THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 CHALKSTREAM AND 
 MOORLAND
 
 CHALKSTREAM AND 
 MOORLAND 
 
 THOUGHTS ON TROUT- FISH ING 
 
 BY 
 
 HAROLD RUSSELL 
 
 OF THE INNER TEMPLE AND MIDLAND CIRCUIT 
 
 Lord, who nuould live turmoiled in the Court, 
 And may enjoy such quiet walks as these ? 
 
 HENRY VI Part II Act iv. Sc. 10 
 
 LONDON 
 
 SMITH, ELDER & CO., 15, WATERLOO PLACE 
 1911 
 
 All rights rtitrvtd
 
 " Peace be at your Labour, honest Fishermen "
 
 SH 
 
 PREFACE 
 
 IT is incumbent upon any one who writes a new 
 book about fishing to open with an apology. He 
 cannot put forward the novelty and freshness of 
 the subject. When so much has already been 
 written, a man hesitates before presenting his 
 work to the public. I am profoundly conscious 
 that a great deal that is said in the following 
 pages about trout-fishing is stale. Yet I believe 
 that fishing is a subject that is not and, indeed, 
 cannot be exhausted. Like travel, hunting, 
 drinking, love, and other simple and primitive 
 human passions, it is of eternal interest. Most 
 books about fishing have been designed to impart 
 instruction. I am too modest about my own 
 skill to suppose that any one, except a mere 
 beginner, can learn much from my teaching. 
 Yet it is gratifying, as the years go on, to find 
 that one improves in the art of throwing a fly 
 and catches fish which used to defy one. That 
 has been my experience, and I trust that others 
 may share it. We cannot all hope to become 
 what are called beautiful fishermen. I myself 
 gave up that ambition many years ago ; but 
 every one can attain a certain manual dexterity, and, 
 by exercising his wits as well, will learn how to 
 
 SCS679
 
 vi PREFACE 
 
 catch trout. It may be that some passages in 
 what I have written about the dry-fly, the sunk- 
 fly, the use of too fine tackle, and the pleasures 
 of filling a creel with heavy trout may invite 
 some of the fraternity to denounce me as a 
 poacher. The border-line between a sportsman 
 and a poacher is hard to define. Big trout in 
 clear streams are so well able to take care of 
 themselves in these days, that the most sportsman- 
 like fly-fisher who wants to catch them must 
 exercise his craftiest powers. I am a firm 
 believer in the efficacy of fishing upstream under 
 almost all conditions, but I will not venture to 
 instruct. It may seem bold to write a book on 
 fishing with the avowed object of amusing rather 
 than teaching. But I myself have derived such 
 great delight from what others have written about 
 fishing, that I cannot help hoping that other 
 fishermen may get a little pleasure from reading 
 my book. Some parts of this volume have 
 already been printed in the Edinburgh Review, 
 National Review, Spectator, Outlook, and County 
 Gentleman. I am grateful for the leave that has 
 been given me to republish. But in most cases 
 I have altered and added so much that little 
 remains of the original form. 
 
 H. R. 
 LONDON, April, 1911.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I. SOME OF THE PLEASURES TO BE DERIVED FROM 
 
 TROUT-FISHING i 
 
 II. THE ANTIQUITY OF DRY-FLY FISHING . . .16 
 
 III. THE RESPECTIVE ADVANTAGES OF FISHING WITH 
 
 A SUNK AND A FLOATING FLY .... 37 
 
 IV. THE RIVER TEST IN SUMMER AND AUTUMN . 53 
 V. ON MAKING THE MOST OF OPPORTUNITIES WHEN 
 
 FISHING 77 
 
 VI. THE SEASONS FOR TROUT-FISHING AND EXMOOR 
 
 AT EASTER 95 
 
 VII. THE MAYFLY ON THE KENNET .... 106 
 VIII. THE SUCCESSFUL USE OF THE SUNK-FLY FISHED 
 
 DOWNSTREAM 123 
 
 IX. THE CONTRAST BETWEEN SOUTH-COUNTRY AND 
 
 NORTH-COUNTRY TROUT 141 
 
 X. HUMBLE TROUT-FISHING IN SMALL BURNS AND 
 
 BROOKS 150 
 
 XI. LOCH-FISHING IN SCOTLAND AND IRELAND . .167 
 XII. HILL-LOCHS WHERE THE SMALL TROUT DO NOT 
 
 RISE FREELY 186 
 
 XIII. THE SENSE ORGANS OF TROUT .... 195 
 
 XIV. SEA-TROUT FISHING IN Low WATER AND IN LOCHS 218 
 XV. HOPE IN TROUT-FISHING AND SALMON-FISHING . 239 
 
 INDEX . . 249
 
 CHALKSTREAM AND 
 MOORLAND 
 
 Fish, nature, streams, discourse, the line, the hook, 
 Shall form the motley subject of my book. 
 
 I 
 
 EVERY thoughtful angler must, I imagine, some- 
 times ask himself why it is that fishing is so 
 delightful an occupation. Our pleasure begins 
 when we make ready the tackle and lay plans 
 beforehand so that no time may be wasted. Next, 
 there is the actual catching of fish, which rouses 
 excitement of a kind that no person who is not 
 an angler can picture to himself. Lastly, when 
 a good day is over and the basket is laid out for 
 inspection, there is great satisfaction in the feeling 
 that you, as a fisherman, have done well. The 
 pleasures of memory come later, and on these 
 it is but necessary to touch very briefly. Often, 
 
 B
 
 2 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 when we are far from the streams that we love 
 most, incidents in a day's fishing come suddenly 
 into our thoughts ; and we remember, with the 
 most minute and astonishing fidelity where our 
 fly fell, or how some fish rose. We see in 
 remembrance the exact ripples that broke the 
 surface and some bit of rock or piece of grass 
 that stood by the edge of the water. Why it 
 is that such trivial events of the day should 
 be so indelibly fixed in our memory is not easy 
 to explain. Given a good conscience as to one's 
 past and hope in the prospects of the future, 
 it is probable that nothing adds more to a 
 man's happiness than a mind stored with clear 
 memories of days spent in the open. So the 
 angler always feels that a day spent on fishing 
 has not been quite wasted, though often he may 
 regret having, by bad fishing, wasted precious bits 
 of the day. To discover only when the rise was 
 over what the trout were taking, or to lose a 
 big fish by not testing one's cast or by tying 
 a bad knot, rouses regrets which are as profound 
 but not as lasting as those evoked by the recol- 
 lection of wasted years in youth.
 
 PLEASURES OF FISHING 3 
 
 Yet compared with the serious things of 
 life, fishing is after all a trivial business. The 
 thoughtful angler must frankly confess this. It 
 adds to the difficulty of the problem when he 
 asks himself why the pleasure of catching a few 
 trout is so great and failure so disheartening. 
 The eagerness and excitement with which one 
 sets about fishing water which holds big fish is 
 almost childish. The value of the prize is in 
 no way comparable to the desire it arouses. 
 When the fish are rising and showing them- 
 selves, the longing to hook them which one 
 feels is almost insane. And again when we see 
 them feeding regardless of our fly or dashing 
 off terrified at our efforts to delude them, the 
 resentment which the fisherman feels is almost 
 like the anger of a madman. These emotions 
 resemble the longing, the despair, or the indigna- 
 tion of childhood. To tell the truth, fishermen 
 remain always boys so far as their amusement 
 goes. Yet they learn something by experience, 
 and no one will pretend that as we get older 
 the disappointment of losing a big fish, just 
 when it was nearly landed, is quite as bitter as
 
 4 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 it was when we were younger. With youthful 
 envy we watch experienced fishermen catching 
 fish when we only bungle and fail. Admiration 
 at their skilful powers and humiliation at our 
 own clumsy casting make us ready to give years 
 of our lives to attain the art which they possess. 
 Perhaps in time we reach the same degree of 
 skill and find ourselves able to catch those shy 
 and cautious trout which seemed formerly so 
 impossible to delude. The satisfaction is very 
 great and well worth the labour and time it has 
 cost to attain. But perhaps, like many things 
 in life, when we have got our desired object 
 we take it as our due ; and the satisfaction is 
 not as lively as the desire might lead us to 
 expect. So success and failure in fishing show 
 us, as in a mirror, the careers of men in the 
 great world. But it is all in miniature, and the 
 emotions of the actors are those of children. 
 It may be, perhaps, because men become again, 
 as it were, little children that fishing gives those 
 who love it such great pleasure and keeps them 
 young. 
 
 Most, but not all, anglers are lovers of
 
 COMPETITION IN FISHING 5 
 
 nature. Many get a large part of their pleasure 
 from the charm and beauty of the surroundings 
 amidst which it is their good fortune to fish. It 
 is not uncommon, on the other hand, to read 
 bald and stolid accounts of fishing which betray 
 no feeling whatever for the happiness of the 
 open air, and which contain nothing but a 
 chronicle of weights, flies, tackle, sandwiches 
 and flasks. It may be that the baldness of 
 these narratives is more due to a small vocabulary 
 than to want of feeling for the beauties of nature 
 and the charms of rivers and lakes. It is, I 
 think, essential that a good fisherman should 
 be keen to catch fish ; and though he may affect 
 a philosophic air over a blank day, he should 
 at heart feel a great sense of disappointment. 
 If others fishing the same water have caught 
 fish, it is right and proper that disappointment 
 should be tinged with humiliation. Competition 
 of a moderate and unselfish kind gives flavour 
 to the pleasure of angling, but angling com- 
 petitions for prizes are detestable. A man may 
 enjoy a day's fishing up to a certain point 
 though he has failed to catch anything ; but if
 
 6 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 he maintains that he does not care whether he 
 catches fish or not he is a trifler. For the end 
 of fishing is to catch the biggest fish possible 
 and to kill them. To catch fish and throw them 
 back is futile labour and unworthy of a serious 
 angler. 
 
 To return, however, to the question that 
 was originally propounded. Can any fisherman 
 explain, to one that is not an angler, the extra- 
 ordinary pleasure that fishing affords ? I doubt 
 it, and no book on fishing, I fear, conveys to 
 those who have not the taste any real impression 
 of the angler's pleasure. To say that Piscator 
 nasdtur non fit is to offer no explanation and is 
 probably often untrue. Some men become 
 anglers because they have the opportunity in 
 youth, but more have the opportunity and do 
 not avail themselves of it. A man who has 
 the real passion for fishing, so that his mind is 
 constantly occupied with thoughts of it, must 
 be very unfortunately placed if he does not find 
 opportunities. There are, of course, men of 
 very diverse characters who have been fishermen. 
 The notion is deeply rooted that fishing requires
 
 PATIENCE IN FISHING 7 
 
 infinite patience and is, as the phrase goes, the 
 contemplative man's recreation. 
 
 Often may patience, wisdom's meek-eyed friend, 
 To every forni'd recess his steps attend ; 
 And then propitious to the vot'ry's skill, 
 Flow soft ye waters, and ye winds be still ! 
 
 This is a mistaken notion so far as fly-fishing 
 for trout goes, though it may be true when one 
 sits watching a float. In every sort of fly-fishing 
 a man's attentive and observant faculties are 
 stretched to the utmost. For if there is no rise, 
 one waits and watches for the slightest sign of fly 
 appearing or fish feeding, so as to pick up any 
 chance trout that one can. Trout fishing is too 
 absorbing for a man to become impatient. 
 
 To tell the truth, there is such variety in 
 fishing and the occupation is so absorbing that 
 one can fish day after day through a season and 
 not weary. Much fishing and many bad days 
 take the keenness off the edge of angling excite- 
 ment ; but it is rare to find a fisherman sated 
 and indifferent. It is a strange thing, too, that 
 of the famous men in history who have been 
 anglers, few, if any, have been bad men. But
 
 8 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 this is probably a matter of chance, though men's 
 amusements generally give a clue to the inner 
 recesses of their characters. If we split the 
 pleasures of angling into their simplest com- 
 ponent parts, we shall certainly find them placed 
 by different fishermen in different orders. Some 
 would place first the pleasure of being near run- 
 ning water ; but this without the association of 
 fishing would be dull. Then there is the exercise 
 of personal or manual skill ; this may be enjoyed 
 in various games which do not appeal to many 
 fishermen. Besides skill, knowledge is needed 
 in fishing ; and one of the charms of making 
 angling a pursuit is that a good fisherman is 
 always increasing his stock of knowledge and, 
 in most cases, also improving his dexterity. If 
 he does not try to do so, he is unworthy of the 
 fraternity. But what is the good of throwing 
 a long line if we do not hook a fish, and what 
 the good of hooking fish which are not landed ? 
 One of the essential pleasures in fishing is that 
 which lies at the bottom of all true sport. Man 
 takes a delight in outwitting wild animals and 
 catching them by his superior cunning. It is
 
 SOLITARY SPORT 9 
 
 a taste that has come down, much softened but 
 still powerful, from savage ancestors. Fishing 
 combines all that is most attractive in sport, 
 and for solitary men it is almost the only sport 
 in civilized countries that can be enjoyed in soli- 
 tude. I would, however, repeat that the real 
 thing is the catching of fish. The weight of 
 the bag or basket, especially the size rather 
 than the number of the trout, at the end of 
 the day adds materially to the true fisherman's 
 happiness. There are a few pedants who will 
 be found ready to maintain the contrary. But 
 the power of catching fish is what gives the 
 angler his real pleasure. The more difficult 
 the fishing, the more shy and cunning the trout, 
 the greater the fisherman's pleasure at his skill. 
 It is because big trout are much more difficult 
 to catch than small, that one rejoices so greatly 
 at capturing them. 
 
 The literature of angling is more voluminous 
 than that of any other sport, and the pleasures 
 of fishing, which Byron called " a solitary vice," 
 have provided a subject for numberless writers. 
 Byron was not a man to whom the amusement
 
 io CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 of angling would be likely to appeal. Words- 
 worth called it " the blameless sport." The 
 charge of cruelty, which may be brought with 
 more or less truth against all field-sports, is rarely 
 urged against fishing and scarcely ever against 
 fly-fishing. Many humane men, whose feelings 
 revolt against shooting and hunting, still find 
 delight in fishing. Bishops of the Anglican 
 Church, who would think it most unseemly to 
 shoot pheasants or to join in a fox-hunt, see 
 no harm in killing salmon or trout. This may 
 possibly be because fish are cold-blooded creatures 
 and low in the vertebrate ranks. Or perhaps, 
 since the " vice," as Byron pointed out, can be 
 practised in solitude there is less fear of shocking 
 the feelings of others. Fishing is almost the only 
 field-sport that can be indulged in on a Sunday 
 without giving offence ; and many an honest 
 angler who never fishes except upon the Lord's 
 Day remembers the rule with which John Dennys 
 ended his " Secrets of Angling " : " Pray to God 
 with your hearte to blesse your lawfull exercise." * 
 Fishing on the Sabbath has not, however, 
 
 * J. Dennys, "The Secrets of Angling," London, 1613.
 
 FISHING ON THE SABBATH 11 
 
 ceased to shock the Puritan feelings of Scotland, 
 and there is a story of a well-known fisherman 
 who sat for a Scottish seat in the House of 
 Commons. His constituents always suspected 
 him of fishing on Sunday and oftened questioned 
 him at political meetings. But they always 
 received this same reply : " By the rules of the 
 club to which I belong Sunday fishing is not 
 allowed." He did not, however, think it 
 necessary to add that on Sunday, when the 
 club-water was closed, he generally secured an 
 invitation to fish elsewhere. 
 
 I do not believe, as some fishermen do, 
 that when Sunday fishing is not allowed the trout 
 soon recognize the day of rest. " Soon as ever 
 the church bells begin to ring on Sundays," 
 as a friend of Mr. Sydney Buxton remarked, 
 " the trout begin to rise." "But," he added, " one 
 time I dodged them. It was a Good Friday, 
 but they thought it was Sunday, and when they 
 began to rise I was there." 
 
 On streams within reach of London, where 
 most anglers, having fished on the day of rest, 
 return to their work at the beginning of the
 
 12 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 week, a belief prevails that were it possible to 
 fish on Monday one would always find the trout 
 rising freely on that day. 
 
 The fascinations of fly-fishing, have been felt 
 by distinguished men of the most varied tempera- 
 ments. I will say nothing about living anglers, 
 and among those who are now dead, I need but 
 mention as examples the names of Nelson, Paley, 
 Davy and Chantrey. Lord Nelson was a fisher- 
 man, as every one doubtless knows, though 
 strange to say, Southey in his biography does 
 not allude to the fact. There is an authentic 
 anecdote of a visit which Nelson paid to the 
 Naval Hospital at Yarmouth when he landed 
 in England after the battle of Copenhagen. 
 He came to the bed of a wounded man and 
 was informed that he had lost his right arm. 
 "Well, Jack," said Nelson, "then you and I 
 are spoiled for fishermen. Cheer up, my brave 
 fellow." The sailor's eyes sparkled with delight, 
 and the great man passed on briskly to the next 
 bed.* 
 
 Dr. Paley, the famous divine, found his chief 
 * Quarterly Review, vol. xxxviii. p. 521.
 
 SIR HUMPHRY DAVY 13 
 
 amusement through life in fishing. The dis- 
 tinguished author of "A View of the Evidence 
 of Christianity" was very fond of animals, and, 
 in his younger days, devoted to cock-fighting. 
 Though, according to all accounts, a poor angler, 
 the picture in the National Portrait Gallery, 
 which is attributed to Sir William Beechey, 
 depicts him with a rod in his hand. He was, 
 however, wedded to his sport, and when the 
 Bishop of Durham took him to task for delaying 
 the completion of one of his most important 
 works he answered : " My lord, I shall work 
 steadily at it when the fly-fishing season is over." 
 
 Sir Humphry Davy, on the other hand, found 
 time to fish in the intervals of his scientific 
 labours, and was, it is said, a skilful fisherman. 
 He is unfortunately, the only one of the four who 
 has left us anything in writing about his sport.* 
 
 "The most important principle, perhaps in 
 
 * " Salmonia : or days of fly-fishing, in a series of conversa- 
 tions. With some account of the habits of fishes belonging 
 to the genus Salmo." By an Angler. London : John Murray, 
 1828. The two first editions were anonymous. Sir Walter 
 Scott reviewed the book in the Quarterly Review (1828), 
 vol. xxxviii. p. 503.
 
 14 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 life," wrote Sir Humphry Davy, "is to have 
 a pursuit : a useful one if possible, and, at all 
 events, an innocent one. 
 
 ***** 
 
 " Though I do not expect like our arch- 
 patriarch Walton, to number ninety years and 
 past, yet I hope as long as I can enjoy, in a 
 vernal day, the warmth and heat of the sunshine, 
 still to haunt the streams." 
 
 Of Sir Francis Chantrey's merits as a fisher- 
 man I know nothing ; but when Malibran, 
 the famous singer, paid him a visit in his 
 studio and cried out with exaggerated enthusiasm, 
 " How happy you must be in the midst of this 
 your beautiful creation ! " it is reported that 
 the famous sculptor curtly answered, " I'd rather 
 be a-fishing." 
 
 Trout-fishing, which demands the greatest 
 manual skill though not perhaps the greatest 
 knowledge of the ways and habits of fish, stands 
 easily first before every other form of fly- 
 fishing. Indeed, one may be allowed to doubt 
 whether salmon-fishing, however delightful and 
 exciting, deserves to be included under that
 
 DIPTERA 1 5 
 
 name. A salmon " fly " must be so-called from 
 the analogy of a trout fly, not because it bears 
 any resemblance to a fly. The rod and line of 
 a skilful trout fisherman become, as it were, a 
 part of himself and a prolongation of his arm, 
 with which he can place his fly within a few 
 inches of the desired spot. The lure is a copy 
 of the natural food of the trout, and in dry-fly 
 fishing at all events closely imitates an insect, 
 though it may not be an insect classed in the 
 order known to entomologists as Diptera or flies. 
 The pleasures to be derived from the exercise 
 of this art, when it has been painfully acquired ; 
 the excitement of deluding a shy trout into 
 taking the fly ; the delight of slipping the landing 
 net under a big fish, and the joy excited by all 
 the surroundings among which one fishes cannot, 
 I am afraid, be imparted to those who have not 
 felt them. An old keeper truly observed that 
 when we endeavour to form the idea of paradise 
 we always suppose a trout-stream going through 
 it. And I suspect that if they were not afraid of 
 expressing such pagan sentiments most fishermen 
 would confess that they do likewise.
 
 II 
 
 I HAVE often thought that an undeserved glamour 
 surrounds the dry-fly fisherman. The art is well 
 worth learning, and though it must of necessity 
 be difficult to attain perfection, it is not hard to 
 acquire tolerable skill with a dry-fly. Many 
 who have never had a trout rod in their hands 
 or seen a trout caught, have heard of " dry-fly 
 fishing." Some, perhaps, have only the vaguest 
 notion what the expression means. There are, 
 on the other hand, many who are skilful anglers 
 but whose flies have only been cast in northern 
 streams and highland lochs. They only know 
 about dry-fly fishing by repute as a wonderful 
 art practised in the South. Some may affect 
 to despise it, and others frankly confess (as Mr. 
 Thackeray did when he wrote about the Whigs) 
 that they are not dry-fly fishermen, but oh ! how 
 they would like to belong to that select body. 
 
 16
 
 DRY-FLY AND WET-FLY 17 
 
 Whether dry-fly or wet-fly fishing be the 
 more amusing is a matter of taste. In dry-fly 
 fishing, where the angler is bent on capturing a 
 particular trout under peculiarly difficult con- 
 ditions, the element of sport is present in its 
 noblest form. The man matches his skill against 
 the natural cunning of a timid fish. I should 
 like, in describing the mysteries of the dry-fly, to 
 remove some misconceptions as to the novelty of 
 the method. I shall also attempt to show when a 
 floating fly is efficacious and when, in my humble 
 opinion, it is absurd to restrict oneself to it. 
 
 Now, reduced to the simplest terms, dry-fly 
 fishing means presenting a floating fly to the 
 trout as opposed to a wet or a sunk fly. As a 
 rule, though this is not absolutely essential, the 
 dry-fly fisherman will cast up-stream. It is some- 
 times possible to float a dry-fly down to a trout 
 which is rising below one. The wet-fly fisherman 
 may fish indifferently up-stream, allowing his fly 
 to drift down towards him, or across, letting the 
 fly come round with the stream, or down-stream, 
 pulling his fly back against the current. More- 
 over, the dry-fly angler generally tries for a specific
 
 i8 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 fish which is already feeding or which he can see 
 in the clear water of a chalkstream, and judges 
 by its expectant demeanour to be ready to feed. 
 There is, however, no reason, though the 
 purist is alleged to consider such a practice 
 obnoxious, why the dry-fly man should not float 
 his fly over likely bits of the stream on the 
 chance of tempting an unseen trout to take it. 
 And the wet-fly man must be strangely un- 
 observant if he has not discovered that to cast 
 into the rings left by a rising trout often results 
 in hooking a fish. It would seem then, on a 
 little reflection, that the difference between what 
 are frequently believed to be two opposing 
 schools is less than is commonly supposed. 
 Even if we go back to a fundamental distinction, 
 that in one case the fly floats on the surface and 
 that in the other it is sunk under water, it is 
 hard to draw the line between dry and wet. A 
 new fly floats for a time whether it be cast by a 
 professor of the art of dry or wet-fly. So, too, 
 an old fly gets sodden and water-logged and 
 refuses to float. Yet trout may be caught by 
 the one or the other, and who shall say whether
 
 UP-STREAM FISHING 19 
 
 the fly is dry or wet ? Perhaps it will be 
 safest for the angler to answer, as the young 
 wife replied to the inspector who asked whether 
 the gas-meter were a wet or a dry meter : " I 
 think it is rather damp." This does not mean 
 that the much vaunted efficacy of the method 
 is a delusion ; but a great deal more depends 
 on the skill of the fisherman in fishing up-stream 
 than upon the floating properties of the fly. 
 Success turns quite as much upon selecting 
 particular large feeding fish, and persistently 
 trying for them. This practice chalkstream 
 fishing encourages. Trout in running water, 
 as most persons probably know, invariably lie 
 with their heads to the current. The angler 
 who fishes up-stream has the enormous advantage 
 of approaching from behind and is therefore 
 unseen. His fly, whether it floats or sinks, 
 comes down- stream towards the fish as the 
 natural food does, instead of being jerked 
 against the current as no fly would move. And 
 lastly, when his fly has passed once unnoticed 
 over the trout without scaring it, the fisherman, 
 still unperceived, can pick his line off the water
 
 20 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 and try another cast, which is rarely possible in 
 fishing down-stream towards a shy trout. 
 
 If a man devotes himself to a rising fish 
 and casts up-stream, keeping out of sight of his 
 trout, I am convinced that (as a general rule) 
 he will do equally well whether he offers the 
 fly floating perfectly dry, or saturated and sinking 
 below the surface. There are, however, occasions 
 when trout are feeding exclusively on floating 
 insects, and others when they are taking sunk 
 food and will not look at a winged or floating 
 fly. Then, as it seems to me, a rational angler 
 will adapt himself to the occasion, still keeping 
 below the trout and throwing up-stream or 
 across. When trout are taking shrimps or larvae 
 under water it verges on insanity to persist in 
 offering them a dry-fly anointed with paraffin 
 to make it float. 
 
 A really skilful Northern wet-fly fisherman, 
 who habitually fishes up-stream, will find very 
 little difficulty in acquiring the art of fishing with 
 a dry-fly as it is practised on the Test and 
 the Itchen. But he will find, if his experience 
 has been gained on the rocky streams of the
 
 COLONEL HAWKER 21 
 
 North or the peaty burns of Scotland, that he 
 has much to learn about the food, habits, and 
 behaviour of the trout in South of England 
 chalkstreams. 
 
 A chalkstream differs from other waters 
 usually inhabited by trout in several respects. 
 The flow of the current is gentle, the surface 
 smooth and glassy, the water of crystal clearness. 
 The even height is maintained by springs and 
 is almost undisturbed by drought or rain. 
 Aquatic weeds flourish in great profusion, and 
 the trout are big, fastidious, cunning, well-fed 
 and in most cases much fished for. The chalk- 
 stream fisherman reckons his bag by the brace ; 
 the Northern angler counts fish by the dozen 
 or the pound. 
 
 It is under such conditions that the so-called 
 dry-fly has supplanted the older method of 
 fishing the water at random with sunk-flies. 
 But the real discovery, as I have all through 
 endeavoured to point out, was not the use of a 
 floating fly but the enormous advantage obtained 
 by casting up-stream. Colonel Hawker, the 
 famous sportsman of Longparish, used to fish
 
 22 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 the Test from the back of a pony. Apparently 
 he fished down-stream with a long line, and 
 there are plenty of dull, rough days when a fair 
 bag may still be got by that method. But for 
 one trout fit to kill, a dozen undersized fish 
 will be caught and many more touched, pricked, 
 and lost. It is for this reason that clubs, and 
 owners of well-preserved bits of chalkstream, 
 make rules directing the use of dry-fly only. 
 In fact, what is objectionable, though they do 
 not say so, is down-stream fishing and not fishing 
 with a wet-fly ; and as long as a man directed 
 his efforts when fishing down-stream to one 
 particular killable trout his conduct would not 
 be seriously resented. To fish at random with 
 a sunk-fly down-stream is rather like firing into 
 the middle of a covey of partridges instead of 
 picking your bird. 
 
 It is somewhat strange that fishing with a 
 floating fly did not become general in Southern 
 England many years earlier than it did ; for no 
 one can be upon the banks of a chalkstream 
 without noticing a hatch of duns, as the sub- 
 imago forms of the Ephemerid* are called. A
 
 CLAUDIUS jELIANUS 23 
 
 great hatch of mayflies is one of the most 
 extraordinary scenes in nature. Even the little 
 olive and iron-blue duns are conspicuous, sitting 
 erect upon the glassy surface of the stream, their 
 wings closed above their backs and their tails 
 cocked in the air. Nor can any observer of the 
 habits of fish fail to notice the movement among 
 the trout when the hatch of fly is on. Every 
 fish takes up his position to suck down the 
 living morsels as they pass over his head. No 
 doubt the vast bulk of the trout's food is found 
 beneath the surface and among the weeds. Float- 
 ing flies, it has been said, are only caviare ; the 
 sunk food is beef and mutton. But a trout 
 feeding at the surface cannot fail to attract 
 attention, and it is, therefore, not surprising that 
 the first mention of fly-fishing in literature, and, 
 apparently, also the first artificial fly should have 
 been suggested by this spectacle. The passage 
 has been reprinted before, but few fishermen seem 
 to know of it. Claudius ^Elianus, who taught 
 rhetoric at Rome in the third century A.D., 
 describes the flies called Hippurus (which appar- 
 ently are not mayflies), and gives an account
 
 24 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 of the catching of fish (believed to be trout) that 
 are taken by anglers with a rod and line in the 
 River Astraeus in Macedonia. The flies are 
 described as bold and troublesome, in size a 
 hornet, marked like a wasp and buzzing like 
 a bee. It is clear from his description that 
 floating flies led to the invention of the 
 artificial. 
 
 " When a fish observes one of these flies 
 floating down towards him on the surface he 
 advances quietly swimming underneath as he 
 fears to disturb the upper water lest his quarry 
 be scared away, draws nearer into its shadow, 
 and then, opening his mouth, sucks down the 
 fly, as a wolf snatches a sheep from the flock 
 or an eagle a goose from the yard, and then 
 sinks under the ripple." 
 
 According to the classic author, fishermen 
 cannot handle these flies because of the delicacy 
 of their wings. So they wrap crimson wool 
 round the hook, attach two cock hackles, and 
 with some wax make up the semblance of a fly. 
 Six feet of line is attached to the rod, and 
 the fly is dropped to the fish. They gulp it
 
 CHARLES KINGSLEY 25 
 
 down ; "and bitter does their feasting turn 
 out." * 
 
 Let us pass now from Ancient Macedonia 
 to Hampshire in the nineteenth century. There 
 is a very amusing picture of mid-Victorian 
 angling methods in Kingsley's " Chalk-stream 
 Studies." The description of the chalkstream 
 on a June day is charming ; the habits of the 
 fat trout and the natural history of the various 
 insects on which they feed is, with some excep- 
 tions, accurately observed. Kingsley was fully 
 imbued with the essential importance of casting 
 up-stream. He constantly dwells on the advan- 
 tage which an angler on a clear stream thereby 
 obtains. The first thing is to remain out of 
 sight. " The next mistake natural enough to 
 the laziness of fallen man is that of fishing 
 down-stream, and not up." It is when we come 
 to the flies and the method of presenting them 
 to the trout's notice that we find the divergence 
 from modern dry-fly practice. 
 
 A brace of noble fish are observed in the 
 swirling clear water beneath a hatch-hole. The 
 
 * De Natura Animalium, lib. xv.
 
 2 6 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 tyro who is receiving instruction is adjured to 
 "take off that absurd black chimney-pot" and 
 crawl up to the fish. 
 
 " One of them you may be sure of if you 
 will go the proper way to work and fish scientifi- 
 cally with the brace of flies I have put on for 
 you a governor and a black alder. In the 
 first place you must throw up into the little 
 pool, not down." The fish will take fright 
 soon enough if you do not do so. The advice 
 about stooping and crawling is frequently re- 
 peated. Kingsley knew well how tiresome and 
 ignominious the beginner finds it. " If you 
 wish to catch large trout on a bright day, I 
 should advise you to employ the only method 
 yet discovered." The next advice is to fish with 
 a short line ; you cannot fish with too short a 
 line up-stream. 
 
 " Make your fly strike the brickwork and 
 drop in." " Then don't work or draw it, or 
 your deceit is discovered instantly." " There ! 
 you have him. Don't rise ! Fight him kneel- 
 ing ; hold him hard, give him no line, but 
 shorten up anyhow. Tear and haul him down
 
 THE WINCHESTER FISHERS 27 
 
 to you before he can make to home, while the 
 keeper runs round with the net. . . . There, 
 he is on shore. Two pounds, good weight." It 
 is plain from this description that the hooks 
 must have been large and the gut stout. 
 Indeed, Kingsley speaks of " our large chalk- 
 stream flies," and asks "why are the flies with 
 which we have been fishing this morning so 
 large of the size which is usually employed 
 on a Scotch lake ? " On the North Country 
 clear streams anglers were already using the 
 smallest gnats, but he argues that "a large fish 
 does not care to move except for a good mouth- 
 ful," and propounds the theory, "the bigger 
 the bait, the bigger the fish." He admits, how- 
 ever, that on some chalk-streams " midges " 
 were needed, and that on the Itchen at Win- 
 chester hardly any flies but small ones were 
 used after the green-drake was off. But the 
 Winchester fishers confessed that they lost 
 three good fish out of four on their very small 
 flies. 
 
 The artificial flies to which Kingsley pinned 
 his faith were four in number, but all copies
 
 28 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 of live insects the Caperer, or caddis fly ; the 
 March-brown; the Governor; the black Alder. 
 He also refers to various large palmers or hairy 
 caterpillars. Nowadays over nine-tenths of the 
 chalkstream trout fall victims to flies which 
 are more or less perfect copies of the little 
 duns or sub-imagos of the Ephemerida^ which 
 float over them as naturally as the real insect 
 does. The Governor, Alder and Palmer are not 
 insects which are found upon the water unless 
 they have been blown by the wind or fallen 
 from the bank. It is remarkable that an obser- 
 vant man like Kingsley should not have dis- 
 covered that the vast bulk of the floating insects 
 at which chalkstream trout rise are duns. Yet 
 he pronounces the duns to be " uncertain 
 flies," and asks, " did you ever see any large 
 fish rise at these Ephemerae ? And even if you 
 did, can you imitate the natural fly ? " 
 
 The mayfly or green-drake does not come 
 on until five o'clock, and in the meantime the 
 anglers rest and comfort themselves with sherry, 
 biscuits, and cigars. So far there has been no 
 mention of the dry-fly or of fishing for rising
 
 CHARLES COTTON 29 
 
 fish. But when the trout are glutting them- 
 selves with mayflies he advises throwing wherever 
 you see a fish rise. "Do not work your flies 
 in the least, but let them float down over the 
 fish or sink if they will ; he is more likely to 
 take them under water than on the top." So 
 much, then, for the dry-fly in the mid- Victorian 
 era : Kingsley, at all events, had not discovered 
 its efficacy. 
 
 Anglers seem to have practised fly-fishing 
 for trout for some two hundred years before 
 discovering the advantage of casting up-stream. 
 Charles Cotton published his " Instructions how 
 to Angle for a Trout or Grayling in a clear 
 Stream," in 1676 ; and though there is little 
 to be learnt from it, the curious fly-fisherman 
 will be rewarded by a careful study of this 
 immortal classic. It formed Part II. of the fifth 
 edition of " The Compleat Angler," the last that 
 was published in Izaak Walton's lifetime. Cotton, 
 of course, was writing of down-stream fishing 
 when he recommended a very long line as a 
 mighty advantage. " To fish fine and far off is 
 the first and principal rule for trout angling" This
 
 30 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 often-quoted phrase contains good advice for those 
 who search the water with a sunk-fly fished 
 down-stream ; but for the dry-fly fisherman and 
 all who have acquired the art of throwing up- 
 stream, the best advice would be fine and dose 
 behind your fish. It is surprising how near one 
 can approach a trout from behind and with what 
 boldness one may cast over him by keeping out 
 of the limited range of his vision. 
 
 In the middle of the nineteenth century 
 Stewart was one of the pioneers of up-stream 
 fishing. In his " Practical Angler," a book 
 which has never received the praise it deserves, 
 he argued at great length on the advantages 
 of fishing up-stream where the pace of the 
 current admits.* Stewart, who was a Northerner, 
 does not mention the dry-fly. 
 
 There is no doubt, however, that fishing with 
 a floating fly up-stream is very much older than 
 is commonly supposed. Some evidence exists 
 for believing that it first came into general use 
 
 * W. C. Stewart, " The Practical Angler ; or the Art 
 of Trout Fishing," Edinburgh, 1850. 8vo. A second edition 
 was published in the same year, and was followed by numerous 
 other editions.
 
 THE ANGLER'S DESIDERATUM 31 
 
 on the Itchen, where the water is clearer and 
 the trout are more cautious than on other chalk- 
 streams. Its growth was gradual, and it spread 
 slowly, until it became suddenly recognized as 
 the most effective method of capturing the biggest 
 and shyest of the chalkstream trout. Perhaps 
 the first stage was to cast where a trout had been 
 seen to rise. In "The Angler's Desideratum," 
 by Captain Clarke, which was published in 1839, 
 there will be found instructions for fly-fishing in 
 a calm or in sunshine. 
 
 " This mode of fishing is by dropping the 
 fly in the centre of the circle a trout describes 
 on sucking down a fly ... Keep a sharp look- 
 out for a circle to enable you to drop your fly 
 with quickness and precision in the centre. . . . 
 The largest trout are taken this way." * 
 
 Here we have the rudiments of what is now 
 called " fishing the rise " as opposed to fishing 
 
 * "The Angler's Desideratum, containing the best and 
 fullest directions for dressing the artificial fly ever offered to 
 the public ; with some new and valuable inventions by the 
 author, from a practice of nearly half a century." [Edinburgh], 
 1839. I2m - I have never seen a copy of this book, and am 
 compelled to quote at second hand.
 
 32 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 the water at random. The next stage, perhaps, 
 was the practice of throwing up-stream, which 
 has such obvious advantages with shy trout, 
 that it seems incredible that it should not have 
 been general long before Stewart enlarged upon 
 its merits. When fishermen had come to casting 
 up-stream and to directing their efforts to rising 
 fish, it was but a step to let the flies float down 
 over the trout. There, then, is the fully developed 
 dry-fly system. 
 
 Some little while since an article in The Field 
 on the origin of the dry-fly evoked some interest- 
 ing letters from old Wykehamists, who remem- 
 bered the Itchen half a century ago. We have 
 the evidence of one, whose memory went back 
 to the years 1844 to 1848, that the systematic 
 use of the dry-fly, as we know it, was unknown 
 at that time on the Winchester College water. 
 The boys had only a short time for fishing, but 
 they used to look for a rise and made a point 
 of putting their fly, while it was still dry, over 
 the trout. After a few casts it got soaked, and 
 they went on fishing in the usual way. On 
 changing flies they gave the new fly a similar
 
 GEORGE PULMAN 33 
 
 chance by floating it over a rise. Occasionally 
 a man would change flies merely to get a dry 
 one.* The extraordinary thing is that, having 
 got so far, no one discovered that by whisking 
 the fly briskly through the air it was possible to 
 keep it dry and make it float. 
 
 About this time (1851) there appeared the 
 " Vade Mecum of Fly-fishing for Trout." The 
 author was George Pulman, and he gives the 
 most precise instructions for the use of a dry- 
 fly. He points out that when trout lie near the 
 surface waiting for floating flies, a wet one sinks 
 beneath their line of vision because they happen 
 to be looking upwards. " Let a dry fly be sub- 
 stituted for the wet one, the line switched a 
 few times through the air to throw off its super- 
 abundant moisture, a judicious cast made just 
 above the rising fish, and the fly allowed to 
 float towards and over them, and the chances 
 are ten to one that it will be seized as readily 
 as a living insect. This dry-fly, we must remark, 
 should be an imitation of the natural fly on which 
 the fish are feeding, because if widely different, 
 * The Field, March 3, March 24, April 7, 1907. 
 
 D
 
 34 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 the fish instead of being allured, would be most 
 likely surprised and startled at the novelty pre- 
 sented, and would suspend feeding until the 
 appearance of their favourite and familiar 
 prey. " * 
 
 We come back to the Itchen in the 'sixties, 
 by which time, if we are to believe old Wyke- 
 hamists, no one thought of employing any other 
 method than dry-fly. Flies were got from 
 Hammond in those days, and they were tied 
 to float with upright wings. Mr. Francis, the 
 well-known author of " A Book on Angling," 
 writing a little after this, recommends Ogden's 
 floating mayflies, and a floating fly sold by 
 Hammond of Winchester, f In the first edition 
 of his work, published in 1867, he recommends, 
 when a fish has risen and missed, that the angler 
 should give him a rest. " If he again comes 
 
 * George P. R. Pulman, " Vade Mecum of Fly-fishing 
 for Trout ; being a complete practical treatise on that branch 
 of the Art of Angling." London, Longmans, 1851. 8vo. This 
 was the third and enlarged edition of a book first published 
 in 1841. 
 
 t Francis Francis, "A Book on Angling," being a com- 
 plete treatise on the art of angling in every branch, with 
 explanatory plates, etc. London, Longmans, 1867.
 
 MR. FRANCIS 35 
 
 short, give him another rest and try a dry fly 
 over him. . . . Taking then two or three 
 turns of the fly in the air instead of one, so as 
 to dry the tackle, let him deliver the fly straightly 
 and well, a yard above the fish, and merely 
 raising his rod as the line comes home, allow 
 the fly, sustained by the dry hackle and wing 
 and by the dry gut, to float down on the surface 
 like the natural fly, without motion." Mr. 
 Francis had discovered that " it is quite wonderful 
 at times what can be done under apparently 
 adverse circumstances with a dry-fly." At the same 
 time he was far removed from the stern modern 
 purist who would rather catch nothing than use 
 a sunk-fly. For my own part, I become more 
 and more inclined to approve of the sentiments 
 which Mr. Francis gives vent to in the following 
 passage : " The judicious and perfect application 
 of dry, wet, and mid-water fly-fishing stamps the 
 finished fly-fisher with the hall-mark of efficiency. 
 Generally anglers pin their faith to the entire 
 practice of either one or the other plan, and 
 argue dry versus wet, just as they do up-stream 
 versus down, when all are right at times, and
 
 36 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 per contra all wrong at times. It requires the 
 reasoning faculties to be used to know these 
 times and their application." 
 
 Since many anglers believe that the dry-fly 
 is quite a modern discovery, it is worth noting 
 that the passages I have quoted were written 
 more than half a century ago.
 
 Ill 
 
 IT is difficult apparently, even for a philosopher, 
 to engage in controversy without exaggerating 
 the merits of the system he supports and attri- 
 buting imaginary faults to the school he opposes. 
 For this reason, the battle, if one may use so 
 strong a word, about the advantages of dry-fly 
 and wet-fly fishing, still continues fitfully. 
 
 It may, I think, be safely assumed that every 
 angler who is skilled enough, who places size of 
 fish killed above numbers, and who is fishing 
 in water not too rough and rapid, will throw 
 up-stream. The respective merits of wet and 
 dry-fly in such a case will depend a great deal 
 upon the weather and upon what the trout are 
 doing. 
 
 The first concern of every fisherman is the 
 weather. . The first matter that occupies his 
 attention by the riverside is the force and 
 
 37
 
 38 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 direction of the wind. The next question that 
 he asks himself is : " What are the fish doing ? " 
 Now trout on an ordinary chalkstream may lie 
 like stones at the bottom, or if they are stirring, 
 they may be doing a variety of things. They 
 may be " rising," " bulging," " tailing," " smut- 
 ting," or "minnowing." When they are "rising," 
 which means taking from the surface of the water 
 floating insects, for the most part Ephcmtrid<e y 
 the dry-fly angler has his chance. On a normal 
 summer day, upon a chalkstream, a hatch of 
 duns usually appears. It rarely begins before 
 ten. It seldoms lasts after three, and there is a 
 pause before the distinct evening rise. It is 
 generally at its best between twelve and two. 
 Sometimes no fly appears until the disc of the 
 setting sun touches the horizon. It may be a very 
 short opportunity, but some anglers are content 
 to remain idle and observant until the moment 
 arrives. Trout are said to be " bulging " when 
 they are taking the larvae or hatching insects under 
 water as they cast off" the shucks or envelopes 
 and rise to the surface. Then the wet-fly 
 fisherman, using a small hackled fly, has his
 
 BULGING TROUT 39 
 
 chance, casting of course up-stream to the feeding 
 fish, and if successful he may be proud of the 
 performance.* It is really far harder to hook 
 a trout under these conditions than when one 
 sees the floating fly taken and knows the moment 
 when the hook must be driven home by tighten- 
 ing the line. When trout are " tailing," they 
 break the surface with their caudal fins as they 
 grub with their noses for shrimps, snails, and 
 similar food. Here again the skilful fisher with 
 a sunk-fly may be congratulated if he can catch 
 them. The beginner, thinking that the water 
 is broken by the trout's nose, is often deluded 
 into wasting his time and offers a floating fly to 
 the " tailing " fish at the wrong end of its body. 
 " Smutting " fish are taking little black, almost 
 invisible, dipterous insects from the surface, and 
 the pure dry-fly again offers the best chance of 
 success. Trout chasing minnows often make a 
 great commotion on the gravelly shallows. 
 Sometimes they will come open-mouthed like 
 
 * Since this was written Mr. Skues, in his " Minor Tactics 
 of the Chalkstream," has given us an admirable treatise on 
 the successful use of the sunk-fly on chalkstreams.
 
 40 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 sharks at any big sunken fly dragged across their 
 line of vision, and when caught they freely 
 vomit the undigested minnows. But is this 
 fly-fishing ? I very much doubt whether the 
 trout does not take the lure for a minnow. 
 
 In dry-fly fishing there can be no doubt 
 that the trout takes our artificial fly for one of 
 the natural insects on which we can see him 
 feeding. It does not follow that, in order to be 
 successful, we need always offer the same species 
 as he then happens to be rising at. A change 
 may be welcome, and a fish which has been 
 taking duns will occasionally rise voraciously at 
 some chance or fancy fly. But when, as some- 
 times happens, a feeding fish fails after repeated 
 offers to rise at our fly and goes on feeding, 
 it is obvious that we must move to another 
 fish or try and discover what he desires and 
 suit his taste. In wet-fly fishing down-stream 
 we are very much in the dark, for we neither 
 see the trout nor what they are feeding on. 
 We discover by experience, gained by ourselves 
 or imparted by other fishermen, what pattern 
 of artificial fly best suits the fish. It may well
 
 THE EXACT SHADE THEORY 41 
 
 be that our large sunk " flies " are taken for 
 small newts, frogs or fish, crustaceans, snails or 
 the larvae of water insects. 
 
 The small flies dressed on eyed-hooks which 
 are used by modern dry-fly anglers are the 
 most perfect imitations of the natural insects 
 that can be seen. The tendency among dry-fly 
 fishermen has always been to imitate as closely 
 as possible the fly on the water which they see 
 the fish taking. This minute exactness has 
 now reached such a point that we can get copies 
 of the two sexes of the same species of insect. 
 I have* not yet seen convincing evidence that 
 the trout ever show a marked preference for 
 one sex as compared with the other. There is 
 among dry-fly fishermen an extreme school, who 
 are believers in what is called the exact shade 
 theory. The Ephemerid<e vary somewhat in 
 colour when they emerge from the nymph state ; 
 the same insects apparently assume a lighter 
 or a darker shade. There are days when we 
 have a hatch of dark olive duns, and days 
 when light olive duns appear. Those who 
 support the theory above referred to believe
 
 42 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 that the greatest success among the trout will 
 be secured by him who can most exactly match 
 the shade of the fly on the water. With this 
 object they are said to carry magnifying glasses 
 for examining the natural insect, and a paint- 
 box to colour the artificial fly. 
 
 At the other extreme are those who believe 
 that fish are absolutely colour-blind. Sir Herbert 
 Maxwell, who doubted the capacity of fish to 
 distinguish difference in the colour of objects 
 presented to their view, tried the effect of scarlet 
 and blue mayflies on the Gade and the Beane 
 in Hertfordshire.* With these he caught trout, 
 and no doubt, as he said, could have caught 
 more. But the experiment is hardly conclusive 
 Two days in the mayfly season are not enough 
 to establish even partial colour-blindness ; and 
 Mr. Buxton, who happened to fish one of the 
 same bits of water on the following day, declares 
 that the fish were for the time being simply 
 silly, and had lost all discrimination. There 
 are many reasons for thinking that size and 
 shape in a floating fly which passes over the 
 * See The Field, June 19, 1897.
 
 
 COLOUR BLINDNESS 43 
 
 trout's head, between its eyes and the light, 
 must be more important than colour. Whether 
 fish are colour-blind has, as I shall show in a 
 later chapter, not yet been satisfactorily deter- 
 mined. Their sight is fairly keen, and with this 
 sense the angler chiefly has to reckon. For 
 these reasons most people cannot help believing 
 that the fisherman will increase his chance of 
 deluding the trout by imitating as nearly as 
 possible the natural insect. We do not know 
 what the natural insect looks like to the trout : 
 all that we can do is to make a copy from our 
 point of view. This does not involve carrying 
 a small butterfly net, a microscope and a paint- 
 box, nor countless patterns of different shades, 
 sizes, and sexes. A little mild pedantry is 
 harmless, but carried to excess, pedantry in 
 angling matters becomes ludicrous. 
 
 It is probable that a fly which is to be used 
 floating high and dry on the water must be 
 more skilfully tied if it is to deceive the trout 
 than one which is fished wet and sodden, or 
 dragged sharply before the fish's nose. On 
 clear chalkstreams one often sees a trout come
 
 44 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 up and inspect an artificial fly, follow it some 
 yards down-stream, and after a critical examina- 
 tion make up his mind either to open his mouth 
 or to return to his place and wait for something 
 more tempting to pass over. These are the 
 supremely exciting moments of dry-fly fishing, 
 when the angler, crouching behind the sedges, 
 trembles in every limb and feels his heart beat 
 against his ribs as he waits, expectant and 
 ready to strike. Enormous progress has been 
 made in the art of tying trout flies, as may 
 be seen by comparing the plates in Ronald's 
 " Fly-fisher's Entomology " with the beautiful 
 little productions of the modern fly-tyer. * 
 
 The number and variety of the patterns with 
 which the modern angler must provide himself 
 is a matter that has led to endless discussions. 
 Izaak Walton mentioned twelve " kinds of artificial 
 flies to angle with upon the top of the water." 
 Charles Cotton began adding to the list, and 
 every subsequent authority did likewise, until by 
 
 * The first edition of Ronald's book appeared in 1836 
 and the tenth in 1901. New plates were prepared for an 
 edition in 1862.
 
 STANDARD PATTERNS 45 
 
 the middle of last century the unfortunate angler 
 did not think his outfit complete unless he had 
 about a hundred different patterns. " Ephemera," 
 in 1 847, described ninety-two varieties of artificial 
 flies as essential.* This was, of course, in the 
 days when three, four, or even more flies were 
 used on the same cast. It is rather interesting 
 to compare the lists of flies which the most 
 modern writers on trout fishing have compiled. 
 Mr. Halford, though he gives a hundred patterns, 
 does not apparently pretend that any one need 
 squander a fortune in laying in such a stock. 
 Many great anglers would not consider more than 
 a dozen essential. Mr. Dewar thinks eleven, 
 including mayfly and spent-gnat, enough. Lord 
 Granby gives a list of twelve flies, excluding the 
 mayfly. Sir Edward Grey puts his faith in four 
 patterns for ordinary days on a chalkstream, 
 namely, the olive quill, the iron blue, the red 
 quill, and the black spider. To these he would 
 
 * " Ephemera " (i.e. Edward Fitzgibbon). " A Handbook 
 of Angling : teaching fly-fishing, trolling, bottom-fishing and 
 salmon fishing ; with the natural history of river fish and 
 the best modes of catching them." London, Longmans, 1847.
 
 46 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 add the mayfly and the sedge-fly in their season, 
 and for Northern wet-fly fishing only three 
 standard patterns. Mr. Buxton adds a few more 
 to these, including, for Hertfordshire streams, the 
 alder. But he truly says that, in the experience of 
 most dry-fly fishermen, the necessary variations 
 are small, that day after day but one pattern has 
 been used, and that during the whole season not 
 more than half a dozen different flies have been 
 tried. 
 
 I am firmly convinced that dexterity in cast- 
 ing is of vastly greater importance than, within 
 reasonable limits, the exact pattern of artificial 
 fly. The greatest success will attend the man 
 who can with certainty throw the lightest and 
 most accurate fly, and not him who has the 
 greatest number of patterns to select from. To 
 this platitude it is tempting to add a few more 
 maxims for dry-fly fishermen. 
 
 First, keep yourself and your rod out of sight, 
 which is not very difficult if you approach your 
 trout from behind, and do not think it undignified 
 to stoop and take covert behind the sedges. 
 Secondly, never be in a hurry, and do not cast
 
 MAXIMS 47 
 
 too often. It is much better to wait an oppor- 
 tunity when the trout is likely to take your fly, 
 than to make repeated casts when his attention is 
 distracted by the natural flies. Thirdly, fish with 
 as short a line as you find convenient, and never 
 use finer gut casts than are absolutely necessary. 
 Sometimes one can stalk a fish so successfully that 
 it becomes difficult to cast so short a line accur- 
 ately. It is much better to scare a few fish than 
 to use such fine gut that you get broken as soon 
 as your fly is taken. Fourthly, do not go on 
 fishing with a sodden old fly, nor with a pattern 
 which is evidently unattractive to the trout, and 
 do not refrain from testing your cast with a good 
 pull, for fear lest you should discover it to be 
 rotten. Fifthly, when you have made a bad cast, 
 let the fly float well past and below the trout 
 before you -pick your line off" the water and try 
 again. Lastly, it is a great thing not to waste 
 time over small trout because they happen to 
 be rising in an easy place. The first thing to 
 determine before trying for a fish is whether he 
 is worth catching. At the end of the day a 
 brace of good big trout killed will give a feeling
 
 48 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 of much greater satisfaction than any number of 
 small ones caught and put back into the river. 
 Of course, in a rapid and coloured river it is 
 impossible to select a fish ; but in clear streams 
 there is no more valuable power than that of 
 seeing trout in the water and also distinguishing 
 the rise of a big fish from that of a small one. 
 
 It is probable that Will Wimble, " who makes 
 a mayfly to a miracle and furnishes the whole 
 country with angle-rods," would be vastly 
 astonished with the modern products of the 
 fishing-tackle industry. It is satisfactory to know 
 that in this we have nothing to fear from foreign 
 competition. I cannot refrain from transcribing 
 from a recent book a passage on this point. 
 " It is a pleasure to draw the attention of my 
 readers to the fact that, with one exception, the 
 articles I mention are English made, and to think 
 that in my favourite sport we are almost entirely 
 independent of foreign manufactured goods." 
 This is, indeed, good news for anglers ; and the 
 pleasures of fishing will be enormously increased 
 for Tariff" Reformers who are also fishermen. 
 The outfit of the modern angler varies but
 
 PARAFFIN 49 
 
 little according to his taste. Nothing can equal 
 a good split-cane rod, but it should not be too 
 heavy. A stiff rod not longer than about ten 
 feet is needed for dry-fly fishing. Indeed, it 
 can hardly be too stiff. The same rod will do 
 well for wet-fly fishing, but many a rod which 
 is excellent for loch-fishing is not stiff enough 
 to pick a long line off the water and dry the 
 fly. The line should be greased to make 
 it float, and may well be heavier than the 
 ordinary trout line. It is a good plan to keep 
 two reels and two lines in use : one for ordinary 
 work and a special greased and tapered line for 
 dry-fly. The gut cast should also be tapered, 
 and as stout at the point as the trout will stand. 
 There are difficulties enough without adding to 
 them by using a finer cast than is necessary. 
 The little paraffin bottle tied to the button-hole 
 has now become the badge of the dry-fly 
 fraternity. To the dry-fly purist a trout killed 
 upon a paraffined fly dies in all the odour of 
 sanctity. The use of paraffin to make flies float 
 was heralded as one of the greatest discoveries 
 of the age. I used to carry a bottle, and gradually
 
 50 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 became convinced that it was very troublesome 
 and of such small advantage that I joyfully gave 
 it up. Sir Edward Grey, I have always been 
 pleased to think, sets his face against the paraffin 
 bottle. His innate conservatism has prevented 
 him, so he tells us, from ever taking to it. He 
 does not think trout mind the oil, but he does 
 not believe that he would land more trout by 
 using it. " Well-made dry-flies used to float 
 very well before paraffin was adopted ; they do 
 so still ; and I resent the intrusion of the odious 
 little bottle and oil amongst my fishing tackle." 
 On the other hand any grease which makes the 
 line float is a real blessing. When the line 
 floats, as it should, one has the advantage of 
 picking it off the water without wetting the fly. 
 There is a belief, fostered no doubt by the 
 vendors of this preparation in expensive pots, 
 that nothing is more effective than fat from the 
 kidneys of red-deer. Mutton-fat is just as good, 
 and nothing is more convenient than a tube of 
 lanoline, used in nurseries as an emollient for 
 the chapped faces of infants. 
 
 There have always been anglers who delight
 
 PARAPHERNALIA 51 
 
 in carrying about new tackle and useless para- 
 phernalia of endless variety. To these some 
 of the articles recommended in a modern fishing 
 book may be welcome : field-glasses to discover 
 what fly the trout is feeding on ; " the fly 
 fisherman's fly-catching net," costing 305., and 
 folding up to go in the creel, used for securing, 
 examining, and matching the fly on the water ; 
 a portable electric light for evening fishing, " can 
 be suspended round the neck, lies flat on the 
 breast, and, when turned on by means of a 
 switch, sheds a bright and constant beam of 
 light full on the hands, etc. " ; a watchmaker's 
 eye-glass for scrutinizing the gut and deciding 
 whether it is sound ; a file for sharpening hooks ! 
 There will always be anglers who like to carry 
 the special patented " fisherman's knife," with 
 forty-two different tools, and others who unpick 
 knots with their nails, disengage the fly with 
 their finger and thumb, bite off" ends of gut with 
 their teeth, and kill a fish by tapping its head 
 against the toe of their boot. It is, after all, 
 a matter of taste, as to which each one must 
 please himself. It is quite certain that the man
 
 with most tackle does not always catch most 
 fish. Neither does the man who can throw the 
 longest and straightest line, whose action is 
 graceful and pleasing, always prove most success- 
 ful. Some men are fine fishermen and others 
 are fish-catchers. The truth is that angling is 
 both an art and a science ; skill and knowledge 
 both help, and the fisherman may possess them 
 in various proportions. The fish-catcher uses 
 his experience and has an instinctive insight into 
 the trout's mind which enables him to delude 
 the fish.
 
 IV 
 
 IT is hard to believe that there can be a greater 
 pleasure than to find oneself on a May morning 
 in the sweet water-meadows through which a 
 gentle chalkstream flows ; to feel that the whole 
 day is yet before one ; to kneel, unperceived, 
 behind a rising trout 
 
 And lightly on the dimpling eddy fling 
 The hypocritic fly* s unruffled wing. 
 
 Every fisherman who spends much time 
 upon the banks of streams and rivers knows 
 that each has a character of its own. This notion 
 is reflected in the pagan idea that every river 
 has its spirit or deity watching and guiding its 
 course from the spring to the mouth. The 
 angler is tempted to attribute personality to the 
 Itchen or the Test, the Tay or the Tweed, and as 
 he watches the various changes that come over 
 
 53
 
 54 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 it from one hour to another to imbue each river 
 with character as though it were a live thing. 
 This pagan feeling, which once led to the worship 
 of the gods and goddesses of rivers, still pro- 
 duces a feeling of fondness for individual streams 
 which only anglers and people of that sort can 
 appreciate. Those that are passionately fond of 
 fishing will remember how their fondness for 
 different rivers has varied with their humour. 
 At one time they will long to be by a placid 
 chalkstream with wet meadows full of marsh- 
 marigolds ; later they want the scent of heather 
 and the gurgle of brisker water tainted with 
 peat and forming brown pools among rocks. 
 Our tastes vary with the season of the year 
 and much depends on where a man has fished 
 happily in earlier years. It may be that to one 
 the clear Derbyshire Dove is the ideal ; or that 
 to another it seems that the most real happiness 
 can be found by those smaller foaming streams 
 that descend from Exmoor. Though tastes vary 
 among fishermen, there is a season for everything ; 
 and so it happens that one may, at times, almost 
 gratify the desire for fishing with nothing better
 
 HAMPSHIRE 55 
 
 than an artificial moat, pond, or canal and a stock 
 of American rainbow trout. 
 
 Taking the trout streams of Great Britain 
 from end to end, the most delightful sport, the 
 most interesting fishing, and the greatest variety 
 of happiness can probably be got on the Hamp- 
 shire chalkstreams. Of these I think the queen 
 of rivers is the Test. It is with the Test, at 
 any rate, that 1 shall begin ; first with that 
 upper part which is above the town of Whit- 
 church, where the great road from London to 
 Exeter is crossed by another which runs north 
 and south from Newbury to Winchester. The 
 valley of the Test is here closed in by cultivated 
 chalk hills and filled by rich green meadows and 
 finely wooded parks. The lovely river is only 
 an infant ; but, like other chalkstreams, the Test 
 seems to come from the earth with a good flow, 
 and, a few miles from the springs, is already fair 
 sized without receiving help from any notable 
 tributaries. If it be true that all rivers, as I have 
 said, have their own characters, the first quality 
 of the Test is its clearness. The water of the 
 upper Test is terribly clear. When the angler
 
 56 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 first comes to the bank and sees the transparency 
 of the river he is veritably appalled. It seems 
 almost desecration to wade in such limpid water 
 and stir up the bottom. It seems, also, impossible 
 to approach a trout within casting distance and 
 hopeless to succeed in offering a fly to a feeding 
 fish with such semblance of reality as will induce 
 him to make the fatal mistake. Yet it can be 
 done, and, to tell the truth, on this part of the 
 Test, unless the fish are terrified by over-fishing, 
 it is not so very difficult to do. There is to 
 me, still, always something astounding about the 
 rise of a trout to a floating artificial fly when the 
 water is clear enough to see the whole affair. 
 You can hardly believe your senses when, after 
 possibly prolonged failure and scaring many fish, 
 you find the hook fastened and the line tight. 
 I well remember the first trout that I killed on 
 the Test. There are some enthusiasts who pre- 
 tend that it is better to fish the Test and catch 
 nothing than to make up a good basket on less 
 noble streams. I cannot wholly agree with this 
 view ; for happiness and disappointment are 
 intimately connected with success and failure in
 
 WHITCHURCH 57 
 
 fishing. If fish are rising, failure to catch them 
 can only be attributed to ignominious want of 
 skill. But when there is no hatch of fly, and 
 the trout are concealed in the weeds or lying 
 like logs at the bottom, the philosophic fisher- 
 man can always find plenty of enjoyment on 
 the Test. 
 
 The day I have in mind was about the 
 middle of June, when the valley of the Test 
 had reached the perfection of beauty. The 
 flowers in the meadows had not yet gone to 
 seed, and the yellow flags in the ditches, and 
 the white buck-bean in the marshy places, were 
 still in full luxuriance. The air was alive with 
 skylarks. A snipe flew round, rising, and falling, 
 and bleating. The little sedge-warblers were 
 vociferous, and I particularly remember the harsh 
 monotonous chirp of the reed-bunting, which 
 always calls up in my memory thoughts of chalk- 
 streams. I need only mention, besides, the 
 cuckoos' and the turtle-doves' notes, and the 
 whirring noise which the swifts made with their 
 wings as they dashed and wheeled about over 
 the water. The sun shone, but there was a
 
 58 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 light easterly wind and the whole morning slipped 
 by without result. The river was, as I have 
 said, appallingly clear ; but I knew what to 
 expect and was less dismayed by this than by 
 the absence of flies on the water. The fish 
 were not feeding, and though I cast over a 
 number of scattered rises no trout was to be 
 tempted a second time. The Test at this point 
 is so thickly fringed with reeds, sedges, and 
 marsh-soil that one must wade into the river. 
 Wading has some advantages and some discom- 
 forts. You disturb the water, but you can 
 approach a trout from the rear with surprising 
 success. Your heavy, wet waders are a burden, 
 but you can cast up-stream without fearing the 
 drag of the line on the little floating fly, which 
 in a swift, limpid stream like the Test is absolutely 
 fatal to fishing. Standing in mid-stream, with 
 the cool water running up to his knees, the angler 
 can see every stone at the bottom, every detail 
 of the green waving weeds, and every fly or other 
 particle of food that comes down floating on the 
 surface. He scans the pure stream above him 
 and watches the runs between the green and
 
 CLEAR WATER 59 
 
 white islands of water-buttercup on which wag- 
 tails love to disport themselves. He does not 
 neglect the smoother, slower stream at the edge, 
 where coarse sedges on the bank overhang the 
 margin of the river. Then there appears the 
 ring of a rising trout, or better still a clear view 
 of a black nose poked up to suck down the short- 
 lived dun. There is no mayfly on the upper 
 Test, but there are few days when there is not 
 a hatch of some species of the smaller Ephemerid<e, 
 which the trout take with steadier but less reck- 
 less greed. It was past two o'clock when the 
 hatch of fly and the rise of fish began after a 
 fruitless morning. Clouds gathered over the 
 sun about noon, the wind dropped, and a heavy 
 shower descended whilst I sat in the thatched 
 and wattled fishing-hut expectantly watching the 
 heavens. When the rain ceased everything was 
 quiet and dripping for a time, until the excite- 
 ment among the Hirundines and other small birds 
 showed that the fly was up. The trout soon 
 followed and rose steadily all over the river at 
 the substantial dark olive duns that floated down. 
 It was not long before I had put the landing
 
 60 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 net under a brace of trout ; they were not very 
 heavy, but big enough to kill without feeling 
 shame and remorse afterwards. The trout in 
 this upper stretch of the Test are not generally 
 large, and a fish of a little over one pound is 
 considered a fairly good one. They are, on the 
 other hand, numerous and generally in good 
 condition, well shapen and beautifully spotted 
 with distinct round marks of red and black. 
 Prettier fish are seldom seen ; and, since the 
 river in this part has, it is said, never been stocked 
 with new blood, they may be taken as the type of 
 the real wild original Test trout. I caught and 
 killed a third before the rise was over, a very 
 handsome fish of i Ib. 2 ozs. Those who do not 
 lay out the bag and dwell upon the beauties of the 
 fish they have caught, lose a very great pleasure 
 at the end of the day. 
 
 On the Test, there are probably few days 
 from May to September when one should not 
 expect to 'get a brace of trout during some 
 favourable moment. There is, of course, much 
 waiting and watching. But a swift river is a 
 cheerful thing in itself, and a fisherman ought
 
 TEST TROUT 61 
 
 not to find the company dull. There are un- 
 pleasant times, of course ; when east wind makes 
 one impatient and miserable, when cold weather 
 retards the rise of fly, or gusty blasts blow the 
 line round the rod and make it a tiresome labour 
 to keep the artificial fly on the water. But 
 generally the Test is a placid companion, as a 
 dry-fly river ought to be. Pedants have written 
 so much about the dry-fly, as if it were a sacred 
 cult, that those who believe them think that 
 Test trout are not to be caught otherwise. There 
 is, undoubtedly, an advantage on most days in 
 fishing with a fly which floats as well as one can 
 make it. One must, of course, cast accurately 
 and up-stream. Whether the fly be perfectly 
 cocked and dry is a comparatively unimportant 
 detail if only the fish be feeding freely. On 
 days that fish rose steadily at floating duns I 
 have cast a dozen times over a Test trout without 
 putting the fish down. At each cast, as every 
 one knows, the little olive quill becomes more 
 bedraggled and sodden, and one does not spare 
 the time to dry it thoroughly. At the thirteenth 
 cast it sometimes happens that the trout takes
 
 62 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 it, as it passes over, water-logged and sinking. 
 Whether that trout was caught with a dry-fly 
 is a question I have never been able to decide. 
 Most fishermen, I expect, would answer that it 
 was : I must confess that I do not care. For 
 my part, I think it was fairly caught, and I know 
 that the water of the Test is so fearfully clear 
 that the trout are well able to take care of 
 themselves. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 The river Test, a mere stripling at Overton 
 or Whitchurch, has grown by the time it reaches 
 Leckford and Stockbridge into a mature chalk- 
 stream. The fair, green, watery valley is broad 
 and flat, and the chalk hills are low and gently 
 rounded. Down the middle flows the main 
 stream, deep, clear, and smooth with many 
 natural attendant arms and by-streams as well as 
 artificial cuts and carriers. The vegetation of the 
 marshy water-meadows has become coarser than 
 it was higher up, and there are broad stretches 
 where reeds and sedges, flags and rough grass 
 are fit for nothing but litter when they have been 
 mowed, But no one can wander at midsummer
 
 LECKFORD 63 
 
 through these water-meadows in the Test valley 
 without being struck by the rich luxuriance of 
 this natural growth that extends in places to 
 either side of the valley. There is a charm about 
 it that is indescribable, partly, perhaps, associated 
 with thoughts of fishing. It was midsummer 
 day (June 24) when I was there last, and what 
 is called the pomp of midsummer was at its 
 height. The elder and the dog-rose were flower- 
 ing in the hedges ; the tall grasses and nettles 
 had become dusty by the roadside ; but in the 
 water-meadows was a blaze of yellow iris and 
 ragged robin, dwarf orchids and tall white-headed 
 umbellifers. These are the signs of summer at 
 its height. To come down from London by 
 the early train on a stuffy day and find oneself 
 before noon on the banks of the Test between 
 Leckford and Stockbridge is to be transported 
 as it were, into an angler's paradise. 
 
 Just as the Test has become by this time 
 a mature and noble chalkstream, so, too, the 
 fish are also grown into noble and mature trout. 
 There had been a long period of drought and 
 baking weather, and the water was clear and
 
 64. CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 sparkling in the hot sun. But there was a good 
 hatch of duns, and at frequent intervals I marked 
 the rings of rising fish dimpling the smooth 
 surface of the river, which ran serenely between 
 banks richly fringed with water-plants. A narrow 
 pathway had been mowed along the edge, but the 
 judicious scythe of the keeper had left sufficient 
 covert. There is nothing like fishing for chalk- 
 stream trout to make a man learn the art of 
 taking cover. When you have scared fish after 
 fish by your bold appearance near the brink, you 
 learn how little is needed to screen you from the 
 eye of a timid trout. A tuft of thick rushes is 
 enough if you drop upon one knee. I have 
 even relied upon the proverbial broken reed, and 
 found it sufficient to cut me off from the trout's 
 vision. Best of all screens is the giant water- 
 dock. It is an education in a part of the angler's 
 art to try how close you can get behind a rising 
 trout and watch its actions. They say that 
 nothing so effectually teaches recruits the art of 
 taking cover as being under fire and seeing the 
 man next them shot through the head. The 
 soldier's school is more severe than the angler's,
 
 COW DRAIN 65 
 
 but the lesson is the same ; that is to say, 
 that a very insignificant shelter properly taken 
 advantage of will enable you to put your fly 
 fearlessly and successfully over a trout. It is, 
 indeed, astonishing what one can do when a 
 trout's suspicions are not aroused, and how utterly 
 futile are the best casts when the trout is conscious 
 of your presence. What fish should we not kill 
 if we could only be invisible ! 
 
 On the midsummer day that I have mentioned, 
 when the trout were rising and the southerly 
 wind blew up-stream, I walked down with the 
 keeper to gather what I could about the haunts 
 of big fish, the times when they rose, and the 
 fly that had lately been most favoured. I am 
 one of those that are driven distracted by a 
 keeper attending me when I fish, so at the 
 bottom of the water I bade him good-day, and 
 he left. My garrulous informant told me much 
 that I stored up in my mind, and in particular 
 showed me a side-stream where big trout con- 
 gregated. The name of this piece of the water 
 is Cow Drain ; but, in spite of its name and 
 its smallness compared with the main river, it 
 
 F
 
 66 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 would have been vastly admired as a trout- 
 stream anywhere except in the Test valley. 
 There was a bridge over the top of Cow Drain 
 with a hatch and below it a deep round pool of 
 crystal-clear water, in which, as in a glass 
 aquarium, one could see several enormous trout. 
 Taking a cautious look over the brick parapet, 
 we watched them against the white chalk bottom 
 heading against the slowly swirling stream, and 
 occasionally jostling each other for places. I 
 must confess that I was sceptical when the keeper 
 told me that he had constantly seen all these 
 big fellows rise boldly at flies, for one or two 
 of them must have been three-pounders. How- 
 ever, I determined to return there and stalk 
 these trout from below where a fine growth of 
 my favourite water-dock would be handy. I 
 could not, from the place where I was standing, 
 see the fish, but the knowledge of their existence 
 made me creep and throw a small red quill, as 
 carefully as I could. The little fly came down 
 cocked and dancing lightly on the swirling 
 surface. I do not think I had tried more than 
 three casts before the fly was taken with a
 
 THE RED QUILL 67 
 
 cheerful smack of the lips. I pulled my trout 
 hurriedly down-stream, and killed him with as 
 little delay as possible, though it seemed an 
 eternity before I could get him safely netted. 
 The fish weighed 2 Ib. 4 ozs., so that I felt, 
 whatever happened, this day on the Test would 
 not be a day of failure. There is nothing which 
 gives one such confidence in this sort of fishing 
 as a good fish in the bag. 
 
 In the main stream trout were rising off and 
 on all day, and I killed a brace there with a red 
 quill. They weighed a pound and three-quarters 
 and a pound and a half respectively. In the 
 evening I paid another visit to Cow Drain, and 
 there with the same fly, and a repetition of the 
 same manoeuvres, got another fish, which weighed 
 2 Ibs. 10 ozs. Thus, with two brace averaging 
 over 2 Ibs., I rested well content, though I 
 could not tear myself from the riverside until 
 it was half-past nine, and the mutterings of an 
 approaching storm became loud. The heat of 
 the day had prepared one for this. An awful 
 tempest broke later with flashes of lightning and 
 peals of thunder, followed by a deluge of rain.
 
 68 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 Next morning the crystal clearness of the 
 Test was gone and a spectacle unique in my 
 experience presented itself. The river had risen 
 nearly a foot in the night and came down all next 
 day tea-coloured and full of weeds, roots, leaves 
 and other wreckage of the storm. It is rare on 
 a chalkstream to see a spate like this ; and 
 though the fishing for the time being was spoilt, 
 the day was interesting and was devoted chiefly 
 to watching the doings of the trout ; the weather, 
 too, was fine and the air clean after the storm. 
 The little red quill of yesterday seemed absurd, 
 so I changed to a large red-hackled loch-fly, and 
 oiled it thoroughly so that it floated well. When 
 fish rose, as one occasionally did, there was no 
 difficulty in approaching within a rod's length. 
 Stout gut passed over them unnoticed. It was 
 an odd change from the Test clear to the 
 Test thick. When a fish showed its where- 
 abouts, 1 hastened to offer my fly. Four fish 
 in the course of the day took it, but two 
 must have been lightly hooked and got away 
 by dint of fierce struggles. Cow Drain pro- 
 duced nothing ; and, indeed, the water was
 
 THE TEST IN SPATE 69 
 
 obviously much too muddy there for fish to 
 see a fly. 
 
 It was not until past eight in the evening, 
 when the sun had set with a glow and the silvery 
 crescent moon had risen above the chalk hills, 
 that there was any real rise of trout. Suddenly, 
 all over the surface, which shone in the light 
 like polished coppery metal, the noses of fish 
 came up, and the rings and splashes of the rises 
 spread. It was already too far advanced towards 
 dusk to see clearly what the trout were taking. 
 A sedge was the fly that first suggested itself ; 
 but it was not for some time, when I had fairly 
 tried it over numbers of fish, that I discovered 
 that they were not rising at the sedge-flies. The 
 red quill was substituted, and it proved once 
 more successful ; they took the little fly freely, 
 even when one was but a few feet ofF casting 
 over the fringe of sedges. It was easy fishing, 
 until the darkness became thicker and one could 
 not see the fly or tell whether the trout rose at 
 it or at something else in the near neighbourhood. 
 But even when fishing has become impossible 
 and one does not want to catch more, there is
 
 70 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 something in a chalkstream like the Test which, 
 of a fine summer evening, detains one on the 
 bank until it is dark. The soft flow of the water, 
 the whispering rustle of the reeds, the splash of 
 big trout, the cries of dabchicks or coots, and the 
 cool fragrance of the evening air keep one at the 
 river. At last, thoroughly tired, and sweating 
 under several brace of heavy trout which have to 
 be carried home, you tear yourself away. These 
 happy days end with a ten o'clock dinner in a 
 rustic fishing cottage or old thatched mill-house. 
 Soon follows bed in a low room where small 
 windows beneath the thatch admit the scent from 
 the flowery garden which abuts on the main 
 street of the Hampshire village. 
 
 * * * * * 
 
 The real charm of the chalkstream fishing is 
 over in August. Delightful as the early summer 
 months have been, one does not want to spend 
 the autumn in the Hampshire water-meadows. 
 It sometimes strikes one as ungrateful to leave 
 a lovely river when her charms begin to desert 
 her ; but I have only once fished the Test in 
 autumn.
 
 SEPTEMBER 71 
 
 It was the last day of September, and the 
 season had practically come to an end, at least 
 on the lower stretches of the river. Above 
 Whitchurch, there is, however, some water where 
 good trout may still be captured in proper con 
 dition up to October i. On that date weed- 
 cutting was to begin. I stood on the bank gazing 
 upon the matchless trout- stream, and put up my 
 rod with leisurely deliberation. I had a presenti- 
 ment that I should do nothing. Could I per- 
 suade myself that a blank day on the Test was 
 a greater pleasure than a good day on some 
 inferior river ? 
 
 This stretch of water had not been fished for 
 the last three weeks. It was divided into two 
 unequal portions by a mill ; the upper and longer 
 stretch was broad, still-flowing, weedy, and at this 
 season by no means clear. Below the mill-wheel 
 was some rough and tumbling water, and then 
 a couple of hundred yards of swift-flowing stream, 
 running with glassy transparency over a chalk 
 and gravel bottom, with cottage gardens on the 
 one bank and a neglected orchard on the other. 
 The miller recommended the lower water. Here,
 
 72 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 among the undulating water-weeds, the forms 
 of the fish with balanced fins stood out very 
 visibly. There was no covert or screen of reeds, 
 and nothing but a flat bank and a clear shallow 
 stream. Was I as visible to them as they were 
 to me ? I could have no doubt about the 
 answer, seeing the promptness with which they 
 vanished when I approached the bank. There 
 were some small light-coloured duns upon the 
 water ; but, so far, I had not seen a fish rise. 
 I selected a little olive quill from my box and 
 retired to a distance, whence I commanded a 
 view of the water and prepared to wait patiently. 
 The weather was so perfect, the stream so charm- 
 ing, and the exciting anticipation of sport so 
 great, that I almost felt ready to assert that a 
 blank day on the Test was better than a good 
 one on any other river. The night had been 
 rainy, but pleasing autumn sunshine, with pure 
 blue sky and big white clouds, driven forward 
 by a light south wind, followed upon it. The 
 busy humming of the mill, the cries of children 
 playing in the road above, the metallic music of 
 the blacksmith's forge, and the other noises of
 
 AUTUMN ON THE TEST 73 
 
 the village mingled with the feeble song of robins 
 in the orchard, and the twittering of swallows 
 collecting on the roofs for the autumn flight. I 
 had not waited many minutes before a fish rose 
 in the middle of the stream. I saw his nose 
 break the surface, and marked the place of the 
 spreading circles before the stream carried them 
 away. I made a tolerable cast, and the fly being 
 perfectly dry, floated prettily over him. Twice 
 he must have seen the fly yet did not come at 
 it. The third time he saw only too well, and 
 vanished with the swiftness of an arrow. Some 
 yards above was another fish large and dark, 
 balanced a little below the surface with expectant 
 demeanour and hungry-looking mouth. I judged 
 him by his attitude to be a feeding fish ; and, 
 though he had not risen, thought it worth the 
 trouble of giving him a trial. I whisked the fly 
 until it was dry and cast over him. He did not 
 wait. The flash of the rod in the sunshine was 
 enough ; and the instant the fly alighted on the 
 water the trout was gone into the nearest weed- 
 bed. I then retired from the bank somewhat 
 disconsolate.
 
 74 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 The agreeable melancholy of the English 
 autumn had descended on the valley of the Test. 
 Wet nights and heavy gales had begun to turn 
 and to loosen the leaves. Showers of them fell 
 at frequent intervals, and were carried down float- 
 ing upon the crystal stream. Once from the 
 bridge I saw a trout rise at a dead leaf and then 
 go down again to his expectant position. Water- 
 rats chased each other with unusual boldness 
 across the stream, and their fearless behaviour 
 somehow added to the feeling that the end of 
 the season had come. My next fish rose against 
 the red-brick wall of the cottage garden, which 
 came down to the water's edge. This was the 
 first fish that I saw rise more than once, and he 
 gave me hopes that he had come to the surface 
 for a meal. I tried him, and then waited until 
 he rose again ; then tried him again, casting with 
 all the care that 1 was capable of. It was in vain, 
 and I began to despair of doing anything, and 
 changed the fly to a smaller size. The little grey 
 Ephemerid* still occasionally floated down, and I 
 could not match them better, nor suppose that 
 the trout were taking anything else. Every now
 
 THE END OF THE SEASON 75 
 
 and then a fish rose in a desultory way, and I 
 hastened each time to try for him. It became 
 rather wearisome, and I thought to rest by walk- 
 ing to the limits of the upper water, above the 
 mill which I have mentioned. Here the hand 
 of autumn on the water was even more visible 
 than below. The great growth of water-weeds 
 had almost dammed the river's flow and reduced 
 the even stream to stagnation. The water was 
 broken by broad weed-beds and a rank vegetation 
 which thrust itself above the surface. Here and 
 there dead and yellow leaves from the elms had 
 been collected into sodden heaps across the stream. 
 It did not seem hopeful ; but there were some 
 bits of clear open water, and, if one could but 
 find a rising fish in one of these spots, it would be 
 time enough to think of landing him when he 
 was hooked. A number of moorhens made off 
 with needless despatch, beating the water and 
 raising a disturbance when I came suddenly round 
 a bend. Right at the top limit of the water I 
 found what I sought. A fish rose in an open 
 bit. I approached the sedge-fringed bank and got 
 out a line which seemed sufficient to reach him.
 
 76 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 The first cast fell short, but the second dropped 
 in the right spot. He rose at my fly, and that 
 was all, for he was not to be persuaded to come 
 again. The sun was now setting, and the surface 
 of the Test sparkled with the last rays. I hurried 
 down the path which the anglers' feet had worn 
 across the water-meadow. Below the mill a fish 
 or two rose occasionally. I will not dwell upon 
 the increasing anxiety with which I offered my fly 
 to each in turn, nor the successive disappoint- 
 ments. Soon after six it was too dark to see, 
 and the fish also gave up rising. I took my rod 
 to pieces and slipped each one into the partitions 
 of the bag, reflecting that, incomparable as the 
 Test was as a trout stream, a blank day as the 
 last of the season was a sad conclusion. 
 
 Next day I visited the water and found weed- 
 cutting going on. The scythe had mown great 
 masses of tangled weed, which floated down, and 
 the plough had raked the gravel bottom. The 
 limpid stream was a thick and muddy river. A 
 few trout were breaking the surface now and 
 again, and seemed to be gasping in protest at 
 the disturbance.
 
 ONE of the great advantages of south-country 
 fishing is that the trout are so much larger than 
 in the north. If only they fought with the 
 strength and liveliness of northern trout what 
 sport a chalkstream would afford. To return 
 from an ordinary Scotch loch or burn with two 
 trout is a disappointment. But it is otherwise 
 in Hampshire or Hertfordshire. This is partly 
 owing to the difficulty of catching them but 
 chiefly to the size of the trout. A brace of fish 
 will retrieve the fortunes of the day, but the 
 opportunity of securing them may be short. 
 You may also make a bungle of your only 
 chances, and it is a bad thing to go home from 
 fishing feeling that you have wasted the occasion 
 which did present itself. 
 
 I well remember how I once went to the 
 Gade, in Hertfordshire, not expecting much 
 
 77
 
 78 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 success, but certain that I should learn some- 
 thing, as one always does, from a day on a new 
 river. June had been cold, and the mayfly 
 fortnight a failure compared with average seasons. 
 When I got to the water's edge it was about 
 noon, and a bright sun made the sparkling surface 
 of the stream too dazzling to look at. The river 
 Gade ran through an undulating, timbered deer- 
 park, which was a very pleasant place to fish 
 in. Across the bank were long rows of water- 
 cress beds, and in one spot a stretch of wood. 
 The sleepy verdure of July was now at its 
 heaviest ; the somnolent purring of turtle-doves 
 were the only sounds which came from the 
 moulting bird world. Upstanding spikes of fox- 
 glove rose in the clear spaces of the wood. The 
 hedgerows were profusely powdered with white 
 dust. The tall grasses on the bank were past 
 their prime, shedding their seeds or dry and 
 trodden down. These are all symptoms of the 
 dull months, and I did not imagine that the trout 
 would show any readiness to rise until late 
 evening. Having put up my rod without the 
 usual feverish haste, I began to walk along the
 
 THE GADE 79 
 
 bank to see whether by chance a feeding fish 
 could be marked down. 
 
 There was a small waterfall opposite the 
 wood, and just beyond the spot where the 
 gently foaming stream settled down to run more 
 smoothly I saw the distinct forms of several big 
 fish lying close together : they were not feed- 
 ing fish, but who could tell whether they would 
 refuse food ? I chose from my fly-box a large 
 alder and presented it to them. First I cast it 
 dry and let it float over. Then I let it float 
 down wet and sunk. Lastly, I cast across and 
 worked the fly in vigorous jerks a few inches 
 from their noses. They would have none of it : 
 nor did they mind my presence on the bank. 
 The keeper who soon after joined me attributed 
 this unexampled want of shyness to the constant 
 presence of the watercress men, who were always 
 about the spot and never molested the fish. His 
 explanation may have been right. There were 
 a few laggard, late-hatched mayflies about the 
 stream, and I thought it worth while changing 
 my fly to one of these, but it was refused, with 
 the same contemptous indifference.
 
 8o CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 The keeper left me, saying that I should do 
 no good until evening, by which time there had 
 always hitherto been a number of rising fish to try 
 for. Left, therefore, to my own devices, I spiked 
 my rod in the hard, cracked turf, and lay down to 
 spend the time in waiting. An hour may have 
 passed before I got restless and wandered along 
 the bank until I came to a footbridge with a 
 ford above it. The water was clear, the bottom 
 sandy, and there, above the bridge in the fairway, 
 where the carts crossed, a trout of a pound or 
 so in weight had taken up his position. His 
 demeanour was that of a feeding fish. The 
 expectant air, the agitated tail, the watchful look 
 directed to the surface of the water, were all that 
 could be desired. I retired cautiously from the 
 bridge to the roadway, whence I could cast across, 
 and decided to try him first with the mayfly, 
 which still fluttered at the end of my line. By 
 good fortune it dropped at the first attempt a 
 couple of feet beyond the trout's nose, and floated 
 exactly over him. He paid no apparent attention 
 until it had passed, then, to my intense delight, 
 turned, followed it a little way down stream,
 
 LATE MAYFLIES 81 
 
 and, after a cautious examination, took it in his 
 mouth. I never saw the whole beautiful busi- 
 ness of dry-fly fishing so clearly. With trembling 
 hand I struck ; but so hard that I struck off 
 the fly, and thus the first chance of the day was 
 lost. It was very disgusting, but so entirely 
 my own fault and clumsiness, that I bore it very 
 calmly. 
 
 Some time elapsed before I had the good 
 fortune to find another trout to try for. Stand- 
 ing upon the bank and looking up-stream at 
 a very smooth-running stretch of water, my 
 attention was engaged by a big fish that came 
 out from under a weed-bed and took up his 
 place alongside as though to make a meal of 
 anything that might float over his head. This 
 being the very thing that was wanted, I lost little 
 time, without moving from the spot, in putting 
 the mayfly over him. He seemed twice to 
 regard it with unconcern. It may be that it 
 escaped his notice, or that he did not recognize 
 it as an imitation of the mayfly. At the third 
 offer he followed it down with languid interest. 
 The fourth cast was completely successful, and
 
 8* CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 he rose eagerly as it floated over. I was cautious, 
 if I struck at all, not to overdo it this time. The 
 line seemed to tighten of itself, and for one brief 
 moment there was music from the reel. Then 
 the hold of the fly gave way, and I discovered 
 that I had lost my fish. It was very disgusting, 
 but so clearly not my fault that again this time 
 I bore it very calmly. Thus the second chance 
 of the day was lost. Unfortunately a third chance 
 did not present itself. The rest of the afternoon 
 slipped away. 
 
 The rays of the sinking sun were now nearly 
 horizontal ; the day had been warm ; the atmo- 
 sphere was clear ; the sky was a pale green in the 
 west, as it is on the perfect July evening ; and it 
 seemed impossible, when six and then seven and 
 eight o'clock came, that the trout should not 
 begin to rise, as they ought, steadily and at short 
 distances from one another all down the river. 
 No trout stirred the surface with their rings. 
 The warm summer evening passed away, and I 
 waited until it was dusk, thinking that sedge-flies 
 might perhaps come out. But nothing happened, 
 and the river flowed on undisturbed. At last
 
 THE CHESS g$ 
 
 I packed up my rod, and so came to an end a 
 typical disappointing day. Yet the brace which I 
 hooked and lost would have altered the aspect of 
 the whole day if only I had landed them and carried 
 them home. Sometimes, especially when return- 
 ing to London after fishing, it seems incumbent 
 on one to bring back something from the country. 
 So one avoids the humiliation of returning with an 
 empty creel by packing it with wild-flowers or 
 water-cress or mushrooms. 
 
 I remember an afternoon on the Chess when I 
 wandered homewards with an empty bag. It was 
 getting dusk and beginning to rain. I saw very 
 little prospect of saving a blank day. I was hang- 
 ing over the bridge, almost too dispirited to try 
 any more, when looking down into the still, clear 
 water of the mill-dam, the zebra stripes of a shoal 
 of big perch caught my eyes. They were swim- 
 ming round just below me, and when I dropped 
 some gravel, rushed upon it with every indication 
 of hunger. It did not take long to put on a 
 large fly, a coachman with substantial body and 
 white wings. I made it sink among the shoal 
 and then worked it up with jerks. Before the
 
 84 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 perch discovered that anything was wrong, I had 
 hauled out six fine ones, which made my bag 
 heavy. After that they swam away, and I turned 
 back fruitlessly to the trout. 
 
 The evening rise is often the means of 
 redeeming a bad day ; but often, also, hopes that 
 have been built upon it are dashed to the ground. 
 On cold days the evening rise never comes and 
 we wait in vain till dark. On others the placid 
 stream fairly boils and one cannot get a trout to 
 take anything. This is probably one's own fault. 
 There is also the evening rise when one obviously 
 wastes time and hurries from place to place. 
 Now it seems to me that when there is one of the 
 steady evening rises, and every trout is feeding 
 greedily on something, a fisherman who does not 
 secure a brace at least in the hour it lasts is to 
 blame. He may lose his head and get flurried. 
 But if he fishes deliberately and does not kill 
 trout while the light lasts, there must be some- 
 thing wrong with his fly. As the dusk thickens, 
 the difficulty of striking at the proper moment 
 increases. But then one need not be afraid of 
 striking as often as the fish rises. Sooner or later
 
 THE EVENING RISE 85 
 
 it will be found that the fly was in the trout's 
 mouth. 
 
 When darkness is coming on, the excitement 
 of an evening rise combined with the desire of 
 securing another trout before the day ends, 
 almost always induces hurry. It then not unfre- 
 quently chances that we crack off the fly and go 
 on casting without discovering it. So it happens 
 that an angling companion a little way off is 
 getting one fish after another whilst we are in 
 despair at our want of success. It is, indeed, a 
 repetition of what regularly happened in the days 
 of the Georges, when the fish in Virginia Water 
 showed a wonderful preference for the royal 
 hooks. The mystery was explained when it 
 became known that the hooks of all the rest of 
 the courtly party were unbaited. Having myself 
 several times in early days wasted the end of 
 a good evening rise by not discovering that I 
 had lost my fly, I cannot too strongly impress 
 on the beginner that it is absolutely useless to 
 go on fishing when the fly is cracked off An 
 old writer recommends that when it gets too 
 dark to see, we should at frequent intervals
 
 86 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 smartly draw the line through our fingers. Unless 
 the fisherman wears gloves he will immediately 
 make sure of the presence or absence of the fly. 
 
 An evening rise such as one sometimes gets 
 on the Itchen is wonderful. There is a long 
 lifeless time before sunset in which to rest and 
 make good resolutions. The wind drops ; the 
 green rounded chalk hills below Winchester look 
 clear and sharp in the evening light. The smooth 
 flowing stream shines under the sinking rays. 
 At last the glowing ball dips below the crest of 
 the hills and drops rapidly out of sight. Now 
 is the moment when the evening rise should 
 begin. The first trout starts punctually in mid- 
 stream. Soon another follows close below him. 
 Then comes another and another until the river 
 is fairly pitted with the rings of rising fishes. 
 They rise so frequently and the rises are so bold 
 that there is never a moment when one has not 
 a trout to try for. A vast number of almost 
 invisible little colourless duns are hatching out. 
 The trout rise fast and furious and clouds of flies 
 dance in the failing light. They creep up the 
 grasses and sedges. They settle on one's rod and
 
 THE COACHMAN 87 
 
 one's hands. On the water they are invisible, 
 but they must be floating down in masses. Each 
 trout is poised in his place just below the surface, 
 gulping quietly, steadily and continuously. No 
 artificial fly can quite copy these little watery 
 ephemeral creatures. But some of the modern 
 imitations of the spent flies are extremely good. 
 When trout are taking the spent fly with its 
 wings flat on the water, it is impossible to see 
 what they are rising at. Once or twice on such 
 an occasion I have done well by changing from 
 the small fly to a rather large white coachman. 
 You approach your trout from behind and throw 
 as though you meant to give the fish a crack on 
 the head with the fly. If it falls the first time 
 with a little splash near his nose, a trout feeding 
 at dusk will often turn and snap at it savagely. 
 The pleasure of getting hold of a big one in such 
 a manner is very great, the more so as the coach- 
 man is an old-fashioned fly and rather despised by 
 modern anglers. I suspect that it is taken by the 
 trout for a moth. 
 
 When fish are rising well on hot windless 
 days, great sport may sometimes be had with
 
 88 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 a dry-fly on deep quiet mill-pools. You throw 
 a fairly long line and let the fly float about at 
 random, gathering in any slack through the 
 rings if the fly drifts near you. When your 
 fly is taken it is a very pretty sight ; and all that 
 you have to do is to tighten the line and deliber- 
 ately drive the hook in. Trout which rise in 
 such places are cruisers so that one casts more 
 or less at random, and of course the fly often 
 floats long and ultimately sinks without being 
 taken. Unfortunately many small trout rise in 
 such places and get caught ; but by watching 
 one may be able to mark the rise of a big fish 
 and put the fly in his way. A mill-pool is always 
 exciting because one never knows what monsters 
 it may hold and whether they may not rise to an 
 attractive fly. 
 
 It happened once that I was able to see for 
 myself and count the trout in a mill-pool ; and 
 but for that I would not have believed that so 
 many big fish could be harboured in one place. 
 It was at Chenies Mill on the Chess one 
 morning late in July. The long, straight, nearly 
 stagnant mill-dam was rather weedy and dotted
 
 MILL POOLS 89 
 
 over with the large yellow corollas fallen from 
 the Mimulus which grew in gay profusion along 
 the two banks. In the mill-pool below, the water 
 that flowed over the boards was reduced to a 
 mere trickle, and the pool was so low and clear 
 that a most extraordinary spectacle met my eyes. 
 Round the side was brick- work and oak boarding, 
 upon which a black stain showed very clearly the 
 usual height of the water. But now, so much 
 had been run off that not more than a foot of 
 water was left upon the clear, gravelly bottom ; 
 and, standing as I was above, upon the side, 
 I could see all the inhabitants of the mill-pool 
 and for some unexplained reason they did not 
 seem to see me. I dropped upon my knees 
 and then sat down so as to keep out of sight. 
 At that time we were favoured by a gleam or 
 two of sunshine, which lighted up the water, 
 and also, apparently blinded the fish. Not count- 
 ing small ones, there were between forty and fifty 
 trout in sizes ranging from one to, possibly, 
 four pounds. It was a strange sight, and so 
 disturbing to an angler's equanimity, that I 
 hardly knew what to do or how to set about
 
 90 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 trying to catch one. Some lay like stones 
 motionless at the bottom ; others cruised about 
 among them ; others lay against the boards by 
 the side and looked as though they would not 
 refuse a fly. Some were great black brutes, 
 all head and no body ; some plump and well 
 shapen and so light in colour, that one scarcely 
 saw them against the stony bottom. My rod 
 lay across my knees, and I hardly dared lift it, 
 lest the flash should discover me to the trout. 
 But something must be done, so I sucked the 
 end of the cast and put on a gold-ribbed hare's- 
 ear which would float. One of the big fish near 
 the opposite side had broken the surface with 
 his nose, which seemed promising. After one 
 or two attempts I managed to drop the fly so 
 that it floated near him, and he turned and 
 examined it curiously ; then, opening a great 
 pink mouth, he seized it in his jaws. I tightened 
 the line and forced the little hook home. It 
 was a moment of almost delirious excitement 
 when I sprang to my feet and hurried backwards, 
 dragging him downstream after me, too much 
 surprised to resist. This state of things did not,
 
 CHENIES MILL 91 
 
 however, last long. A struggle began in which 
 the trout fought madly to get under the boards 
 over which the water fell at the top of the pool. 
 He did not seem anything less than a three 
 pounder when he came slowly rolling and splash- 
 ing to the surface, showing a great white belly 
 and huge fins. To let him reach the boards 
 meant instant disaster, of course ; so I held him 
 tight with a thumb on the reel. But disaster 
 was to come anyhow, and, perhaps, I held him 
 too tightly now that I come to think it over. 
 There was one desperate plunge and a horrible 
 feeling when the cast broke. This dispiriting 
 incident spoiled a great part of the remainder of 
 my day. The mill-pool was, of course, too much 
 disturbed to hope for another fish. When I 
 looked at them the trout were packed together 
 in the middle like a herd of frightened sheep. 
 Some, when they saw me, dashed upwards under 
 the falls ; and others dashed downwards over the 
 shallows, disturbing the water like a flotilla of 
 torpedo boats. I turned my back on the mill-pool 
 and walked up stream, determined to come back 
 when the place had been rested for an hour or two.
 
 92 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 When I returned to the mill-pool, a great 
 change had taken place ; for the miller had opened 
 the hatches, and the water was pouring in and 
 filling the pool up to the marks upon the board. 
 Foam and weed were floating round where the 
 water before had been absolutely glassy and clear. 
 A companion who had been fishing below the mill 
 met me. I told him that there were at least forty 
 trout, averaging two pounds each, in the surging 
 waters of the mill-pool and that the best thing we 
 could do was to see whether they would take a 
 large sunk-fly. So fishing by turns and changing 
 from one pattern of salmon fly to another, we 
 fished the mill-pool thoroughly, and in vain. 
 
 It seems to me that to have one's fish landed 
 for one by an attendant is to rob oneself of three- 
 fourths of the pleasure in trout fishing. It some- 
 times appears ungracious to refuse a keeper's 
 assistance, but the satisfaction of having landed 
 a big fish unaided is very great. 
 
 It is a strange thing that not one keeper in 
 a hundred can be trusted with a landing-net, 
 except at the risk of inflicting the most fearful 
 emotions on the fisherman. The larger the
 
 ON LANDING TROUT 93 
 
 trout the more rash and reckless does the angler's 
 attendant become. Instead of dipping the net 
 below the surface and waiting, he makes wild 
 scoops at the fighting fish : to see the fly knocked 
 from its mouth is not uncommon. When the 
 fish is safe upon the bank the angler may well 
 vow that he will never again let another man 
 use the landing-net if he can possibly avoid it. 
 The secret in landing a trout is to remain calm 
 and sink the net. The fishermen should then 
 bring the fish over the net. With a big trout 
 and a small net it is wise to get him in head 
 foremost. Yet we cannot avoid being anxious 
 with a heavy fish on a small hook for sooner 
 or later the hold must give. So we do not wait 
 for the trout to cease struggling and turn on its 
 side, but try to net him as quickly as we can. 
 On the whole I am for netting at the first ap- 
 parently safe opportunity. There is much to be 
 said on landing and losing fish. A Fellow of the 
 Royal Society has left the following among some 
 maxims which he composed for anglers.* 
 
 * Richard Penn, F.R.S., " Maxims and Hints for an Angler, 
 and Miseries of Fishing." London, Murray, 1833. izmo. 
 These Maxims are extracted from the commonplace book
 
 94 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 " XXXV. Lastly, when you have got hold 
 of a good fish which is not very tractable, if you 
 are married, gentle reader, think of your wife, 
 who, like the fish, is united to you by very 
 tender ties, which can only end with her death 
 or her going into weeds. If you are single, the 
 loss of the fish, when you thought the prize your 
 own, may remind you of some more serious 
 disappointment." 
 
 The reader who is not a fisherman will 
 probably think that there is some exaggeration 
 here. But the pang of losing a really big trout, 
 perhaps the only fish hooked after toiling all 
 day, perhaps the prize of a life-time, is so great 
 that hardly any words can describe it. There 
 is a sensation of despair, when the fly comes 
 back and we perceive that we have lost touch 
 with our fish, that makes us feel as though we 
 could almost burst into tears. It is hard to 
 believe under such circumstances that some 
 mocking demon is not intending to remind us 
 that all is vanity : omnia vanitas. 
 
 of the Houghton Fishing Club. The author, whose name is 
 appended to the third edition, was a great-grandson of William 
 Penn, of Pennsylvania.
 
 VI 
 
 THERE is now, fortunately, a close-time for trout 
 in Scotland from October 15 to March i. 
 Between those two dates no one may legally 
 catch them. In the South of England the 
 angler's season does not really begin before April, 
 and on chalkstreams it is soon enough to begin 
 fishing in May. In the West-country men open 
 the season much earlier, for the trout are small 
 and recover their condition quickly. But chalk- 
 stream fish are not fit to kill, as a rule, before 
 May. In Hertfordshire the trout rise well in 
 April and sometimes on quite cold days one has 
 good sport. With the mayfly the Hertfordshire 
 season reaches its height. Unfortunately, my 
 days on the famous Lea and celebrated Mimram 
 have always been after the mayfly was over. 
 One had the melancholy satisfaction of seeing 
 monstrously big trout who would not look at a fly. 
 On southern streams, where there is no hatch 
 95
 
 96 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 of mayfly, I think the fishing goes on improving 
 through May and June into July, provided that 
 the water has not been too much or unfairly 
 fished. I have had a few days of great enjoyment 
 in August on the Kennet ; but the big trout 
 had become lamentably gut-shy. They were, I 
 verily believe, as difficult to delude as any fish 
 that one comes across on private water. By 
 July the haunts and habits of most of the excep- 
 tionally big trout have been marked down and 
 noted. Each receives an undue share of attention 
 and becomes shy and cautious in proportion. 
 Very often there are one or two big fish who 
 rise regularly at well-known spots which each 
 angler passes on the way to and from the fishing. 
 These trout are tried for by every one and are 
 fished for every day that any one is fishing. 
 The knowledge and caution that such trout 
 acquire are above the average. 
 
 July is generally a bad month on the Hert- 
 fordshire trout streams ; and on a cold day with 
 a high wind you have July at its worst. A 
 strong down-stream wind makes any weather 
 unpleasant. There is often hardly any hatch of
 
 HERTFORDSHIRE IN JULY 97 
 
 fly. The trout themselves, which one can see, 
 lie for the most part at the bottom, indifferent 
 alike to the few duns which appear, and to the 
 various artificial imitations which are floated over 
 them. The Hertfordshire trout, as every one 
 knows, are large and numerous ; but they do 
 not rise at all freely in July. The water is clear 
 and shallow. There are rough parts which look, 
 to one who is not a dry-fly purist, as though they 
 were worth trying with a wet-fly when one cannot 
 find a rising trout ; but a wet-fly fished at random 
 down-stream is seldom productive of big fish. 
 
 When Hertfordshire trout do not rise in July 
 the explanation always put forward is that they 
 are glutted with mayflies. But this is doubtful 
 and in the evening there is sometimes a good 
 rise. Hertfordshire is ugly on a grey, cold, 
 cloudy day, such as one gets in July ; the sleepy 
 dulness of the foliage is at its height, the grasses 
 have gone to seed, and few sounds of bird- 
 life come from the meadows. Only one bird 
 is still in song, and that, it is needless to 
 add, is the yellow-hammer, which never ceases 
 all day. But the worst thing is a bad wind, 
 
 H
 
 98 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 which blows clouds of dust along the roads, and 
 ruffles the water so that one can neither mark 
 where a fish is lying nor follow one's fly as it 
 comes down. Being hopeful and in good spirits, 
 fishermen always persuade themselves, as they sit 
 at breakfast and soak new casts in the slop-basin, 
 that the wind will be up-stream. As a matter 
 of fact, when one gets down into the valley and 
 stands by the water it seems to come from every 
 direction in turn, blowing with blustering gusts 
 which send the line round the rod-top or make 
 the fly fall yards from the spot on which one 
 reckoned it would drop. If added to that, trout 
 are not rising, you have a Hertfordshire trout 
 stream at its worst. 
 
 At one time I used to think that one began 
 fishing later in the season than was necessary. 
 The precious Easter holiday which might be 
 devoted to trout was wasted. So an Easter 
 expedition to Exmoor was planned. The great 
 festival of the Church fell that year at the end 
 of March. We took lodgings in a farm-house. 
 It was dark when we reached our farm, wet to 
 the skin after a fifteen mile drive in an open
 
 EASTER TROUT FISHING 99 
 
 trap over the moor with torrents of rain all the 
 way. The chimneys of the farm-house smoked 
 profusely. The ceiling of the bedroom was too 
 low to allow one to stand upright and the bed 
 too short to stretch one's full length. The 
 farmer was a drunkard. Next morning opened 
 with an unfortunate accident. I emptied a port- 
 able bath out of the window without perceiving 
 that the farmer's daughter was standing below. 
 Fortunately she thought it was an excellent joke. 
 
 The day was dry and cold but after a 
 good breakfast one started out in better spirits. 
 The farm-house was close to the water. Let 
 the reader picture the stream. It is a small 
 river which rises in the heart of Exmoor and 
 flows ultimately into the broad waters of the 
 Bristol Channel. The lower portion passes 
 through miles of meadow-land where nearly all 
 the water is overhung with branches and the 
 best pools are obscured by bushes of hazel and 
 alder. The largest fish are to be got here, but 
 the business of fishing is very laborious unless 
 one has been bred to that sort of stream. 
 
 On the first day I thought best to begin
 
 ioo CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 where cultivation and meadows end. The red 
 plough and the green grass which cover the hill- 
 sides are replaced by a mixture of heather, dwarf 
 furze, and coarse, yellow grass. On both sides 
 of the valley, along which flows the rushing 
 stream of dark, amber-coloured water, the hills 
 rise to a height of several hundred feet. These 
 sides are marked with well trodden sheep-paths. 
 Against the sky-line one may sometimes see a 
 herd of the wild red-deer which have never been 
 exterminated on Exmoor, or the circling forms 
 of the buzzards which have survived destruction 
 by gamekeepers. At the edge of the moor 
 stands the last farm, white-washed and thatched, 
 and above it the valley may be enjoyed in solitude 
 for three or four miles as you make your way into 
 the middle of the ancient royal forest of Exmoor. 
 Here rough ponies and horned sheep are met 
 with, which first gallop terror-stricken away, and 
 then turn to face and watch the stranger. 
 
 My first days fishing that I am about to 
 describe was in the last week of March, and no 
 signs of spring showed themselves on Exmoor. 
 The moorland grass was dry, dead, and yellow.
 
 THE FOREST OF EXMOOR 101 
 
 The brown bracken had been battered down 
 by the winter's rain. The heather seemed life- 
 less, and was black in patches where it had 
 been burnt. The whole sky was overcast with 
 grey clouds, and a strong biting north-west wind 
 chilled the animal and the vegetable world. The 
 water looked singularly uninviting when I reached 
 the moor and turned from the track on to the 
 heather which grew down almost to the water's 
 edge. Yet there were two consolations for an 
 angler. There was plenty of water, and it was 
 apparently neither too thick nor too clear. I 
 had been told that the Exmoor streams were apt 
 to be either clear and transparent as gin or thick 
 and foaming like bottled porter. The wind, I 
 also observed with satisfaction, was upstream. 
 
 When a brisk gale against the current blows, 
 And all the wafry plain in wrinkles flows , 
 Then let the fisherman his art repeat, 
 Where bubbling eddies favour the deceit. 
 
 The river flowed at this point over a rocky 
 bed which formed in succession ten or a dozen 
 deep pools, with overhanging banks of the most 
 attractive kind. At the head of each pool was
 
 102 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 a small waterfall, at the tail a stretch of smooth - 
 flowing, slightly-foaming water. My cast and 
 flies had been made up overnight : a blue upright 
 at the tail, and a hare's-ear as a dropper. I had 
 been told by a west-country fisherman that if 
 with either of these flies trout cannot be caught 
 on Exmoor in the early months of the season it 
 is probable that nothing will be gained by changing 
 to others. I whisked the line through the air, 
 the wind carried out the cast in front of me, and 
 the line rattled between the rings and the rod 
 like the signal halyards against a mast. I wiped 
 my nose, turned up my coat-collar, and began to 
 fish each pool carefully from tail to head. Some- 
 times I kneeled ; sometimes I stood far off and put 
 my flies where the stream took them under the 
 banks or into the eddies ; yet a dozen pools were 
 fished over in succession, and almost every yard of 
 water between them, without any sign of a trout. 
 The next stretch of river was a straight piece 
 of a hundred yards or so running smoothly over 
 a pebble bottom. On either side was a bit of 
 flat grass with rushes but treeless and perfect for 
 getting out a long line. It was the sort of water
 
 AN EXMOOR STREAM 103 
 
 where at every cast one felt certain that a rise must 
 follow. But this yielded nothing. The next 
 stretch ran through a wood ; yet with space enough 
 upon the side to fish with comfort. On the steep 
 bank opposite rose a grove of stunted grey, 
 lichen-covered oaks. The lower branches some- 
 times overhung the water and seemed to make 
 the very sort of places where fish would choose 
 to lie. A few yards behind me, on my bank, was 
 a plantation of larches, showing as yet no sign of 
 green, thickly covered with moss, and extending 
 half way up the hillside. The place was sheltered 
 from the wind, and seemed hopeful. But time 
 after time my flies were cast in vain. At the end 
 of the wood another region began. The stream 
 ran for near a mile beside a stone wall, which 
 rose, often ruinous and moss-covered, upon the 
 opposite bank. Behind the wall the hill ascended 
 steep, rocky, and heather-grown. The water 
 flowed smoothly enough amidst stones and 
 boulders ; in some places too rough to hold 
 trout, in other places almost still, sheltered by 
 stones or winding banks. It was now long past 
 noon, and as one got up the valley the force of
 
 104 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 the piercing north-west wind seemed to increase. 
 Half way up the stretch I well remember sitting 
 down behind a hillock to eat some mutton sand- 
 wiches. The shelter was so welcome that I sat a 
 good while and smoked with both hands thrust 
 into my pockets. Then I stood up more hope- 
 fully, wiped my nose, took up my rod and fished 
 again. When next I looked at my watch it was 
 four o'clock and I had begun at ten. After six 
 hours one may be pardoned if a disheartening 
 feeling arises. I had now reached a stone wall 
 with a barrier of larch poles across the stream, 
 which was reduced to less than a quarter of its 
 former size. Beyond the wall, heather ceased, 
 and a long straight combe went up, covered with 
 coarse, spongy grass-tufts, rushes, sedges, mosses, 
 and similar moorland vegetation. The stream 
 flowed down the middle, twisting and winding 
 between deep and peaty banks. I asked myself 
 whether by fishing on, I should avoid an abso- 
 lutely blank day. At that moment, as sometimes 
 happens in the afternoon of a dull day, the clouds 
 parted and beams of sunshine fell upon the land- 
 scape. The wind was forgotten under this genial
 
 AN EXMOOR TROUT 105 
 
 brightness and warmth. This must surely set 
 the trout stirring. I passed the wall and began 
 fishing a narrow stretch of brown water which 
 came out of the tail of a little pool. In the pool 
 itself there was an eddy in which some foam was 
 kept whirling slowly round and round. Some- 
 thing told me that beneath the foam a trout was 
 waiting for food. I put both flies into the frothy 
 spot, the line tightened, and I threw on to the 
 grass behind me a wriggling, gasping, red-spotted 
 trout about two ounces in weight. I tenderly 
 disengaged the blue upright from the corner of 
 his mouth, and tapped him on my boot to end his 
 struggles. There were yet a couple of hours of 
 daylight, and, if the fish would but rise, time 
 enough to catch a dozen like this, which would 
 make a very pleasant breakfast dish. But the 
 sun vanished as suddenly as it came out ; and 
 though I fished up for another half mile, until 
 the stream became a mere brook among the 
 rushes, this solitary fingerling was the only produce 
 of the first day on Exmoor. The memory of the 
 day was pleasanter than the day itself, but it was 
 too early in the year to give up hope. Let us pass 
 on hastily from March to the mayfly season.
 
 VII 
 
 I AM not one of those who affect to despise 
 mayfly fishing on the ground that it is so easy as 
 to be little removed from poaching. If there is 
 any wind it is harder to cast accurately with a 
 mayfly than with a small fly ; and really big 
 trout, as bitter experience teaches, are so well able 
 to take care of themselves that we need not 
 scruple once in a way to take advantage of a 
 bigger hook and stouter cast than usual. I have 
 once or twice seen the trout in the Kennet for 
 a short time lose all sense of caution and abandon 
 themselves to gluttonous indulgence. But the 
 biggest trout are too wise to do this, and, though 
 they rise at the mayflies, they remain circumspect. 
 Nor when they are hooked do they lack ability 
 to free themselves. The mayfly season is often 
 disappointing, but when it is good, it is a season 
 of great opportunities. For this reason, on rivers 
 where the mayfly is bred, its arrival is awaited 
 
 106
 
 THE MAYFLY 107 
 
 with eager expectation by the angler. As a rule 
 it is welcomed with greedy avidity by the trout. 
 On the southern chalkstreams, where the basket is 
 reckoned at the end of the day by brace, the size 
 of the fish killed is or ought to be the first con- 
 sideration of an angler. The short three weeks, 
 or less, of the mayfly season offer an occasion 
 for killing the big trout, who seldom at other 
 times of the year trouble themselves to look at 
 a fly. I am inclined to think that the same big 
 fish dash at the large red sedge-flies and may be 
 caught when it is nearly dark on hot summer 
 nights. But the opportunity is shorter and less 
 favourable than the mayfly season. When the 
 mayfly is on, three-pounders and four-pounders 
 seem to emerge from unexpected holes under 
 bushes and from the depths of mill-pools to suck 
 down the helpless but substantial insects as they 
 float along with the stream. On that part of the 
 Kennet, where I have seen the finest sport with 
 the mayfly, it appears rather later than on the 
 other southern rivers. The first mayfly of the 
 season is not seen until about the 6th of June. 
 It was past the middle of the month when the day
 
 io8 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 came that I am about to describe ; but the trout 
 were not yet glutted with the daily feast. I only 
 had one short day before me, and on the evening 
 before I made my usual resolution not to waste a 
 moment in casting over fish that would not be 
 worth killing. 
 
 The morning was damp and cloudy, and a 
 strong westerly wind made it impossible in most 
 places to throw a line up-stream. I determined 
 to devote myself to a short stretch of water above 
 a mill, which was not only partly sheltered from 
 the wind, but also was reputed to hold good 
 fish. Above the mill was a long, narrow stretch 
 of water, flowing still and even, like a clear canal. 
 Both sides were bricked or boarded ; and at the 
 bottom grass-like weeds waved with the gentle 
 current, and large trout were poking their noses 
 into the gravel. Above this the river took a 
 turn, and the end of the stretch was marked by 
 a willow with branches trailing in the water, 
 which overhung a deep hole in which many a 
 big trout has broken away. I walked up to the 
 willow and sat on the fence to wait for the hatch 
 of mayfly. The river banks were higher than
 
 THE KENNET 109 
 
 the surrounding meadows, and, by standing back, 
 one could cast across the wind and remain 
 unseen by the fish. The water-meadows, cut 
 in many directions by wet channels, extended 
 up to the sides of the Kennet valley. Buttercups 
 and cuckoo-flowers covered the fields, and the 
 damp ditches between them were filled with 
 yellow flags. The clouds began to disperse ; 
 sedge-warblers and corn-crakes were noisy on 
 both banks ; swallows and swifts hawked expect- 
 antly above the water ; and only the appearance 
 of the mayflies was wanted to complete the day, 
 and make fish, birds, and man completely happy. 
 As Ramsbury Church clock struck ten, the 
 first mayfly came sailing jauntily down the 
 middle of the stream, with its fat body floating 
 on the water, and its half-transparent wings cocked 
 over its back. Others followed the first ; but 
 these fore-runners of the vast body destined 
 to hatch out on that day were instantly snapped 
 up by the voracious birds. The swallows, I 
 noticed, picked them skilfully oflF the water ; the 
 screaming swifts pursued them as they fluttered 
 helplessly in the air. I kept my eyes upon the
 
 no CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 river, but for some time the trout had no chance, 
 or did not discover that the feast had begun. 
 The first rising fish that I noticed was by a 
 wooden hatch on the bank, where a bunch 
 of nettles overhung the water. I put a fly over 
 him very carelessly and he took it eagerly. 
 Unfortunately he proved to be a wretched little 
 fellow of half a pound. I slacked the line in 
 disgust and he quickly freed himself. I saw 
 that there was going to be no difficulty in catch- 
 ing small fish, and repeated my resolution to 
 reserve my efforts for the big. I dried my fly 
 with vigorous whisking in the air, and waited 
 again. A few moments later a mayfly was 
 sucked down in midstream between the willow 
 and the opposite bank. I marked the spot, which 
 looked more promising, and began to get out 
 some line. After two or three failures, I made 
 a good cast. The fly fell airily on the water, 
 and as it descended, assumed the correct attitude ; 
 the line, in spite of the wind, went out straight 
 enough, and floated, well-greased with vaseline 
 and beeswax, on the rippled surface. I waited, 
 with breathless anxiety, and nothing happened.
 
 RAMSBURY 1 1 1 
 
 My fly floated far down, until the line began to 
 drag, and I was just preparing to try again, when 
 a fish rose at the fly ; instinctively I raised the 
 rod and, before I knew what had happened, he 
 was hooked. The rod-point bent, and the line 
 cut through the water. In a moment my fish 
 had passed under the willow, and the gut cast 
 came up broken in half. It was disappointing, 
 but the big ones were evidently going to take 
 now. 
 
 This commotion had slightly disturbed the 
 water, and I walked down to try a little 
 nearer the mill. Along the bank, between the 
 path and the edge, there was a thick growth of 
 reed, dock, and nettle, which, when one stooped, 
 afforded a very effective screen. Several really big 
 fish were rising at regular intervals close under the 
 bank. I crept up to within a couple of yards, 
 and found that I had not disturbed them. To 
 cast in the usual fashion would be obviously 
 fatal. The best thing to do was to poke the 
 rod over the herbage, drop the fly on to the 
 water, and follow it as it drifted down to my 
 fish. This stratagem was more successful than
 
 ii2 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 1 could possibly have hoped. I held the rod 
 steady, and crept along the bank, the fly floating 
 most beautifully in front. There was a sudden 
 gurgling on the other side of the water-plants 
 and a very big trout was firmly hooked. It 
 was a breathless moment : I have no idea 
 what happened except there was an alarming 
 commotion in the water and in a few seconds 
 the fish had broken me, and taken the fly and 
 cast with him. Much disheartened I walked on 
 to Mill-house to repair the loss. But hope soon 
 got the better of despair and I hastened back 
 to the place where I had been in the morning. 
 Then fortune suddenly took a favourable turn. 
 Mayflies fluttered in clouds and floated down in 
 thousands. Big fish went on steadily rising, and I 
 felt sure that in a moment I must have hold of one. 
 I noticed one fish by some reeds on the opposite 
 bank who exhibited the most steady voracity. The 
 river was narrow there, and I easily put the fly 
 across. It fell softly by the bank, a yard above 
 the fish, and floated down to the reeds riding 
 high and dry on the water. It looked so 
 attractively natural that I was quite prepared
 
 THE KENNET 113 
 
 when it was taken. I put my finger on the 
 reel, determined at any cost to check the fish 
 if he made for the willow. The gut was strong, 
 and I dragged him boldly down stream, and then 
 held him hard, while he swam sulkily in circles 
 near the bottom. Several times he got into 
 weeds, but each time I managed to drag him 
 out. In two or three minutes he was floating, 
 helpless, sideways on the surface, and I had him 
 safe in the landing-net. A pious ejaculation of 
 gratitude passed my lips. He was well over 
 two pounds ; and I felt a comforting sensation 
 that if I caught nothing more, the day was saved. 
 I turned him out of the landing-net on to the 
 grass, admired his condition and shape, dis- 
 engaged the saturated fly, washed my hands and 
 sat down to light a cigarette. It is strange how 
 after losing or landing a big fish, a strong desire 
 to smoke always follows. 
 
 A new fly, with well-shaped wings of summer- 
 duck feather, fluttered at the end of my cast, 
 and I went back to try whether I could not again 
 deceive one of the big trout in the mill-dam. 
 The artificial fly had now so many competitors
 
 ii4 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 that the chance of hooking fish was much reduced. 
 The hatch continued steadily all through the 
 afternoon. The natural mayflies were coming 
 down in such numbers that not one in a hundred 
 was taken by a fish, and even the birds were 
 sated. It was six before the rise was over. There 
 was a shower of rain, the mayflies disappeared, 
 and except for some little trout jumping in the 
 mill-pool, one could not see a sign of a fish. I 
 had, however, managed to add several other two- 
 pounders to my first, and gave up, well-contented. 
 I like to walk home with my bag heavy and the 
 strap making my shoulder sore. 
 
 Thoughts on the mayfly always revive 
 memories of one particularly heart-breaking day 
 of disaster on the Kennet. 
 
 On the upper reaches above Hungerford, 
 where the river deep and placid flows through 
 the luxuriant valley, the first mayflies had appeared 
 on June 5. They were, it is true, merely single 
 spies which precede the big battalions ; and 
 nearly all were devoured by the hungry small 
 birds as soon as they emerged. I received a 
 telegram and started as soon as possible. On
 
 AjDAY OF DISASTER 115 
 
 the following day, there was the first real rise of 
 mayfly, though it did not begin until after six 
 in the evening. The day had been dull, with 
 cold north-easterly wind. But in the evening 
 the sun broke forth with a very welcome warmth, 
 and the mayfly appeared. It was a short rise, 
 but a mad one while it lasted. The fish took 
 leave of their senses and forgot their caution. 
 They chased each other over the shallows, fighting 
 and splashing for the best places. The instant 
 that the sun was down, coldness and quiet settled 
 upon the river, and the rise was over as suddenly 
 as it began. I had caught three fish over a 
 pound, but under two pounds, each, and I was 
 fairly contented for the first evening. The next 
 day was almost a repetition of the one before. 
 There was a howling wind from the same un- 
 pleasant quarter ; bright intervals of warming 
 sun ; again the first mayflies appeared at six 
 in the evening, and the rise ceased with the 
 coldness that came after the sunset. But the 
 flies were fewer, and the fish never displayed 
 the mad, incautious eagerness which had lasted 
 for about half-an-hour on the day before. Again
 
 ii6 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 I landed a brace and a half, each well over a 
 pound, but not one over two pounds. The big 
 fish had, so far as one could discover, not yet 
 begun to take the mayfly. 
 
 On the Kennet, where there are plenty of 
 trout over three pounds and a fair number over 
 four pounds to be caught, one is entitled to expect 
 during the mayfly season to get hold of really 
 good fish. Upon the third day the weather was 
 equally unpleasing, but mayflies began to float 
 down about eleven, and I saw from the twittering 
 and commotion among the birds that the feast 
 was beginning early. I lost no time in pulling 
 on waders, taking my rod, buckling on bag and 
 landing-net, and hastening up to a meadow where 
 I had determined to spend the day. The spot 
 presented a combination of advantages which 
 were not to be found elsewhere. In the first 
 place, it was on the northern bank, so that this 
 intolerable wind took one's line before it up- 
 stream over the water. In the next place, the 
 opposite bank was fringed at intervals with bushy 
 willows which made fishing from that side difficult. 
 Lastly, the greatest consideration of all was that
 
 MAYFLY RESOLUTIONS 117 
 
 the fifty yards or so of river which could easily 
 be cast over from the meadow always had the 
 reputation of being the resort of large and free- 
 rising trout. When I climbed over the gate 
 from the road, and made my way over the moist 
 and squishy surface of the meadow, I could hear 
 across the fringe of flags and sedges by the bank 
 the welcome noise which is sometimes made by 
 a feeding trout. The wind blew odiously hard 
 and cold. The willows waved and bent. The 
 deep, placidly-flowing, clear greenish water of this 
 particular piece of the river was broken with 
 ugly wavelets. But a satisfactory hatch of mayfly 
 was coming on, and fish were beginning to take 
 them with good appetite. I was eager to begin, 
 but spiked my rod into the meadow until such 
 time as I had marked the rise of a fish worth 
 killing. 
 
 I cannot recall without emotion the succession 
 of disasters which ensued during the exciting 
 hours that I spent in that meadow. One begins 
 the day full of hope and virtuously resolving : 
 Not to hurry and not to waste time ; to pick out 
 only good fish, and to stick to them instead of
 
 ii8 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 wandering from place to place ; not to cast too 
 quickly or carelessly ; to dry the fly thoroughly, 
 so that it shall float properly, instead of flopping 
 on the water and gradually getting soaked. 
 Then excitement gets the better of caution. 
 You show yourself unguardedly to the fish. You 
 cast just when a gust blows your line round the 
 top of your rod. You pick a long line hurriedly 
 off" the water, and crack off the fly behind you. 
 For my part, I always think that when I have 
 twice or thrice hopelessly entangled the line round 
 the point of the rod, or got caught up in the 
 wretched plantains behind, that it is time to 
 retire from the bank, spike the rod into the 
 ground, and enjoy a few minutes rest and reflec- 
 tion. These things happen more rarely when one 
 begins the day, and I please myself by attributing 
 them to fatigue, and not to natural clumsiness or 
 bad fishing. There was no need for a long delay, 
 which sometimes tries the angler on a dry-fly 
 river. I had not been at the water's edge above 
 a minute before a mayfly was taken with such a 
 smack and splash as makes one's heart jump. 
 Having drawn enough line off" the reel to cover
 
 HURRY AND FAILURE 119 
 
 the spot and made a successful cast, the new 
 mayfly alighted on the water with its fresh grey 
 wings erect, and floated upon the wavelets as a 
 model mayfly should. My fish took it, and I 
 tightened the line. I do not know an emotion com- 
 parable to a big trout rising to a floating artificial 
 mayfly. You see your big fly ; the trout's nose 
 appears above the water ; and before you know 
 any more, the line is strained and the rod-point 
 bent to the water. This fish made away up-stream 
 and then down to the bottom to sulk. I was 
 nervous but hopeful. Then, with a miserable 
 sense of failure, I felt the hold of the fly give out 
 and it came up to the surface. My second fish 
 was a small one, who took the fly against my 
 desire, and I loosed the line and let him off with- 
 out the trouble of landing him in the net. But it 
 meant time spent either in drying the soaked and 
 well-mouthed mayfly or in putting on a fresh 
 one before one could begin to fish again. I rose 
 several more before I hooked another, and then 
 came the first crushing misfortune. I got hold 
 of a really big trout who had been rising quietly 
 but steadily, as a big trout does, without shifting
 
 izo CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 his place more than a yard. The reel sang out as 
 he perceived his mistake, and he dashed under 
 the willows and broke me before I could collect 
 myself for an effort to avert such a disaster. 
 When I had repaired the damage and replaced 
 the fly, not many minutes passed before I had 
 hooked another as big or bigger. This time, to 
 defeat the obvious manoeuvre of a trout hooked 
 opposite a willow whose branches sweep the water, 
 I vowed I would be hard on him, and keep a 
 short line. With my finger against the line, I 
 pressed it to the rod and held him tight. He 
 came to the surface rolling over and fighting like 
 a real monster. It was a sight which made one 
 tremble. I verily believe he was well over three 
 pounds. Then the cast gave, though it was a 
 new and a stout one, and I found myself shaking 
 in the knees and almost ready to curse with vexa- 
 tion. I rose several more, and struck off a 
 couple of flies in the fishes' mouths, before I 
 stopped to rest and recover. 1 had never had a 
 morning of such persistent failure in landing fish 
 which I had fairly hooked. The afternoon passed 
 like the morning, and I hooked another brace of
 
 THE MERITS OF TEA 121 
 
 good fish. In one case the fly came away 
 when I had played him to the verge of exhaus- 
 tion, and was handling my landing-net to pre- 
 pare for the last act. It was five o'clock, and I 
 was despairing. I had lost six fish in succession, 
 of which five were good trout, and two I had 
 seen enough of to make certain that they were 
 really big trout. There was nothing to be 
 done but to reel in and take a rest, for I felt so 
 hopeless that I did not care to go on fishing. 
 Some tea at the Mill-house, and a smoke on the 
 bench outside, restored my spirits and raised my 
 hopes of saving a blank day. I was only con- 
 cerned to break the spell by landing a fish ; for 
 though I could hook them, some fatality seemed 
 to prevent my getting one on to the bank. I 
 will not dissemble the childish feeling of joy with 
 which at last I pulled the landing net out of the 
 strap, swung it forward to snap the joint of the 
 handle, slipped it under a well-played trout who 
 was floating upon his side, and lifted him in 
 the net over the fringe of sedges on to the 
 flowery edge of the meadow. He was a well- 
 shaped trout, in firm condition, almost without
 
 izz CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 spots, of the old Kennet breed, as they call it. 
 His weight by my little pocket spring-balance 
 was i Ib. 10 ozs. : a small trout for the Kennet, 
 in the mayfly season, but I fished no more that 
 evening. As soon as the sun was set, the odious 
 wind dropped ; but the rise of fly ceased, and the 
 quiet of the water was no longer disturbed. 
 After days like this one seeks excuses for one's 
 failure. I tried in vain to persuade myself it 
 was through no fault of mine that the six trout 
 had been lost in such disastrous succession. The 
 truth is, one loses big fish as often as not through 
 want of confidence. Each disaster makes matters 
 worse.
 
 VIII 
 
 IT has chanced that for several seasons in succession 
 I have first wetted my line in a very small 
 Wiltshire trout-stream. This happy day usually 
 falls at the end of April or the beginning of May, 
 and it is the moment of the year that I look 
 forward to most eagerly. The stream itself is 
 so small that it seems to have no name, though 
 it is marked on the one-inch maps of Wiltshire. 
 Those who live in its neighbourhood call it 
 simply "The Stream." It rises at the foot of 
 the chalk-downs north of Tisbury and runs, 
 after a short course, into the Nadder. The 
 Nadder like the Wylye, flows ultimately into 
 the Avon near Salisbury. So that this little 
 nameless stream has very respectable connections, 
 and one may with truth call it a miniature chalk- 
 stream. Its water is transparently clear and an 
 even flow is maintained by the chalk-springs 
 during the drought of summer. The greater 
 
 123
 
 124 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 portion is shallow, and the appearance of an angler 
 on the bank will send the trout flying up-stream 
 like arrows loosed from a bow. When I add that 
 the stream itself is not much wider than a dining- 
 room table, it will be evident that there is real 
 gratification to be got by extracting from such water 
 trout of over a pound in weight. It has not yet 
 been my good fortune to land any two-pounders 
 there. But I have seen them and have killed a 
 fish of i Ib. 15 ozs. Moreover, I verily believe 
 that I must have had hold of one bigger than that 
 when I was broken round the roots of the alders. 
 The portion of stream that I fish is the better 
 part of a mile in length, and is bounded at the 
 upper end by a cascade where the water makes 
 its exit from the lake in a deer-park. Then 
 follow four meadows which are partially irrigated 
 by small channels, and, at the beginning of the 
 fishing season, are gay with marsh-marigolds, 
 orchids and all the other pleasing plants of 
 damp pastures. A farm-road crosses the stream 
 by a single-arched bridge, of honest grey 
 stone, well-spotted with lichen and toned by 
 weather. Below this is the usual haunt and
 
 WILTSHIRE 125 
 
 refuge of a very big trout which it appears to be 
 vexatious and useless to try for. The valley is 
 narrow, and each side, where the meadows cease, 
 is thickly grown with copse-wood from which the 
 cuckoos and singing birds send forth a very joyful 
 chorus as one makes ready for the first day's fish- 
 ing of the year. The stream itself is left in an 
 absolutely neglected and natural condition. No 
 stocking has been undertaken. The trout are 
 poached by herons and, I doubt not, by human 
 beings too. The weeds and sedges are never cut, 
 and the banks in places are trodden down by cattle. 
 There is an astonishing contrast between the 
 stream in April and the same piece of water in 
 August. The clear stretches are choked with a 
 rich growth of aquatic buttercup and water celery. 
 The banks are over-hung with brambles and tall 
 stems, so that one can scarcely approach, and 
 still less easily find a place to cast the fly. I 
 have only once fished there so late as August, 
 but the day is memorable because I then, for 
 the first time, learnt what big fish the water held 
 and discovered how to catch them. This discovery 
 must now be imparted.
 
 iz6 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 In spite of what follows I am still convinced 
 that in clear streams the biggest fish are, as a 
 general rule, to be caught with a small fly fished 
 over them from below as they hang against the 
 stream rising at the food which passes. This 
 is the foundation of the dry-fly, and no one 
 that has attained reasonable skill can doubt its 
 efficacy ; though, as I have argued elsewhere, 
 undue importance may be attached to the dryness 
 of the fly. Imbued, then, with this notion, I 
 used to fish the little Wiltshire stream with a 
 dry-fly. Rising fish were never numerous ; but 
 usually about noon on a spring day there was 
 a hatch of duns, and the trout used to take them. 
 Then I used to watch for a rise and float an olive 
 quill with oiled hackles over the spot. 
 
 It was hard work and one laboured well for 
 one's fish. Many were put down, or rose short 
 and fled. The alder trees, which in some places 
 overhang the stream, made casting difficult. One 
 lost flies in the grasses and sedges, and sweated 
 profusely as one dried the fly with needlessly 
 vigorous energy. But to a certain extent the 
 system was successful and I knew no better.
 
 A NEGLECTED STREAM 127 
 
 One caught some fish of about a quarter of a 
 pound ; and it never occurred to me that a sunk 
 fly and a big one would produce bigger fish. 
 Indeed, it was contrary to experience, and also 
 contrary to every accepted doctrine among south- 
 country chalkstream fishermen. So I used to 
 waste the day watching and waiting for rising 
 fish. The big fish never seemed to rise at the 
 floating duns. But I worked away with the dry- 
 fly and came away contented with half-a-dozen 
 trout averaging in weight something between a 
 quarter and half a pound. It seemed a very 
 decent basket to get from so small a stream. 
 There is a great charm, too, about all one catches 
 from unstocked and untended water. The fish 
 are wild, true, English trout. No hatchery has 
 contributed to produce them, and no stew-pond 
 stock has ever been turned in. 
 
 The stream is very little fished, and upon 
 only two occasions have I had the company of 
 other anglers. Once I went there with a fashion- 
 able fisherman who had a rod on one of the 
 most select bits of the Itchen. He found the 
 rising fish too few, and soon gave up in disgust.
 
 iz8 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 Upon another occasion I had for companion a 
 brother angler, whose skill as a fisherman always 
 fills me with envy and admiration. His versatility 
 is endless. His power of keeping out of sight 
 is unequalled. He is a master of all the arts 
 and crafts of anglers including the dry-fly. This 
 fellow fisherman, in whose company I have spent 
 some happy days, has taught me many things for 
 which I shall always be grateful. It was he who 
 first declared that with a big fly, fished down- 
 stream, we should get hold of the bigger fish. I 
 was incredulous, but was perforce converted when 
 he produced for my inspection four or five trout 
 weighing about a pound and a half each. 
 
 Next time that I fished I put his advice to 
 the test. It was, as I have said, in August when 
 southern trout-streams seem already autumnal, 
 and the fisherman's year has passed its prime. I 
 put on a large red sedge-fly such as one uses 
 on the Kennet on summer nights during that 
 glorious short half-hour of dusk. I wetted it well 
 and soaked the wings so that it should drown 
 as soon as I cast it. The banks were so over- 
 grown that the business of getting near the water
 
 FISHING THE RUNS 129 
 
 unseen was not difficult. It was a harder task 
 to throw a long line without getting entangled. 
 Wherever the concealment afforded by the vegeta- 
 tion allowed, I shortened my line ; but in many 
 places it was needful to throw a fairly long line 
 and let the stream carry it down before beginning 
 to work it upwards with enticing jerks which 
 make the artificial fly struggle and (as I have often 
 heard fishermen describe it) mimic nature. Though 
 whether it be the nature of an insect so to behave 
 I cannot say. In this way, where the stream is 
 at all brisk, one can command water at a distance. 
 One can search the runs between the weed-beds 
 and let the fly work under the banks where fish 
 conceal themselves. There is but a single im- 
 portant rule, and that is, by one means or another, 
 to keep out of sight. This rule must not be 
 infringed, for the trout in this little Wiltshire 
 stream are exceedingly wild and shy. Sometimes, 
 where the stream makes a bend, one can let the 
 fly be carried round the corner and search out 
 places that are totally out of sight from the spot 
 where one is standing. 
 
 I had not fished a quarter of the stream in 
 
 K
 
 130 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 the first water-meadow, crouching as I went, and 
 kneeling as I drew in the line with little pulls, 
 when the fly was taken with such a tug that my 
 heart almost stopped beating. The reel screeched 
 for a moment, and when I checked it there was 
 such a splashing and commotion in the water that 
 I knew I had hold of a trout worth catching. So 
 it proved, and I showed little mercy in playing 
 him and netting him out, befoie he recovered and 
 went for the weeds. He pulled down the balance 
 to i Ib. 6 oz., and was many times bigger than 
 any that I had caught before. I had never seen 
 a change in the style of fishing so markedly suc- 
 cessful. This trout was not unique ; for the day 
 produced a brace more, if I remember rightly, 
 about the same size as the first one. 
 
 When spring came, and I again had a day 
 at the opening of the fishing season, the same 
 methods proved successful. It was a real April 
 day, with light north-westerly wind and gleams 
 of fleeting sunshine between the dark clouds. 
 The little stream seemed once more very familiar 
 when I got there. Every bend and stretch I 
 remembered well, and wasted no time in fishing
 
 THE BIG FLY DOWN-STREAM 131 
 
 water where there are no fish lurking. I peeped 
 over the stone bridge cautiously, but the big old 
 trout was not in his usual place. Could he be 
 dead ? If so, had he been caught, or had he 
 died a natural death during the winter ? I was 
 not sorry that he was gone, for his presence was 
 always a temptation to spend time on the futile 
 task of offering him a fly. About noon a few 
 duns appeared in the air and on the water. I 
 saw only one or two trout rise ; but they came 
 well at the big sunk fly considering the coldness 
 of the weather. I do not believe that under 
 such conditions as these the pattern of the fly 
 counts for much. A good big dressing for the 
 trout to see it and a large sized hook to hold 
 them are the chief things. If the trout are 
 taking they come with a rush and a snap and 
 hook themselves. I fished with a good big 
 Greenwell, but an alder is a safe fly to try when 
 one is in doubt. I fished the long line down- 
 stream, let the fly explore the holes under the 
 willow stumps, and the cavities at the sides of 
 the banks. The day began somewhat disastrously 
 by losing five fish in succession. There can be
 
 13* CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 no doubt that fishing down-stream you do not 
 hook your trout so securely as when you are 
 below and have to strike. Again, when he is 
 hooked, there is less control until you have reeled 
 in and got below. Then the course of events 
 changed ; and though I lost several other fish, 
 by the end of the day I had landed five much 
 bigger ones than I ever got with my old method. 
 It was, if I remember rightly, on this April day 
 that, letting the fly be carried down over a deep 
 hole under some bushes, I got hold of a fish 
 that weighed only an ounce under two pounds. 
 It was a joyful moment when he was landed. 
 Events like that live in the memory, and make 
 one cheerful for a long time. 
 
 About two or three in the afternoon there 
 descended a storm of snow and rain, which 
 finished the day. I came away well-contented with 
 the experience I had gained, but still believing 
 the maxim, " the bigger the fly, the bigger the 
 fish," not to be one of universal application. 
 
 One may sometimes get trout-fishing in most 
 unexpected places. On the southern slope of 
 Ashdown Forest there are some large oakwoods,
 
 ASHDOWN FOREST 133 
 
 remains, perhaps, of the ancient Sussex Weald ; 
 and in the woods lie some smallish ponds, formed 
 by a little stream which ultimately flows into the 
 Sussex Ouse above Lewes. I cannot pretend 
 that the first aspect of the 'spot or the water 
 suggested trout. On one side of the upper 
 pond was a sloping meadow with a band of rushes 
 along the edge of the water. The other side 
 was overhung with scrub composed of alders, 
 and oaks. At the bottom of the pond was a 
 dam, with a sluice, through which a fair trickle 
 of water flowed ; and across the dam ran a cart 
 track with deep ruts in the clay. The stream 
 from the pond had cut a hollow bed through the 
 copse below the dam, and formed another smaller 
 pond about fifty or a hundred yards from the 
 upper one. This pool was deeper and some- 
 what clearer than the top pond ; but so densely 
 surrounded by coppice, and overgrown by the 
 spreading branches of oak trees, that there was 
 one spot only from which one could throw a fly 
 with any comfort. It was about eleven o'clock 
 on a May morning when I arrived across the 
 meadow, at the edge of the upper pond. The
 
 134 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 sun was shining brightly and made the brown 
 surface of the muddy water sparkle. The wind 
 was very light and blew from the north-east, 
 too gently to ruffle the stillness. Some tree- 
 pipits were singing at the edge of the wood and 
 from its recesses came the soothing notes of 
 turtle-doves. The distant rounded backs of the 
 South Downs looked hazy, and I did not put 
 together my rod with any great anticipations. But 
 it was the first day's fishing of the year, and the 
 music of the reel, as I drew off the line and passed 
 it through the rings, sounded very melodious. 
 
 For a fly I selected a small Greenwell, and 
 then made a few haphazard casts over the rushes 
 to soak the gut and try the rod. I confess that 
 the attempt seemed fairly hopeless, though I had 
 been told that a trout had been caught here last 
 year weighing ij Ib. On the opposite side of 
 the water some small flies were dancing under 
 the shade of the oak branches, and I noticed with 
 satisfaction fish rising there. I imagined that 
 they must be roach or dace, but determined to 
 lose no time and see in any case whether they 
 would look at my fly. There was a small crazy
 
 WOODLAND PONDS 135 
 
 sort of punt moored to the post and rails which 
 ran across the dam, and I got in and pushed over 
 to the other side. Here I made fast to the 
 alders, and let out the cord until I drifted along 
 the bank to within casting distance of the fish which 
 continued rising merrily. I got out some line, 
 and judging the distance as carefully as possible, 
 dropped the fly as though it had fallen from the 
 branches. It was instantly taken. I hastily drew 
 in the line through the rings, and will admit 
 that I was never more astonished than when 
 a nice trout of a quarter of a pound appeared 
 splashing on the surface at the side of the punt. 
 I had so little faith in the existence of these 
 Sussex woodland trout that I had not thought 
 it worth while to bring a landing net. I let him 
 struggle for a minute then grasped the cast 
 and lifted him into the boat. Without moving 
 from the spot, I added three more to the basket. 
 They had evidently not been molested by anglers, 
 and took the fly boldly. The next two were 
 got over against a willow bush, at another spot, 
 on the same side of the pond. At noon they 
 all simultaneously ceased rising. I punted back
 
 136 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 to the dam and just gave a last cast near the side 
 of the sluice. The fly was taken well sunk as I 
 was reeling in, and this made my seventh fish. 
 I tried casting here and there in a desultory way ; 
 but nothing came of it, so I was content to sit 
 down in the shade and count my fish. 
 
 The sun was getting low when I came back 
 in the late afternoon and settled to devote myself 
 to the lower pond. The long shadows of the 
 trees were cast upon the water, and, where beams 
 of light penetrated, clouds of gnats were dancing 
 up and down in company. The prospect of 
 adding to the basket seemed good, for the surface 
 was dimpled with the circles of rising fish, and 
 the water seemed to be be alive with hungry 
 trout. Little ones were jumping bodily out of 
 the water ; whilst bigger fellows rose more shyly 
 under the bushes near the sides, sometimes with 
 a sucking sound and a good ring that spread 
 over the surface. I began fishing hurriedly with 
 the same loch-fly that I had used in the morning 
 and immediately got caught up behind. The 
 tackle came back unbroken when I pulled, with 
 an oak leaf on the hook. Not a fish would look
 
 BLACK GNATS 137 
 
 at the fly, though they went on rising in a way 
 that drove one distracted with annoyance. They 
 appeared to be taking something very small that 
 danced on the surface of the water. I then 
 fortunately remembered some black gnats on 
 ooo-hooks in another fly box. This change was 
 immediately successful. The fly was taken as 
 soon as it touched the water by the best fish that 
 I had yet caught. I played him till exhaustion 
 was evident and towed him on his side to the 
 edge, knelt down and lifted him thankfully on 
 to the grass. Then followed a succession of 
 misfortunes. I lost my fly in the branches, and 
 when I looked for another, found that only two 
 black gnats remained. The best fish were 
 apparently rising on the side where it was 
 impossible to cast without the certainty of being 
 caught in the bushes at every throw. I could 
 not afford to waste flies, so made my way 
 cautiously round, and having shortened the line, 
 poked my rod over the bushes, and dapped the 
 little black fly on the water beneath. The bank 
 was steep and I could see all that happened 
 below. It was, without exaggeration, a moment of
 
 138 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 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 quarter- 
 pound 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. Then came the 
 next misfortune. When I got 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
 
 140 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 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 there- 
 upon 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.
 
 IX 
 
 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. The angler who has 
 never extended his observations beyond the im- 
 mediate neighbourhood of his own home can 
 have no notion how greatly trout vary in appear- 
 ance, 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 
 
 141
 
 142 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 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 dry- 
 fly 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 con- 
 vinced 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
 
 THE BEANE 143 
 
 every opportunity of fishing every sort of trout- 
 water. These thoughts were forced into my mind 
 when I happened one day to have been fishing the 
 Beane in Hertfordshire, and less than a week later, 
 without any intermediate fishing, was wading and 
 casting round the edge of a little nameless mountain 
 loch in Inverness-shire. It was trout-fishing in each 
 case, and both days were delightful in their respec- 
 tive ways ; but the contrast between the fish and the 
 fishing on these two days was incredibly strange. 
 
 Let me first make an attempt to describe the 
 Beane and its trout. The part that I was fishing 
 was a few miles above Hertford. It is a small 
 stream running through meadows which are 
 closely grazed by cattle. Here and there it skirts 
 a wood or is over-hung by big solitary trees. 
 The water is not extraordinarily limpid or pure, 
 yet clear and weedless enough for you to see 
 every fish, and, unfortunately, for them to see 
 you almost as easily. There is no herbage or 
 sedge to make a covert for the fisherman's con- 
 cealment. The edges of the stream are dry, bare, 
 and close-cropped. Numerous fences of barbed 
 wire must be mentioned to complete the picture.
 
 H4 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 But, as in many Hertfordshire streams, it is not 
 so much the clearness of the water as the shallow- 
 ness which confronts the angler with difficulties. 
 If you approach the edge at all incautiously, waves 
 from retreating fish, scattering before you, disturb 
 the surface, and the forms of the big trout vanish 
 up and down-stream in a fashion that makes you 
 feel so hopeless that you are inclined to pack up 
 and go home at once. There were not a great 
 number of fish in the water, but they were all 
 apparently of respectable size. Most that I saw 
 were over two pounds and the complete absence 
 of small fish was remarkable. Although it was 
 the end of May and seasonably warm, the trout 
 hardly rose at all and never steadily to the fly 
 on the water. Yet, between the hours of twelve 
 and three, there was a continuous and plentiful 
 hatch of small, light-coloured duns. The fish 
 that one saw rise, did so in a desultory fashion 
 at long intervals. I settled myself below a big 
 trout that lay in the run between some weeds. 
 I had watched him rise twice and select with slow 
 and cautious deliberation some invisible morsel 
 that passed. I think the weed-bed must have
 
 FASTIDIOUS TROUT 145 
 
 screened me from his view, for I put many flies 
 of varied patterns over his head without alarming 
 him. Olives, iron-blue duns, red quills and black 
 gnats, passed floating unnoticed, and then were 
 lifted, waved to and fro, dried, and offered again. 
 From time to time he gave me hope, for he was 
 a feeding fish ; and about once in five minutes he 
 rose and took some morsel between his lips. It 
 is sometimes a mistake to stick too long to a 
 rising fish ; and, also, often a mistake to move 
 too rapidly from one rising fish to another. In 
 this case there was no choice, for no other fish 
 were rising in view. So I fished for this one 
 big trout until I was tired of changing flies and 
 stiff with kneeling on the bank. The moment 
 that I was up, he sighted me, and sped away 
 up the stream. Yet the time had not been use- 
 lessly employed ; for I might have caught him, 
 and a brace of trout like that would have made 
 a good day and given one a pleasant remembrance 
 of the Beane. Stupidly enough, among the 
 various flies, I had not tried an alder, which is often 
 attractive to these big fastidious Hertfordshire 
 trout. Later in the day I noticed a solitary
 
 146 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 fish, of a couple of pounds or more, cruising 
 about a stretch of slack water and rising capri- 
 ciously at one thing and another that attracted 
 his attention as he swam near the surface. Having 
 then an alder at the end of my cast, I stepped 
 back out of sight, approached on my knees, and 
 dropped the fly not far from his nose. My 
 cruising trout altered his course and swam round, 
 making a critical inspection of the floating alder, 
 which, I am bound to say, bore very little real 
 resemblance to Stalls lutarla^ the natural insect. 
 At last, after some seconds during which my heart 
 thumped against my ribs, he opened his mouth 
 (letting me see into a capacious pink cavity) and 
 closed his lips upon the fly. I struck too hard, and 
 am ashamed to describe the disaster which followed. 
 A few days later I was in Scotland, far from 
 the railway, in a deer-forest on the border between 
 the counties of Ross and Inverness. Those who 
 have not seen the Highlands when the birches 
 are freshly leafed and the cuckoos vociferous, 
 when the larches are unnaturally green and the 
 dim blue hills still patched with white snow, 
 cannot imagine how delightful spring can be in
 
 HUNGRY TROUT 147 
 
 Scotland. You miss the purple colour of the 
 heather but are repaid by the cries of peewits 
 and the bubbling calls of curlews. The trout 
 also rise to your wet-flies as they rarely do in 
 autumn. The little loch that I have mentioned 
 lies concealed in a boggy depression among the 
 hills. Later in the year a great part of it is 
 crowded over with yellow water-lilies, but in May 
 or June it is an easy business to wade round 
 the shallow edge and cast into the deeper water. 
 There was no shyness about the trout, and 
 their sole anxiety seemed lest they should be 
 too slow in rising at the three big loch-flies. A 
 steady breeze blew off the western shore and 
 ruffled the surface in the most desirable fashion. 
 It is strange that catching such small and un- 
 critical trout should prove, as it always does to 
 me, a source of great amusement and satisfaction. 
 It was, if I remember rightly, Talleyrand who 
 said of his wife : " Sa betise me repose" So one 
 feels with these silly loch-trout on days when 
 they are rising freely. It is a relief after the 
 cautious toil with which one fishes for the gut- 
 shy and fastidious trout of the Beane to cast at
 
 148 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 random and boldly draw the flies through the 
 peaty water of a secluded loch. It is an agreeable 
 change to stand upright when you have been 
 compelled to fish crouching ; to throw your flies 
 gaily over trout who are ravenous, instead of 
 nervously hoping to delude a fish who has been 
 taught caution by many pricks from hooks and 
 narrow escapes from landing nets. There is no 
 doubt that the stupidity of these small Northern 
 trout who rarely see an angler is very reposeful 
 when one comes from the South. I had not 
 made more than three casts when a couple of 
 small fish hurled themselves out of the water and 
 fell back, having both unfortunately missed the 
 flies. But they were not to be denied : I cast 
 again into the rings they made, and one was 
 promptly hooked. So the fishing went on along 
 the side of the loch, wading, casting and rising 
 something at every cast. If one made six casts 
 without moving a trout, it set one wondering 
 what had come over the fish. The little trout, 
 when they were hooked, fought like fury and 
 many freed themselves or fell back as they were 
 hastily landed. At the end of an hour I selected
 
 A FOREST LOCH 149 
 
 a dry brown patch of heather to sit upon, and 
 turned out the contents of my bag upon the 
 grass. Twenty-five little trout, not one of which 
 weighed a quarter of a pound, had been bagged, 
 and at least as many more lost. The rises must 
 have numbered hundreds. On these occasions 
 the conscientious fisherman, who takes pride in 
 his art, ought to blame himself for not having 
 bagged many more of the trout who have risen 
 at his flies. That the trout are small need not 
 disturb him, for the loch holds very few of much 
 better size. Small and voracious though these little 
 loch-trout sometimes are, they may be extremely 
 capricious. In the present case twenty-three out of 
 the twenty-five were caught on the same fly, which 
 was a red-and-teal of the same size apparently as the 
 other two flies on the cast. When I began fishing 
 again, they had for some undiscoverable reason 
 almost ceased rising. The causes which make all 
 the trout in a loch simultaneously stop rising or 
 begin to take the artificial flies is one of the great 
 unexplained mysteries of fishing. We know very 
 little of what is going on in the brown peaty 
 waters of the lochs. On the Beane we can at least 
 generally see what the trout are engaged in doing.
 
 X 
 
 ONE may sometimes get a deal of pleasure out 
 of humble trout from small burns. If you know 
 that there are big fish in the water it is, of 
 course, disgusting to catch nothing but small 
 ones. But if you are getting as big trout as 
 can be expected, you may be happy though the 
 fish are neither large nor numerous. Once I 
 had not fished for a long time, and consequently 
 felt a strong desire to catch a trout again. It 
 would be hard to imagine less hopeful conditions 
 than I found in the North on my arrival from 
 London. The drought had lasted three weeks ; 
 a glaring sun shone in a cloudless sky ; a 
 strong east wind was blowing down-stream ; a 
 mere trickle of water ran over the shallows ; and 
 the pools were so clear that you could see the 
 fish at the bottom as you looked into the still, 
 peaty, brown water. But when one has but a 
 few days for fishing and the season is the month 
 
 150
 
 BURN TROUT 151 
 
 of May in Scotland, it is possible to have caught 
 nothing and yet to have spent a day fishing 
 happily. It is rather difficult to describe the little 
 river, which rises in some peat-bog on the moors, 
 and flows after a course of seven or eight miles 
 into the sea. In the lower part salmon and sea- 
 trout may be got in the autumn. Just above 
 the sea-pools the river runs, for a couple of miles, 
 mostly through plantations of spruce-fir and syca- 
 more. It is pretty to look at, but not much 
 favoured by the burn-trout. I therefore started 
 after breakfast with my rod and my bag, and 
 walked about three miles up the high-road to 
 a spot where this salmon river, having become 
 a mere burn, emerges from the woods into the 
 open pastures. It was three years since I had 
 fished there ; but I remembered perfectly every 
 yard of the water, every deep place where there 
 used to be trout, every shallow place that was 
 hopeless, every turn and winding in the course, 
 and every stony or boggy spot along the banks. 
 It was August when I last was there, now it was 
 May, and I was hopeful, and full of plans for 
 catching trout. I turned from the dusty road,
 
 152 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 climbed over a gate in the low stone-wall, and 
 walked across a rushy piece of pasture where 
 shaggy cattle and black-faced sheep, with little 
 lambs, were feeding. When I reached the stream 
 the lowness of the water made my heart sink. 
 Nevertheless I began to put up my rod and fix 
 on the reel. I will not dissemble the excitement 
 I felt. The further one walked up, the more 
 enchanting did the surroundings become. The 
 air was full of song from skylarks ; pairs of 
 peewits called and swooped around me ; the 
 warble of willow-wrens came from the planta- 
 tions behind ; and many a cuckoo, shouting his 
 loudest, told one that it was spring. Few persons 
 other than the Highlanders have the pleasure of 
 hearing the cuckoo in the Highlands. I had never 
 done so before, and I then determined that no 
 year must pass in future without my doing so. 
 I picked out a cast of the finest gut. It was an 
 old one, which had seen use, but seemed sound 
 enough ; and I always hate to embark on a new 
 piece of curly, stiff gut. Having knotted it to the 
 reel line, I cast it into the burn to soak, laid 
 down the rod, and turned to the tin box which
 
 THE CUCKOO IN THE HIGHLANDS 153 
 
 held small flies on eyed-hooks. I am a great 
 believer in a single fly for fishing small streams 
 or any running water with stones or weeds. 
 Being little troubled with a great variety of 
 patterns, I easily settled on a small March-brown ; 
 and the gut being properly soaked, I passed it 
 through the eye of the hook and tied the well- 
 known knot. I then slung my bag over my 
 back, and started to walk up the bank to a place 
 where I knew that I should be able to cross. 
 The plovers, in dismay at my movements, flapped 
 and screamed overhead to entice me from their 
 nests. For some distance the burn was about 
 ten feet across, flowing in ripples, clear and 
 shallow, over the pebbles. But soon after 
 reaching the place where one could cross, there 
 was a stony, muddy spot where cattle drank, 
 and below this a bend, with deep water under 
 the further bank. The rich, clear, brown water 
 was flecked with foam, and the hollowed, peaty 
 bank gave it a hopeful appearance. I retired a 
 short distance away, and there knelt upon a flat 
 stone and began to get out my line. Each cast 
 sent the fly a little nearer to the deep place. I
 
 154 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 let it sink and drew it back ; then came that quiver 
 of the line or rod-top which means that a fish 
 has touched the fly under water. I struck, and 
 the line flew back overhead with a little trout at 
 the end. He was so small that I will say no more 
 about him. After being hurled through the air 
 he lay dusty and bruised upon the stones, firmly 
 hooked and punished for his voracity. Had he 
 been unhurt, I would have returned him ; as it 
 was, I put him in the bag and rejoiced that it was 
 not to be a blank day. Other places up the stream 
 were all fished ineffectually ; I crouched and sat 
 and knelt upon the banks, but hooked nothing 
 except the tops of the rushes behind me. It 
 was noon when I reached a place which I well 
 remembered. An arched bridge of grey stone 
 carried a cartway over the stream to a small farm- 
 house just beyond. There were some calves in 
 the water, and it looked as though they would 
 have disturbed the big, deep pool below the 
 bridge. I made a wide circuit, and saw flies 
 dancing in the sunlight above the water, and 
 trout frequently rising in different parts of the 
 pool. They were clearly fair-sized trout for the
 
 MAY IN THE NORTH 155 
 
 burn, and not smaller than five to a pound. I 
 hoped that they might be a quarter of a pound. 
 On one side of the bank were some bushes ; 
 below the pool were the calves ; the embankment 
 which supported the road made it impossible to 
 get out a line with comfort on the other side, if 
 one stood on a level with the water. I determined 
 to stand back on the bridge and cast from there, 
 trusting to fortune if I hooked a fish. I began 
 with care, so as not to disturb the water. The 
 fish went on rising freely, and I was so sure I 
 should get one in a moment, that my hands 
 trembled. At last I sent my fly down near the 
 rises, and a fish took it greedily and was 
 hooked. I hastily pulled in the line through the 
 rings, and attempted to swing the fish on to the 
 bank below the bridge. Ah ! fool that I was. 
 The line was too long. He struck the bank and 
 fell back with a disgusting splash. I could not 
 conceal my anguish nor the childish rage I felt 
 against him. When I had sufficiently recovered, 
 I examined the fly and began to fish again. 
 Once more I hooked a fish, once more hurry and 
 excitement got the better of prudence, and I tried
 
 156 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 to land him too soon. But this time, mercifully, 
 the fish struck a buttress of the bridge and 
 fell on to the stones below. I hastened round to 
 secure him, to wash off the dust, to admire his 
 red spots and beautiful shape, and to lay him to 
 rest in my bag. Again, after a moment's interval, 
 I hooked another, and swore that I would not be 
 in a hurry. The result was that this fish, after 
 fighting vigorously, got under the bridge, and 
 when I pulled up my line the fly and the fish 
 were gone. I repaired the loss philosophically, 
 and blamed the carelessness of using so old a cast. 
 The next fish I got was the best of the day. I 
 reeled him in and kept a tight line. From the 
 parapet of the bridge I could watch his move- 
 ments. No salmon was ever treated with greater 
 caution or respect. I kept him going till every 
 symptom of exhaustion had set in, and then drew 
 him gasping on to the shelving pebbles, and 
 seized him in my hand. Happiness was now 
 complete. Two decent trout, and enough for a 
 breakfast dish at least were in the bag. The pool 
 at the bridge produced no more rises, so I deter- 
 mined to walk up as far as the water was fishable
 
 HARD WORK AND SMALL TROUT 157 
 
 and then turn down and fish as I returned. The 
 burn above the farm-house soon changed its 
 character, and became narrower and deeper, run- 
 ning mostly between peaty and stony banks. The 
 pastures became rougher, more full of rushes and 
 big stones. I put up many snipe, and surprised 
 a heron. The peewits followed me in relays, 
 anxious and vociferous. In this upper part, with 
 infinite labour and sweat, I secured four more 
 tolerable trout. I sat sideways on the bank work- 
 ing my way down stream, throwing as long a line 
 as I dared, with gorse-bushes and rushes behind 
 me. The sun baked my neck and midges bit 
 me, many trout rose short or fell back, and 
 when I had got half a dozen I was frankly too 
 tired to want to fish any more. In this burn 
 which I have just described, the best fishing is 
 to be had near the source and right up in the 
 hills, where the stream is quite narrow. 
 
 But I have lively recollections of another 
 burn, where the best pools are close to the sea- 
 shore and you follow its course fishing among the 
 sandhills. 
 
 On the north coast of I slay, which is one of
 
 158 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 the largest of the Inner Hebrides, there is a semi- 
 circle of dunes, which is washed by the waters of 
 the Atlantic ; the spot is called Kilanalan Bay, and 
 on a bright summer morning, when the sand is 
 yellow and the sea is blue, it is a beautiful place. 
 In the middle of the bay a small, meandering burn 
 descends from the moors behind, and wandering 
 through the sandhills, discharges itself into the 
 sea. At the top of the windy crest of the sand- 
 hills there is a dismal, white-washed farmhouse, 
 past which the burn flows in a narrow bed full of 
 brown peaty water. But, having passed the farm, 
 it runs down rapidly over stones and enters a flat 
 bit of country, where it assumes a more even 
 course. This flat stretch is bounded on either 
 side by the links, covered with stiff sea-grass, 
 honeycombed with rabbit burrows and swept by 
 the strong sea breezes. The valley through the 
 sandhills opens out towards the sea, and ends in 
 flats, partly marshy and partly covered with sound 
 and close-cropped turf. For some way below the 
 farm the burn is too narrow, too rapid, and too 
 shallow, to hold trout. But, from the point 
 between the sandhills where it enters the flats to
 
 ISLAY 159 
 
 the spot in the bay where the brown water loses 
 itself in the sands of the sea its possibilities for 
 fishing are altered. The whole length of this piece 
 is not many hundred yards, if all the turns of its 
 serpentine course across the flats are straightened 
 out and counted. But there is a chance here for 
 an angler who has sufficient sense not to despise 
 a humble stream to fill a small creel. It must be 
 confessed that the appearance of the water is not, 
 at first sight, attractive. The upper part has the 
 aspect of a sulky black ditch overgrown with flags 
 and rushes ; the lowest part is broad and clear, like 
 the pools of sea-water left by the receding tide. 
 Between the two there is a stretch, enclosed by 
 narrow and overhanging banks, where a succession 
 of deep, peaty pools, connected by narrow weedy 
 places, hold the best fish. 
 
 I will not try to conceal the feelings of distrust 
 with which I inspected the water the first time that 
 I was there, nor the doubt I felt at the possibility 
 of doing much with a fly. The August sun shone 
 from a bright and cloudless heaven, but a strong 
 north wind blew in from the bay and ruffled the 
 lowest and clearest pools. I walked down to the
 
 160 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 shore. A flock of small ringed-plovers rose from 
 the edge of the lowest pool, flew like one bird for 
 a turn in the air, and settled together at the same 
 instant lower down on the sands. I sat down upon 
 a grassy mound to put up my rod, select a strong 
 cast well stained in coffee, and tie on a single fly 
 dressed upon an eyed-hook. I hesitated for a 
 moment as to the size and pattern, but experience 
 has since proved that the humour of the trout is 
 of more importance than the kind of fly. I have 
 tried them with a variety of loch-flies, with small 
 flies such as one uses on the Test and with little 
 silver-bodied Alexandras and Butchers. When 
 these trout were in the mood for rising they rose 
 at anything, and there have been days, too, when 
 one failed absolutely. Not a fish would come at any 
 fly, and though I have kept careful note I cannot 
 connect it with any condition of weather. This 
 time I began with a Zulu, a moderate-sized black 
 fly, with a red wool tag, which certainly attracts 
 Scotch trout, though 1 do not know whether they 
 have seen any insect alive like it. Upon the 
 whole, I am inclined to think that more and larger 
 trout rose to the bigger flies, but that may have
 
 SEASHORE TROUT 161 
 
 been chance. The lowest stretch was so sandy at 
 the bottom, and so close to the sea, that it seemed as 
 though it must hold brackish water. The end lost 
 itself in the sands of the seashore. At the upper 
 part, however, the stream took a turn ; and under 
 the hollowed, flat, turfy bank there was a long, 
 deepish pool of sherry-coloured water. The wind 
 was up-stream, and took out my line pleasantly. 
 It also put some fine rippling waves over the 
 surface of the water. I stood far back on the sands, 
 and dropped my fly as close as I could under the 
 further bank. There was a bold rise, and I threw 
 out a little, hard-struggling trout on to the sand 
 behind me. By the time I could pick him up and 
 loosen the hook from his lips, he had jumped and 
 wriggled till he was sandy from head to tail. I 
 tapped his head on my boot, washed him in the 
 water, and slipped him into my bag. The same 
 pool, in the same way, produced five others of the 
 same size. There was no water to be wasted, and 
 I fished each inch with the greatest care. These 
 six trout weighed a pound together or possibly 
 less, but never were any caught so prettily spotted, 
 so lively, and in such firm condition. The next 
 
 M
 
 i6 2 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 bit of the burn was very broad, shallow, clear, and 
 stagnant. It was a long, lake-like pool, with buck- 
 bean in the water and thrift growing round the 
 edge. I fished it over, dropping the fly near the 
 tufts of buckbean, and sometimes getting caught 
 in the roots. This water produced only one trout, 
 who was lying near the bank under the thick 
 leathery leaves of the buckbean. The next part of 
 the burn was totally different. Here began a 
 series of oval pools (of very deep and dark water) 
 just ruffled by the wind, but otherwise quite still 
 and black in the sunshine. The largest of these 
 pools may have been five feet across, and three 
 times as long. Purple loose-strife and peppermint 
 and rushes overhung the sides ; and between each 
 pool there was a narrow, weedy neck through 
 which the peaty water seemed to flow with difficulty. 
 The wind was gusty, and there often was only 
 just enough open water to put the fly on. The 
 first pool, if one may call this long and narrow 
 ditch by that name, produced the best trout of the 
 day, and the only one which I could not throw 
 out on to the bank as I struck him. I had lost 
 the first fly in a gorse bush, and put on another
 
 STAGNANT POOLS 163 
 
 Zulu, which I sucked for a moment to make sure 
 that it would sink. I cast, and the fly was taken 
 as soon as it sank, and I had tightened the line. 
 I struck hard, and brought up, fighting and splash- 
 ing, a trout larger than I had expected. He seemed 
 a monster, and proved, eventually, under half a 
 pound. I dragged him down stream, he fighting 
 desperately, and I reeling in as fast as I could. 
 The moment he ceased these struggles I grasped 
 the gut, which luckily was strong, and lifted him 
 on to the bank. It was the best moment of the 
 
 day. 
 
 Each pool in succession produced its trout, 
 and sometimes more than one. If one fish had 
 been neatly and quickly jerked out from the lower 
 end of the pool, there was often another against 
 the rushes at the top who was ready to take the 
 fly when it was presented to him. Sometimes, as 
 unfortunately so often happens, the best fish were 
 the most lightly hooked, and dropped back with 
 an odious flop. I fished with as short and tight 
 a line as possible, struck hard, and with the same 
 motion of the rod swung the little fish on to the 
 grass before he had enough recovered from his
 
 1 64 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 shock to struggle. Although the fish were small, 
 the pleasure of catching each one under such con- 
 ditions was peculiar. Some of the stream was so 
 thickly overgrown along the edge with flags and 
 reeds that one could approach, by stooping, within 
 a foot or two. Then the rod was advanced over 
 the edge, the wind carried out a little line, and 
 the fly hovered over the water before it settled. 
 This method of fishing I found succeeded where 
 it was impossible to cast in the proper sense. 
 The biggest fish in the burn, I noticed, took the 
 fly, as a rule, when it touched the water. So 
 quickly did they rise at it, and so hard did they 
 pull, before one lifted them out, that I never could 
 get over the surprise they gave. The smaller 
 fish came at the fly when it had sunk a little, and 
 was being drawn back. The more vigorously the 
 fly was worked in jerks across the water, the 
 smaller were the fish that rose, and the more 
 persistently did they dash at it and hook them- 
 selves. I had now reached the limit of fishable 
 water ; and the little burn had become a narrow, 
 black ditch, full of water weeds, with the peat 
 water oozing between them. But for the weeds,
 
 A BURN IN THE SANDHILLS 165 
 
 which made fly-fishing quite impossible, I doubt 
 not, it would have produced some excellent trout. 
 If there was any depth and a square foot of clear 
 water among the floating leaves of the plants, it 
 was worth dropping the fly upon it. 
 
 I sat down to count over the fish, and found 
 them one short of the two dozen. I had thrown 
 back about half as many others, too small to kill. 
 It was now well on into the afternoon ; so after 
 eating my luncheon, I walked down to the lowest 
 pools on the shore, and fished the whole burn 
 over again. The clear pools on the sands pro- 
 duced nothing. A little higher up three good 
 fish fell back in succession, which is trying to the 
 temper. But six more little trout were got, and 
 the whole bag from the day's fishing was twenty- 
 nine. None of these, I venture to think, were 
 too small to kill, but I must admit that none were 
 monsters. The pleasures of the day's fishing 
 were great. There was the first surprise, when 
 the dark-brown stream meandering among the 
 sand-hills produced such unexpected trout. There 
 was the varied excitement as one approached the 
 different pools, and wondered what each might
 
 1 66 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 hold. Lastly, there was the unusual pleasure of 
 catching trout on the seashore, with the smell of 
 seaweed and the salt of the sea-breeze in the air. 
 It is certainly a much greater amusement to fill 
 one's creel with troutlets from a burn than from 
 a loch.
 
 XI 
 
 LOCH -FISHING stands by itself. It is the easiest 
 form 'of fly-fishing for trout. As far as skill 
 goes, very little practice is required to fish from 
 a boat, casting the flies on the open water of a 
 lake, with the wind behind one. But loch-fishing 
 presents more unsolved problems than any other 
 variety of angling, salmon-fishing always excepted. 
 Why trout sometimes rise freely to the artificial 
 loch-fly, and sometimes ignore it, no man knows. 
 We all know that as a general rule a mild day 
 is better than a cold one, a cloudy sky better 
 than a bright one, a breeze better than a calm. 
 We may speculate as to the reasons, but no one 
 can lay down the law with certainty. More 
 mysterious still are the causes which on the same 
 day make loch-trout suddenly rise or cease rising 
 at the artificial flies. The conditions remain 
 apparently the same. Yet a great number of fish 
 are simultaneously affected by the same cause. 
 
 167
 
 1 68 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 That a hatch of natural insects has often nothing 
 to do with it, seems clear ; for we see that there 
 is no natural fly about and the trout are not 
 rising at anything except our artificials. Some- 
 times we see loch-trout taking duns, or midges, 
 or daddy-long-legs, and we catch them with artificial 
 copies. There is no doubt, then, why the trout 
 rise at our flies. But often when there is natural 
 fly on the water the trout rise freely at artificial 
 flies of a pattern that bears no resemblance to the 
 insect on the loch surface, or indeed to any insect 
 that we know of. We must remember that loch- 
 trout find the bulk of their food at the bottom 
 and in the weeds. I have seen it suggested that 
 the Zulu, which is a standard pattern and very 
 successful in Scotland, resembles a species of pond- 
 snail, on which trout feed. But who can tell what 
 the trout really take it for ? It is also like a 
 water-beetle. I believe that, as a rule, it is the 
 movement and not the colour and dressing which 
 make loch-trout dash at our fly. 
 
 There are days when trout in lochs show a 
 marked predilection for some one particular 
 pattern. But so far as my experience goes, such
 
 LOCH-FLIES 169 
 
 days are exceptional and even rare. Usually one 
 gets about as many fish on one fly as on another 
 out of a cast of three or four standard patterns. 
 Perhaps, had one hit upon the right fly for the 
 particular time and place, one would have killed 
 many more trout. There again we are in the 
 dark and may as well confess it. It may be that 
 a fly which is favoured by the trout on a certain 
 day owes its success to the fact that it is the tail- 
 fly, or the top-dropper, on the cast rather than to 
 the fact that it is of a particular colour and pattern. 
 This can be tested and proved by experiment. 
 Every one has their favourite loch-flies. In a 
 loch it is as well to give the trout a reasonable 
 choice and to fish with three flies, but I doubt 
 whether much advantage is got by putting on 
 more than four flies at a time. For my own part, 
 were I condemned to fish always with a cast of 
 the same four patterns, I would choose a March- 
 Browtty a Zutu, a tfeal-and-Claret and a Red-Palmer. 
 I do not believe that one would be at any great 
 disadvantage compared with the angler who carries 
 a hundred patterns to make his selection from. 
 It is certain that one would be saved much doubt
 
 i;o CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 or hesitation whether a change of flies were 
 desirable and some little waste of time in changing. 
 The old angling saying, that he catches most trout 
 whose flies are longest in the water, is more true in 
 loch-fishing than in any other branch of the angler's 
 art. But at best it is an exaggeration of the truth. 
 
 It is probable that skill counts for more in 
 loch-fishing than we imagine. This is borne out 
 by the records of tournaments and competitions 
 which are held on Loch Leven. The best men 
 win the prizes for the heaviest baskets year after 
 year. It is clear that this success is due to the 
 anglers' skill and knowledge and not to luck. 
 Nor can one attribute it entirely to the boatman 
 taking his employer over the best fishing grounds. 
 
 The loch-angler's skill is tested chiefly at two 
 points. First, in persuading the trout to rise to 
 the flies, some art is required ; but it is difficult 
 to lay down rules for achieving success. Some- 
 times trout come at the flies when they touch the 
 surface, sometimes when they are well sunk. 
 Sometimes they appear to be attracted by flies 
 drawn smartly through the water. Sometimes 
 the top-dropper may be allowed with success just
 
 SKILL IN LOCH-FISHING 171 
 
 to touch the ripples and to rise and fall with them. 
 Secondly, in hooking the trout when it rises, 
 skill may count for much. But here it is even 
 more difficult to say to what one fisherman's 
 success and another's failure is due. Usually a 
 loch-trout takes the fly in his mouth boldly and 
 hooks himself as he goes down. He rises with 
 a dash and in most cases is hooked or lost before 
 we know that we have had a rise. Yet there are 
 sometimes days when one gets hundreds of rises 
 and fails to hook more than a very few. " The 
 fish are coming short," says the boatman ; and he 
 seems to think that explains one's want of success. 
 But I always feel convinced that on such a day a 
 good fisherman would hook a far larger proportion 
 of these rising fish. For the life of me, though, I 
 cannot discover what one ought to do. 
 
 Trout-fishing in lakes is often very delightful. 
 The worst that can be said of it is that it may 
 become a monotonous kind of sport. Each cast 
 is much like the last, and, when fish come at the 
 fly boldly, not much art is needed to catch them. 
 When the trout will not rise, it is duller than any 
 other kind of fly-fishing. The chief variety is to
 
 1/2 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 be got by fishing new water, and exercising one's 
 judgment in choosing parts where trout are most 
 likely to congregate for food. This knowledge 
 is well worth acquiring, and, indeed, when one 
 has to depend on oneself and not upon a boatman, 
 it is the main science of lake-fishing. A visit 
 to a new loch is always productive of interest, 
 though possibly one may not bring home many 
 fish ; and it is rare that such an excursion does 
 not teach one something or make one ponder 
 over the vagaries and caprices of trout. 
 
 When sport on a loch is exceptionally good, 
 one can go on fishing day after day without 
 wearying of the occupation. But after a suc- 
 cession of disappointing days, a short interval of 
 rest is good. 
 
 Every angler who has fished in Scotland 
 knows the feeling of renewed eagerness with 
 which he starts on Monday. The delightful 
 memory which I retain of the first day's fishing 
 I ever had on Loch Cor is, perhaps, in part due 
 to this. For two days before there had been no 
 fishing. On Saturday it blew a gale from the 
 west, and the rain descended in torrents from
 
 LOCH COR 173 
 
 morning to night. This would have been a 
 small matter if there had been the slightest 
 prospect of catching anything. But, with such 
 a gale, the loch would have been churned to 
 foam, and no trout would have looked at a fly 
 in such a tempestuous downpour. On the day 
 of rest, which followed, the wind went down, but 
 rain fell at night. This may, perhaps, explain the 
 peculiar feeling of delight, when one woke to find 
 Monday clear and cloudless. The world is never 
 so clean and smiling as when it has been washed 
 by heavy rain. Loch Cor is near the sea. It was 
 a long drive to get there, by stony roads, mostly 
 across rough pastures, dotted with blackfaced 
 Highland sheep. In places the road ran over 
 long wet stretches of bog, where the patches of 
 white cotton-grass grew out of the pools of brown 
 and stagnant peat-water. When the road rose on 
 to the higher ground again, there were distant 
 views of a blue sea, with the white and foaming 
 breakers from Saturday's gale still rolling on to 
 the coast. The sun shone warmly ; the sky was 
 blue ; the few clouds were white and fleecy ; and 
 the air was purged of all impurities. Distant
 
 174 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 things looked near. Near things looked fresh 
 and sparkling. The far-off mountains of Mull 
 and Jura rose like a grey and blue haze in the 
 distance. The nearer hills never looked so bril- 
 liant in colour. 
 
 It was noon before I got to the place where 
 the road ended, and a narrow sheep track led 
 across the peat-bog to the loch. I have said that 
 Loch Cor is near the coast. Some high and rocky 
 cliffs rise out of the sea. Along the top of the 
 cliffs is a fine expanse of turf, which, gradually, 
 on the inland side, slopes down until it meets the 
 bogs and moors which cover the country. In the 
 depression thus formed, with the flat peat-bog on 
 one side, and the ground rising to the summit of 
 the cliffs half a mile off on the other, lies the loch. 
 In size it is about a mile, or rather more, round. 
 In one part the bottom is rocky and very deep ; 
 in another, boggy and very shallow. Two arms, 
 or bays, extend at opposite ends. The one is 
 thickly grown with green reeds and tall rushes. 
 A broad belt of water-lilies fringes this lacustrine 
 vegetation, and beyond it is open water. In the 
 middle is a small island with an ancient, dilapidated
 
 THE WEST COAST 175 
 
 ruin. The hand of man has not otherwise inter- 
 fered with Loch Cor. As soon as we arrived I 
 hastened to take my rod from its case and fix the 
 joints together. Before the grey-bearded old 
 native that I had brought to row the boat had 
 finished baling her out with a small and rusty 
 tin, I was ready to start. There are days, as I 
 suppose other anglers will admit, when one feels 
 a more than usually infantine impatience to begin 
 fishing. Such a one was this, and I began to cast 
 in a futile manner from the bank. At last we 
 pushed off, and the old man punted us with an 
 oar through the belt of bulrushes. I dropped 
 my flies into every open space between the reeds 
 and lily-leaves during our slow progress into the 
 open water. It relieved my impatience. 
 
 The first hour of fishing was profoundly dis- 
 appointing, and I caught absolutely nothing. 
 There was a good breeze from the west, which 
 rippled the clear, brown water and bent the reeds. 
 The sun, on the other hand, which had seemed so 
 cheerful in the morning, now appeared to shine 
 with annoying and persistent brightness. Of the 
 many little clouds, none happened ever to obscure
 
 176 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 its face. I watched their course from one horizon 
 to the other, and hoped for the sun to be hidden. 
 I fished first, as being the most likely spot, the 
 length of water right across the loch, which was 
 fringed by the weeds. I rose four very small 
 fish. I tried each one again, but, unlike most 
 little fish, they showed no inclination to come at 
 the fly a second time. One little trout was 
 hooked for a moment, but freed himself by a 
 lively jump out of water. I next fished over the 
 other bay, where there was a stony bottom and a 
 uniform depth of about three feet of pleasantly- 
 coloured water. Here I did not get a rise. The 
 old man had seen fish rise at every cast here in 
 May and June. Now he was despondent. He 
 shook his head, and then wagged his finger at 
 the sun ; he thought the day too bright and the 
 season too late for Loch Cor. So we rowed 
 ashore for luncheon, and I lay down among the 
 heather to eat some luncheon and then to smoke. 
 The exhilaration and excitement of the morning 
 had come to a natural end. 
 
 When the afternoon was a little advanced, a 
 change came over the day. As often happens, a
 
 CHANGING WEATHER 177 
 
 bright and sparkling sun in the early morning 
 means a wet evening. A thick bank of inky 
 clouds was now rising from the west, and it was 
 evident that in a short space of time a downpour 
 would be upon us. It was important not to lose 
 the interval, and the sun was now clouded over. 
 We pushed out hastily through the reeds, in 
 order to try the water, which looked promising, 
 between the island and the further shore. Before 
 I had thrown my line a dozen times two fish came 
 at the flies together and hooked themselves. I 
 pulled them in, and both were coaxed into the 
 landing-net. They were of the same size and 
 very small. A little further on, where the loch 
 deepened off the island, I had hold of another 
 fish, which appeared to be of respectable dimen- 
 sions. It is a sweet sensation to hook a good fish 
 after prolonged failure. This one swam deep, and 
 even, to my astonishment, ran some line off" the 
 reel. For some time he could not be persuaded 
 to approach the boat. And, when I brought him 
 exhausted but still struggling to the surface, he 
 came up with a mass of weeds round the line. 
 His shapely form and big size were a pleasing
 
 178 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 contrast to the two little fish on the seat beside 
 him. I disentangled the cast, which he had 
 managed to knot up in the most annoying way, 
 and after five minutes more fishing another trout 
 of the same size as the one I had just landed was 
 hooked. This one silently took the tail fly under 
 water, and I did not discover his presence until 
 the line tightened. I reeled in at once, and from 
 the docility with which he came, I estimated his 
 size at a quarter of the last fish's. Yet when they 
 were weighed there was not an ounce difference 
 between them. The reason for this deceptive 
 appearance I did not discover until I had my fish 
 between my hands and opened his mouth. It 
 then appeared, when I tried to loosen the fly, that 
 the poor brute had been hooked in the tongue. 
 
 The heavens were now entirely covered with 
 blacks clouds, and the hush which precedes a 
 storm of rain had come. The ripples had died 
 away and the grey, shaking reeds round the edge 
 of the loch were reflected on its brown surface. 
 I was much concerned to get a third fish of the 
 same size while there was yet a chance. In this 
 I was favoured, for, as we were drifting almost on
 
 BEFORE A STORM 179 
 
 to the rushes, a trout rose to one of the droppers, 
 a bright, big Red-Spinner, which showed up doubt- 
 less in the still water against the dark sky. He 
 came with a noisy splash, and when I struck I 
 felt he was a fitting companion to the two others 
 on the seat of the boat. I cried to the old man 
 to keep us away from the reeds, on to which we 
 were floating ; the trout, in the meantime, had 
 taken the line under the boat before I could pass 
 my rod round the stern. There was a breathless 
 moment or two before the oars acted and drew us 
 out into the loch. I murmured a few words of 
 thankfulness when the line was seen stretched 
 by the fighting fish. This third trout was safely 
 landed when the first drops of rain began to fall. 
 The next minute we were pulling hard to the 
 landing-place, where a V-shaped cut in the peaty 
 bank had been made for the reception of the 
 boat. The first drops of rain soon became a 
 veritable downpour. The reeds bent before the 
 fresh arisen wind and the waters of the loch were 
 splashed up and pitted by myriads of great drops. 
 The three trout weighed over a pound apiece, 
 which made the day memorable. In the ordinary
 
 180 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 Scotch lochs the majority of trout that are caught 
 run very small. Even when one is told of an 
 average of four to the pound, it will be found that 
 the basket, on being weighed, is nearer five or six 
 or even eight to the pound. A loch where the 
 trout really average half a pound is a good one. 
 An opportunity of fishing a loch where trout of 
 over a pound are numerous and rise freely should 
 never be neglected. Such sport is not to be 
 had often. 
 
 Scotland is, of course, the country in which to 
 enjoy loch-fishing, and next comes Ireland. There 
 can be few parts of the United Kingdom where 
 there are so many trout-holding lakes as in 
 County Donegal. Leave to fish may easily be 
 got from the landowners or the innkeepers ; and 
 I verily believe that an angler might start on a 
 tour and fish a new lake every day from the 
 beginning of April to the end of September. In 
 the course of his journey he would find himself 
 upon the banks of Lough Unna, which lies under 
 the shelter of Slieve League, where the most 
 western part of Donegal projects into the sea. 
 The lough is close to the road, in the midst of
 
 IRELAND 181 
 
 bog and moorland, where the bog-myrtle is sweet- 
 scented and the heather purple and the rushes 
 luxuriant. It was at the end of August that I 
 was fishing there, and the day was a fine one. 
 The rain was suspended for a whole twenty-four 
 hours, yet a few clouds were always passing. 
 Fine weather in Donegal can be very brilliant, as 
 the rare fine days in Ireland usually are. A blue 
 sky, a sun which cast strong shadows, a brisk 
 westerly wind, were combined to make the rippling 
 waves on the lough sparkle ; and though the water 
 was really peaty and black, its surface in the 
 distance looked almost blue and shining. The 
 lough may have been about two miles round, the 
 edges for the most part grassy and rocky, though 
 where a stream flowed in, there was a piece of 
 mossy-green treacherous bog. The heavy rain of 
 preceding days had filled the lough to overflowing, 
 and the water had risen on to the flat grass above 
 the usual margin. The stream flowed out in a 
 surging yellow torrent, and tufts of rushes that 
 appeared through the water showed the extent of 
 the flood. I had put waders into my creel, which 
 was lucky, for, though it did not prove needful
 
 1 82 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 to wade far out, the high water over the margin 
 had covered many places where, in the normal 
 course, one could have stood dry-shod. For them 
 that like bogs, mountains, and wild desolation, 
 with a certain poverty and sadness about it, 
 Donegal has a rare charm. Parts are too poor 
 to produce anything from the soil except peats. 
 Indeed, I do not think that there was any of 
 man's handiwork visible where I stood, except the 
 line of telegraph wire by the road and the brown 
 pyramids of peats that dotted the hillside and 
 stood out upon the skyline. It was, in fact, a 
 wild enough scene to please any one ; and the only 
 living thing was a venerable cormorant who stood 
 perched on a rock near the edge of the lough, 
 displaying his outstretched wings to the comfort- 
 able, drying rays of the morning sun. I have 
 noted the day as being memorable for an ornitho- 
 logist, since I had the pleasure of beholding four 
 species of our Corvid* that are not commonly to 
 be seen in the course of one and the same day : 
 ravens, rooks, jackdaws, and choughs. 
 
 Having put on a cast of moderately small loch- 
 flies, four in number, such as are sold for Loch
 
 DONEGAL 183 
 
 Leven, I set to work fishing, full of hope and 
 happiness. In about a minute I had hold of a 
 trout, who came with such a dash and tug that it 
 made one start, though he proved no heavier than 
 a quarter of a pound. A few minutes more 
 produced another, who jumped and fought so 
 desperately that I believed the day's sport was 
 going to be remarkable. But this proved not to 
 be the case, and when I had a couple more small 
 trout it was noon. The fish then almost com- 
 pletely stopped rising, and ignored my flies, though 
 I toiled all round the edge, fishing assiduously. 
 
 About three o'clock the trout changed their 
 humour, and began to rise again, not wildly, but 
 enough to keep the sport exciting. I caught a 
 dozen more, of which not one was over a quarter 
 of a pound, though the strength and liveliness 
 with which they fought for liberty was most 
 astonishing. Many rises were short. But the 
 number of trout that were moved by the flies as 
 one cast yard by yard round the margin of the 
 lough gave one a notion of the thousands of little 
 trout it must contain. Lough Unna is fished 
 almost daily from a boat and from the shore by
 
 1 84 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 tourist-fishermen, who stay at an inn three miles 
 down the road. Yet few return with empty 
 baskets, and many, I was told, and can well believe 
 it, kill three dozen and four dozen upon a good 
 day. Such is the number of trout these loughs 
 contain that the havoc of the anglers and the 
 cormorants is imperceptible, and fresh trout are 
 yearly bred ready and voracious to struggle for 
 existence with the survivors. 
 
 Lough Unna is, I think, typical of the small 
 Donegal lakes, and some of the pleasure of fishing 
 in such places comes from the wildness of the 
 country. The small trout, too, are wild, and give 
 one sport. Nor need one have scruples of taking 
 heavy toll and filling a basket with these Irish 
 trout. Lake-fishing at its best is mild sport ; but 
 when the trout do not rise, as often happens 
 during a pa'rt of the day, one need not go fishing. 
 One can sit upon a rock and look down at the 
 little brown foaming waves breaking on the edge 
 or up at the steep sides of Slieve League. The 
 clouds come and go, capping the top or casting 
 passing shadows on the soft greens and browns 
 which cover the slopes. Then suddenly a trout
 
 LOUGH UNNA 185 
 
 rises within easy reach of the edge where you are 
 sitting, and you seize your rod and get out enough 
 line to cast into the ring as though everything 
 depended on catching this fish. There are half a 
 dozen loughs within a circuit of a few miles of 
 Lough Unna, and each contains trout of the same 
 quality. Some are more inaccessible from the 
 road ; some are more boggy round the edges ; 
 some are more weedy and troublesome to fish. 
 But the trout are abundant, and a fisherman who 
 does not go with too highly-pitched anticipations 
 might spend a happy day at each.
 
 XII 
 
 CHANGE of scene is pleasant in loch-fishing, but 
 there are many little mountain lochs in Scotland 
 which are so attractive that one visits them over 
 and over again with pleasure. They are always 
 reputed to be full of trout. I am not sure how 
 often I have spent the day at Loch Drollsay, but 
 I know that I have never come back with more 
 than three trout, and often with an empty basket. 
 Loch Drollsay is rarely visited by anglers. 
 There are many reasons why the loch is so seldom 
 fished. It lies, in the first place, remote from the 
 centres of civilization. Its shallow brown waters fill 
 a small hollow spot in the hills a long way off the 
 high road, and far even from the nearest sheep-farm. 
 The trout are very diminutive and they do not rise 
 at all freely to the fly. These reasons are enough ; 
 yet such is the charm of this little wild loch, and of 
 many others of the same nature, that no one who has 
 been there upon a fine day can help feeling a desire 
 
 1 86
 
 THE HIGHLANDS IN JUNE 187 
 
 to return. Fishing may be an excuse, and upon 
 each visit you start full of fresh hopes. There 
 must be days when the trout are rising, yet some- 
 how it is your misfortune year after year to take 
 down your rod and tie up the joints in their case 
 with the same sigh of disillusioned hope. At last 
 you come to the conclusion that it is too late in 
 the year. Then by some good chance you have 
 an opportunity of fishing there in May or June. 
 With what great cheerfulness do you not start on 
 a spring morning in the Highlands ? Once more 
 Loch Drollsay proves a disgusting disappointment. 
 But by the following year the disgust is worn off 
 and the disappointment forgotten. Again you 
 start for Loch Drollsay, with your angler's blood 
 tingling at the prospect. On the best days that 
 ever fall to your luck you may bring back three 
 or four little trout weighing together half a pound. 
 It is not enough for a hungry man's breakfast. 
 Often you get only one solitary fish. Oftener 
 still you catch nothing, fishing all day, and wading 
 in without waders to cover as much water as you 
 can. One frequently reads in angling books of 
 Scotch mountain lochs where small brown trout
 
 1 88 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 are so greedy for the fly that you catch one at 
 every cast, and sometimes have on two or three 
 together. No doubt such lochs do exist. You 
 think, when you discover Loch Drollsay, that it 
 will be such a place as you have read of. You find 
 out that it is not ; but, somehow, this does not 
 prevent you from returning another year and 
 devoting another day to fishing it. It becomes an 
 annual festival. 
 
 A small burn, which descends from the moors, 
 will lead you to the loch, for it flows out of the 
 shallow end. You can strike the burn at a farm, 
 on the limits of cultivation, where small patches of 
 unripe oats are surrounded by rusty wire fencing. 
 It is a rough walk following the course of the burn, 
 which sometimes flows in so deep a channel that 
 the gurgle of its water can only be heard in the 
 heather. There is no track, and you make for 
 some point on the skyline, crossing bits of short 
 heather which are sound to walk upon, then 
 floundering suddenly into soft places where the 
 green moss and the waving spikes of cotton-grass 
 ought to be a warning. After some distance of this 
 tramping, you look back, and perceive that the last
 
 MOUNTAIN LOCHS 189 
 
 human habitation has been left out of sight and 
 that nothing but wildness meets the eye on every 
 side. The loch must surely be over the next bit 
 of heathery hill. But the next hill only discloses 
 more rising ground on the skyline, and so on in 
 succession, though you cannot help thinking that 
 by pushing on for a few moments longer to the 
 next heathery eminence the loch will be discovered. 
 At length you come upon it close at hand, and 
 stop gladly, if it is a fine and sunny day, as it 
 should be, to pull off your cap and mop the beads 
 off your forehead. The scent of the heather is 
 sweet and the bog-myrtle pungent and aromatic. 
 There is perfect silence save for the hum of flies, 
 and perhaps the feeble twitter of a titlark put out 
 of the heather. In past years there was always a 
 pair of whinchats about a little patch of bracken ; 
 and suddenly their sharp notes of alarm remind 
 you of their presence. Can it be the same pair as 
 last year, and do they recognize you ? They have 
 not seen many intruders since their arrival in April, 
 for none but shepherds and peat-cutters ever cross 
 these parts of the hills. This alarm note they will 
 keep up without intermission for as long as you
 
 190 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 trespass upon their haunts. Overhead is a clear 
 dome of blue. It is broken by a few clean, fleecy 
 clouds, driven before the fresh northerly wind 
 that means fine weather. On either side, rise hills 
 of respectable but not of commanding height. 
 They look smooth and velvety, passing through 
 all the possible shades of brown and patched with 
 green and purple. The shadows of clouds move 
 swiftly over ; the warm sunshine comes and goes ; 
 and the grasses wave in the breeze. You stand, 
 cap in hand, taking in the scene around, and 
 almost ready to cry out in delight and admiration. 
 And so you turn to the fishing, and put up your 
 rod. You pick out a fine cast and tie on three 
 flies, or perhaps you have made up your cast the 
 night before when the prospect of fishing Loch 
 Drollsay again filled your mind. Much of the 
 pleasures of fishing lie in the anticipations you 
 form and the plans you lay of attacking in some 
 new manner the trout which you have failed to 
 catch. This time you have some new flies brought 
 from London. They are fancy patterns which the 
 trout cannot yet have seen. Certainly the little 
 trout in Loch Drollsay have never beheld the like,
 
 LOCH DROLLSAY 191 
 
 It may be that their curiosity will be excited, if not 
 their hunger. You walk round, rod in hand, so as 
 to get the wind behind, and then wade in a few 
 feet at the shallow edge in order to be able to fish 
 over the part where the water deepens. You know 
 so well the vegetation which grows round the 
 stony edges of the little lochs in the hills. There 
 are the big stones which are covered when the loch 
 rises. A little further back come the tufted rushes 
 in stiff bunches. The boggy bits, with greyish 
 sphagnum-moss, and red, sticky-leaved sundew, 
 and green, greasy-leaved butterwort, lie next ; after 
 which you get to the firm ground where the 
 heather grows. It may happen that within the 
 first half-dozen casts you hook a trout and form 
 hopeful notions. This may be a day when they 
 are rising. But it proves otherwise ; and you fish 
 on eagerly and studiously all round the one side 
 of the loch in vain. Once more Loch Drollsay has 
 been a disappointment. Yet the breeze is pro- 
 pitious, there are dull, cloudy moments when you 
 expect them to come at your flies, and you change 
 patterns to feel at least that the trout have had a 
 fair trial. The truth is, the trout in Loch Drollsay
 
 192 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 do not rise when you want them. Whether they 
 do so when no one is there, it is hard to say. 
 Very possibly they never rise freely ; yet you 
 never come over the edge and catch the first view 
 of the loch without expecting to see the surface 
 dimpled by the noses of rising trout ready to seize 
 any artificial fly that you care to throw them. 
 
 Having proved to your satisfaction that the 
 day is hopeless and fishing of no possible use, you 
 spend an hour or two in idleness before trying the 
 trout again. It may be that the weather will 
 change or the light alter, or something happen to 
 bring them on the rise. So having eaten the food 
 that you brought with you and washed it down 
 with a drink of water from the loch, it is not a bad 
 plan to climb to the top of the nearest hill and sit 
 there smoking and looking at the view. Heathery 
 hills and peat-bogs stretch themselves on every 
 side, and in the hollows are little shining lochs 
 hitherto undiscovered and unsuspected. At your 
 feet lies Loch Drollsay, a few hundred yards long, 
 but looking very small from above. It is of a 
 heart shape, and its waters sparkle in the sunshine 
 like some blue precious stone in a brown setting
 
 SOLITUDE AND RAVENS 193 
 
 of peat. To the north-west is the line of coast, 
 and where it dips, the Atlantic can be seen, blue, 
 with white rollers foaming on the rocks. An hour, 
 or two hours, are gone soon enough looking at 
 the view in solitude ; and you make your way 
 down again to the edge of the loch, to fish for a 
 little while longer. Even if you do not catch trout, 
 the day will not have been a wasted one, though it 
 is disappointing to be unsuccessful. 
 
 Sometimes when you have been fishing all day 
 alone at a place like Loch Drollsay, the solitude be- 
 comes awful and the silence of the hills oppressive. 
 Then perhaps you look up suddenly from your 
 fishing, and feel convinced that you are being 
 watched by some concealed eyes on the hillside 
 above. Yet you can see no one. Or else ravens 
 fly over, uttering diabolical sounds and almost 
 human croaks, which startle you horribly. At last 
 you can stand it no longer ; you pack up hastily 
 and start running down the glen where the burn 
 flows out, feeling that each yard brings you nearer 
 home and safety. You have had enough of fish- 
 ing the loch in solitude. But there are other days, 
 in London and in summer, when the asphalt gets 
 
 o
 
 194 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 soft, or the smell of the wood-pavement is more 
 filthy than usual. Some people say that the air is 
 getting used up. Lawyers count the days to the 
 beginning of the Long Vacation and hope that they 
 will be able to slip away, with good consciences, on 
 Friday, though several of the more industrious 
 of the Judges have announced that they intend 
 to sit on Monday. Then your thoughts turn 
 to places like Loch Drollsay, and you are seized 
 with an almost incredible longing to be back 
 there fishing ; and you wonder whether perchance 
 this may be a day when the trout are rising well.
 
 XIII 
 
 I HAVE dwelt more than once in what I have 
 written on the extraordinary variety which trout- 
 fishing presents. Trout in various parts of our 
 islands differ, in a remarkable manner, not only in 
 form and colouring, but also in habits. Yet the best 
 modern authorities incline to call all these different 
 forms merely varieties of one species : Salmo fario. 
 Fishermen, on the other hand, tend to dwell on 
 the differences and idiosyncrasies of the individual 
 fish which they come across. All the varieties of 
 trout have in common the habit of sometimes feed- 
 ing with voracity, and at others refusing food for 
 uncertain periods. This habit is naturally one 
 which attracts the attention of fishermen, for it 
 affects their catch in the most obvious fashion. It 
 is due to wholly unknown causes. Some fisher- 
 men cheerfully attribute it to the weather ; others 
 to their not having the proper bait or fly to offer. 
 In the first case, there is clearly nothing to be done,
 
 196 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 since we cannot control atmospheric conditions. 
 In the second case, it would be possible to guard 
 against failure by providing oneself with patterns 
 that copy every creature on which trout ever feed. 
 Some anglers try their best to do so, and I have 
 already shown why I think they are seldom repaid 
 for so doing. Fishermen rarely like to confess 
 that their failure is due to incompetence or want 
 of skill, and when one has to make that confession 
 it is most disheartening. Few things are more 
 consoling to the angler's vanity than to discover, 
 on returning from an unsuccessful day, that other 
 fishermen, more experienced and more skilful 
 than himself, have done as badly. 
 
 Often, when trout are apparently refusing food, 
 they are in fact feeding below the surface. On 
 these occasions the observant fisherman, especially 
 on South Country trout-streams with clear water 
 and abundant weeds to hold the food, will keep 
 his eyes open for any movement among the trout. 
 There are few satisfactions greater than getting 
 hold of some big tailing fish who is poking shrimps 
 out of the weeds. With a sunk Wickham, I 
 have several times done this with success ; the
 
 FRESH-WATER SHRIMPS 197 
 
 secret is to wet the fly thoroughly before casting, 
 and to choose a moment when the trout's head is 
 not buried in the weeds. A small Wickham rather 
 loosely dressed and well soaked is an excellent 
 imitation of the fresh-water shrimp : Gammarus 
 pulex. Unfortunately for the purists, that animal, 
 which in some places forms the staple food of 
 trout, is a crustacean and not an insect, and never 
 floats on the surface of the water. If it is cast 
 over a definite feeding fish, I must confess that I 
 can see no harm in using it on the strictest dry- fly 
 water. 
 
 All knowledge of natural history which the 
 fisherman acquires from books or from his own 
 observations, may serve a useful purpose. A 
 smattering of entomology might help one to 
 select a suitable fly on unknown streams, but with 
 standard patterns dressed by good makers, there is 
 seldom any real difficulty in making up one's mind 
 or getting local advice. As often as not the standard 
 patterns will prove as good as the local fancies. 
 Far more useful is knowledge of the natural 
 history of trout. All that can be learnt about the 
 tastes, ways, and habits of fish is useful. I well
 
 198 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 remember as a small boy that I thought it necessary 
 to talk in a whisper when fishing. I now know 
 that one can speak or shout as loudly as one pleases 
 without being heard. I used to think that a gaily 
 painted float was attractive to the fish. I now 
 know better, for there is evidence that fish are not 
 acutely affected by colours. 
 
 The sense organs of fishes have been very im- 
 perfectly studied by zoologists. Yet all that is 
 known about them is of interest both to naturalists 
 and to fishermen. It is not unusual for anglers 
 to discuss whether trout can hear or whether they 
 possess the sense of smell. Probably neither of 
 the disputants is qualified to offer an opinion of 
 much value ; for many fishermen, who have caught 
 thousands of trout, are unable to answer, when 
 they are suddenly asked, whether fishes have ears 
 or how many nostrils a trout possesses. But apart 
 from ignorance as to the structure of fishes' sense 
 organs, it is difficult to form a judgment as to 
 their powers. The organs, such as they are, are 
 adapted to life in the water, and we are only able 
 to compare their functions with the use that 
 land animals make of apparently similar organs.
 
 MENTAL POWERS OF TROUT 199 
 
 It is hard enough to form correct opinions as 
 to the mental powers of monkeys and other even 
 higher vertebrates ; far more difficult is it to 
 compare our own senses and actions with those of 
 animals, like fishes, who live in a different world 
 and are surrounded by a different element. For 
 this reason incautious conclusions must be avoided. 
 The brain in all fishes is relatively small and 
 most fishermen probably over-rate the mental 
 powers of fishes. It does not follow that a fish is 
 easy to catch because its intelligence is small. 
 Besides heing diminutive in size, the brain is 
 simple and primitive in structure. Yet the senses 
 and movements of an animal are dependent on 
 the central nervous system of which the brain is 
 the principal part. From the central nervous 
 system the nerves radiate to the various sense 
 organs. In fishes the parts of the brain and the 
 general position of the nerves correspond with 
 those of the higher vertebrates. Any one who 
 will cut off the top of the skull of a large trout, 
 which is not at all easy to do neatly and success- 
 fully, can see for himself what the brain is like. 
 The cavity in the skull is small but the brain does
 
 200 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 not half fill it : the remainder is more or less filled 
 with greasy, fluid matter. When this has been 
 washed away and removed, the four chief parts of 
 the brain can be seen lying one behind the other. 
 In front are the olfactory lobes from which the nerves 
 of smell issue. Immediately behind are two nerve 
 masses which form the cerebrum. This is the 
 thinking part of the brain, which in man is so deve- 
 loped as to cover all the rest. In fishes it is very 
 small and insignificant. In what are called Teleo- 
 stean fishes (a group to which the trout and all the 
 best-known bony fish belong) the cerebral cortex 
 is absent. This outer part of the cerebrum is the 
 seat of the highest mental power and is most ex- 
 tensive where the cerebrum is most convoluted. 
 The brain of a fish is never corrugated and 
 wrinkled like that of a higher mammal. Thirdly, 
 behind the cerebrum are the most conspicuous 
 parts of a fish's brain. These are the optic lobes 
 into which run the nerves from the eyes. The 
 last small grey mass that lies behind is the cerebel- 
 lum^ which controls the powers of movement. 
 Then begins the spinal cord which is threaded, as 
 it were, through the vertebrae.
 
 THE EYES OF A TROUT 201 
 
 There is some reason for thinking that the 
 activities of fishes are nearly all what is called reflex. 
 A message is sent inwards to the brain and the 
 muscles at once contract. Sensations are changed 
 into movement and actions take place without 
 thinking. Opposed to reflex, are conscious actions. 
 Reflex actions are, therefore, immediately sug- 
 gested and directed by the influence of external 
 things. Fear and anger are the chief emotions of 
 fishes, and the search for food and for a mate 
 chiefly occupy their activities. With so simple a 
 brain it cannot be supposed that the whole range 
 of their senses can be very extensive. 
 
 The eyes are probably the most important 
 sense organs of a trout, and it has been shown 
 by very interesting experiments that the majority 
 of fishes seek their food chiefly if not entirely 
 by sight.* But a certain number, such as the 
 eel family, appear to hunt for it and recognize 
 it by the sense of smell alone, while a few species 
 are also aided by barbels and special organs of 
 touch. The structure of a fish's eye does not 
 
 * See Mr. Bateson's paper on the Sense Organs of Fishes, 
 Journal of the Marine Biological Association, vol. i. p. 225.
 
 202 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 differ in any essential particulars from that of a 
 human being. The six muscles which move the 
 ball of the eye are there, and so are the lens, 
 the retina and the optic nerve. The pupil is 
 surrounded by a coloured iris but it does not 
 seem to possess much power of contraction. A 
 trout, as every one knows, has no eyelids and 
 sleeps therefore, according to our notions, very 
 uncomfortably with its eyes open. In all fishes 
 the lachrymal gland is absent and, since they live 
 in the water, it would serve no purpose. Artists 
 who represent a fish shedding tears, as they are 
 fond of doing in facetious pictures, are drawing 
 an impossible caricature. No doubt, the sight 
 of various species of fish varies a good deal with 
 their eyes ; but taking the whole class, their 
 vision, both in range and acuteness, is much 
 inferior to that of the higher vertebrates. A fish 
 out of water can probably see very little, and not 
 much at a distance when it is in its natural element. 
 The fact that fish are short-sighted is shown by 
 experiments and is also borne out by the structure 
 of the eye. The lens is an almost perfect sphere 
 and therefore much more convex than in a land
 
 THE STRUCTURE OF THE EYE 203 
 
 animal. The reason for this is obvious, since a 
 nearly spherical lens is needed to form an image 
 from rays of light passing through the water. 
 The lens must be adjusted so as to throw a clear 
 image on the retina at the back of the eyeball. 
 This is done by a layer of muscles which can 
 move the lens nearer to or farther from the retina. 
 At the same time the shape of the lens can be 
 slightly altered. In fishes there is a peculiar 
 structure which connects the lens with the back 
 of the eye and so plays a part in accommodating 
 the sight. These structures working together 
 form the machinery by which the eye is adapted 
 for viewing objects at different distances. Now 
 in mammals, birds, reptiles and amphibians, the 
 mechanism of accommodation is at rest when the 
 eye is directed to some far-away object such as 
 a star. It is very significant on the other hand 
 to find that in fishes the eye at rest is normally 
 adjusted to near vision. 
 
 Whether fish can perceive the differences 
 between colours is a problem that raises one of 
 the most interesting questions to fishermen. 
 There are some who boldly assert that fish are
 
 204 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 quite colour-blind. To this the zoologist may 
 reply that there is nothing in the general structure 
 of fishes' eyes or in the microscopic structure of 
 the retina to prove that this must be so. The 
 difficulty is that we know little about the causes 
 of colour blindness in human beings. In man 
 colour blindness is congenital and incurable. It 
 is probably due to unknown conditions of the 
 retina or the nerves or possibly both. Whether 
 the same conditions affect fishes in the same way 
 one does not know. On the other hand it seems 
 extremely improbable that fishes are quite incapable 
 of perceiving colour, because male fish are often 
 more brightly coloured in the breeding season. 
 According to a theory which is still generally 
 accepted, this is to make them attractive to their 
 mates, who must therefore be supposed to have 
 some perception of colour. The evidence from 
 experiments on colour sense in a variety of fishes 
 is entirely negative : that is to say, it goes to 
 show that fish do not discriminate much between 
 colours. Sir Herbert Maxwell's well-known 
 experiments with mayflies of fantastic hues and 
 the general experience of fly-fishermen tend to
 
 TROUT AND COLOUR 205 
 
 show that trout care more about shape and size, 
 than colour, in artificial flies. There are days 
 frequently recorded when trout show a marked 
 avidity for some particular pattern of fly, but no 
 evidence is produced to show that it was the 
 colour that they were affected by. Fishermen 
 often describe how they cast six times over a 
 trout without getting a rise, and then changed 
 the fly to another shade and hooked the fish. 
 But what proof is there that a seventh cast with 
 the old fly might not have been successful ? I 
 have never myself seen any discrimination at all 
 shown by trout between exactly similar patterns 
 of different shades. And, indeed, from what we 
 know of our own powers of vision, it is incon- 
 ceivable that a fish should be able to distinguish 
 delicate shades of red, brown, green or yellow 
 in a fly which floats overhead between the light 
 and its eyes. It is far more probable that it is 
 the shape which affects its brain. Mr. Bateson's 
 experiments with pollack in a marine acquarium 
 bear this out. He declares that these fish ignored 
 a straight piece of wire, but that they snatched at 
 it when it was twisted so as to resemble the shape
 
 206 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 of a worm and that they did so with equal avidity 
 whether the wire was coloured white, blue, or 
 yellow. The final conclusion is that the fish 
 have no acute colour sense. 
 
 The sense of taste does not appear to be 
 highly developed in any fishes. Most of them 
 bolt their food quickly and without chewing. 
 Carp, who are vegetable feeders, have flat, broad, 
 back-teeth with which they masticate their food 
 with apparent gusto ; but fishes who devour their 
 fellows, swallow them whole. Under such con- 
 ditions the sense of taste must be feeble or want- 
 ing. Experiments on a conger in an aquarium 
 showed that it eat pieces of fish smeared with 
 anchovy extract, cheese, camphor-spirit, tri- 
 methylamine, iodoform and turpentine without 
 exhibiting either disgust, preference or perception. 
 Many fishes have no tongue at all, but it is 
 conspicuous and well developed in the trout and 
 its allies. But even in such as have tongues this 
 organ of taste is without those delicate membranes 
 and fine nerves which mankind and the higher 
 animals possess. A fish's tongue is also without 
 power of movement, and cannot therefore, except
 
 THE SENSE OF SMELL 207 
 
 in a metaphorical sense, be put out at a fisherman. 
 Salivary glands are also absent in all fishes and the 
 sight of the most appetising food cannot make 
 their mouths water. 
 
 Closely allied with taste is the sense of smell. 
 It is clear that fish become aware of food without 
 touch, vision or hearing. Whether this sense 
 should be called smell or taste in the case of an 
 animal living and breathing in the water is difficult 
 to decide. Smell to a fish would perhaps be 
 equivalent to taste at a distance. We cannot 
 argue from our own sensations. Fishes have, 
 however, olfactory organs and it is not unreason- 
 able to suppose that they should " smell " things 
 as they, indeed, appear to do. The sense of 
 smell has its seat in the olfactory pits. The 
 organs of smell in fishes (except the small group 
 of lung-fishes which are exceptional in other 
 ways) differ from our own in that they are 
 unconnected with breathing. There is no con- 
 nection between the nostril and the throat. Any 
 one can test this for themselves by thrusting a 
 bristle or fine wire into the nostril of a dead fish. 
 In many fishes the sense of smell appears to be
 
 zo8 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 relatively acute and when trout are taken with a 
 worm on an absolutely dark night it is probable 
 that they are attracted to the bait by smell. In 
 a trout, the olfactory pits, of which there are two, 
 lie about half-way between the eyes and the snout. 
 Each olfactory pit has two openings, making four 
 nostrils in all. The nostrils lie close together 
 upon a level with the top of the eye. Each pit 
 consists of a hemispherical depression which is 
 lined by a delicate membrane and the membrane 
 itself is wrinkled so as to form a rosette directly 
 beneath the nostrils. The pleats of the rosette 
 are abundantly supplied with nerves which lead to 
 the olfactory lobes of the brain. The two nostrils 
 vary much in shape and construction in different 
 families of fishes. But they are generally more 
 or less adapted to send a current of water through 
 the nose. In the trout, the front nostril is a 
 narrow slit whilst the hinder one is more oval in 
 shape. The bridge of skin between the two is 
 raised to form an upstanding flap which catches 
 the current of water. It is also prolonged down- 
 wards nearly to the floor of the nose-pit and so 
 forms a delicate pliant curtain which conducts
 
 THE OLFACTORY ORGANS 209 
 
 water entering the front nostril through the pleats 
 of the rosette. In some fishes, including the 
 trout, the true olfactory pit which has just been 
 described, opens into accessory sacs or chambers. 
 These sacs, in some species, can be dilated and 
 compressed so as to produce a gentle current of 
 water over the rosette. The currents produced 
 by these sacs are rhythmical, flowing in and out 
 of the nose as the fish gently opens and shuts its 
 mouth in breathing. In this way the fish is com- 
 pensated for its loss of the power of sniffing which 
 we enjoy when our nostrils are suddenly assailed 
 by bad smells. The strength of the water current 
 must be under the control of the fish ; for a sudden 
 movement of the jaws would produce a strong 
 current exactly comparable to a suspicious sniff in 
 a human being. In fishes with noses of this class 
 it is generally arranged by means of valves that 
 the water shall enter by the front nostril and leave 
 by the hind one. The current of water may also 
 be made to play on the rosette by means of hair 
 like cilia in the front nostril. This seems to be 
 the only way in eels, which are among the few 
 fishes which hunt their food by smell. Another
 
 210 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 method is that found in fish, of which there are 
 many kinds, where a hood over the front nostril 
 deflects water into the nose cavity as the animal 
 swims forward. The essential structure of a fish's 
 nose and the mechanism of sniffing is so like that 
 of higher animals that one is almost compelled to 
 suppose that they enjoy the sense of smell. A 
 fish is of course dependent for oxygen on the 
 gas dissolved in the water. Some naturalists 
 incline to think that the sense of smell, in our 
 ordinary meaning, is absent in the vast majority 
 of fishes, and that they use their noses for testing 
 the water used for breathing.* 
 
 There is plenty of evidence that fishes per- 
 ceive violent shocks or concussions such as those 
 caused by firing guns or hammering on the bank. 
 But there is no conclusive evidence that their ears 
 are capable of appreciating those delicate vibra- 
 tions which affect the senses of ourselves or 
 other land-animals and convey sensations which 
 we mean when we speak of hearing sounds. To 
 
 * Those who desire to know more should consult an 
 interesting and learned paper by Mr. R. H. Burne, "The 
 Anatomy of the Olfactory Organ in Teleostean Fishes." 
 Proceedings of the Zool. Soc. Land., 1909, p. 610.
 
 THE EARS OF FISH zi i 
 
 that extent, therefore, fish are probably deaf. A 
 number of recent experiments tend to show that 
 in fishes the ears are without hearing functions, 
 and are solely organs which enable the animal to 
 maintain its equilibrium in the water* The old 
 stories of fish which came to be fed when called 
 or when a bell was rung must all be regarded as 
 mythical. 
 
 No fishes have an external ear and none of 
 the typical bony fishes have an opening from the 
 outside world into the cavity of the ear. In most 
 mammals there exists a well-developed ear, sup- 
 ported by cartilage ; and there is considerable 
 evidence to show that this external ear is derived 
 from the gill-cover of fishes. It is unfortunately 
 difficult to give a clear picture of the internal 
 structure of an animal's ear without a diagram ; 
 but those who care to visit the museum of the 
 Royal College of Surgeons can see for themselves 
 the most delicate and beautiful anatomical pre- 
 parations that have ever bean made. The highly 
 developed ear of a mammal consists of three 
 parts. There is first the outer ear outside the 
 tympanum or drum. Secondly, there is a middle
 
 2i z CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 part between the drum and the inner ear. Thirdly, 
 there is the inner ear itself, which communicates 
 with the nerve and which is the only essential and 
 sensory part of the organ. This inner ear is the 
 only part which occurs in fishes, who consequently 
 possess no drum. It is believed that the internal 
 ear of a fish is a modified part of the lateral line, 
 a sense organ peculiar to fishes and tadpoles, of 
 which more must be said later on. This lateral 
 line which every one must have noticed running 
 along the side of a fish from the head to the tail 
 is a modification or development of the skin. 
 There are, therefore, as it were, three generations 
 of sense-organs, skin, lateral line, and ear, each 
 developed from the other to meet the require- 
 ments of the fish. The internal ear of a fish 
 consists of a vestibule or chamber out of which 
 arise three semi-circular canals. The three canals 
 form a delicate membranous labyrinth leading out 
 of the vestibule and back again. But the most 
 peculiar part of the fish's ear is the vestibule 
 itself, which is expanded into one or more sacs 
 each containing an otolith or ear-stone. As a 
 rule, there are three ear-stones, of which one is
 
 THE OTOLITHS 213 
 
 much bigger than the others. In a big fish like 
 a cod, it is a large, firm calcareous stone, which 
 can be easily found by any one who likes to do 
 a little dinner-table dissection when the head of 
 a boiled fish is served. Dr. Lee, an American 
 naturalist, has suggested that the ear-sacs and stones 
 have nothing to do with hearing but serve the 
 fish in perceiving movements through space such 
 as rotation and loss of equilibrum.* After many 
 experiments with dogfish, in which the canals or 
 the auditory nerves were cut, he has been able to 
 produce strong evidence that the ear is an organ 
 closely connected with the sense of equilibrium. 
 If the otoliths or ear-stones are removed from 
 one ear, the fish's balance is interfered with to a 
 considerable extent. The removal of otoliths 
 from both ears practically destroys all sense of 
 equilibrium. An attempt has been made to con- 
 nect the three stones with movements through the 
 three dimensions of space but this has not been 
 very convincing. There is, however, a general 
 opinion now that fish which, with few exceptions, 
 
 * Dr. Lee's paper will be found in the Journal of Physiology 
 for 1 894, vol. xv.
 
 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 are dumb, are also deaf to ordinary sounds. The 
 connection between their internal ears and lateral 
 lines has clearly been traced. It would seem that 
 ears were not evolved to hear delicate vibrations 
 of sound until animals became breathers of air. 
 
 Lastly, there remain to be described the 
 lateral lines and other mysterious sense-organs 
 of fishes about which not much is known. 
 Whether they are organs of touch or taste or 
 means of perceiving vibrations in the water is 
 not clearly decided. That fish are sensitive to 
 touch is obvious, even when they are covered 
 with horny scales, but the most delicate parts are 
 about the snout, where special organs, barbels, are 
 developed. The lateral line which is conspicuously 
 marked in many fish, and is sometimes differently 
 coloured, is a tube with small openings at regular 
 intervals which perforate the scales. One purpose 
 of this tube is certainly to secrete slime, and it is 
 sometimes called the mucous canal system. The 
 lateral line continues up to the head, but is less 
 conspicuous there. It passes under the skin and 
 a series of connected tubes pass along the ridges 
 of the forehead, cheeks, jaws and eyes. They
 
 THE LATERAL LINE 215 
 
 still communicate with the surface of the skin by- 
 pores and produce mucous. The canal is pro- 
 vided with special nerves and sensory cells. It is 
 looked on as a sense-organ, but what purpose it 
 serves has not been clearly established. It is, 
 without doubt, adapted to the conditions of 
 aquatic life, because the fish-like tadpoles of 
 frogs and other amphibians have a lateral line 
 which is lost in the mature animal which lives 
 on land. Its use is very problematical, but pro- 
 bably, besides secreting slime, it enables the fish 
 to perceive waves of vibration in the water. The 
 relationship of the internal ear with the lateral 
 line confirms this view. It may be that the 
 power of perceiving wave vibrations which must 
 be strongly felt in water, enable the fish to feel 
 the approach of its prey or its enemies. That 
 this would be of the greatest service to fish both 
 large and small, cannot be doubted. " Master," 
 says the fisherman in Pericles (Act II., sc. i), 
 " I marvel how fishes live in the sea." To which 
 the older fisherman answers : " Why, as men do 
 a-land ; the great ones eat up the little ones." 
 Very closely allied to the sense-organs of the
 
 216 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 lateral line are structures known as end-buds. 
 They are, in fact, a number of sensory cells 
 compacted into a mass shaped like a flower-bud 
 and connected with the nervous system. In 
 lampreys and fishes they are scattered over the 
 surface of the body. In the highest land-animals 
 they are confined to the inside of the mouth and 
 it is such structures as these which enable us 
 to taste. It may well be that fishes, living as 
 they do in water, are capable of tasting with their 
 external skin. 
 
 It seems, then, that the main thing is to keep 
 out of sight when one is fishing, for the eyes of 
 the trout are its chief defence against the approach 
 of an angler on the bank. With very shy trout 
 in shallow streams, and no growth of herbage 
 along the bank, this is really the greatest difficulty 
 with which the fisherman has to contend. A 
 second difficulty, also dependent on the trout's 
 sense of sight, is the gut-shy fish which makes off 
 as soon as the fly falls. This terror, produced by 
 gut floating over a trout's head, increases in 
 marked fashion as the season goes on if the water 
 has been at all fished. It is a problem worth
 
 GUT-SHY TROUT 217 
 
 considering whether the trout's movements under 
 these conditions are due to conscious or reflex 
 action. It is strange, however, that where trout 
 are very constantly fished for they become more 
 regardless of the gut and go on feeding steadily. 
 They seem to trust to their powers of dis- 
 criminating between natural and artificial flies. 
 One day it probably comes to pass that they 
 make a mistake.
 
 XIV 
 
 SEA-TROUT fishing comes, as it were, midway 
 between trout and salmon-fishing. The sea-trout 
 more nearly approaches a salmon than a brown- 
 trout in nature and habits. The gap between a 
 sea-trout and a lazy cautious chalkstream fish is 
 very wide. From the fishing stand-point, sea- 
 trout have great qualities, for they rise much more 
 freely than salmon, and are less timid than brown- 
 trout. When hooked, they jump and fight for 
 freedom like fury. It has seldom been my good 
 fortune to fish lochs into which sea-trout could 
 run up, but the sport one may get is unsurpassed 
 among all the forms of loch-fishing. Good fish- 
 ing for sea-trout may also be had in salt water. I 
 chanced once to fish a brackish bit of tidal water 
 for sea-trout, and caught on the same fly, in the 
 same pool, a small sea-trout, a small brown-trout, 
 and a small lythe or pollack. 
 
 The greatest enjoyment that I have had with 
 218
 
 SEA-TROUT 219 
 
 sea-trout has been in Islay. The sea-pools of the 
 Sorn have such a peculiar charm that I have often 
 been at some pains to discover the reason of it. 
 After it has run into the shallow sea-loch on the 
 south-western coast of the island, the fresh water 
 finds its way into the salt ocean. The little river 
 emerges from a wind-swept wood of stunted ash 
 and sycamore, and flows, winding slightly for the 
 last part of its short course, over the grassy flats 
 at the end of the loch. At its broadest part the 
 river is nowhere wider than a roadway. At the 
 end it runs in a channel excavated through a 
 gravelly alluvial soil. The course just above this, 
 in the wood, is rocky, with tumbling waterfalls and 
 deep brown pools. A rough and ancient fence of 
 posts and rails marks the boundary of the wood, 
 and here is the first of the sea-pools. The salt 
 tide comes up to this twice a day. At spring- 
 tides the sea holds back the fresh water which fills 
 up the channel, more or less to the brim, and 
 sometimes overflow on to the grass. The first 
 sea-pool has a very distinctive character. At the 
 fence there is a rocky cataract, over which the 
 water pours with some agitation, into a deep,
 
 220 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 circular hole. The sycamores and the ash-trees 
 partly overhang the sides where the water is 
 smooth. In the middle of the pool flows a strong, 
 bubbling current, which dies away at the tail-end. 
 It is a pretty thing to watch a fly, thrown across 
 the pool, work round into the current, as the line 
 is first curved and then straightened out by the 
 stream. It is a great satisfaction when the water 
 is properly coloured, to throw a conspicuous silver- 
 bodied fly, as you stand at the fence, and see a 
 fine silvery sea-trout come up and take it with a 
 dash, as you work it against the stream. The 
 remainder of the sea-pools are hollowed out in the 
 channel at places where the course bends. They 
 are longer, more even-flowing ; and overhanging 
 banks mark the spots where they have been cut 
 out of the grass. At the head of the loch, on 
 either side of the river, are the flats. They are 
 covered with rich, salted grass, intersected with 
 little crooked channels, into which the tide rises, 
 and dotted over with stagnant, rushy pools. It 
 is here that the herons watch silently for eels, 
 and the redshanks search noisily for worms and 
 shrimps. In the spring months these flats are a
 
 THE SEA-POOLS 221 
 
 blaze of yellow from the gorse bushes ; the grass 
 is dotted with pink thrift, and the damp water- 
 courses are gay with blue forget-me-nots. At 
 all seasons the place is strewn with dry, shrivelled 
 sea-weed, blown in before the wind, and bits of 
 wooden wreckage, soaked and bleached by the 
 salt water and the sun. 
 
 Such are the sea-pools, as it were half-way 
 between sea and river. The little river, from a 
 fishing aspect, suffers from a common defect. 
 There is rarely enough water ; and when, after 
 rain, it has risen to the required height, only a 
 day elapses and it is again too low. But there is 
 water in the sea-pools when the upper stretches 
 are mere trickles among the stones. And, be 
 there any wind at all, it is rare not to find a little 
 ripple on the surface. For this reason, and also 
 because they are very near the house, the sea- 
 pools are much resorted to ; and I have many 
 recollections of different days spread over several 
 years. Salmon pass up in numbers in the autumn, 
 but do not, I think, come into the sea-pools unless 
 there is enough water to take them higher. They 
 wait out at the mouth of the estuary, leaping and
 
 222 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 playing in the sea until there is a spate ; then it 
 is a sight to see them jumping in line at the falls, 
 and dashing through the shallower water above, 
 like mad things, until they can find security in the 
 next pool. I have never caught a salmon in the 
 sea-pools. Sometimes large burn-trout get washed 
 down, and seem to thrive in the brackish water 
 and take a sea-trout fly. It is, however, the sea- 
 trout which keep one attracted by the sea-pools 
 day after day, whatever the weather and however 
 low the water. I remember once fishing the top 
 pool ten evenings in succession without getting a 
 rise. I had become firmly convinced that there 
 were no fish there. Next day we ran a net 
 through and hauled out fourteen sea- trout. Of 
 course they may all have come in with the 
 previous tide. In any case, at the sea-pools, one 
 never should abandon hope. The sea-trout are 
 probably there awaiting a rise in the river. A real 
 spate is an astonishing sight to see. All the well- 
 known landmarks, such as rocks and shoals, are 
 lost. The stream tears, thick and foaming, into 
 the sea. Branches and beams of timber are swept 
 along, and the turbid water sometimes rises above
 
 A SPATE 223 
 
 the banks into the wood. Then one waits. The 
 water subsides next day, and all the thrushes and 
 blackbirds come down to the edge which was 
 flooded to feast on worms. The fish, too, are 
 glutted with this diet, though, before the water 
 has cleared enough for a fly, one may get a few 
 sea-trout with a stiff rod and a lobworm threaded 
 on a hook. But, somehow, this is not very satis- 
 factory sport, and one waits impatiently for the 
 water to fine down. The next day is one to be 
 made the most of. The water is no longer muddy, 
 but flows still and deep, coloured with peat to the 
 shade of weak black coffee. A silver-bodied, 
 bright-hued fly on a fairly big hook is best to 
 begin with, and sea-trout are not particular as to 
 the pattern. There is no need to crawl and to stalk 
 them on a day like this. You cast across to the 
 opposite bank, and work the fly with short jerks 
 as it comes over to you with the current. There 
 is something that is really splendid in the daring 
 rise of the sea-trout at your fly. With a trout- 
 rod, they run out the line, and give you great 
 excitement and anxiety, dashing about the pool 
 and leaping out of the water in their eagerness to
 
 224 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 be free. This sport may last a day or two at the 
 most unless there is more rain to keep up the 
 river ; but on the second day you will find it 
 probably harder to catch them. The water is 
 nearly down to its old level. The well-known 
 stones, which one watches at the bridge, have 
 reappeared, and the water is as clear as peat 
 water ever is. One changes, of course, to a 
 smaller fly, sometimes even before the first day is 
 over. A claret-coloured wool body replaces the 
 silver tinsel, and sober grouse feathers supersede 
 the gaudy wings. The stock of sea-trout is big 
 in a good year, and, as far as the sea-pools are 
 concerned, I believe that sometimes each tide may 
 bring up fresh fish to wait until there is water to 
 go higher. Sometimes one sees the fish jumping 
 and splashing in shoals as they come up the channel 
 with the tide. When the river is low most of 
 these drop back to the sea with the ebb-tide. But 
 a few seem to remain behind. Now, as long as 
 there are sea-trout in a pool, and one can keep 
 out of sight, it is, to my mind, worth fishing. 
 You may not catch much ; but if you will take 
 the trouble to use a fine trout-cast and a small
 
 LOW WATER 225 
 
 loch-fly and exercise a little skill in throwing a 
 light line, and are not above stooping and kneel- 
 ing, you will probably catch something. I do not 
 pretend that you will do so in the full glare of the 
 sun. But in the evening there is generally an 
 hour when it is worth trying, in spite of being 
 told that it is a hopeless fishing day, that the water 
 is too low and clear, the sky too bright, the air too 
 still or thundery, and the hundred other reasons 
 which are constantly urged to dissuade one from 
 trying to catch fish under difficulties. 
 
 I well remember the brilliant August even- 
 ing some years ago when I discovered that one 
 could catch these sea-trout when the river was low, 
 and the keeper said it was no use fishing. I was 
 inclined to think that he must know best, but yet 
 could not rest satisfied until I had tried. The 
 day had been hot, and there had been no rain for 
 weeks. The sun was just about to set behind the 
 western range of heathery hills, and the rays 
 caught one over the nape of the neck as one 
 walked across the flats to the mouth of the river. 
 The tide was out, and a vast stretch of wet sand 
 had attracted the shore-birds to feed. Curlews
 
 ^^6 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 were stalking about, probing the mud with their 
 beaks. A flock of redshanks rose from the sea 
 near the edge of the bottom pool, and wheeled 
 about as they made off with fluty cries of warning. 
 Down on the shore, where the rippling sea and the 
 wet sands met, a great assemblage of gulls had 
 come together in a noisy concourse. My heart 
 was full of misgiving when I saw the lowness of 
 the river, the unsuspected shoals of sand that were 
 laid bare in the river-bed, and the stones at the 
 bottom of the pools which I had thought were 
 deep. I began fishing with a sea-trout fly, which 
 fell with a perceptible splash on the pool. The 
 surface shone like brown, burnished metal in the 
 setting sun. It was obviously hopeless, and I 
 soon sat down disheartened, and almost devoured 
 by the midges. Then it occurred to me to 
 venture upon an experiment and see what 
 could be done by a change from the usual mode 
 of sea- trout fishing. The rocky pool at the fence 
 was still of very respectable depth, and had not 
 been disturbed by my presence. I put on a 
 tapered, three yard long, dry-fly cast of the finest 
 gut I had, and a small, hairy Red Palmer for a fly.
 
 FINE TACKLE 227 
 
 A wide circuit brought me above the pool, and I 
 kept far back, kneeling upon the grass, so that 
 the sea-trout could have no suspicion of my 
 arrival. The wood was now casting a welcome 
 shade upon the water, and if there were sea-trout, 
 as I knew there must be, I felt convinced that I 
 should get a rise. My notion is that a sea-trout 
 is a beast of prey and that one should aim at 
 tempting him to rush predaciously upon some 
 small marine animal which is seeking to escape. 
 I therefore let the stream carry out my line, and 
 kept the fly working and struggling against the 
 current. I had hardly searched the whole pool 
 over in this manner when there was a dash, and a 
 silvery form came up, turned over, and went off 
 with the hook well into him. It was a moment of 
 rare satisfaction. I played him carefully so as not 
 to disturb the water and alarm the others. When 
 I had got him netted and killed I repeated the 
 manoeuvre with success, and secured a couple. 
 Since then the charms of the sea-pools have become 
 inexhaustible, though I shudder to think how many 
 times I have fished them over and got nothing. 
 Yet the chance of getting a fish is good enough to
 
 228 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 keep one's hope lively. I am more than ever con- 
 vinced of the soundness of my belief that, as long 
 as there are sea-trout up, and one will take the pains 
 to keep out of their sight, they are always worth fish- 
 ing for. The same thing cannot be said of salmon. 
 It was my good fortune, not long since, to 
 have three days' fishing on one of the best sea- 
 trout lochs in Scotland. I had almost described 
 it as the best in Scotland, but in such things com- 
 parison must be impossible. The uncertainty of 
 loch-fishing is so great that manifestly the best 
 lochs will have ups and downs in the sport they 
 yield. During the three weeks before I arrived 
 hardly anything had been caught. Loch Areanus 
 has a very high reputation. Many distinguished 
 anglers have fished it, and one at least has written 
 about the sport he enjoyed. Mr. Herbert Spencer 
 often fished there, and his name and the number 
 of fish he killed are recorded in the fishing-book. 
 There is a legend that the philosopher experi- 
 mented on the trout with a fly dressed by himself 
 from his own hair. The records of the fishing- 
 book go back to the 'sixties of last century, 
 and they have been kept with much greater
 
 SEA-TROUT IN LOCHS 229 
 
 care than those of any other sea-trout loch that 
 I know of. Having no memory for figures and 
 statistics, I will not attempt to give any exact 
 idea of the number and weight of the fish that 
 have been caught. The loch has never been 
 heavily fished or, except at certain seasons, fished 
 with any real regularity. None but the owner 
 and his guests enjoy the right, and for this reason 
 there must be many days in the season when huge 
 catches might be made and there is no one fishing. 
 The present owner told me that his best day was 
 seventy sea-trout between the two rods in the boat. 
 None of these were very large fish. Another angler 
 described how, some years ago, towards the end 
 of July he and another had fished the loch regu- 
 larly for a fortnight. The bag exceeded twenty 
 fish every day, and a large number were two- 
 pounders and over. After these figures I have 
 done with my statistics, and will come to a descrip- 
 tion of the loch and the manners of the sea-trout 
 which my companion and I caught. 
 
 One of those small salmon rivers of which 
 there are many on the West Coast connects the 
 loch and the sea. The end of the loch is not
 
 230 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 more than three or four miles from the coast. 
 The river is often low and the fate of the fishing 
 in the loch is dependent, it is believed, on the 
 coming of a good flood when the shoals of sea- 
 trout are waiting in the bay. If there is a spate 
 they have a clear and easy run into the loch ; if 
 not, it is believed, they move elsewhere along the 
 coast. But as to this, all existing information is 
 uncertain. The great majority run straight into 
 the loch, no doubt. Others certainly remain some 
 while in the pools of the river and afford most 
 excellent sport. Indeed, I have never appreciated 
 so keenly how much greater is the pleasure and 
 excitement of catching a sea-trout in running 
 water and catching the same fish, or rather his 
 neighbour, casting from a boat over a loch. In a 
 loch one feels somehow that one is casting over 
 an unknown void, from which there is no more 
 reason to expect the coming of the fish at the fly 
 at one moment more than another. In the river, 
 previous experience or instinctive knowledge 
 teaches one when to expect a rise and where fish 
 will be found at various states of water. So 
 much of the angler's pleasure lies in the
 
 LOCH AREANUS 231 
 
 anticipation of sport and the expectation of hook- 
 ing a big fish, that when the desired rise comes 
 at the moment we await it, our satisfaction is 
 increased. This is, perhaps, very obvious ; but 
 it explains why chalkstream fishing, where we see 
 the fish and can fix exactly the moment when the 
 rise may be awaited, is so much more exciting and 
 satisfactory than any other sort of trout-fishing. 
 But the matter does not really rest there. A 
 stream affects the behaviour of our fly in a fashion 
 that the still waters of a loch do not emulate. 
 There is a liveliness and variety about every cast 
 that one makes for a sea-trout in a river which 
 the best loch cannot vie with. And lastly, when 
 the fish is hooked, the thrills of anxiety or excite- 
 ment which the liveliest sea-trout can give one 
 are reduced to the lowest point in a loch. Yet, 
 when all is said, sea-trout fishing in any place 
 remains very good sport. 
 
 The three days on Loch Areanus gave between 
 them a fair average. For whilst Tuesday was 
 odious as to weather and unsatisfactory as to 
 results, Wednesday was a day unprecedented in 
 the memory of man and the records of the loch.
 
 232 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 It was not, however, the sea-trout which produced 
 this exceptional bag, but the fact that we each 
 killed a salmon and each hooked and lost another. 
 It was over three years since any salmon had 
 been caught in the loch, though great numbers 
 must be there indifferent to the flies. 
 
 The loch is fully two or three miles long and 
 from half a mile to as much again in breadth. 
 On one side is deer-forest with rocky ground, 
 high heather and a fair sprinkling of birch and 
 alder trees with some bracken between them. 
 On the other side is sheep-ground with poor 
 grazing, rising sharply to mountains from which 
 a mass of rough detritus and fallen stones have 
 accumulated in gullies and on slopes which scar 
 the hillsides. At the head of the loch stands a 
 shepherd's cottage, harled, white and very solitary, 
 the only human habitation in the view. At the 
 bottom, where the river makes its exit, there is a 
 very peculiar sandy and gravelly beach, which 
 forms a bar on which parties of gulls are fond of 
 standing, all heading against the wind and dozing 
 or doing their toilets. Near this is Salmon Bay, 
 where, according to tradition, salmon most com- 
 monly rise ; but it was not there that my fish took.
 
 SEA-TROUT FLIES 233 
 
 Tuesday may be shortly described and done 
 with. It was one of the roughest and wettest 
 days that I remember. The waves on the loch 
 were fearful. Two men could hardly row and 
 control the heavy boat from which we fished. 
 My angling companion, who was the owner of 
 the loch, used, as is the custom there, a fourteen- 
 foot two-handed rod, and no doubt he covered 
 more water, showed his flies for a longer time, and 
 got more rises. But for amusement my stiff little 
 greenheart gave the most satisfaction to myself 
 though it delayed the netting of the fish. It 
 wants a big sea-trout to give much excitement to 
 the man who catches him on a fourteen-foot rod. 
 As for flies, the same two patterns which have 
 been tried and found effective are used by every 
 one. A bold man must be found some day to 
 face the keeper's displeasure and try some 
 novelties. The flies are fancy sea-trout patterns. 
 One is called The Cobb, after a Mr. Cobb who 
 introduced it years ago with success. It is of a 
 medium size for sea-trout and is chiefly composed 
 of blue hackles. The second is called after its 
 colour the Greenery-Tallery y and dates, I imagine,
 
 234 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 from the days when Patience was produced at the 
 Savoy. We fished, with as much assiduousness 
 as could be expected in such weather, for about 
 two hours, and killed eight sea-trout between us. 
 Not one of them touched 2 Ibs., and six out of 
 the eight fell to my companion and his big rod. 
 It was no deprivation of pleasure to give up, for 
 we were wet to the skin and buffeted by the 
 wind and the tossing of the boat. 
 
 Next morning was fine and we had our great 
 day. The glass was rising. The sun shone cheer- 
 fully ; and a fresh or strong breeze blew out of the 
 north-west. I started fishing about ten o'clock, 
 with the same two boatmen but another angling 
 companion. The sea-trout were rising well when 
 we began alongside the reeds at the northern 
 end of the loch. Within a few minutes from 
 the start I had two beautiful fish safely landed, 
 and a moment later had two fish on together. 
 Each weighed a pound and by a little judicious 
 management of the net they were both secured. 
 Then came the salmon. I was casting into the 
 shore against some rocks. The loch was very 
 high after prolonged rain, and much grass and
 
 A MEMORABLE DAY 235 
 
 some low bushes were partly submerged. The 
 fly was taken under water without any sign of a 
 rise, but from the bending of the little rod I 
 guessed, and sang out at once, that I had hold 
 of a good one. It was not, however, until half 
 an hour later, by which time I was trembling in 
 the knees and sweating with anxiety, that we 
 knew for certain that it was a salmon. He 
 weighed 9 Ibs. when we got him into the boat. 
 The fish swam deep in steady, sulky circles round 
 the stern of the boat. Had he known the strength 
 of the cast and the slenderness of the rod, which 
 bent into a half-circle, he might have played 
 more lively tricks and broken away. But he 
 neither ran out the line, nor after the first moments, 
 when he discovered that he was hooked, did he 
 allow me to reel in. As fights with salmon go, 
 this was a dull one ; but the relief was none the 
 less when it was over. I well remember sitting 
 down suddenly with shaky legs and a sigh of 
 gratitude to the boatman who got him skilfully 
 head-foremost into the net. The fish proved to 
 be very red and had been up a couple of months 
 or more.
 
 236 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 My companion did not get his salmon until 
 late in the afternoon. We were naturally full 
 of expectation as we drifted round Salmon Bay y 
 but no sign of a salmon showed itself. A little 
 further on, where waves were dashing against a 
 rocky shore, a fish came at the tail-fly. My 
 companion had a double-handed rod and the 
 salmon was securely hooked. He played briskly 
 on the surface and several times ran out a 
 dangerous length of line and splashed about. But 
 the fight was not a long-drawn-out one. This 
 fish weighed 14 Jibs. Having broken the records 
 of the past ten or eleven years, and got two 
 salmon out of the loch in a day, we were en- 
 couraged to try the ground over again, for we 
 had glimpses of other fish playing and rising in 
 the rough water along this southern shore. My 
 turn came next. A fish rose at me. I turned 
 him over in the water and felt a tug, but the 
 hold gave, and he was off. Then came my com- 
 panion's turn to lose one. It was disappointing ; 
 for the fish was well on and partly played. I 
 think the fisherman, emboldened by success and 
 trusting to a big rod, was very severe on his fish.
 
 SALMON IN A LOCH 237 
 
 He pulled him about as he pleased and the hold 
 of the fly gave. We tried this salmon ground 
 again and changed to small salmon-flies and 
 stouter gut. But the moment of success was 
 over and the fish were out of humour. It may 
 be another three years before one of the hundreds 
 of salmon in that loch chances to fall a victim 
 to the fisherman's fly. Meantime we had been 
 adding to our bag of sea-trout. The basket was 
 divided among us to carry home : two salmon, 
 weighing 14^ Ibs. and 9 Ibs. respectively, and 
 eighteen sea-trout, weighing over 19 Ibs. 
 
 On the third day, which was Thursday, 
 September I, the conditions were entirely changed. 
 Yet, of course, the natural optimism of anglers 
 made us hope that the salmon might again be 
 rising. Needless to say, no such thing happened. 
 We were off early. I had again a different angling 
 companion in the boat. There was a flat calm 
 with fine drizzling rain. The midges drove one 
 distracted. But about noon the sun broke 
 through, and soon after, a pleasant breeze ruffled 
 the loch sufficiently to set the sea-trout rising. 
 Our joint basket by four o'clock was nineteen,
 
 238 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 weighing 15 Ibs., an inferior average of size 
 compared with the day before. 
 
 On the way homewards I stopped to try the 
 river, which had gone down fast in the last twenty- 
 four hours. There was a flat, steady run some 
 hundred yards long, where the water flowed 
 smoothly over a level. It was the very place 
 where one would expect to find sea-trout, while 
 the water was still on the high side. I persuaded 
 the keeper to leave me to my own devices and 
 go home. Then with a silver-bodied fly, a fine 
 cast, and a single-handed rod, I fished the run 
 carefully down. A few yards from the top came 
 the first fish with a fine boil, but missed the fly. 
 I walked backwards and on coming over him a 
 second time the fly was seized in the proper 
 fashion to be expected among sea-trout. There 
 were rises every few yards, but the greater number 
 came short. I had, however, caught and landed five 
 by the time I got to the end of the stretch. The 
 best weighed 3^ Ibs. and was a noble fish except 
 that he was not fresh run. These five from the 
 river gave me, somehow, more pleasure than all 
 the others we caught in the loch put together.
 
 XV 
 
 IT is no uncommon thing to hear people say that 
 they have not enough patience for fishing. As a 
 matter of fact, it is not patience but hope that is 
 required. Patience implies suffering, whilst hope 
 breeds cheerfulness. A hopeful spirit, which is an 
 essential part of every angler's nature, is more 
 needed in fishing for salmon than for trout. There 
 are so many blank days, the habits of the fish are 
 so mysterious, we know so little of the causes which 
 prompt the salmon to rise to a fly, that a large 
 stock of hope is necessary : and there is no reason 
 why a day which apparently promises badly should 
 not turn out well. We are, as it were, fishing in 
 darkness ; but sooner or later, if we persist, we 
 shall be rewarded by the supreme satisfaction of 
 hooking a salmon. When the salmon takes hold, 
 it is, as a rule, a moment of perfectly supreme 
 satisfaction. But sometimes even that actual 
 moment is disappointing ; and any one who expects 
 
 239
 
 240 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 that a 2O-lb. salmon will give ten times the sport 
 of a 2-lb. trout, has but to kill one salmon to dis- 
 cover that he is mistaken. I was once fishing on 
 the Tay with a youthful angler. After many hours 
 of dreary and fruitless casting, the youth called out 
 for assistance because, as he said, something very 
 odd had happened to his line. The mystery was 
 soon solved ; a salmon had taken the fly under 
 water, and was fighting sulkily at the bottom of 
 the pool. In order to persist until success is 
 attained, hope, artificially cultivated, is essential ; 
 and to keep it alive, the salmon-fisher resorts to 
 many devices. 
 
 It is, of course, different with trout-fishing, 
 especially where we see the fish, or watch their 
 rings, when they rise. We know that at some time 
 or other they will be likely to come on the feed. 
 We can usually tell what fly they will take. Ex- 
 perience gained on one trout stream seldoms fails 
 on other trout streams of the same nature. For 
 though no man can compel trout to take a fly when 
 they will not, the skill of the individual fisherman 
 always counts for much more with trout than it 
 does with salmon. It is undoubtedly one of the
 
 GEORGE BORROW 241 
 
 attractions of salmon-fishing that there is something 
 of a lottery about it, and that the prizes, though 
 few, are big ones. Who is there that has not, on 
 a fishing-day, abandoned the fair chance of a good 
 basket of trout for the faint chance of a small 
 salmon ? Again, the attractions of salmon-fishing 
 are vastly increased for some people by the nature 
 of the water to be fished and the pleasure of wield- 
 ing a big rod and casting a heavy line. There is 
 a passage in one of George Borrow's books in 
 which he describes how he has always loved to 
 gaze upon streams. A fisherman can rarely cross 
 a bridge without lingering for a few moments to 
 look at the water. Running water is a thing that 
 fascinates and holds us spellbound. In this same 
 spirit one may say that no day spent on the banks 
 of even the meanest salmon river is ever dull. 
 Moreover, a man who has fished diligently all day 
 with a salmon-rod feels that he has done hard work 
 and earned his rest. These things enable us to face 
 the blank days. For though a man may be tired 
 and disheartened by the evening, the true fisher- 
 man always wakes hopeful next morning. There 
 may even be good reasons for hoping that fortune 
 
 R
 
 242 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 will change. If there are not, the fisherman invents 
 them. I once fished for three consecutive weeks 
 on one of the best salmon rivers in Norway and got 
 only two fish. Neither of them was large and the 
 smallest weighed only 6 Ibs. The other was caught, 
 almost by chance, harling. There were, if I re- 
 member rightly, twelve or thirteen blank days in 
 succession. Yet one went on fishing daily, as a 
 matter of course, for the water was in perfect order. 
 The most light-hearted and persistent fisherman 
 could not face such a succession of blank days with- 
 out despondency did he not artificially cultivate 
 hope. It would seem that one of the most effective 
 ways of doing this is to carry a large stock of flies 
 and to change from one to the other. 
 
 Among the principal mysteries of salmon- 
 fishing is the nature of the instinct or impulse 
 which makes the fish seize what is known as a fly. 
 It may be appetite, anger, play, curiosity, annoy- 
 ance, or merely a predatory instinct. It is now so 
 well established that salmon do not habitually feed 
 in fresh water that the fisherman cannot hope that 
 hunger will impel the salmon in a pool, sooner or 
 later, to take the fly. On the other hand, if curiosity
 
 HOPE IN FISHING 243 
 
 or annoyance be the moving impulse, there is 
 every reason to go on hoping. And the unaccount- 
 able way in which a fish that has been shown the 
 fly at intervals during the day will at last suddenly 
 seize it, almost induces one to believe that salmon 
 can be successfully teased into rising. It must be, 
 of course, remembered that salmon have no hands ; 
 and the only way they can gratify their curiosity 
 or exhibit anger is by seizing a little moving object 
 in their jaws. Sometimes they evidently only 
 come up to look at the fly, and having satisfied 
 themselves, go back. Sometimes they rise with an 
 angry snap and miss the fly. In such cases there 
 is hope that they may come again later on. 
 
 Hope is very much kept alive in salmon- 
 fishing by the fact that we do not see our fish and 
 only know of their whereabouts by tradition or 
 experience. The foaming pool is deep, and who 
 knows what may be happening beneath the surface 
 as we cast across and watch the lively fly swimming 
 and struggling, as it were, against the stream ? 
 Have the salmon seen it ? Have they been 
 following it under water undecided whether to 
 take it ? May not another cast be successful ?
 
 244 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 Then, after hours during which not a fish has 
 been moved, we wonder whether there is a salmon 
 in the pool. No means of knowing exists, and 
 all this uncertainty may be made conducive to 
 hopefulness if we look at things from the angler's 
 aspect. It is the tremendous uncertainty of 
 salmon-fishing that keeps us always expectant. 
 Hope is naturally at its highest in the morning, 
 when we reel off a little line at the edge of the 
 first pool, and begin to fish with lively eagerness 
 and care. We will suppose the state of the river 
 is pronounced good : neither too high nor too 
 low. The weather and the wind we put down 
 also as favourable, so far as we can judge ; at 
 least we hope that they are. How often the 
 voice of the ghillie, sitting on the bank attentive 
 and watchful, declares, as the fly reaches some 
 part of the pool : " He should come now, if he 
 comes at all." The critical moment passes, we 
 have fished with redoubled care, the fly is cast 
 further down across the swirling stream, and 
 nothing has happened. So we fish over the whole 
 pool fruitlessly. But we are not in the least dis- 
 pirited, because we fully hope that the next pool
 
 EXPECTATIONS 245 
 
 will produce a rise. We are convinced that the 
 day is not going to be blank. We could not go 
 on fishing were it otherwise. 
 
 But then as the day passes without a rise or a 
 pull the spirit sinks a little. The best pools have 
 yielded nothing. We begin to fish like a machine, 
 covering the water foot by foot, and working the 
 fly without the same trembling expectation as at 
 the beginning of the day. When we have 
 fished our beat once over, we revive our 
 courage by changing the fly. This is the most 
 fertile expedient for raising fresh hopes, though 
 one may doubt how far a salmon discriminates 
 between minute shades of colour and small differ- 
 ences in dressing. Size is more important, for 
 there can be no doubt that in deep and heavy 
 water a larger fly is needed than when the river is 
 low. So two courses are open to us : we can try 
 with different patterns, and we can try them of 
 different sizes. At each change of fly we gaze 
 for a moment at the attractive combination of 
 tinsel and feathers, we test the knot, and straighten 
 out the gut with our fingers before launching it to 
 take its trial. Surely it will be irresistible. 
 
 R 2
 
 246 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 At last, when various patterns are tried in vain, 
 we feel once more a trifle downhearted : yet the 
 angler's spirit tells us we must not give up fishing. 
 So we give the river a rest, which means really 
 that we rest ourselves, and begin in half an hour 
 with fresh hopes. Or else we eat some food or 
 sit down to smoke, both of which are infallible 
 remedies for despondency in fishing. Or else we 
 persuade ourselves that some change has come 
 over the water or the weather since we tried the 
 same pool earlier in the day. If it was cloudy, 
 we persuade ourselves that sun will make the fish 
 move. If the morning was bright, we welcome 
 clouds, because any change makes us hopeful 
 again. It is considered a rule among salmon- 
 fishers that there is a better chance on a dull than 
 on a bright day. But I remember once fishing on 
 a small river when there were abrupt changes 
 from dark clouds to brilliant sunshine, and the two 
 fish hooked during the day both rose to the fly 
 when the sun was throwing its rays on the pool, 
 though it had been fished over before during dull 
 and cloudy intervals. So any change may give 
 ground on which to build our hopes. We also
 
 OPTIMISM 247 
 
 look to the direction and force of the wind. The 
 stagnant pool will now have a good ripple from 
 the breeze. In another place we shall be able to 
 get out a better line since the wind has dropped. 
 Or else we look at the water, which may have 
 fallen now and have been too high earlier in the 
 day : or else a shower on the hills has coloured 
 it a little and we hope that now a change will 
 come. By night-time we are, of course, often 
 disappointed and cast down by fruitless labour. 
 But hope always comes in the morning. 
 
 Every one who takes notice of such things 
 will agree that anglers are optimists ; and the 
 same may be said of every healthy man who is 
 worth anything. But whether the fishermen are 
 optimists because they are fishermen, or fishermen 
 because they are optimists, is a problem of some 
 difficulty. Perhaps there is a survival of the 
 fittest among anglers, as among other organisms, 
 and those who are not endowed with an optimistic 
 mind and temper, drop out of the ranks early. 
 Fish are so whimsical and both salmon and 
 trout-fishing are often so full of mystery, that 
 we are compelled not to abandon hope unless
 
 248 CHALKSTREAM AND MOORLAND 
 
 we mean to give up fishing. Nevertheless, I 
 had best end what I have written with John 
 Bunyan's verses : 
 
 Yetfoh there be that neither hook nor line 
 Nor snare nor net nor engine can make thine.
 
 INDEX OF NAMES 
 
 23 
 
 " Anglers' Desideratum," 3 1 
 Areanus, Loch, 228 
 Ashdown Forest, 132 
 "AsfraeusTRiver, 24 
 Atlantic, 193 
 Avon, 123 
 
 BATESON, Mr., 201, 205 
 Beane, 42, 143 
 Beechey, Sir William, 1 3 
 Bishops, Anglican, 10 
 " Book on Angling, A," 34 
 Borrow, George, 241 
 Bristol Channel, 99 
 Bunyan, John, 248 
 Burne, Mr. R. H., 210 
 Buxton, Mr. Sydney, 1 1, 42 
 Byron, Lord, 9 
 
 " CHALK-STREAM Studies," 25 
 
 Chantrey, Sir Francis, 14 
 
 Chenies Mill, 88 
 
 Chess, The, 83, 88 
 
 Clarke, Captain, 3 1 
 
 Cobb, Mr., 233 
 
 " Compleat Angler," 29 
 
 Cotton, Charles, 29, 44 
 Cor, Loch, 173 
 Cow Drain, 65 
 
 DAVY, Sir Humphry, 13 
 De Natura Animalium, 25 
 Dennys, John, 10 
 Derbyshire, 54 
 Dewar, Mr., 45 
 Diptera, 15 
 Donegal, 180 
 Dove, 54 
 Drollsay, Loch, 186 
 
 EASTER, 98 
 
 " Ephemera," 45 
 
 Exmoor, 54, 99 
 
 "FLY-FISHERS' Entomology," 44 
 Francis, Francis, 34 
 
 GADE, 42, 77 
 Good Friday, 1 1 
 Glengarry, 141
 
 250 
 
 INDEX OF NAMES 
 
 Granby, Lord, 45 
 Grey, Sir Edward, 45, 50 
 
 HALFORD, Mr., 45 
 
 Hammond, 34 
 
 Hampshire, 25 
 
 " Handbook of Angling," 45 
 
 Hawker, Colonel, 21 
 
 Hebrides, Inner, 158 
 
 Hertford, 143 
 
 Hertfordshire, 95, 96, 144 
 
 Hippurus, 23 
 
 Houghton Fishing Club, 94 
 
 Hungerford, 114 
 
 INNER Hebrides, 153 
 Inverness-shire, 143, 146 
 Islay, 157, 219 
 Itchen, 34, 52, 141 
 
 JURA, 174 
 
 KEEPER, on Paradise, 15 
 Kennet, 96, 106, 122, 128 
 Kilanalan Bay, 158 
 Kingsley, Charles, 25 
 
 LEA, River, 95 
 Leckford, 63 
 Lee, Dr., 213 
 Lewes, 133 
 LocnAreanus, 228 
 Loch Cor, 173 
 Loch Drollsay, 186 
 Loch Leven, 170, 183 
 
 London, 150, 193 
 Longparish, 21 
 Long Vacation, 194 
 
 MACEDONIA, 24 
 
 Malibran, 14 
 
 "Maxims and Hints for Anglers,' 
 
 93 
 
 Maxwell, Sir Herbert, 42, 204 
 
 Mimram, River, 95 
 
 "Minor Tactics of the Chalk- 
 stream," 39 
 
 Mull, 174 
 
 NADDER, 123 
 Nelson, Lord, 12 
 Newbury, 55 
 Norway, 242 
 
 OGDEN'S mayflies, 34 
 Ouse, Sussex, 133 
 
 PA LEY, Dr., 13 
 
 Paradise, 15, 63 
 
 Patience, at the Savoy, 234 
 
 Penn, Richard, 93 
 
 Pennsylvania, 94 
 
 Pericles, 215 
 
 " Practical Angler, The," 30 
 
 Pulman, George, 33 
 
 RAMSBURY, 109 
 Rome, 23 
 
 Ronald, Mr., 44
 
 INDEX OF NAMES 
 
 251 
 
 Ross, 146 
 Royal Society, 93 
 
 SALISBURY, 123 
 "Secrets of Angling," 10 
 Skues, Mr., 39 
 Slieve League, 180 
 Sorn, The, 219 
 Southdowns, 134 
 Spencer, Herbert, 228 
 Stewart, W.C., 30 
 Stockbridge, 63 
 Sunday fishing, 1 1 
 Surgeons, College of, 2 1 1 
 Juissexjxmds. 14.0 
 
 TALLEYRAND, 147 
 Tariff Reformers, 48 
 
 Tay, The, 53 
 Test, The, 53-77 
 Tisbury, 123 
 Tweed, 53 
 
 UNNA, Lough, 180 
 
 VACATION, Long, 194 
 
 " Vade Mecum of Fly-fishing," 33 
 
 Virginia Water, 85 
 
 WALTON, Izaak, 14, 29, 44 
 Whitchurch, 55, 71 
 Wiltshire, 123 
 Wimble, Will, 48 
 Winchester, 32, 55 
 Wykehamists, old, 32 
 Wylye, The, 123 
 
 THE END 
 
 PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AMD SONS, LIMITED, LONDON AND BECCLES.
 
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