the mouth of a fish down-stream of me. It is a mistake to be nervous about putting strain on a big one as long as he is up-stream of the rod. He should be bullied and given no peace, and the line recovered the moment he stops running.

One of the most exciting fights I had was with a fish lying in the tail of a pool and just on the near side of a narrow line of choppy waves. The tail of the pool was divided into two portions by the point of an island fifteen yards above the fish. The stiller water in which he lay flowed between me and the island, while the main stream ran at a great pace along the further side of it. The only bridge from my bank to the island was two hundred yards below me. My first cast sent the fly short by some few inches, and the fish made no sign. At the next the fly dragged, and I neither expected nor got a rise. The third was a better shot. The fly lit about two feet above him and sailed nicely over his head. He whipped round like lightning and took it some six feet below where he had been lying. I felt well home in him, but the danger lay in his forcing a passage round the point of the island and going down the stream on the further side of it. He seemed to realise this, and began to jerk and fight his way up the fifteen yards which divided him from the fork of the stream. Twice I just beat him, but, though he failed to turn the corner, I could not pull him downstream again, and felt him collecting his strength for a final attempt to make good the last few yards. I prepared for the danger as well as I could by wading in below him half-way across to the island, but I still had the deepest water to cross if he got round to the main stream. The final rush came; and, as I feared, I failed to stop him. He rounded the island, and the reel shrieked as he sailed down the waves on the further side. I plunged my way across, filling both waders to the brim, and landed on the island lurching about like a drunken man. The fish was well ahead of me at the end of a dangerously long line, and there was no pool for one hundred yards below, and bad going between me and it. I blundered after him as well as I could, reeling up as I ran, and reached smoother rocks by the side of the pool below. His journey down the rapids had luckily made the fish quite as blown as my run in full waders had

rendered me. I caught him up in the pool, and we travelled down it side by side to its tail, where the gaffer, who had crossed by the bridge, joined me and hooked out a very beaten nine-pounder. That, I think, was the only fish of any size which got a good start of me downstream and did not escape.

The weather was very varied during my last visit to the river. We experienced every kind of day and every height of water. I cannot find by looking at my diary that any kind of weather or any height of water was specially favourable. We came to the satisfactory conclusion that one might hope for some success on any sort of day, except when the water was really thick. From ten in the morning till two p.m., and from six in the evening onwards, as long as the fly was visible, seemed to be the best hours of the day. The last few moments of light were the likeliest of all, especially in the stiller pools. During a month's fishing there was only one day on which I did not rise a sea trout of more than 3 lb. to a dry fly. On that day the river was rising rapidly and looked the colour of Scotch broth. The two best days I had differed very much in weather and water conditions. The first was bright, still and warm, and the water low. After fishing very badly in the morning and killing one fish of 4 lb., I killed five more after 4 p.m., weighing respectively 3 lb., 5 lb., 5 lb., 5 lb., and 111⁄2 lb. The best one was caught on a wet fly in the dark at 10 p.m. He went down under the centre of a wooden bridge, below which I had already been taken by two of the other fish on a dry fly earlier in the evening. I could see nothing, and had to discover which supports of the bridge he had gone between, by following the point of the rod. Of course he had taken the middle channel, and the water was neither shallow nor slow. By clinging to the upright posts in mid-stream with one hand, I managed to get myself and my rod under the bridge and safely reach the shore again below. Then a 'kjer,' or submerged pier of stones and logs, was passed, and after a stubborn fight in the growing darkness, he became exhausted and was successfully gaffed.

On the other day the river was very high from a great spate, but just beginning to fall and quite clear. I was told that the dry fly would be useless, but I determined

to give it a chance. As I walked to the edge of the first pool I saw a trout lying almost on the bank. He would not look at the fly, but another fish just below him rose and was missed. This, at any rate, showed where they were lying, and proved that the dry fly was worth a trial. I had one of the most exciting day's fishing I have ever had. The pools were running so high and fast that they were not worth calling pools at all, but little bits of suitable water could be found near the very edge of the river, where a fly would float. When a fish was hooked, he was whirled off at once by the torrent, and I had all I could do to run, scramble, and splash my way at a sufficient pace to keep with him. It was no use hoping to reach a pool below in which to kill him-there was no pool short of the sea. He had to be thoroughly choked, and was gaffed as he swept into the bank from the racing stream. Many fish were lost, but six of over 3 lb. were landed, and one of them weighed 12 lb.

On this same day my companion fished only with a wet fly, and I should say that it was a particularly favourable day for wet fly fishing. He too had a fine day's sport, but the dry fly beat wet both in weight and numbers. One of my six fish made a wonderful rush for the sea. He was hooked about five hundred yards from it, and after playing ducks and drakes with himself till he reached the middle of the river, he turned his head for the sea and raced down the stream, while I ran for my life over a bridge, level with him, and then along the bank below it. I was powerless to stop him, and the best I could do was to try and keep him to my side of the river as I ran. The fish took two kjers in his stride, and neither he nor I stopped running until he was gaffed, only a hundred yards above the sea. I lay on my back and gasped with excitement and exhaustion. He was not more than 5 lb., but he was one of those absolutely unrestrainable fish, who know exactly where they want to go the moment they are hooked, and set about getting there as quickly as possible. He looked as though he had come out of the sea that morning; and he very nearly got back to it.

On another occasion a really big fish took the fly when I was at the bottom of a steep and rocky bank, across which it was impossible to move at any pace. He just

gave me time to scramble up the bank to the level ground above, before he began his down-stream run. I had a good start with him, but he got at once into some most alarming waves, and we covered one hundred yards in no time. Then he pulled up right under me close to the bank and showed himself to be something like 15 lb. The gaffer scrambled down the bank after him, but the fish saw his danger, and, sailing out again into the stream, gave a most extraordinary exhibition of strength. He cut through the waves, which were running at a terrific pace, and ploughed his way up against them along the further bank, foot by foot, for fifty yards. The line made that peculiar hissing sound as it cut through the waves up-stream, and I put all the strain I dared upon it. At last his strength failed him and he stopped. I got his head round, and in a moment he was swept towards me with the stream. I reeled up as fast as I could, and he came level with me. I started running again, and never stopped till I and the fish reached a pool 150 yards below. Here he lay beaten and on his side, and I began to haul him slowly in towards the bank. Just before he reached the gaff, I suppose because I was too anxious and hurried, the hold gave and the hook came back to me with two scales upon it. I think he must have been hooked in the back. It seemed to me that this was so, as he passed below me, and it is not likely that any fish hooked in the mouth could have fought his way so far against such a stream. It was a very bitter moment, but I had enjoyed the best fight I have ever had with a sea trout, and the memory of it is pleasant, although it ended in the wrong way. I hooked and killed a bigger fish than this. It took a Wickham's Fancy near the top of a quiet pool, and, though not so violent in its movements, went down through several pools and the rapids between them-some 300 yards in all-before being landed. It was a hen fish of 17 lb. and quite fresh-run. I succeeded in rising two salmon to a dry fly, but through my fault, or theirs, they did not touch it.

My actual bag for the month, not counting fish under 3 lb., was 77 sea trout, and 1 grilse; of these, 69 sea trout were caught on a dry fly. The reader should not, however, infer from this that the wet fly was of little or no use. The dry fly was so fascinating that I do not

un

think I gave the wet a fair chance. There were doubtedly times when the wet fly, even in the daytime, was more killing than the dry; and a change from the one method to the other gave a delightful variation to the fishing and a much-needed rest to some of the muscles of the wrist and arm. To fish any river for ten hours a day for a month without a break is a hard test of the sport. That river stood the test. I never took, or wished to take, a day off, except Sunday mornings. Fishing began at 6 p.m. on Sundays, and we went by the first watch we could find to reach that hour.

The fishing I have described is that of a river where the fish attain weights which I find many anglers disbelieve in, so far as sea trout are concerned. Luckily, however, there are plenty of rivers in our islands of a similar character where these fish take a wet fly; and I see no reason why they should not take the dry fly as well as or better than the wet. The weight of the fish is not the only attraction in this form of angling. The fascination of it lies, too, in the delicacy of the fishing, and the intense excitement of seeing the beautiful rise of a sea trout of whatever size to a dry fly. The smaller fish of lb. to 2 lb. took it savagely on some days; and a fight with a 2 lb. sea trout on a small rod in rapid water is not a thing to be despised. So long as one can catch the biggest fish in the river, it does not seem to me to matter very much what size the biggest fish are.