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THE LIBRARY

OF

THE UNIVERSITY

OF CALIFORNIA

PRESENTED BY

PROF. CHARLES A. KOFOID AND

MRS. PRUDENCE W. KOFOID

Digitized by the Internet Archive

in 2007 with funding from

Microsoft Corporation

http://www.archive.org/details/anglerslinesOOpricrich

AN ANGLER'S LINES.

An Angler^s Lines.

By

A. J. Price.

h

(A. J. P. "The Field.")

LONDON:

SIMPKIN, MARSHALL, HAMILTON, KENT & C0.» Ltd.
1911.

fAll riehts reserved).

TO

MY FATHER,

IN MEMORY OF OUR HAPPY DAYS

BY MANY WATERS.

0, .vq

CONTENTS.

A Preliminary Cast.

PAGE

I.

Saturday

1

II.

The Pike from the Ditch

6

III.

A Morning Idyll - - . -

15

IV.

The Duck Pond - - - -

20

V.

In Divers Weathers

27

VI.

Costa Sketches - . - -

42

VII.

Off and On the Towing Path -

65

VIII.

A Tragedy of the Mere -

74

IX.

A Sussex Brook - - - -

79

X.

An Evening by the Mill Pond

87

XI.

" Varium et Mutabile " -

91

XII.

Days on a JBuckinghamshire Lake -

98

ERRATA.
Headlines pp. 35, 37. 39 & 41, Weathers NOT
Waters.

" n 67, 69, 71, Off and On not On

and Off.

„ „ 73, Off and On the Towing Path

NOT A Tragedy of the Mere.

A PRELIMINARY CAST.

T FEEL that whatever I write respecting this.

book must be of the nature of an excuse^
— excuse for its lack of comprehensiveness in
that It narrates the taking of but certain
kinds of fish, excuse for its literary frailty^
and lastly, yet most needed, excuse for its
publication at all. And, am I painfully con-
scious, I have no excuse to offer. Therefore
I must leave it with all its imperfections and
shortcomings to the reader's kindly charity,,
pleading in part extenuation, even as the maid-^
servant in Mr, Midshipman Easy, '* please, it's
a very little one.**

Should, however, a perusal of its pages
bring some slight sense of pleasure to any
reader, or help him to participate in the keen
enjoyment that has been mine in the days that
I record, then I am content.

I am indebted to the proprietor of The

ii AN ANGLER'S LINES.

Field for permission to republish the follow-
ing *' lines," which, with the exception of
Saturday and " Variiim Et Mutabile'' appeared
in their original form in that journal. May I
state that the incident related in the latter is
authentic, and not drawn from the realms of
fancy.

The illustration on the cover (a view on
the fishery, of the Friendly Anglers Society
'On the Colne,_ near Rickmans worth) is re-
produced, by the courtesy of Messrs Kodak,
Ltd., from a photograph by Mr. F.
Napier Suttonj, Much, to me, that is
pleasant of recall^ gathers round the Friendly
Anglers' fishery. ,The charm of woodland
scenery, the sob and fret of the river where it
comes through the sluices, the scent of the
honeysuckle clustering on the hut, the snowy
mass of horse-daisies by the railway-bridge,
the mill on the upper water; all these have
their part in the recollection of many a delight-
ful hour with the rod.

My preliminary cast would be incomplete

A PRELIMINARY CAST. iii

without a reference to toy feeling of deep
gratitude to Mr. H. T. Sheringham, Angling
Editor of The Field, for his valued advice and
assistance in my unpretentious writings . Feeble,;
and altogether wanting, is this expression of
my thanks, yet behind it is a great appreci-
ation, a great sincerity.

A.J.P.

SATURDAY.

SATURDAY.

" A WORM at one end and a fool at the
other."* Maybe; 'tis an old saying.
Yet I am disposed to challenge its truth. The
only illustration which makes me concede any
accuracy to it is a man fishing with worm when
he ought to be using paste. And I am con-
strained to make the exception by the thought
of my own condition.

It is a perfect summer day in this year of
grace 1 9 1 1 . From a sky of palest blue, in
which a few fleecy clouds hang all but motion-
less, descends aj wealth of sunlight. The cattle
seek the shade beneath the two old oaks where
they lie and chew an endless cud, while a
gentle breeze murmurs in the leaves and
struggles fitfully to temper the heat. I, too,
have sought the protection of a tree that over-
hangs the pond, and sit in the flat -bottomed
boat which is tied to a branch. My rod
projects from the side, and on the seat is a tin

2 AN ANGLER'S LINES.

wherein are worms, lovely big fat brandlings,
acquired with much labour and no little dis-
comfort from the depths of a farm -yard heap,
of particularly evil odour. One by one, for two
long hours, have I sacrificed their fellows on
the altar of angling with never a sign that
the offering is accepted, and still, in my crass
foolishness, the martyrdom goes on. Then
wisdom returns, and I clamber out of the boat
and beg a slice of bread at the house. Con-
verted into paste, a piece is lowered into the
pond and, instantly, the porcupine quill travels
slantwise, dips, dips again, and is gone. A
short struggle, and a carp, not exceeding big
but big enough to need the net, is lifted out
and lies flopping in the bottom of the boat.
It is not my purpose to detail the taking of
the 5lb. weight of fish that follows, the
*' catch " will not rank in piscatorial annals, but
it points my exception when the adage is right.
O you poor departed worms, if you were at one

end, I was at the other I

And now,; having placed the rod in its case.

SATURDAY. 5

and put the brandlings in a cool spot under
the hedge to await a befitting occasion when
their use shall bring me no self-reproach, I
repeat — I challenge the truth of the saying.

Angling to the man (and, of course^
woman) who loves it not, is the ugly duck-
ling of sport. For it, and those who take their
leisure therein, his scorn is merciless, his con-
tempt unveiled. ' Show me an angler, and I
will show you a fool ' is the tenor of his
thoughts, if not his words. He is in grievous
error. The man who goes forth with rod and
line is neither to be contemned, nor viewed
with lofty scorn. Too often the end of the day
may find him with a bag lighter than the
(morning pictured it in hope and imagination^,
but what of that, his has been a full measure
of innocent, health -giving enjoyment. The
scent of the hay was not less sweet, the song
of the birds less melodious, the music of rip-
pling water less delightful; the worlds of
insect, animal, and vegetable life were not
less beauteous and wonderful because his fly

4 AN ANGLER'S LINES.

lias been unnoticed or the float has remained
motionless. He has been Nature's guest, has
seen her face to face, and is a better man in
mind and body. Believe me, ye scoffers, such
an one is to be envied; he is no fool.

Fate has ordained that the angler whom I
depict, and for whom I fling my cap into the
ring, shall live his life amidst the stress and
turmoil of a crowded city. Fair weather or
foul, heat or cold, he must take his allotted
place in the world of work and labour for his
daily bread. Perhaps, at times, in the ray of
sunlight that jcomes in at the office -window,
lie sees a vision of green water-meadows and
catches the far-off echo of a babbling stream;
and he thinks of the trout that rises in the tail
of the eddy just below the little wooden
bridge. Then the office reasserts itself; he
must wait till Saturday. All the cares and
worries of the preceding week vanish and are
forgotten as he journeys on that day, the oasis
in a desert of work, towards that little wooden
bridge, with the trout looming large in his

SATURDAY. 5

thoughts. And if evening come and find the
trout, not in the creel, but left behind, rising
in the same old place, well, — the angler is still
happy and content; the hopes of getting that
fish will sweeten the labours of another week.
His enjoyment is not to be measured by the
number of the slain ; he is no mere seeker after
*' blood." Should fortune send him great
things he is becomingly grateful ; should she
withold her benefits, yet has he other cause
to be grateful, for the actual taking of fish is
but a question of degree in the sum of his
day's pleasure.

Thus the " Saturday " angler. Hoping
?mich (an angler without hope is unthinkable),
expecting little, content with less.

If these be the attributes of folly, then is
it a folly to be commended to all worthy men.

It is as a *' Saturday " angler that I write.

AN ANGLER'S LINES.

THE PIKE FROM THE DITCH.

TN the valley of the Hertfordshire Colne is a
certain backwater. To the privileged it
is known as " The Ditch." A backwater small
and insignificant, and, to the casual observer,
uninteresting, despite the sylvan beauty of a
stately park that, rising gently upward, watches
over its brief career. Its width, at most, does
not exceed 15ft., and in many places is con-
siderably less, while in depth it is anything
from 3 ft., to i^ ft., except one solitary hole
which can boast of 8 ft. or 10 ft. Nor in its
length is it imposing. From the old moat, half
hidden by a group of clustering trees, whence
it derives its being, to where it merges silently
with the canal, is barely a mile. If historical
records speak truth, this same moat surrounds
the spot whereon stood one of the palaces of
Cardinal Wolsey, and where that prelate fre-
quently entertained his royal benefactor Henry
VIII.,, who, after the Cardinal's downfall, took

THE PIKE FROM THE DITCH. 7

possession of the place and occasionally resided
there. Many years before this the site is
reputed to have been occupied by a monastic
building connected with the Abbey of St.
Albans.*

For a stream possessing such royal and
ecclesiastic traditions 'twould seem an in-
glorious end, this emf^tying of its waters into a
canal. Yet to the angler is it justified, for when,
distressed by autumn gale, the canal runs
turgid and bank -high, pike seek the shelter of
the backwater from the turmoil outside.

The Ditch was ever a favourite Saturday
haunt of mine, and the memory of a previous
visit when it had given me a fish of 7 lb.,,
followed, within a very few minutes, by one
of 6 lb., urged me to give it a further trial
to-day. The growth of weed that chokes its
bed during the summer months had dis-
appeared, victim to winter's frosts, and the
colour of the water was that beloved by the
angler. A faint breeze sent a shivering
* '*The More," by Henry Mitchell.

8 AN ANGLER'S LINES.

amongst the rushes that lined the low banks
with a fringe of brown and green, rushes
suggestive of pike, and sunshine, such as a
January day is not often blessed with, com-
pleted an auspicious combination of sky and
water. But, in spite of all, I was fain to
confess that things were slow, wretchedly slow.
In an early stage of the proceedings a small
jack had ;Seized the live dace attached to a
Jardine snap, and had discovered, probably for
the first time, that a lively appetite has its
drawbacks. His youth, however, served him in
good stead, and I returned him to the water,
there to ponder the extraordinary ways of man-
kind and the painful deceitfulness of little
fish.

But this had happened a good while back,
and the greased line was still floating listlessly
in the wake of a float that showed never a
tendency to bob beneath the surface. Mean-
while, I made a pilgrimage to places
where, on former occasions, success had usually
attended my efforts. But nothing had come of

THE PIKE FROM THE DITCH. 9

it;^ and to judge from outward and visible signs
there might not have been a fish in the water.
I glanced at my watch. Two o'clock was
numbered with the past, and a bare hour and
a half remained of daylight !

To fish the top of the Ditch would
necessitate a slight detour, owing to a copse
which extended on my bank to the water's edge,
and placing my rod on the ground, I debated
whether, in the unfavourable state of Esox's
appetite, it was really worth the trouble the
extra walk involved, when the pros and cons
were cut short by the sudden disappearance of
the float and the running out of the line.
Hope revived once more. The ensuing struggle
was short and spirited, the fish contesting every
inch, but with the landing came disillusion, and
he was tossed back, for a two and a half
pounder should have no place in the pike
fisher's bag.

The slightest of encouragement, and the
ardent angler at once becomes an optimist,
even though black disappointment has hitherto

10 AN ANGLER'S LINES.

marked him for its own, and the fates have
seemed banded together against him. I
decided to try the upper water. Picking up my
bait-can I trudged onwards, and, crossing the
bridge a quarter of a mile away, regained the
Ditch by the other bank.

The backwater here presented a forlorn and
neglected appearance, and, moreover, its course
was partially obstructed by a bed of weeds
which faced me on the opposite side. Close by
was the deep hole already referred to, which I
proceeded to exploit with a paternoster, but,
try as I would, there was the same dishearten-
ing result. Leaving the hole I resorted once
more to float -tackle. With little, if any, hope
of success, for the Ditch shallowed consider-
ably and was scarcely 3 feet deep, I shortened
the line between the float and the bait and cast
over towards the weeds. The sun had set, light
was failing badly, and in the air was the chill
of a coming frost. Disappointment, apathy;
in turn I had long since experienced both, and
now was conscious only of an irritable in-

THE PIKE FROM THE DITCH. 11

difference to everything. Of what good was it
to remain, I would pack up and — what was
that? From behind, a splash, so loud and
startling as to rouse me effectually out of my
moody reverie. I turned to see the cause,
fully expecting from the noise to find that a
dog had plunged in for a swim, but only the
disturbed water with its ever widening ripples,
met my enquiring glance. Here, at last, was
my opportunity, for there was no doubt that the
sudden commotion had been caused by the dash
of a hungry fish after its prey. Anxious eager-
ness succeeded indifference as I baited anew
with a lively little dace and cast into the centre
of the ripples which, even now, had hot sub-
sided. I waited and watched while the bait
worked its way to my bank. It came in un-
touched. Again I made a cast, and again the
bait returned.

Even an angler's patience his its limit,
and, wholly dispirited, I began preparations
for departure. Then, what impulse it was that
prompted me to try a few feet further down

12 AN ANGLER'S LINES.

stream — just once more, it whispered, — I know
not, but try I did.

For one brief second my float rested on
the water, the next, with the suddenness of a
flash of lightning, it shot down out of sight.
So unexpected was it that I scarcely realised
what had happened, but the exultant cry of the
reel recalled me to myself and I drove the
hooks home. Then I knew that I had to try
conclusions v/ith a good fish. With a mighty
rush, away he went up stream, whilst the line
raced through the rings and the reel shrieked
a protest. A pause, and back again he came,
for the reminder from the rod was not to his
liking. But the pace was too mad to be
sustained, and he sought relief in desperate
plunges that made the stout greenheart bend
as though it were the veriest wand. The
potential danger of that weed-bed opposite was
ever in my mind, and, when the fish resumed his
former tactics, I followed hastily along the
bank rather than surrender line that might lead
to complications in that quarter. And it was

THE PIKE FROM THE DITCH. 13

well I did so, for, tiring of futile journeyings
to and fro, he suddenly made a dash across.
But the strain I brought to bear was not to
be denied, and a broad back and vicious
looking head showed on the surface. Then,
with an angry sweep of the tail that churned
the water into foam, he was away again. The
lessened curve of the rod, however, told of
weakening strength, and soon I was able to
coax him to the side. Unslinging my gaff I
bent over to land him. Even now was I all
but undone, for, in the act of stooping, I had
carelessly allowed the line to slacken. A
sullen plunge, and the fish was out in mid-
stream, heading straight for the dreaded fringe
of weeds I Only strong measures could avert
a disaster, and I spared neither rod nor line.
It sufficed. The gallant fight was ended, and
I lifted him on to the grass at my feet, a truly
handsome fish of 1 2 lb., 9 oz. ; 18 inches in
girth; and twice that in length.

What need to tell of the two -mile walk,
in the dark back to the little country station

14 AN ANGLER'S LINES.

with the strap of the bag cutting deep, into my.
shoulder at every step? As I write it all comes
ivividly before me, and, with a still un-
challenged record for the water, from a glass
case there looks out the Pike from the Ditch.
A success. It was more. It was a
** Saturday " triumph.

A MORNING IDYLL. 15

A MORNING IDYLL.

TTIGH in the heavens a lark is singing a
full-throated Te Deum, and from
thicket and copse proceeds a twittering
accompaniment. A moment, and the psean of
praise breaks off abruptly as the singer drops
to earth. A moment more, and it is taken up
by a robin. The burden of his song is the
same, the joy of living. It is only the setting
that is different.

The spirit of the early morn is upon
me also, and I find myself humming a
refrain from sheer lightness of heart as I
press onward towards the brow of the hill,
over furrowed land, with its scent of newly
turned earth, and through long grass that at
every, step discharges a cascade of dew over
boot and gaiter.

Down in the hollow a little stream, where
it escapes from the tyranny of bushes to meet

16 AN ANGLER'S LINES.

the caresses of the sunlight, gleams like a
thread of silver wire. A wayward, irre-
sponsible, coquettish little stream, now flowing
demurely with scarce a ripple, now racing with
noisy abandon to where it circles in some
diminutive pool. It is not broad, and, save in
a few open places, the bushes on opposite
banks meet and intertwine.

A distant village church strikes six as I
.crouch low and gently drop a fine gut leger
into an eddy. Almost immediately the rod top
bends and the slack of the line becomes taut.
Brief, but vigorous, is the contest; then a 5 oz.
trout is lifted out, victim to a little red worm.
Soon another completes the brace, and, behind
a willow, I wait in hope rather than expectancy
for the eddy to yield a third. Through the
leafy screen I see where the rod rests on the
g'rass,. with its slender top projecting over the
water. But there is no movement in it, and my
watchfulness flags, and in the solitude, unbroken
save for the music of the stream and the call
pf birds, my thoughts stray from the catching

A MORNING IDYLL. 17

of trout to the little ailing maiden away up at
the farm to whom, in the caprice of appetite,
the success of my rod means a slender nourish-
ment or an all too willing fast.

Into the sunlight there comes a sudden
flash of idazzling blue, and the next moment
the greenheart top sways and bends 'neath the
weight of a kingfisher that rests but for an
instant, and is gone. By the old gnarled oak
the stream frets and circles sullenly against a
barrier of fallen branches and decaying leaves ;
then, creeping slyly round the ends, it races on
in rippling triumph. It bears away the un-
shotted line and takes it swiftly along, now
under one bank, now under the other. The
hook fouls, comes free, barely in time to save
a catastrophe for the bulge of the line is
floating perilously near an outstretched snag,
and then continues its erratic course. An
uneasy feeling is growing upon me as to its
ultimate recovery, when three sharp tugs in
rapid succession are telegraphed up the line.
I tighten instinctively, then hastily reel in, for

18 AN ANGLER'S LINES.

procrastination would be fatal, and, with many
a splash and many a struggle, a | lb. trout
comes over the net — the fish of the morning.
Once more the hazardous venture is made; but
the hook returns not again. The next swim
down, the worm is taken greedily by a fish that
subsequently owes its salvation to lack of
inches. But the little rapid, on the whole, is
kind, and I do not begrudge the four hooks
it claims as the price of three sizable trout;
more kind than its neighbour just round the
bend, which, if it does not thieve my hooks,
is exasperatingly fruitful of lost fish, in stages
ranging froni the " lightly pricked," to that
of freedom regained even in front of the
waiting net.

A movement, two movements, on the other
bank where it juts out abruptly into the stream,
attract my attention, and two water-voles
approach from opposite directions. Con-
verging, each in blissful ignorance of the
other's presence, they come face to face at the
point. .Mutual surprise gives way to mutual

A MORNING IDYLL. 19

indecision; then, with tooth and nail, Greek
meets Greek in furious conflict. An obstinate
and savagely fought battle while it lasts, but the
third round settles the question of supremacy,
and the vanquished turns tail and dives into
the water, with the vanquisher in hot pursuit.
The church clock speaks again — six, seven,
eight. 'Tis time for breakfast, and the little
invalid expects her trout.

20 AN ANGLER'S LINES

THE DUCK POND.

" TTTHY, I've seen them there as long as
this," said the farmer to me, placing
the edge of his right hand on his left forearm,
mid\yay between elbow and wrist. " I don't
know what you call them," he continued, " but
they're fish of some sort."

Further questioning! as to shape and colour
failed to elicit anything more definite, and, in
order to satisfy myself as to their identity, I
proceeded to describe the appearance of perch,
roach, tench, and carp. The only result was to
complicate the matter horribly, for, according
to the farmer, his fish embraced individually
all the characteristics of those I mentioned !
Then I gave it up. In my inmost self I was
sceptical of the existence of fish '* as long as
this," in fact of fish at all, in the pond. Its
very look ridiculed the idea. Now, there are
ponds that invite the angler's notice and woo

THE DUCK POND. 21

his attention. They proclaim aloud the infor-
mation, ** fish here.'* This was none of that
variety; could not claim even the most distant
relationship. It was insignificant in size, was
freely patronised by a goodly number of ducks
and geese at all times of the day, and the
water, decidedly pea-soupy in consistency and
colour, was the rendezvous of errant feathers
that made absurd voyages with every breath of
wind. Had it come to that? Were all my
dreams of rivers, with trout to be angled for
for the asking, to end in a pond wherein were
mysterious fish of unholy combination of perch,
roach, tench, and carp? " Expecti7ig little^
yes, but — a duck pond!

Alas I it was that, or nothing ; for in this
corner of Sussex rivers are not, and even
brooks, few. But the farmer was emphatic,
proudly emphatic about his fish. He was equally
so in his repudiation of fishing. " Too slow a
job " for him. This relieved my mind of a
certain suspicion that his statement might be the
outcome of an angler's fertile imagination. So

22 AN ANGLER'S LINES.

it came to pass that, faute de mieux, I em-
barked one morning in the leaky flat -bottomed
craft of which it was impossible to tell bow
from stern, both ends being conveniently
pointed, with designs upon the fish *' as long
as this.'* The landing-net was by my side, but
methought its customary vacuous look was
changed to one of reproach.

The opening of the proceedings was
somewhat trying, for the appearance of my
float on the water immediately excited the
curiosity of every duck in my vicinity. With
raucous " quacks " of expectancy they bore
down upon it, and from the end of the pond
came answering quacks as still more ducks
hurriedly left the shore and made for the
scene. In vain I " s-s-s-hed," and waved my
arms frantically. My gesticulations interested
them mildly, nay, seemed to afford them
pleasure, for they put on a spurt. Sailing up,
the leader critically inspected the float; then,
to settle her doubt as to its edible qualities,
took it in her bill and deliberately chewed it.

THE DUCK POND. 23

Wrathfully I uplifted the slack of the line,
and, with horrid commotion, the company of
Aylesburys scuttled in all directions. One
breasted the line in her flight, and entwined it
around her ,neck. It was a tense moment.
Already in my mind I saw a strangled bird,
and, with calm resignation, wondered what the
market price of ducks might be. Suddenly the
rod sprang back into the straight, and the reel
ceased its shriek. The prisoner had become
unwound, and, quacking dismally, started
to lower all records for one length of the
pond. I hate ducks.

Once more peace; the feather ships re-
sumed their voyaging, and I my fishing.
When in doubt, try worms. I did, but after
some time of patient waiting and much con-
sumption of tobacco, I came to the conclusion
that the denizens of the pond were not car-
niverous. A change to paste, and the float gave
a tremulous movement. Down it went,_ until
only the extreme tip was visible; came up
again, and for a second or two remained

24 AN ANGLER'S LINES.

stationary; then, after a few spasmodic jerks,
it slowly sank out of sight, and the line sprang
taut. Whatever the unseen, it was a sturdy
fighter. No puny struggling was there, but one
steady, stubborn resistance, and visions of fish
" as long as this " rose before me as the line,
tight as a bow-string, cut a wide semi -circle
in the water. Nearer and nearer it came, and,
submerging the net, I lifted out a carp of
I lb., and plump enough to keep for the
farmer's breakfast, in accordance with his wish.
Another piece of paste was swung out, and met
with speedy attention.

Bites finnicking, bites genteel, wary bites,
voracious bites ; I had example of each, and
soon a second fish lay in the bottom of the
boat. Nor had I long to wait for the third
and fourth. If youthful and guileless, they
were fighters all, and required respectful treat-
ment. The fifth, eluding the net, bolted under
the boat, and broke the fine gut line in twain.
It was a sorry happening, for now carply con-
fidence gave place to suspicion, so that even

THE DUCK POND. 25

experimental nibbles became few and far
between .

To the angler who sits by the river-
side, this waiting for bites is a dull, wearisome
business, but there is no dulness for the man
on a duck pond. The latest nibbler had come
and gone, when a subdued hiss proclaimed a
new distraction. Glancing round, I beheld
some seven or eight geese approaching in
Indian file. The look an their eyes told me that
they had no intention of diverging an inch from
their course. They were out to assert their
right to the pond by force and destruction, if
need were. I capitulated at once, hastily
dragged in line and float, and, with a hiss of
execration, the procession passed on, unhurried,
haughty, supercilious. I detest geese.

But perhaps I am mistaken in that parting
hiss. It may have been a blessing, for
certain it is that thereafter the float was seldom
still, the net frequently in demand, and the
farmer's breakfast was assured, aye, and his
wife's, too, if she would, and I wish them joy

26 AN ANGLER'S LINES.

of their meaL Desire for further conquest
waned. One more fish, and I would go.
Then a duck swam by. It was mine ancient
enemy. Still doubtful about the composition
of jmy float, she turned sharply, and made
towards it. With fell intent, I drew it closer
in. She followed. Closer, and closer still,
and then I smote her over the head with the
top of the rod. It was a pleasing incident —
to me. So engrossing was my satisfaction that
the required fish took my paste and escaped
with impunity.

The steelyard told of a lo lb. catch, and
the duck pond had acquired a reputation. But
among the fish there were none " as long as
this."

I fear the farmer is a bit of an angler
after all.

IN DIVERS WEATHERS. 27

IN DIVERS WEATHERS.

i. That Phantom Twenty-Pounder.

A S every soldier of France is said to carry a
marshars baton in his knapsack, so I,
when I go a -fishing for pike, always have a
twenty -pounder reposing in the bag. That is to
say, in the morning. It is never there on the
homeward journey in the evening. During the
hours that intervene, however, the thought of
my imaginary burden is sustaining, and of
much comfort. Moreover, the actual weight of
that fish is as nothing, and therein lies the
superiority of the shadow over the substance.
But I am prepared to forego this advantage
if a happy chance should offer me the sub-
stance. Meanwhile, as becomes a " Saturday "
angler, I find solace for its tardy appearance
in patient hope and calm content. Nor does
hope deferred make my heart sick, and when
my friend said, " You must come and have a

28 AN ANGLER^S LINES.

couple of days on our water; there is always a
good fish taken in February," I rejoiced
exceedingly, for, in addition to having his
cheery companionship, was there riot a chance
of realising my long -cherished ambition of
securing a twenty-pounder.

At the end of the first day I retired to
bed slightly perturbed, for, despite most
favourable conditions of weather and water,
and a total and reckless disregard on my part
of the value of live bait, the result had been
one solitary fish which, not to put too fine a
point upon it, was somewhere about 19 lb.
short of 'my modest standard.

The following morning I inquired of my
friend what he thought of the leaden sky that
greeted our re -appearance at the river side.

" Not much," was his reply, and the tone
discouraged further remarks on the subject.
Acting upon the keeper's advice, I swung my
dace on float paternoster to the far side of the
pool and waited for the coming of the twenty-
pounder. As I waited, something cold and

IN DIVERS WEATHERS. 29

adhesively moist struck me in the face, and,
looking up, I saw a few white particles floating
in the air. They were the scouts; companies
followed^, then battalions, and finally, the whole
army of the Snow Queen. Borne on a biting^
wind, the flakes hurtled along with relentless
fury, and it seemed to us that we were the
objectives of frontal attacks, rear-guard actions,
and flanking movements, all simultaneously.
Even the keeper forsook us and fled,, under the
plea of fetching his mackintosh. He must
have experienced some difficulty in finding it,,
or, what is more probable, he knew rather
more than we, for four hours elapsed ere he
returned.

In the meantime I steadily t*egarded a
float that showed dimly through the laceries of
driving snow, and speculated on the number of
twenty -pounders the river held in my vicinity,

A whitish form, which gradually resolved
itself into that of my host and companion^
loomed in the distance, and in the Father
Christmas (without the beard) who now stood

30 AN ANGLER'S LINES.

before tne^ The Field, I fancy, would have
been hard put to it to have recognised its
Angling Editor. Ke had been spinning a
smelt (his favourite style of fishing for pike),
but, like the patient angler in Happy Thoughts,
his reply was, " Nothing ! ** Remarking that
perhaps a tramp round the meadow might help
him to realise that he still possessed those
portions of his anatomy known as feet, he pro-
ceeded on his way. Another live bait was dis-
patched on its errand and then came a wild
surging of hope as the water closed over my
sinking float. If the fish were the desired pike
he played very lightly, but I reassured myself
with the thought that at times this is no
criterion. I gathered him in, and — returned
him. He may have weighed 20 oz.; I do not
know. My friend is needlessly emphatic that
he did not go sixteen, but that I attribute to
envy. The pike, however, is entitled to
notoriety for it was the only one I saw that
day. At five o'clock we ceased fishing; ten
minutes later it ceased snowing. It has been

IN DIVERS WEATHERS. 31

my lot to fish in many weathers, but six hours
in a searching snowstorm is an experience.

The rain it raineth every day. It fell
persistently, remorselessly, uncompromisingly,
when four days later, in company with another
friend, I pursued the twenty-pounder from a
punt on a certain water,: wherein, unless report
speaks falsely, there are some whoppers. Two
pike, totalling 6 lb., had already fallen to my
rod, when a six -and -a -half -pounder monopo-
lised my companion's attention. I thought //
had come, for so powerful were the struggles
that even the stout rod had to bow before them,
and, alternately plunging and swirling mightily,
the fish for some minutes defied all attempts
to bring him in. After such a fight the
ultimate verdict was somewhat of a dis-
appointment. With raindrops occasionally
trickling down the back of my neck, I lifted
in another, though a smaller, pike for him,
afterwards performing a similar ofhce for
myself. Close to a bed of rushes my float
gave a spasmodic jerk and shot beneath the

32 AN ANGLER'S LINES.

surface, where I could see it travelling at a
rapid pace towards the punt. I reeled in,
preparatory to the strike, but the fish was
moving faster than I could revolve the handle,
and, when I struck, a certain slackness resulted
in a broken line. Then ensued a variation of
hunt the slipper. Very cautiously I worked
the punt to where the float was bobbing up
and down, but as I stretched out with the gaff,
down it would go, to reappear some distance
away. This performance was repeated for
some time, much to my companion's amusement
and imy disgust, until at length, in anything
but the sweetest of tempers, I relinquished the
profitless chase. A change to deeper water
proved a change for the worse, for there we
waited for runs that never came, so I settled
down to the oars again. As I rowed, a white
object on the water attracted my notice, and
proved to be my erstwhile float. Fully ex-
pecting a repetition of its previous behaviour,
I approached as quietly as possible, but, to my
surprise, it remained without movement, and

IN DIVERS WEATHERS. 33

snap-hooks, lead, and float were retrieved,
needless to remark, without the pike, for the
loss of which, however, I comfort myself in
the belief that it was not the twenty -pounder.
Before the end of the day five more fish
enjoyed (temporarily) the seclusion of the well,
but it was not there.

Perhaps, one of these days, the phantom'
will materialise, and in the bag will rest, not a
morning fancy, but an evening reality. Who
knows .

ii. *'A Top-Hole Day."

The heat was suffocating,: annihilating.
During the short railway journey the un-
fortunate dace in the can had borne alarming
testimony to the fact by persistently floating
wrong side up, 'despite my desperate and
perspiring endeavours to keep the water
aerated. And yet, according to the calendar,
we stood within the threshold pi October^ a
time of year when the discomforts of the dog-
days should have been a thing of evil memory,;

34 AN ANGLER'S LINES.

not of present suffering. As I stood beneath
the scorching rays of the sun and watched the
float take an erratic course across the river,
I smiled derisively. Pike -fishing in a temper-
ature of no degrees! It was absurd,
preposterous. But there was no help for it,
for my companion, who had killed salmon in
Norway and slain trout in Scotland in the most
approved fashion, had hitherto not essayed the
capture of the " tyrant," and fate and com-
pelling circumstances had decreed that this
day, of all days, should be the one for his
initial attempt. Moreover, a few weeks hence
and he would become a " fisher of men," and
then there would be little opportunity and still
less leisure for the attainment of his desire.
A lively hopefulness had marked his
every reference to the expedition; but
I knew the water, and had " ma doots ."
Quantity rather than size characterised its
pike, in spite of the 3 lb. limit that obtained,
and from bitter experience I knew that, even in
orthodox pike weather, three -pounders were

IN DIVERS WATERS. 35

all too coy and hard to please. Small wonder
then, that, as I wiped the moisture from my
brow, I smiled in derision at the whole pro-
ceedings. But the smile was suddenly arrested
by the disappearance of my float;^ and
the subsequent necessity for the net. The
incident was satisfactory in that it showed that
the pike, after all^ were not quite indifferent
to the (delicacies provided for them, but it
contributed nothing to my bag, for the fish
came lamentably short of the requisite standard,
and was not retained. Compelling curiosity to
see the ** catch " had brought my companion
back from down stream, and, in reply to my
inquiries,; I learned that for him the object of
the day's mission had yet to be accomplished.
Where the river makes a slight curve he had
seen sundry small fry leap high out of water,,
but a protracted trial there had yielded him no
result. Working slowly down I came to 'the
place which he had vacated,, when instantly my
dace was seized from below. I tightened,; the
float jauntily reappeared and — that was alL

36 AN ANGLER'S LINES.

After no little persuasion,^ at length I induced
my friend to re -occupy the position, while I
stood by and awaited results. Then, not once,
but twice, did the history of my own experience
cruelly repeat itself in his case, and the angler,
hoping for, and practically in touch with, his
first pike, may be pardoned that look of keen
disappointment when finally, either suspicious
or satiated, the fish ignored all further
overtures .

Man, however, must feled, whether fish elect
to do so or not, and a tramp back for lunch
in the comfortable little hut where the river
surges through the open sluice gates, was
decided upon. The elusive pike had laid a
spell upon my companion, and the afternoon
found him again at the little curve in the river,
watching a float, from which depended a pater-
noster, in pld-stream. I left him reclining
in the welcome shade of a tree, and wended
my way to a certain pool some three or four
hundred yards distant. Half an hour elapsed,
during which I was more occupied in applying

IN DIVERS WATERS. 37

my handkerchief to my face and neck than in
fishing, when I became aware that someone was
shouting, and, moreover, shouting lustily.

A hasty look around revealed my com-
panion standing up, making frantic signs to
me with one hand as with the other he en-
deavoured to control the movements of a rod
that was arching beautifully. Snatching up the
landing-net I made towards the spot, yelling
breathless instructions, that I might have
known could never reach him, as I ran.

Hot and panting, the perspiration streaming
down my face, I arrived to find the elusive
one hooked at last and in full play;
but it was evident that he was not going to givie
in tamely, and the reel sang out again and
again as the line went forth in sudden jerks.
But the net was waiting, and in due season my
companion had the gratification of seeing his
first pike on the steelyard, and the weight he
saw registered there was Very little short of
5 lb.

-We caught no more ; but what matter, for

38 AN ANGLER'S LINES.

he had obtained his desire, and both of us were
the richer by a happy memory. He called it
" a top-hole day! "

" Hoping much, content with less ^ In
my clerical friend, I fancy that I see the
making of a *' Saturday " angler.

iii. A Fragment of History.

Now there was a certain country squire
possessed of a lake of goodly size having a
worthy reputation for pike, who did invite two
fishers to angle therein. With exceeding
eagerness they awaited the day of their desire
and when, in the fulness of time, it came, their
hearts were sore troubled, for behold, there
came with it plenteous rain and great darkness
throughout the land, insomuch that they shrank
from the prospect of an open punt, and gat
them, even at the station, sadly back to their
own homes instead. Whereupon the squire,
having much kindliness of heart, had pity on
their condition, and made them welcome to

IN DIVERS WATERS. 39

another day,. So, when February had but one
more day to run, these two fishers ventured
forth again,^ and, with minds set only on the
taking of mighty fish, gave no heed to
the low estate of the weather-glass, yea, though
it spake of wind and tempest and divers
troubles. And in this were they as children
who will not be forewarned, but must learn
by much tribulation.

Coming to the place of their journeying,
and the weather being fair, albeit with much
cold wind, they embarked and made for the
open water. Then did the younger man, who
had charge of the oars, find this same wind
very grievous to contend against, so that he
would fain have let go the anchor, but the
elder,; who, from his more comfortable situation
in the stern, knew not of its power over the
craft, did urge him to continue.

After no little striving they came to a
place that seemed good to them, some fifty
paces off an island,, and cast their lines. With
merry jest and words of cheer they waited for

40 AN ANGLER'S LINES.

the coming of these same mighty fish; but
awhile, and the jest waxed feeble, neither were
there heard any words of cheer, and the
younger man uprose in his wrath and gat him
to Tiis oars again. The wind, blowing now
over the stern, did impel the punt, so that they
fetched another place with slight labour, where
they did essay anew with tackle of cunning
fineness. But the pike (continuing of sullen
disposition, the men became exceeding sad,
and their countenances were like unto their
rods for length. Then had they resort to meat
and strong drink.

Yet even as they sought material comfort,
away in the north the sky shaded to a bluish
grey. Swiftly the shadow advanced, hiding
the face of the sun, and deepening to awful
blackness until the whole heavens were covered
as by a vast funeral pall. The light of day
was veiled beneath its sinister touch; the wild-
fowl ceased their call; and all nature seemed
to pause, hushed and expectant. And lo !
as a giant aroused, the wind came down with

IN DIVERS WATERS. 41

fearsome hissing sound, driving before it a
blinding icioud of snow and hail, so that the two
fishers became as forms seen dimly through a
fog,; the while the heavens were rent by
lightning and thunder. With exceeding great
violence, insomuch that nought might contend
against it, the blast struck the punt, whereby
the anchor loosed its hold, and, the oars
availing nothing, she was as a straw blown
hither and thither, and did go quickly to the
shore, even into the midst of many rushes.

Then, after great labour and much sore
distress, did these miserable fishers gain the
land, and in sorry plight did leave the punt
on hands and knees, fearing to stand upright.

But into their souls had jcome a deep
dejection, and with fishing were they fed up
for the day.

42 AN ANGLER'S LINES.

COSTA.

■y IFE is a strenuous business my masters, but
it ,has its compensations . There are rifts
in the greyness of ^the day -by -day existence
of every toiler; breaks when the office and all
its cares are laid aside, and, for a while, he is
free! It is not always work. And if he be a
lover of the gentle art, with opportunities all
too limited for indulging in his beloved sport,
and the break is the result of a kindly friend's
welcome invitation to fish a certain water
jealously preserved, then, how rich life's com-
pensations. It is with some like thoughts to
these that I have watched fields and villages
slip by, as the Scotch Express has borne me on
towards ta* Costa.

The home of Costa is Yorkshire. -Its
Alpha, a series of springs at Keld Head; its
Omega, the river Rye, near Malton. Eleven
tniles it flows between the two, as fair a chalk
stream as ever rejoiced the heart of a dry-

COSTA. 43

fly fisher. Costa is an ideal dry-fly river,; with
slowly eddying pools, wherein the grayling lie
in wait for autumn duns, and placid stretches
of water, broken here and there by the ring of
a rising fish. See the same placid stretch in
June, during the *' duffers' carnival," and it
is one continuous boil as each trout strives for
his share, and more than his share, of the host
of Mayflies weaving their mazy dance above
his head.

It was Tuesday, to visitors a dies non
for fishing, so, laying aside the rod and assum-
ing the duties of gillie instead, I accompanied
■my host along Costa's banks. Trout were
sacrosanct, for October was already three days
jold, but there remained to us their sporting
cousin, the grayling.

A dour and gloomy morning with a north-
east wind which bit shrewdly, did not augur
any too well for the chances of a heavy basket,
and we were not surprised to find but few
surface -feeding fish. The fly was put over
the most promising of these, and in one or two

44 AN ANGLER'S LINES.

instances there was a response, but the gray-
ling came short, and then incontinently retired.
A short reach between two deep pools,, however,
held out hopes of better things, for a regular
glutton was discovered there, taking every
insect that came along. In quick succession
ring after ring appeared on the surface, and,
each time, a dark fin showed for an instant
in the centre. Dropping on one knee, my host
was soon hard at work, but the gourmand
exhibited an all too epicurean taste. Again
and again we watched the fly pass over him
untouched, then, the n^xt minute, up he
would come, and suck in a living insect. Once,,
the artificial floated down side by side with the
natural; there was a momentary disturbance,
and — the ** barbed betrayer " travelled on
alone. Black gnat, red tag, and green insect;
all were tried in turn, and in turn rejected. A
dark olive quill, however, brought the grayling
to the surface in a twinkling, but a too -eager
strike caused him to make a hasty descent.
Probably meditating upon the unorthodox be-

COSTA. 45

haviour of this particular insect, the fish did not
re -appear for some minutes and I feared that
he had been put down for good, but presently
he was up again, as voracious as ever. At
last, as luck would have it, the olive fell lightly
between two autumn duns, and the trio catne
down abreast. For an instant I caught another
glimpse of the fin, and then the arch of the
dainty little Bernard split cane told me that, this
time, there had been no mistake. As is the
manner of his kind, the grayling bolted down
stream, a preliminary to the struggle that
ensued, during which, weeds, floating and
submerged, played an exciting part. Twice
was the fish brought to the net I extended
for his reception, and twice he shot off just at
the crucial moment. The third time he came
in on his side, and the meshes inclosed a
plump 1 1 lb. fish. Right well did the angler
'desei've his success, the result of fifty minutes'
persistent, undaunted, effort.

The near report of a gun interrupted the
celebrating of victory, as ipractised by those

46 AN ANGLER'S LINES.

of the rod who are not strict teetotalers.
Straight towards us down the field raced a
hare for dear life with ears laid back, hard
pressed by a brace of dogs. On she came,
until, in the blindness of her terror, it was
but a matter of a few feet that separated us
and we could hear her sobs of distress ; then,
becoming aware of our presence, she turned
sharply at an angle and made for the hedge
through which she wormed her way. The
dogs ran whining to and fro, seeking an
opening, but Puss had effected a useful check,
and, by the time they were through, had
scudded across the adjoining field, and made
good her escape. A pressing invitation to join
the shooter at dinner that evening, then he and
the keeper proceeded in the direction taken by
the dogs, and we turned our attention to
grayling again.

Retracing our steps, we made a halt at
a pool where one had ignored all my friend's
earlier overtures. We found the fish still
rising occasionally. The olive quill in this

COSTA. 4-7

instance was ineflective, but a claret bumble
proved the feeder's undoing, and another
purple fin was added to the basket, in-
creasing the weight thereof by i^ lb. The
wind was now responsible for a startling
siurprise. 3y degrees it had been gaining
strength, and casting was difficult and
gloriously uncertain. In an attempt to get the
fly over a fish on the opposite side a suddens
gust took it and sent it back close in under
our bank, and before I realised what had.
happened, my companion v/as hurrying down
stream in the wake of a tight line. Presently
he turned, and I saw heading towards rne^
just below the surface, a grayling, every
ounce a two-and-a-half pounder, with a back
fin like the sail of a Chinese junk. Now up,,
now down, then across; lone moment at the
side, the next, out again into the centre of the
river, went the fish in his endeavours to free
himself from the unwelcome attentions of the
tiny bit of feather, which, despite all his efforts,.
would not leave him. For me, v/ho could only

48 AN ANGLER'S LINES.

watch and wait, it was a period of tense
excitement. The minutes passed, and the
grayling still held his own; but the time came
when he strove no longer, and inert and
beaten, showing now in all his grand pro-
portions, he floated nearer and nearer to where
I awaited his incoming. Already I pictured
him reposing in the outstretched net, but reality
followed hard upon imagination, for I had
reckoned without the small patch of weeds
which were hidden beneath the surface. Too
late I saw the danger. Entangled and motion-
less lay the fish, an inch outside the furthest
limits of the net handle. Despairing,
struggling, straining, I endeavoured to reach
him, but it was no good, the distance was
beyond my power, and as I tried, the hook
tore away and, with a feeble movement, the
grayling slowly sank out of sight. Our dis-
appointment was too great for mere words and,
heedless of the storm of soaking rain and
sleet that had come down upon us from off
the Wolds, we stood staring at each other in

COSTA. 49

silence. Then, with a sigh, we turned and fled
for shelter.

Varied, and each delightful, are the
memories that cluster round my visits to Costa.
Mingled with those of fishing, is the recollection
of a dance held in the village school -room.
It was the football club's annual " benefit '*
and the floor was polished for the occasion with
a lavish application of French chalk which
rose in a cloud, and distributed itself
generously on the dancers as they threaded
their way in circling couples, so that, at the
end of the measure, they resembled dusty way-
farers. The fair sex was represented by
farmers* wives and daughters, some of whom^
v/ith their relatives, had driven in for miles.
Rosy cheeks and buxom figures ; there was na
need to invoke art to aid nature. For the men
the orthodox dress suit was not insisted upon.
Some were in breeches and gaiters, but others
wore trousers with morning coats, or jackets,
and effected a happy compromise with white ties
and " button-holes." So long as a man made

50 AN ANGLER'S LINES.

himself agreeable and would dance, he was
welcomed. The Church looked approval on
the proceedings in the person of the curate,
to whom, it was whispered confidentially, the
lady at the piano was engaged. During the
intervals, certain of the guests favoured the
company v/ith songs and duets. Remarkably
pleasing voices they possessed too, and it was not
difhcult to understand the reputation of York-
shire folk for singing. It was a light-hearted
and unaffected gathering upon which the
jElephant and Giraffe looked out from the
Natural History Plate that adorned the wall,
and 3 o'clock in the morning had struck ere,
with linked hands, it sang " Auld lang syne."
Then there are recollections of whist and music
and generous hospitality at a farm house;
pleasant evenings it is true, but not to be re-
commended as a preparation for the ensuing
day's hard work with the rod.

An impression that lingers of one of my
visits is that of wind rather than grayling —
wind that came from off the Wolds in sudden

COSTA. 51

gusts, catching one's line and hurling it back in
hopeless confusion, or bitter blasts that roared
in fiendish glee through the trees, depositing
the fly in unexpected, and most undesirable,
places. Often rain, but always wind.

It was the punishment of a sceptic, for
had I not laughed to scorn a friend's earlier
reference to the direful fate attaching to any
enterprise begun on a Friday?

In his letter of invitation my host
had expatiated upon the continuance of
calm fine days and the readiness with which
the grayling were taking a dry-fly, so that,
in the brilliant October sunshine, I started on
my journey north with expectations inflated to
a degree unusual even for that hopeful
creature, an angler. At York all sunshine had
disappeared. At ,Malton I climbed up into
the dog -cart in fine persistent rain, through
which I was driven the remaining eight miles
beneath a sky threatening worse things in
store. During the night the elements were
positively hysterical. The following morning

52 AN ANGLER'S LINES.

we sought certain bends of the river sheltered
from the stiff breeze that swept down stream,
and I waited for the grayling to exhibit some
of the readiness that I had been led to expec't.
After two hours' abortive effort, and many a
change of fly, I acquitted them of any indecent
haste, and, resorting to an Alexandra, I fished
a long line down stretches of broken water.
Once, and once only, there came a pluck
followed by the vision of a spotted side, as a
trout leaped high in the air. A nice fish,
but, alas ! for me, it made the acquaintance of
the net a fortnight too late. My burst of
exultation on Jiaving seen a fish at all, was
drowned forthwith in a downpour of rain that
put an end to further attempts. Even with the
addition of my host's two undersized grayling,
the bag for the day was not overwhelming.
On Sunday the conditions for fishing vv^ere
perfect, and a stroll by the riverside revealed
many a tempting rise; but then, one does not
fish Costa on the Sabbath. My plans for the
next day had been conceived in a spirit of

COSTA. 53

strong determination to do. — well, something,
but the morning brought a wind with which I
wrestled in vain, and which extended my line
like a semaphore, howling the while in derision
at my efforts to bring it down to the water.
The struggle, however, was not v/ithout some
little successes of mine to chronicle. I do
not allude to the adorning of a bush on the
opposite bank with one of my flies, or to the
masterly way I cracked off another, to be
borne away by my adversary into space. At
a place where the river turned sharply,
almost at right angles, a sheltering belt of
trees on the far side rendered a cast possible.
Nothing was showing, so I put a soldier
palmer over the water in the hope of provoking
a rise. A grayling immediately accepted the
invitation, and shortly afterwards I rose and
hooked a second fish, but neither reached the
requisite 1 1 inches.

Shifting my position, I placed the fly
just at the bend. I watched the speck of red
float down to me, rising and falling on the

54 AN ANGLER'S LINES.

ripples, and close to some piles on the other
side it disappeared, leaving a momentary
circle to mark the place. Towards, and then
past me, the line cut quickly througii the
water, to travel back once more as I judiciously
applied pressure. The grayling played deep,
and I carefully noted the position of the piles,
but, strangely enough, he made no attempt to
reach this possible salvation. In due course
I lowered the net, and the fish came towards
it with the gut cast coiled round his body,
then, with a movement, he unrolled himself and
made a furtive attempt to renew the struggle.
The hook still held, however, and his reception
into the net was safely accomplished. My
first takable fish, for he had the inches and
to spare, and I placed him tenderly, almost
lovingly, in my hitherto immaculate bag.
Just then a fish showed a few yards above me,
close in towards my bank. He rose to inspect
the fly, but, striking on a now water -logged
line, I put him down very effectually, for
neither iron blue, Wickham, nor red tag,

COSTA. 55

would tempt him up again. Then followed
fish pricked, or mnssed altogether, general
muddling, and utter vexation of spirit.

For a visitor to fish Costa on Tuesdays
or Fridays, is to incur sundry pains and
penalties, so it was not until two days later
that I essayed once more to stem the flood of
my ill -success. After cracking off my first
fly in the preliminary cast, and allowing its
successor to fall through my fingers, to he lost
to me for evermore, I felt that I was not
showing to advantage. A soldier palmer
brought me some slight comfort, inasmuch as a
brace of grayling had cause to regret its close
attentions, but this comfort was much qualified
when their size was revealed and which necessi-
tated their return to the water.

In a wind more aggressive than ever, and
the consequent agitation of the river, the
continued use of a floating, more often an
aerial, fly was an absurdity, so I changed to a
small March brown, losing two more flies,
which were blown away, in the process. The

56 AN ANGLER'S LINES

change was effective, a i 2 iiich grayling taking
the fly well under water, but so gently, that
only when the rod point was raised for a back-
ward cast, did he make his presence known.
The popularity of the March brown was short-
lived, and soon an Alexandra reigned in its
stead.

Casting down a rough wind -torn stretch
of water, I saw the slight twitch of the line,
heard the sudden demand on the reel, and, as
the slender 7 oz. rod made obeisance, ex-
perienced that delightful and thrilling sensation,
the play of a good fish. I coaxed him half
way across the river, saw the yellowish un-
dersides .of a body that rolled over on the
surface, and then the rod straightened. It
was my one good fish, and the Alexandra had
come free !

Even now was my chastening not complete,
for on the morrow, my last day, came a wild
orgie of weather, and, from out of streaming
windows, I stood and watched the mad fury
of the blast and listened to the splash of ever-
falling rain.

COSTA. bl

The ills foretold by the man of omens had
come to pass.

*' My dear fellow/' he exclaimed, when
I told him all, " if you imll start on a Friday,
que voulez vousl. "

I was silent. Perhaps it would have been
wiser to have selected some other day.

Nevertheless, it was a delightful week for
a " Saturday " angler, but, now, when I take
up my Field and scan Reports from Rivers,
Lakes, etc., I think I understand what is
meant when, for Yorkshire rivers, I read
"strong winds and gales." The Dry Fly
Enthusiast says he does, on the Costa; and I
know that the trail of the Alexandra is in his
thoughts.

A violent gust; the sound of a match
being struck; a muttered exclamation. The
first two synchronised, the exclamation
followed.

Thus guided, I sought the other side of
the hedge, and found him, with rod spiked,
standing in the midst of a little circle of dead

58 AN ANGLER'S LINES.

matches that had flashed out their all too brief
existence. Even when, with the help of one of
stronger vitality, the pipe was duly kindled, he
was far from happy. A dry-fly enthusiast of the
deepest dye, and on this day wind and stream
had entered into an alliance whereby his
theories became inoperative. Hinc illae
lachrymae . A spiteful gust laid the split -cane
level with the grass and sped onwards, howling
with delight in the consciousness of something
attempted, something done.

There was no help for it; the dry-fly,
together with the theories, must be buried in
the depths of the pocket, and yield pride of
place to an Alexandra, with a soldier palmer
fox dropper.

Personally, I was not on fishing bent;
but, on the understanding that I effaced myself
as much as possible from flshy view, I was to
be permitted to follow the fortunes of the day.
Further, I was to be entrusted with the care of
the net (the bag containing his lunch, and
flask, he said he preferred to retain in his own

COSTA. 59

possession), and, providing I exhibited no
tendency towards smiting a hooked fish on the
nose with the rim, was to put it to legitimate
use sliould occasion arise.

The Dry Fly Enthusiast remarked that it
was a nor' west wind, then turned up the
collar of his coat. From the temperature, I
should have said that it was east nor' east and
remarkably well developed. The next instant I
iied precipitately, for, with a hiss, the line ex-
tended itself backwards in alarming proximity
to my unoffending person. The D.F.E. was
getting to v/ork.

Ordinarily it is a particularly sedate, well-
behaved little river; but evil communications
with the October gale had corrupted its good
manners, and, instead of placid glides, I gazed
upon a riot of waves and a tumult of broken
water. My meditations on the possibilities of
the Alexandra on such a day are rudely
interrupted.

*' Come on with that net ! "

Thus adjured I come on, to find the

60 AN ANGLER'S LINES.

speaker's rod bending gracefully in trem-
ulous response to the movements of some
unseen power down stream'. The line
shortens as it cuts through the waves, up
stream now, then travels rapidly towards the
opposite bank. Slowly, reluctantly, inch by
inch, it comes back to us, I justify my re-
sponsible position, and the unseen power
riesolves itseilf into a grayling of | lb., a
victim to the Alexandra. The raising of the
rod is the signal for me to retire hastily once
more outside the danger zone. The luxury
of idleness, however, is denied me. Another
shout, and I am back, and again acquit my-
self with credit. This time it is a slightly
smaller grayling the Alexandra has lured
to its death. The D.F.E. replies to my
congratulations with a lament respecting
his beloved dry-fly. Such a lack of ap-
preciation of what the wet -fly had done for
him was to meet with a fitting punishment,
for, at the second cast, there came a '* crack,"
pregnant with meaning. Both flies had severed

COSTA. 61

the partnership. The dropper had not proved
a success, so it was decided that an Alexandra
should now, in racing parlance, *' carry all the
money." An interval of two fields, in one of
which we came upon the keeper intent on the:
slaughter of his sworn foe, the pike, and I
was again called upon to exercise my prowess
with the net. I had in the meantime taken
my courage in both hands and gradually drawn
nearer to the angler, and had been able to^
observe the sudden call made ,upon the rod
point. The fish moved a few inches down
stream, then performed an acrobatic feat that-
proclaimed its identity. With a mighty rush,
it went against stream, pointing, boring, here,
there, and everywhere; but the Alexandra was.
not to be denied, and, in the end, a good trout,
of over I lb. was translated from water to
land. Very tenderly the fly was disengaged,,
and ,with a whisk of the tail, the next minute-
Salmo fario disappeared beneath the waves..
Swish, swish, swish, sings the line, as it
works down, and across, the river, while the

62 AN ANGLER'S LINES.

^ale roars in thunderous diapason amongst the
trees. A fish is found just under the far bank,
but almost immediately a sagging line tells the
tale of " gone away." The fly here forms a
strong attachment for a blade of grass over-
hanging the water at the bottom of a steep
bank. I volunteer to free it, and, with no
small labour, partly scramble, partly slide,
down the declivity. After groping about for
some time without being able to discover the
*' insect," I am hailed by the D.F.E. with an
inquiry what I am " grovelling down there
for? " With yet more labour and many back
slidings, I climb up again, and am coolly told
that a sudden jerk had long ago effected a
divorce, whereupon I find it necessary to make
a few suitable, but pointed, remarks. Into a
hole at the bend of the river the Alexandra is
sent on its mission. When next seen, it is fast
in the mouth of a grayling that is subse-
quently found to scale i lb. 2 oz. Further
on, in a long stretch of water, where the wind
holds high carnival, the peacock feather

COSTA. 63

exercises a fatal fascination for two other
grayling, whose respective sizes are well above
the limit.

The D.F.E. is now in favour of going
home, says it is no joke casting in such
weather; but I point out what a desirable
thing it is to attain to three brace first. So
we pToceed.

A certain noted part of the river is fished
exhaustively without any iresponse, and the
angler declares he will try no more, but he
yields, though under protest, to my optimism
respecting the few yards that are left before
a small tributary flows into it. My hopefulness
is not misplaced, for the rod bends, and the
reel sounds, just before this junction is reached.

For, and into, the turmoil of meeting
waters rushes the fish. The danger is but too
obvious, and, at all costs, he must be allowed
to have his way without hindrance. Presently
he continues his flight into calmer water, then,
as if realising the security he has just left,
turns,, and heads up stream. But he has

64 AN ANGLER'S LINES.

neglected his opportunity, thrown away his
(Chance of salvation,, and I claim the penalty.
The third brace is a thing accomplished.
The trail of the Alexandra is ended.

OFF AND ON THE TOWING PATH. 65

OFF AND ON THE TOWING PATH.

T IKE a pistol shot came the crack of a
whip from the towing path. The rope
tightened, then sagged for a moment, finally
became taut, and the barge Catherine and
Ellen, on which I stood dodging the smoke
from her cabin chimney, passed out between
the ponderous gates of the canal lock.

Locks are frequent in this part of Hert-
fordshire and I had begged a passage as far
as the next barrier. In silence, broken only
by the ripple of the water, as it parted at the
bow and slipped gurgling from the sides, or
the occasional creak of the tiller, the boat
glided past low-lying meadows dotted with
grazing cattle, to enter upon a reach between
an avenue of stately trees, whose foliage of
russet and gold, telling of the passing of
summer, darkened the water with deep and

66 AN ANGLER'S LINES.

gloomy shadows. Then out once more into
open country and the autumn sunshine.

Round a bend of the canal my destination
appeared in sight, whereupon the whip gave
forth a perfect volley of deafening cracks,
signals of our approach. From the lock came
an answer in the rattle and clank of sluices
being worked, the Catherine and Ellen hove
to outside the closed gates, and the horse
availed himself of his brief respite from
labour to crop a scanty meal. Inside the lock,
I took my leave of the obliging skipper, and
stepped ashore.

Not many yards from where I now stood
was the famous roach swim which, during the
past few days, had been yielding fish varying
from f lb. to 2 lb. each, but, as I neared the
place, the sight of a roach-pole stretching out
over the water told me that I was forestalled.
I found the owner, however, on the point of
departure, his patience having been exhausted
by an hour's Ashless efforts. Before going,
his companion, a lad of some twelve years,

ON AND OFF THE TOWING PATH. 67

expressed an earnest desire to catch a
jack, a fish he • had never yet taken, so,
to humour him, inpromptu tackle was rigged
up, a cork doing duty for a float, and a
gudgeon given a roving commission. There
was no rod available so the youthful angler
held the reel in his hand, but his look of eager
expectation was almost pathetic in its intensity.
His ambition appeared to be doomed to cruel
disappointment, and, after a few minutes'
grace, the man bade him take the line in, wh'ch
he proceeded to do with marked reluctance.
Inch by inch the cork came nearer to the bank,
then, when but a short distance away, it
bobbed down out of sight. Instantly the boy
gave a terrific tug at the line, something came
flying out of the water, described an arc in the
air, and, passing over our heads, landed in the
hedge behind. It was a smxall jack! It is a.
moot point which was the more astonished,
the boy or the fish. Of course it was woefully
undersized, but the lad's delight carried our
thoughts back to that memorable day when

^8 AN ANGLER'S LINES.

our first jack was taken, and it would have
required a hard heart indeed to have returned
it to the water, and respecting its fate I will
maintain discreet silence.

Left in sole possession of the swim I
deemed it advisable, after the recent dis-
turbance, that it should have no further
troubling for the next half hour, and lighting
a, pipe, I took a leisurely survey of my
surroundings .

How familiar they all were, and what
^different memories they revived. How many
hours I had spent with a pike -rod by the
little backwater that flowed into the canal by
yonder bush. Hours when success had come
sparingly, and again, shall I confess it, hours
when it liad been withheld altogether; but
happy, delightful, hours nevertheless. Then,
in the twilight of one winter evening, it had
given to me its best, and a lasting and tender
m.emory invests it. My eyes rest upon a dark
line that marks the course of a small and
.narrow stream bisecting one side of a meadow.

ON AND OFF THE TOWING PATH. 69

I see myself that cold November day essaying
to jump across, burdened with overcoat, bait-
can, rod, gaff, and bag. My foot slips as I
take off, and I feel the oozy black mud engulf
my legs, and the icy water mount up to my
waist. I see a roaring fire in the tap-room
of the little country inn, before which I sit,
clad in a pair of trousers belonging to mine
host, the while my dripping nether raiment is
being dried in the kitchen. Mine liost is a
man of i6 stone and portly withal, I scale but
9, and in the higher parts of his trousers there
is a superabundance of material for my needs.
For some mysterious reason the garment is
innocent of all buttons I The discovery is
startling, the effect embarrasing, for to stand
upright is to court catastrophe, and, perforce,
I sit for one hour and a half with legs rigidly
crossed, and a hand pressed firmly in either
trouser pocket. My own clothes are restored
to me, dried and brushed; even boots and
gaiters have been cleaned — and polished I yet
for all these services can neither the landlord

70 AN ANGLER'S LINES.

of The Queen's Head, nor his wife, be pre-
vailed upon to accept any manner of recom-
pense whatsoever. Should these lines come
under the notice of that worthy couple, may it
afford them some slight pleasure to know that
my remembrance of their kindness is as abiding
as my gratitude. The distant hedge that skirts
the road, begets a recollection of the summer
evening when, tired of v/aiting for the " fly "
that tarried beyond its .appointed time, two
weary anglers started for the station on foot.
The air was hot and stifling, we had had a
long day, roach -fishing, and, as we tramped
along the dusty road, our blessings on the
driver and all his kind, v/ere loud and fervent.
A third of the distance completed, when, on
turning a bend in the road, we came upon our
conveyance. But there was no clatter of hoofs,
or rumble of wheels, to indicate its presence.
One half lay on its side in the ditch, detached
from the fore -carriage which, with the Jehu
sitting on the head of the prostrate horse,
rested in a field on the other side of the broken

ON AND OFF THE TOWING PATH. 71

hedge. In the dim half light it all looked
very alarming, but with timely assistance from
the driver of a passing vehicle, the animal was
loosed from the shafts and raised to its feet,
and it was with relief that we discovered that
man and beast were unhurt. Walking beside
the driver, as he led the horse back home, we
learned that on the way out to fetch us, it had
shied and then crashed through the hedge, and
into two minds came the same thought — what
if it had happened on the refur?i journey \

Thoughts of the past gave way to con-
sideration of the present as I recollected the
purpose for which I was on the towing path,
and the handful of ground bait that I threw
into the swim was now quietly follo\yed by
a lump of bread -paste on a light float leger.
It seemed however, that, in my turn, I was
about to experience the same ill-luck as my
predecessor, for never a fish came my way,
despite a liberal dispensing from time to time
of additional ground-bait. Roach, perch, and
bream alike; they were right off the feed.

72 AN ANGLER'S LINES.

Nothing appealed to them, and to add to my
discomfiture, a fitful wind, at times greatly-
disturbing the water, had sprung up, making
it exceedingly difficult to detect bites. During
the tedium of waiting, my attention was fully
occupied with wasps. In fact, they were all
over me. They swarmed up my rod, settled
on my jacket, disputed my right to the bait,
and when, at length, I did succeed in obtain-
ing a 9 oz. roach, their interest in the event
was unbounded. But we settled our differences
of opinion in an amicable manner, and I am
still able to say that I have never known the
sting of a wasp.

A passing barge now stirred up the
bottom, and, shortly after, my float gave a
perceptible quiver, then lay flat on the water
and was gently drawn beneath the surface.
The result was a roach of 13 oz. Another
followed about the same size, but any un-
seemly exhilaration on my part was speedily
checked by a return to the status quo ante.
I looked at my watch and found it had taken
me four hours to catch three roach!

A TRAGEDY OF THE MERE. 73

Directly facing me on the opposite side a
river joined forces with the canal, the place
of meeting being a haunt of sundry water-
fowl. I glanced across and saw a shoal of
small fish leap suddenly from the water, their
bodies falling back with a pattering as of rain-
drops. The next instant a dabchick rose to
the surface with a little captive crosswise in
her bill. I meekly acknowledged her

superiority, and, leaving her to enjoy the spoils
of victory, with a light bag and a light heart
trudged homeward along the towing path
beside the sunset -crimsoned water.

** for the actual taking of fish is

** but a question of degree in the sum of his
*' day's pleasured

74 AN ANGLER'S LINES.

A TRAGEDY OF THE MERE,

A MERE of considerable extent whereon
wild duck innumerable were disporting
themselves in the sunlight; a stiffish breeze
that sent the waves lapping against the side of
the punt in which were seated a companion
and myself. Such was the setting.

The occasion; a despairing endeavour to
patch a slender reputation as a slayer of pike
with which I was at one time invested. A
grievous thing to live up to, this reputation,
acquired by sheer luck rather than ability, for
luck is a fickle jade and, as is her wont, of late
she had basely deserted me, so that my small
repute had by degrees become thin and thread-
bare, and now, alas I was rent and torn beyond
recognition.

At the first run my trace of fine wire
broke in the strike; at the second, a new one
of salmon-gut followed suit; at the third cast.

A TRAGEDY OF THE MERE. IS

the live dace promptly disassociated itself
from the proceeding, leaving the hooks and
float to follow its flight at their leisure. These
misfortunes elicited from my companion, not
sympathy, but the remark, of cold comfort, *' I
never knew you to fish so badly."

I retaliated by securing a fish, and
then another, before his dace attracted the
attention of an inquisitive pike. A strike, and
lo ! his trace, also of thin wire, had parted in
twain. The experience of fine tackle sufliced,
and, like myself, he fell back upon gimp.- I
was still using a snap mounted on some of
the aforesaid wire, and paid for my temerity
by leaving the hooks, and two inches of it, in
the next fish, while my companion shortly after-
wards suffered defeat by allowing a slack line
after the strike.

It was a beginning that called for much
stoicism and the exercise of a fine Mark
Tapley spirit. A fish each somewhat lightened
our gloom, but depression gripped us again
when bared hooks and extravagant loss of

76 AN ANGLER'S LINES.

live -bait were the sole outcome of repeated
runs. The punt was shifted to a part of the
lake where rushes abounded. Their promise of
pike was not belied, and six fish soon entered
the seclusion of the well, but the size, varying
from 4 lb. to 5 lb., was disappointing when
one remembered the potentialities of the water.
What they lacked in weight they made up in
gameness, for each fought a desperate iight
to the bitter end, and oft-tim^es disaster
threatened. Th-en came a new event. My
friend's float went down, and there ensued a
mighty conflict betwixt fisher and fish. A gain
of a few inches of line, negatived by a rush
that took out more than double the quantity,
a stubborn resistance to coercion, a grudging
submission to the steady pressure of the rod,
an apparently beaten fish, and then a dash
for a jagged stake that stood up from the
bed of the lake. He was round it! He was
free ! !

Upon our lamentations there broke a
sudden answering cry from off the face of the

A TRAGEDY OF THE MERE. 77

mere — a cry that had in it an indefinable touch
of pathos. Into the midst of a little company
of three wild duck resting on the water in
fancied security, grim tragedy had entered un-
seen, and was claiming one of its number.
Uttering shrill, pitiable cries, the bird strove
frantically to rise from the lake, wildly beating
the air with its wings in vain impotence to
release itself from the invisible power that
held it down as in a vice. From sedge and
fiag there issued forth a procession of other
duck towards the place, marshalled by two
stately swans, curiosity having mastered their
fear of the ** humans " in the punt. They, too,
were desirous to know the cause of the unusual
commotion. Meanwhile, with wings and voice,
the captive continued the unequal contest in
an agony of futile effort; but the unseen was
inexorable, and, while the other birds gathered
wonderingly around, the unhappy duck was
drawn slowly down beneath the surface, and
the next instant, in vivid contrast to the
despairing cry of life, there came a stillness,
as of death.

78 AN ANGLER'S LINES.

The mere had upheld its credit for big
pike, and we, if we had not caught one, had
at any rate been privileged to witness a
spectacle that cannot often be vouchsafed to
anglers' eyes.

A SUSSEX BROOK. 79'

A SUSSEX BROOK.

*' Perhaps, at times, in the ray of sunlight
*' that co?nes in at the o-fJice-windoiD, he sees
** a vision of green water -meadows, and catches'
*' the far-off echo of a babbling stream''

TpUMBLING and splashing, it turned the
mill wheel. This duty performed, it
hurried on a tortuous course beneath over-
hanging trees and bushes to the road, under
which it passed through a culvert piercing the
masonry of a small low bridge. On the other
side it fell with noisy tumult into a pool, then,
rippling over shallows, proceeded on its way
between thickly wooded banks to where its^
waters blended with a neighbouring stream.
It was a very unpretentious brook, narrow, and.
without depth; but at this pool the action of
its constant fall had worn a deepish hole which
extended for some yards. This was, too, the
only comparatively open place. Even here,.

80 AN ANGLER'S LINES.

a giant oak flung its branches over the seething
water, and touched the parapet of the bridge.

The murmur of the brook and the music
of the fall greeted me as I crossed the bridge,
rod in hand, late one afternoon towards the
end of May. It had been one of those ideal
spring days when blue skies and fleecy clouds
speak of summer, and through the branches the
rays of the setting sun rested on the miniature
cascade and touched it with a thousand points
of scintillating light.

I could detect no sign of a feeding fish,
and, as there was but little fly on the water,
possibly owing to the north-east wind which
had prevailed for the past two days, I was
somewhat at a loss to know what to try. I went
through my book, and finally decided upon a
small alder, sunk. The oak was sadly de trap,
but, at last, I succeeded in placing my fly, with
a low underhand cast, where the fall entered
the pool. A second time I evaded leaf and
twig, and as I worked the line round at the
tail of the eddy there came a distinct pluck;

A SUSSEX BROOK. 81

then a pulsating resistance told me that
the fish had fastened. Across the pool,
towards some half submerged debris on the
further side, brought down by a winter spate,
he went. If his goal were reached I knew
that it meant certain entanglement and any odds
on a break, and, raising the point of my rod,
I strove to bring him over to my bank. As
I did so, the fish flung himself out of Vv^ater
and I caught a momentary glimpse of a
spotted side. I hastily lowered the rod, and he
raced hard down stream to a place where,
from unhappy experience on a former occasion,
I knew, only too well, a sunken root was con-
cealed. This time, however, the danger was
averted, but before I succeeded in bringing
him over the net, the trout had m^ade another
leap for freedom.

While I was disengaging the hook, I be-
came aware that there had been a spectator
of the proceedings, for leaning over the bridge
was the gamekeeper, returning from his
evenino: round.

'82 AN ANGLER'S LINES.

" A very nice fish, sir, for this little
"brook," he remarked, and coming through a
,gap in the hedge, he passed a foot-rule over
the trout.

'* Twelve inches and a half, and in
splendid condition . ' '

During the next few minutes I was more
occupied in talking to the keeper than in
fishing, and this was responsible for a belated
strike and a missed opportunity. My next fish
was a rainbow, too small to kill, and he was
replaced in the pool none the worse for his
adventure. The keeper hereupon, after wishing
me good -night, whistled to his dog, and passed
on over the bridge. I had known him for
many years, a good, honest, v/orthy fellow,
and little did I think that ** good-night " was
to be " good-bye " for we never met again.
Within the fortnight pneumonia had claimed
him for a victim, and he was borne to his rest
in the little village church -yard.

Continuous whipping of a water is good
neither for man nor fish, and sitting down, I

A SUSSEX BROOK. 83

proceeded to load my pipe, when something
happened which caused me to restore it, unlit,
to ,my pocket. The something was an ex-
panding circle which had suddenly appeared
on the surface of a short stretch of unbroken
water linking the shallows with the pool. My
interest increased as the ring, after a brief
interval, appeared again. That it was caused
by a rising fish there was no doubt, but what
he was taking I had not the smallest notion.
A coachman on a ** oo " hook seemed a likely
venture, but the difficulty was, how to bring
it over the trout without any drag. To get
below the fish was an impossibility, owing
to the wooded surroundings, and my only
chance was to let the fly float down with
the stream and hope for the best. Of one thing
I was very certain, if the first attempt failed
there would be no '' second time of asking," for
the recovery of the line must inevitably put
the trout down. So it was with no little
anxiety that I watched the white wings draw
nearer and nearer to the fateful spot. A

84 AN ANGLER'S LINES.

moment of hope and doubt, then the ring re-
appeared and my fly was sucked down in the
midst. The contest that followed, if short, was
marked by infinite variety. Hither and thither
the fish scurried, now in, now out of the water,
but, although he leaped and fought splendidly,
the trout did not seem to have any definite
plan of campaign like the first, and his tactics
never threatened danger. Still, he gave me a
certain amount of trouble before I was able
to bring him in. The trout was smaller by
an inch than his companion in the basket, but,
like him, in excellent condition.

By this time the sun had dipped behind
the hills, the fall had lost its sparkle, and the
little pool was one of shadows.

Before daylight deserted me altogether, I
was anxious to try the point where the two
streams joined, so, leaving the pool, I followed
the brook down for about a mile until I
reached the spot,. Here it was a policy of
" drift " again, as the water, if anything, was
more shut in than at the place I had left,
and, in addition, had a high bank.

A SUSSEX BROOK. 85

In the fast gathering darkness I dropped
the fly, the same coachman, on the water,
and, with straining eyes, watched it float away
until ft disappeared beneath the bushes. I
must confess the only result that I anticipated
was the loss of my fly, if not the cast
as well, and for some seconds I continued
to pay out line in fear and trembling.,
Then, instead of the expected hitch, there came
the unexpiected pluck at my rod -top, and it
was borne in upon me that, somewhere down
stream, I had really risen and hooked a fish.
To describe what followed would be to describe
what I never saw. It was like playing a
fish blindfold. The darkness confused mle,
and made me nervous lest I should do the
wrong thing. Once I felt the line slacken,
and heard a splash far away beneath the
bushes. I thought the end had come, but
the next instant the throbbing strain on my rod
reassured mis. How I brought the fish up
into the eddy, caused by the meeting of the
waters, I have no very clear idea, neither

86 AN ANGLER'S LINES.

can I explain my. subsequent escape from
a foul, for, even in daylight, the spot was
an awkward one in which to venture a hook,
being a halting-place for all the flotsam and
jetsam brought down by both streams. At
last the fish, an active resister no longer, came
under the top of the rod. Lying full length
on the ground, I reached down with the net,
and the brook was the poorer by a nice trout
of I lb.

AN EVENING BY THE MILL POND. 87

AN EVENING BY THE MILL POND.

T^HE sun is slowly sinking behind the hill,
sending shafts of golden light through the
traceries of the lofty elms. A gentle breeze
touches the leaves, and their latticed shadows
on the footpath dance merrily in response.
From some farmhouse, remote and unseen,
comes the occasional bark of a sheepdog or
the lowing of kine; and nearer, the cawing of
rooks busy with domestic arrangements for
the coming night. It is the hour of nature's
Angelus, and over all is the restfulness and
peace of a great calm, the calm of a summer
evening.

Upon the mill pond the glory of the setting
sun rests caressingly, transforming it into a
shield of burnished silver, wherein is reflected
a field of wheat that stretches upward on the
farther side in golden radiande.

.Where the water deepens by the closed

88 AN ANGLER'S LINES.

sluice, I sit and watch the red-tipped float drift
nearer and nearer to the patch of yellow water-
lilies growing close inshore. A leaf stays its
progress, then, guided by some invisible power,
it moves again, and is drawn beneath the
surface. I feel the hurry-scurry of a startled
resistance, the tense line zig-zags sharply
amidst the floating -pads, and, anon, another
roach lies glistening on the grass.

From out the bed of rushes two black
beady eyes regard the squeezing of a fresh
piece of paste on the hook with marked dis-
trust. Then the grating of sharp teeth at
work on a quivering blade is renewed. A
splash, and the water-rat departs on another
of his hurried excursions by the side of the
bank. We have become good friends, this
brown furry vole and I, and his reappearance
from time to time brings a curious sense of
companionship in a solitude that I am conscious
of, yet loth to admit. Scarce have the diverg-
ing ripples in the wake of the swimmer died
away, when the net is again brought into use.

AN EVENING BY THE MILL POND. 89

Generously has the pond responded, but,
withal, it is a pond of fickle mood, and now
it assumes an uncompromising indifference.

The grey humility of twilight succeeds
the crimson majesty of sunset; a sombre hue
creeps over the face of the water, and I wait
and watch a float that stays motionless. Ten-
tatively the bait is changed, and the spell of
inaction is broken by a perch that takes the
proffered worm, then makes for sanctuary
among the lilies. He makes a valiant fight
for freedom, but in the end he is lifted out,
still struggling, with dorsal fin defiantly erect.
Two others share his fate ere the hook fails;
and a perch goes free to give the alarm,
only too effectually, for not another will the
pond surrender. Instead, it demonstrates the
unsuspected possibilities of its depths, for the
float goes down abruptly, and the handles of
the reel become merged and lost to sight in
the rapidity of its revolutions. For a second
there is the sensation of a heavy body con-
tending fiercely ; the next, a broken line comes
feebly in.

90 AN ANGLER'S LINES.

Conjecture is busy with the identity of
the destroyer as the keeper crosses the stile
and comes upon the wreckagfe. ** One of
them jacks," is his verdict. It may be, but
a roach fails to move him again, and the dis-
turbance has caused both perch and roach to
flee in terror.

As he turns to go, a rustling movement
in the rushes arrests the keeper's attention. A
searching glance towards the spot, and the gun
comes to his shoulder. An odd feeling of
reg'ret possesses me, for, intuitively, I know
the tragedy impending. Then the shot rings
out and dies echoing away in the distance.

The rookery is long since quiet and all is
still. Only a bat hawks to and fro, as I collect
the spoils and mount the stile.

Behind me, on the mill pond, the shadows
of night are gathering over a little furry body
with a crimson stain on its upturned breast.

^VARIUM ET MUTABILE." 91

''VARIUM ET MUTABILE."

fTHHE two men sank wearily into opposite
corners of the railway carriage, after
placing a bundle of rods, a gaff -handle, and
a couple of mackintoshes in the rack, and on
the seat a long white bag, from the end of
which protruded three shiny broad tails-
Muddy boots,: bespattered gaiters, evident
fatigue; all spoke of a strenuous day.

** Well, it's not been so bad after all,"^
remarked the elder of the two as he settled
himself more comfortably, " though I wish we
could have got hold of a big one. But there,
60 lb. is better than our luck of late on other
waters. What's the weight of the three in the
bag? "

** Between fifteen and sixteen pounds,"
was his 'companion's reply. " No, thanks,"
as the other offered a cigar case, " I would
rather have a pipe. I wonder " he continued^,

92 AN ANGLER'S LINES.

watching the wreaths of smoke curl upwards
and then hang clustering round the lamp,
*' what my wife will say to-night when she sees
them? Her usual remark, * What, no fish
again? Well, you are duffers ! ' will hardly
come in on this occasion, and I rather fancy
that it will be our turn to score."

" Never be too sure of scoring off a
woman," was the reply, spoken with the wisdom
and experience that comes of superior years.

With a jarring and grinding of brakes the
train pulled up at a station, and the door
opened to admit a passenger, obviously one
of that ancient race, the Jews. The anglers
glanced casually at the new comer, who seated
himself by the bag at the end whence the three
tails appeared, then continued to smoke in
silent meditation. Profound and all-absorbing
were their thoughts and soon the very existence
of the man was forgotten.

" Do you gentlemen vant to buy any
shtuds? " The two friends looked round in
astonishment; then shook their heads, for their

"VARIUM ET MUTABILE." 93

fellow-passenger was holding out a card of
bone collar -studs.

" Feesh ! " exclaimed the man excitedly.
He passed a hand, that exhibited distinct traces
of long freedom from soap and water, over
the bulging outlines of the bag. The Jewish
desire for fresh -water fish was awakened.

" Ah ! it is alive I "

The hand was hastily withdrawn, for one
of the tails was twitching convulsively as though
in resentment of the liberty. For a little
while the man appeared to be revolving some
weighty matter in his mind, and the expression
on his face was one of deep thoughtf ulness .
Then, having apparently come to a decision,
he addressed to the custodian of the bag the
startling inquiry;

" Do you Vant to sell those feesh? "

** 'Noy certainly not ! "
The reply was curt and the tone of voice un-
mistakable, yet the man showed no sign of
annoyance and merely resumed his former
pensive attitude. Presently his hand stole into
the recesses of his coat.

94 AN ANGLER'S LINES.

** I haf a nice Vatch for sale," he re-
marked. " It is a good one; very sheap.
Only ten and sixpence. Here, take it in your
hand and see for yourself. It vill bear look-
ing at."

Before he could decline, a lady's " gold "
keyless watch had been forced upon the indig-
nant angler. Only for a moment did he re-
tain possession but he noticed that it was going
to time, had split seconds, and, altogether,
looked worth the amount asked. Then, with a
gesture that admitted of no misunderstanding,
the younger man handed it back. Upon being
appealed to in turn, his companion signified,
in no less equivocal a manner, his disinclination
to purchase. With a final statement respect-
ing its ** sheapness " the importunate one re-
turned the watch to his pocket, -and proceeded
to stare thoughtfully out of the window into
the darkness beyond. Occasionally the grimy
hand would wander in an abstracted manner
over the bag, until the angler could endure it
no longer and was on the point of removing

"VARIUM ET MUTABILE." 95

the thing of strange fascination to another

place, when the Jew, producing the watch once

more, leaned over towards him and whispered.

eagerly,

"// you vlll gif me those feesh, I vill

gif you this vatchy

* * * * 55c * *

With the air of ^a triumphant warrior who^
awaits the acclamations of the multitude, the
younger man displayed the three pike to his
wife and, incidentally, related the tale of the
watch. Then he realised that not yet was it his
turn to score, for over the fish she enthused,
not one whit, but, with a world of meaning,
exclaimed,

" Why didn't you take the watch? Now
that would have been worth having ! "

lif. ^ iC- -^ -^ :ff. ^

** Angling to woman is the ugly

"'duckling of sport. For it, and those zvho
*' take their leisure therein, her scorn is
* merciless, her conte7npt unzmled y

But, as the angler sadly reflected, his
wife always did lack the true sentiment of
fishing.

96 AN ANGLER'S LINES.

DAYS ON A BUCKINGHAMSHIRE
LAKE,

A NGLERS are not more blessed than other
folk in their ability to control the
weather, else, on the occasion of one of our
expeditions to the lake, it would not have
happened that hill and dale were obliterated by
a white fog; so dense as to blot out the very
hedge -row on either side of the line. There was
no heaven and no earth, and the train seemed
to bear us through illimitable space. When
things are at their worse, they begin to mend;
and so it was with the fog. Just as we had
decided (there were two of us) that our pro-
gramme must be altered to the extent of
taking the first train back to town, it lifted,
rolling away in billowy masses which lingered
here and there in the hollows like huge lumps
of cotton wool; and when we reached our

ON A BUCKINGHAMSHIRE LAKE. 97

destination we found a clear atmosphere and
a cloudless sky.

" Not a very good day, gentlemen, there's
no ripple."

The keeper's parting words, as we pushed
off in the punt, were ominous, and only
too faithfully expressed our own opinion.

"Ripple! " I said to myself discon-
solately, " Why, the lake is a sheet of glass ►
It could not have been in worse trim for "

Click, Click, Cl-i-ick, my reel broke in.

" Bear a hand with the gaff ! " shouted
my companion from the stern.

'* Sorry I can't," I replied from the bow^
** I have a fish on myself." And then, in
syncopation, came the music of both reels.

Glancing over my shoulder, I noticed that
his fish was proving anything but docile, and
not likely to be ready for the steel just yet.
I also discovered that both pike were fighting:
their battles on the starboard side. Mine was
carrying on the contest in a series of powerful
jerks, a proceeding I greatly disapproved, for

^8 AN ANGLER'S LINES.

these sudden tugs awakened misgivings in my
mind as to the strength of my trace of single
salmon gut which had seen service on previous
occasions. Finding these tactics did not
answer, the pike yielded submissively for a
few yards to the shortening of the line, then,
with a plunge, dashed off in the direction of
his brother in adversity. Doubt of that trace
again obtruded itself and I dared not apply
much pressure, although I noticed, with ap-
prehension, that the two lines were drawing
dangerously close together. They met,
crossed, and a foul was only averted by the
passing of my companion's rod over my hastily
ducked head. Both fish were now making a
hard fight for it, and, from the strength mine
put forth, I was hoping for a far heavier
specimen than the bare 5 -pounder it proved to
be. I had but time to lift it in, when the
other required a similar attention, but, although
the bigger of the two, it failed to reach 6 lb.,
the limit for this water.

A long period of inaction follov/ed; even

ON A BUCKINGHAMSHIFE LAKE. 99

the live baits grew weary of gyrating over
unappreciative pike, their movements became
more and more feeble, and then ceased
altogether. Esox lucius was decidedly
apathetic. What else could one expect, with
not a zephyr, and the sun shining with all the
power and brilliance of early summer?
Indeed, except when one's eyes fell on the
rich autumnal colourings of the trees, it was
hard to realise that the month was November
and not ,May. And, as I gazed upon the
peaceful beauty of wooded land that all around
sloped upward in gentle undulations, and
listened to the call of water-fowl, or watched
the little procession of wild duck passing over-
head, I felt that the taking of fish was not
all, but that, in Nature, there are compen-
sations for the angler, even if the fates decree
a slender bag. ''Should fortune withhold her
** benefits, yet has he other cause to be grate-
** fuiy

A change of position to the channel divid-
ing the queer little island from the shore, only

100 AN ANGLER'S LINES.

revived tantalising recollections of good fish
taken there on former days ; it produced
nothing tangible now. So, back once more into
the open ; encouraged thereto by a sullen
splash in that direction. Here a wandering
current of air ruffled the monotonous calm of
the water, and, apparently, exercised an
awakening effect upon the fish, for it was not
long ere the two rods were busy, each with a
struggling captive. As before, both were
engaged simultaneously; but this time there
was no threatened complication of lines to
lend excitement to captures which increased
our scores by 4 lb., and 4^ lb., respectiviely.
The possibilities of our pitch appeared to be
exhausted when a further fish, one of really
depressing dimensions, had been taken, for
not another run occurred to enliven the pro-
ceedings. Then the slight breeze died away,
the ripples gradually subsided, and our punt
lay " As idle as a painted ship upon a painted
ocean."

We were roused from the condition of

ON A BUCKINGHAMSHIRE LAKE. 101

lethargy into which we were fast sinking, by
the sudden disappearance, over the side, of my
companion's rod. Resting on the gunwale, a
movement of his sleeve had (precipitated it
into ID ft. of water. Luckily for him, one of
the triangles had become hitched in the thwart,
and, when every inch of line had been drawn
off the reel, the rod was triumphantly hauled up.
Obviously it was useless to remain where we
were, so a further move was made. Our
new anchorage was surrounded by a bed of
weeds which grew to within 2 ft. or 3 ft.
of the surface, and looked a promising place.
My first cast must have been made right into
the open jaws of a waiting pike, for the float
struck the water and instantly shot out of sight.
Rapid, and sustained, revolutions of the reel,
however, caused me to realise that I had
a run. I was using a single hook inserted
in the lips of a small dace, so the fish was
allowed to go his way unchecked, until the time
came to give him a pointed reminder of my
existence. Then, with a swirl, he came to the

102 AN ANGLER'S LINES.

top. I relaxed the strain, and the next minute
he had found an asylum amongst the weeds..
All attempts to dislodge him proving un-
successful, on the principle of Mahomet and
the mountain, there was nothing for it but to
up anchor again and work the punt over his
hiding-place. Upon an application of the gaff-
handle, the pike evidently had misgivings as
to the security of his position, for he made a
hurried exit, enveloped in clinging strands of
weed. These hampered his subsequent move-
ments, and led to his undoing. Truth
compels me to state that he was unable to pull
the pointer of the steelyard below 3 J lb., and
should any reader exclaim, '* What a fuss over
such a small fish! " I can only assure him
that he expresses the thought that passed
through my own mind.

Rampant misfortune was now our lot;
my companion had a lost opportunity to de-
plore, and I a great disaster.

The bob of my float and the demand
upon my reel indicated that, perhaps, the

ON A BUCKINGHAMSHIRE LAKE. 103

long -hoped-for was about to happen. As
always, it was the unexpected that happened.
After travelling a little way in snatchy jerks,
the "pilot" stopped; and, carefully gathering
in the slack line, I struck; With the strike
came the sound of a sharp, loud, crack; the
line fell in folds, and my rod clattered on
the floor of the punt, broken at the top
ferrule, and again, half-way down the butt!
Grasping the line, which was now running out
rapidly, I mercilessly hauled the pike in. But
the chances were all against my securing him.
Even as the fish came to the side, he opened
a cavernous mouth, and, with a furious shake
of the head, freed himself from the hook.

I declined the generous offer of my
friend's rod, and applied myself, with all the
dignity and composure that I could muster, to
the task of straightening out the ghastly muddle
of broken wood and tangled line which met
tny gaze. Examination of the wreckage re-
vealed hitherto undetected worm-holes, and
these, in conjunction with the weeds, had

104 AN ANGLER'S LINES.

brought about the downfall of my favourite
rod.

Of three fish afterwards credited to my
companion, not one approached anywhere near
the desired standard. Night was now
enshrouding the lake in a white tnantle of mist,
and, liberating the nine restless captives in the
well, we stepped ashore, bearing an empty
bag and a ruined rod. Maledicitel

Although, as I stated in the opening
sentence of this chapter, the power of en-
suring any desired type of weather is denied
to mortals in general, and (I write feelingly)
anglers in particular, there are times when,
maybe as a set-off against the many dis-
appointments that they are made to endure, a
pitying providence bestows upon the disciples of
Isaak Walton " the very thing " in atmospheric
conditions. Not often, mark you; but
occasionally, very occasionally, it does so
happen. With our recollections of another
day spent on the lake, one of these
" happenings " is inseparably associated.

ON A BUCKINGHAMSHIRE LAKE. 105

There was no doubt about the wind. —
a rough, blustering, nor'-wester. — It roared,
amongst the leafless branches of the trees,
which bent beneath its fury, and swept the
surface of the water, where wave after wave
gave evidence of its mad embrace. Moreover,
there was a spiteful touch of cold about it
which, now and again, broke through the
the defence of a top-coat. Wind, clear sky,
plenteous sunshine; ideal conditions for live-
baiting for pike. Such was my thought, as
our respective floats danced and curtsied to
the waves which lapped incessantly against the
side of the punt. I, at least, had no complaint
to make of lack of sport, for the first, second,
third, and fourth fish, each exceeding 6 lb.,
had fallen to my rod and been consigned to
the well. As a beginning, 26 lb., all within
a quarter of an hour, was distinctly auspicious.
But my companion, strange to say, had not
been so blessed, and, while I was thus em-
ployed, not one fish had come his way. My
good fortune appearing to have ceased, we

106 AN ANGLER'S LINES.

decided to try by the island. Here he soon
hooked, and landed, a 7J pounder, whilst I
secured a small fish, under 3 lb., which, no
doubt to its own satisfaction, was promptly
liberated. Here, too, I struck a good fish, but,
the hooks failing to hold, a terribly mauled
bait was the only result. The other rod, how-
ever, in the meantime had been responsible
for another tenant of the well. Now,
satisfactory as our sport had hitherto been
in point of numbers, we had not obtained a
fish whose weight went into double figures,,
and in both our minds were thoughts of the
far heavier pike known to be in the water^
but which were not in evidence at this particular
place. Therefore a move to the other side of
the island was suggested, and acted upon.

Our new moorings were situated con-
siderably nearer the mainland than where we
had been fishing. A cluster of tall trees on
the shore faced a similar plantation on the
island, making a regular gully for the wind^
which lashed the water into a miniature sea.

ON A BUCKINGHAMSHIRE LAKE. 1C7

Its force was something tremendous, and the
navigation of the punt to the spot was a
matter of no little difficulty. Truly, it was a
case of fishing in troubled waters, but banks
of rushes on either hand, extending well into
the water, warranted the hope that a good
fish or two might be lurking in their midst.

My companion had not long to wait for
his chance. As his dace worked the outskirts
of these rushes, the float went down suddenly,
and the rod was nearly dragged from his
hand, warning him that he was about to do
battle with a pike far exceeding in size any
that we had yet taken. So violent was the
resistance following the strike, that an attempt
at holding the fish would have spelt instant
disaster. The one thing possible, was to
supplement the check on the reel by careful
rim pressure. All at once the line ceased
to pay out and there came a pause in
the proceedings. The moments went by,
andj no further movement being made by
the fish, my friend, with extreme caution.

108 AN ANGLER'S LINES.

reeled in an inch or so, which Esox no sooner
felt than off he dashed again with a force
which, alas ! proved too much for the line,
and for the next few minutes, there were two
very rueful countenances in that punt. While
he was repairing damages, loudly bewailing
his ill-luck all the time, I had been kept well
occupied with a couple of fish, and was about
to make a cast when I observed his rod bend-
ing again in active service; so I stood by, in
the hope of being called upon to lend a hand
with the gaff.

There was little doubt but that he ha,d
another good fish on, vicious plunges affording
ample testimony that its ultimate capture would
only be when the last inch had been success-
fully contested. A dash of the pike away
from the punt carried out yard after yard of
line, which had to be smartly reeled in again
as the pilot fioat gave warning that the fish
had doubled, and was now coming towards
us. Once he made direct for the chain
attached to the anchor, and I held my breath,

ON A BUCKINGHAMSHIRE LAKE. 109

but any design he may have entertained in that
quarter was frustrated by a rigorous appli-
cation of the butt, the consequent strain causing
him to rise to the surface, and shake his long
black head in marked disapproval of the whole
business. Foiled in his intentions respecting
the chain, he made an effort to reach the
friendly shelter of the bed of rushes, but it
lacked his former strength, and in due time I
had the pleasure of lifting a handsome fish
of 10 lb., 7 oz. over the side for my com-
panion.

Success and failure had been pretty
evenly distributed, and my turn soon came to
get in touch with a good fighter. Having
discarded the " snap " in favour of a single
hook, I made a cast. The float had barely
time to cock when down it went, and my reel
gave forth one prolonged shriek. The speed
with which the line cut through the water
was terrific, and in one splace, for a distance
of some half a dozen yards, to the right and
left there leaped out, high into the air, a shoal

110 AN ANGLER'S LINES.

of small fry, through which the pike had
evidently dashed, the piscatory fountain indi-
cating the tyrant's course more effectually than
any pilot float could have done. The sun's
rays shone full on the sides of the terrified
fugitives, and they became scintillating
splashes of silver. As we admired the
charming effect, the pike stopped.* Allowing
him sufficient time to turn the bait, I gathered
in the loose line. The strike, however, was
never made, for, at that instant, the float
abruptly reappeared on the water, and the line
came in with the gimp bitten through, as
evenly as though severed with a knife. The
shoal of small fish still had their enemy left
to, reckon with I

Now, a rousing nor'-wester may be ** the
very thing " for pike, but the angler, after
three hours of continuous buffeting in an open
punt with cap jammed over ears and eyes
(my companion is a sight for the gods in a
hat tied down under his chin) when eating a
sandwich is a furtive and fearful operation and

ON A BUCKINGHAMSHIRE LAKE. Ill

a " smoke " an impossibility, is disposed to cry
"Hold! Enough*'; and the shelter of the
boathouse, where these creature comforts could
be enjoyed in peace, was a welcome change,,

Upon venturing out again, we found that
one of those sudden, and inexplicable, changes
to which pikely appetite is liable, had taken
place, for fish were now as shy as they had
previously been bold, and it was some
time before another was taken.

In the well, now so full that the ptisoners
were packed like sardines in a tin, sounds of
violent commotion could be heard from time
to time, and, with startling clatter, the lid
would come flying off, displaced with blows
from the tails of the discontented occupants.
So the few subsequent fish were weighed and
immediately returned to the water.

Black and threatening clouds had come
up; thick driving rain made our position any-
thing but pleasant; prospects for further sport
seemed to be more than doubtful, if desirable
under such conditions; and the punt was.
headed for the shore.

112 AN ANGLER'S LINES.

Two of the biggest of our captives were
kept as trophies, and executed forthwith, the
remainder being tossed overboard to live to
fight another day, and we started on our
homeward journey, happy, contented, and,
above all, grateful for the privilege so gener-
ously granted,_ so thoroughly enjoyed.

Over the little three-course dinner in the
cosy room at The Crow7i, we examined the
day's entries. 22 pike, 138 lbs. Benedicitel I

*' Should fortime send him great things
** he is becomingly grateful ."

*' Thus the " Saturday " Angler, Hopiiig
" much (an angler without hope is unthink-
" able), expecting little, content with less.
" // these be the attributes of folly, then is
''it a folly to be commended to all worthy
*' men,''

LONDON:
J. TAMBLYN, PRINTER^
Il6, LADBROKE GROVE,

igii.

YB 10485

M313054