400 yards from bank to bank--I sought the sight
of some salmon, and went to the fish house. The quick returns had not
come in that morning, but there were about a hundred salmon laid out on
the floor ready for prompt dispatch to market. They averaged 20 lb.,
but, silvery as they all were, I could pick out the few that had come
in that morning. There was one lovely she-fish of about 23 lb., with a
ventral fin literally as purple as the dorsal of a grayling, and for
suggestions of pearls and opals, maiden blushes, and the like, nothing
could have been more perfect than the sheen of this Tay salmon. In
another hour the glory would have faded away. And all those fish had
been taken by the net. The angler who was lusting for one of them
under his rod spake not, and went away sorrowful.

But, after all, what would the morrow bring forth? The great river was
running down, the night was fair, and there was hope--for the glass was
rising, and the wind really had been good enough to get out of the
south. As a matter of history, the morrow promised fair things, though
I went forth in fear and trembling. The miry ways of the past month
had given way to a frost, and we walked across to the station on frozen
puddles. Exhilaration was in the air. The glass showed half an inch
to the good since last night. Our gillie, who met us at Stanley
station, admitted this; yes, but 2 ft. less of water would warrant
better confidence. And that was sensible Scottish caution. We got
down to the river, and, though the colour was not bad, she was too big
and strong.

The prospect of even a happening fish was of the poorest. To be brief,
the odd fish did not come my way, and there's an end on't. Only two
pools were fishable. No boat could be worked in any other part. If I
say I fished every inch of the water, first with fly, and then with a
small dace spun from the Malloch reel, I simply state facts. Over the
pool did I patiently fish with Nicholson and Dusty Miller of large
size, and a second time with the spinning bait. Two fish showed during
the day, a shockingly black beggar of not less than 30 lb. which jumped
out of the water, and another kelt which plunged out of range. It was
an absolute blank, and a fall of snow before I caught my train was
ominous. There had been a flood of 15 ft. (a favourite figure
apparently on that Tay gauge) and it takes any river a long time to
settle down, and the fish to resume their ordinary