and the fly remained somewhere in the alders. I had only one black gnat left now. I took, therefore, extra trouble in sucking the gut and tying the knot securely, determined that before it went (as it infallibly must in such a place) it should catch me another fish. I walked round now to the more open part, where the stream ran out of the pond over a flat stone, whence with a little care one could put one's fly over a good part of the water. There were spreading rings of rising fish within reach; and it was a relief not to poke out the rod over the bushes, with the feeling that when you had hooked your fish you were not much nearer landing him than before. The sun was now setting, and the pond was mostly shaded. Myriads of gnats

danced lustily over the surface, and the smaller fish jumped out in their eagerness to make a meal. I noticed, however, a bigger trout within reach of the bank who only poked his nose and back out of the water. He came up every few seconds with a good head and tail rise and a smack of the lips. I set my heart on getting

him. The first cast fell short, and I hastily lifted the line, which made a splash, but in a moment he rose again. The next fell lightly beyond him, and he came at the fly as it passed over, but missed. A moment later he was rising again, swimming about, and feeding steadily at the surface. I gave him about a minute's rest and then got out line for the next attack. Then, stupidly enough, I thought I could reach better from another point. I walked backwards, waving the rod above my head to keep the fly off the water. There was a sickening tug behind me, and the last fly together with half the cast remained in the upper branches of an oak tree. A few minutes later the sun was down, the multitude of gnats abruptly vanished and thereupon the trout no longer broke the surface of the pond with their circles. I had nine trout in my bag. Though from a Sussex pond, they were not flavoured with the Sussex soil. There are several big ones left, who may yet be alive, though I have never had an opportunity of going back to them. My three flies are also, I suppose, still firmly fixed in the trees round the pond.

The angler who has

PERSERVANCE and practice are the most unfailing ways of learning how to catch trout. But one can get useful hints from books on fishing. There is also much instruction to be gained both from visits to new water and from conversations with experienced fishermen. never extended his observations beyond the immediate neighbourhood of his own home can have no notion how greatly trout vary in appearance, habits, tastes and nature. I have sometimes tried to explain to a ghillie the manner in which trout are fished for on southern chalkstreams with a single floating fly; but I do not believe that any real image of, say, the Itchen and its trout was ever conveyed to his mind. Once upon a loch in Glengarry on a brilliant still morning the trout were taking the large duns which floated on the glassy surface. Every fly for many yards around on the sheet of water

could be counted; every rise left a clear ring on the loch. I made the man row into the bank while I took off the three loch-flies and put on a single rough olive which floated perfectly and looked the very double of the flies on the loch. I cast it from the boat, when we put off, and let the current gently float my fly to the spot where there were most rings. The ghillie was grim and incredulous; indeed, I doubt whether he appreciated the object of our proceedings. But he relaxed and fairly roared with laughter at our success when a trout came up with a dash from the depths of the loch and was hooked. The trout was small and the labour of putting a dryfly over him too great to repay one, but it was amusing and instructive to the Highlander.

It is the same with a man who has never left the South and hears of small Highland lochs where hardy little trout are so greedy for the fly, that they throw themselves out of water and miss the object which they dash at. I am convinced that nothing serves an angler better, if he wants to gain a systematic and general view of the fisherman's art, than to avail himself of