Flood and Fish.
From nothing much more than a trickle, I have seen the river rising to almost a flood. A fortnight ago the rocks were showing, and the boulders were coated with green slime. At that time the trout darted about the pools, sheltered under slabs and ledges, and were frightened of the shadow of a bird passing overhead, it seemed. Rain has washed colour from the hills, picked up the bank debris, gathered weeds that grew on the shore and churned all along to bang a screen on a low branch and make a barrier at the bridge. Only those who know the river can tell where the trout are now. The flood seems so strong that it is hard to believe they are there at all, but they are, for the pool at the bend misses the heavy current, and the hole under the bank is a safe mooring. Food is plentiful. Every wave that sweeps under the bushes and laps the grass brings enough to satisfy the greediest of them. The -heron is cautious now, walking on the fringe and peering into the brown water. If the rain stops, it will be a day or two before the water clears and he can see his prey. He does not stay by the river long. The lakes have less colour, and he will only return when conditions suit his method of fishing.
Previous page
