Nobody ever dreamed of fishing here, but one day a
rustic, "glowering" idly over the wall of the adjacent road, saw fish
rising. He mentioned his discovery to an angler, who is said to have
caught some large trout, but tradition varies about everything, except
that the fish are very "dour." One evening in August, a warm, still
evening, I happened to visit the tarn. As soon as the sun fell below the
hills, it was literally alive with large trout rising. As far as one
could estimate from the brief view of heads and shoulders, they were
sometimes two or three pounds in weight. I got my rod, of course, as did
a rural friend. Mine was a small cane rod, his a salmon-rod. I fished
with one Test-fly; he with three large loch-flies. The fish were rising
actually at our feet, but they seemed to move about very much, never, or
seldom, rising twice exactly at the same place. The hypothesis was
started that there were but few of them, and that they ran round and
round, like a stage army, to give an appearance of multitude. But this
appears improbable. What is certain was our utter inability ever to get
a rise from the provoking creatures. The dry fly is difficult to use on
a loch, as there is no stream to move it, and however gently you draw it
it makes a "wake"--a trail behind it.
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