When he had been dragged up on the shingle, the line parted, broken in twain at the knot; but it had lasted just long enough, during three exciting minutes.  This accident of a knot on the line has only once befallen me since, with the strongest loch-trout I ever encountered.  It was on Branxholme Loch, where the trout run to a great size, but usually refuse the fly.  I was alone in a boat on a windy day; the trout soon ran out the line to the knot, and then there was nothing for it but to lower the top almost to the water’s edge, and hold on in hope.  Presently the boat drifted ashore, and I landed him—­better luck than I deserved.  People who only know the trout of the Test and other chalk streams, cannot imagine how much stronger are the fish of the swift Scottish streams and dark Scottish lochs.  They’re worse fed, but they are infinitely more powerful and active; it is all the difference between an alderman and a clansman.

Tweed, at this time, was full of trout, but even then they were not easy to catch.  One difficulty lay in the nature of the wading.  There is a pool near Ashiesteil and Gleddis Weil which illustrated this.  Here Scott and Hogg were once upset from a boat while “burning the water”—­spearing salmon by torchlight.  Herein, too, as Scott mentions in his Diary, he once caught two trout at one cast.  The pool is long, is paved with small gravel, and allures you to wade on and on.  But the water gradually deepens as you go forward, and the pool ends in a deep pot under each bank.  Then to recover your ground becomes by no means easy, especially if the water is heavy.  You get half-drowned, or drowned altogether, before you discover your danger.  Many of the pools have this peculiarity, and in many, one step made rashly lets you into a very uncomfortable and perilous place.  Therefore expeditions to Tweedside were apt to end in a ducking.  It was often hard to reach the water where trout were rising, and the rise was always capricious.  There might not be a stir on the water for hours, and suddenly it would be all boiling with heads and tails for twenty minutes, after which nothing was to be done.  To miss “the take” was to waste the day, at least in fly-fishing.  From a high wooded bank I have seen the trout feeding, and they have almost ceased to feed before I reached the waterside.  Still worse was it to be allured into water over the tops of your waders, early in the day, and then to find that the rise was over, and there was nothing for it but a weary walk home, the basket laden only with damp boots.  Still, the trout were undeniably there, and that was a great encouragement.  They are there still, but infinitely more cunning than of old.  Then, if they were feeding, they took the artificial fly freely; now it must be exactly of the right size and shade or they will have none of it.  They come provokingly short, too; just plucking at the hook, and running out a foot of line or so, then taking their departure.  For some