It was nearly noon ere we reached the waterside, at the head of a long stretch of deep, still water, fringed on the opposite shore with canes and bulrushes, and well rippled by a strong breeze. The sun-glare was intense; and, though the wind enabled us to command the whole water, an hour's fishing (with fly) only resulted in the capture of sundry large silvery coarse fish, resembling dace, and weighing from half a pound to a pound and a quarter, and a few small fry—we imagine, bleak. We therefore decided to walk up-stream three or four miles, to the point where its course joined one of the hill-ranges just mentioned. Here, in many places, abrupt limestone crags formed the farther shore; beneath, the stream ran deep, bright, and sparkling, shallowing away to the shelving gravel on our shore, and at each bend forming a pretty pool.
For a long time this likely water produced actually nothing, and we began to fear that our venture in stopping at this outlandish spot was a failure. But as the shadows lengthened and the sun left the water, there came a change. The long-expected and welcome sensation of a determined "rise" was followed by another and another in quick succession; and in the last hour of the day we landed nineteen trout, weighing between seven and eight pounds, of which aggregate the three largest accounted for one-third.
Fully half the trout killed on this and succeeding days rose to a small orange hackle; a bracken-clock, or "coch-y-bondu," as we believe is the proper name, being the next favourite. Winged flies should be small, and of bright colours, and, in the clear waters of Spain, only the finest gut should be used.
Further west, in the Astorga and Ponferrada districts, are probably the best streams of Leon; but these we have not had time to visit.
The Asturias.—This province is to Spain what the Scotch Highlands are to England—a
| Land of brown heath and shaggy wood, |
| Land of the mountain and the flood. |
From the north, the Asturias may be reached by sea; but on the south the only pass through the continuous mountain-ranges which cut off this rugged province from Leon and transmontane Spain, is by the puertos of Vegarada and Piedrafita, which lead into the upland valleys of the Pajáres mountains, one of the chief strongholds of the Spanish bear, and where boar, chamois, and other game are also found.
The extremely abrupt and rugged nature of the river-valleys is, in some sense, a serious drawback to the angler. Many a lovely pool or stretch of perfect trouting-water are absolutely inaccessible—cut off for ever in the depths of some precipitous defile. Broken boulders often impend the river's course for miles, and hopelessly obstruct descent. In other places the water-side can at length be reached after perilous scrambles along rock-ledges, threading the rod through a maze of birch and alder branches. And one picks a precarious path downwards with the knowledge that, even when reached, the range of fishable water will be limited, and the return journey almost worse than the descent.
These hardly-gained pools are, however, worth the trouble of trying. For, in proportion to their difficulty of access, so are they neglected by the native pescador, with all his poaching paraphernalia and hateful engines of destruction.
Our first essay proved blank; the season (May) was, perhaps, too early, and only a few silvery troutlets rewarded a long day's work. This was a small stream, overhung with magnificent chestnuts; but a neighbouring and larger river afforded, for Spain, fair sport. The first series of pools yielded a dozen trout, averaging half a pound. Then came the usual scramble to reach the next fishable bit. While climbing out, over a chaos of tumbled boulders, we almost stepped on a big Marten (Mustela martes, Linn.), which bounded from under foot, up the rocks; then turned, and stood chattering savagely at the intruder, her yellow chest not twenty yards away. Probably she had her brood hidden in some crevice, but we could see nothing of them.