."
Under far more favourable conditions than these, the throw necessary to
place a fly on even the nearest of the "hovers" would be almost the
longest that could with accuracy be made. But the angler is baffled at
the outset by the presence of a steep slope behind him.

I well remember two instances when I was tricked by the self-conceit
which led me to suppose that my skill in casting was of no mean order.
Once, while the river was bank-high after flood, I happened to be
throwing an unusually long line, with careless ease, over the lower end
of a pool, where, before, I had never seen a fish. I was, no doubt,
thinking of something quite unconnected with fishing, otherwise I should
not have wandered thus far from the spot where I generally reeled in my
line. A salmon effectually aroused me by a terrific rush at my fly. I
"struck" hard, and the fly, after a momentary check, flew up into the
air. I am not one of those anglers who give rest to a salmon in the
belief that, after rising, he requires time to recover from his
disappointment at having failed to catch the lure. I believe in
"sticking to" a fish, perhaps because the first I ever hooked was one I
had bullied ceaselessly during the whole of a spring evening. And so I
tried hard and often to tempt that sportive fish again; but after the
careless, easy casting which resulted in the rise, I could not by any
means throw satisfactorily over the tail of the pool. However I tried to
do so, the line would double awkwardly as it reached the water, or would
curl back into the rapid on the near side of the "hover," or the fly
would splash in a most provoking manner as it alighted on the stream. So
at last I left the riverside.

Henceforth, I attempted the same long cast whenever I passed the pool. I
lost many flies, and never again rose a fish. But I was convinced that I
had discovered a "hover" new to the village fishermen, till my old
friend Ianto chaffed me into the belief that the salmon I had seen was a
"passenger," and, probably, a "spent kelt" in such a weak condition that
for it to stay in the rough water higher up the pool was impossible.

On another occasion, in early days when my ignorance of the river and of
fishing sorely troubled both Ianto and myself, as I was wading
down-stream along the edge of a pool a grilse rose, "head and tail,"
about twenty yards below my fly. Using my long gaff-handle as a staff, I
walked slowly towards the fish, casting carefully all