... the first part of this item of prose is missing... sorry...
... bite best in the very early morning, the walk is done as fast as possible, [caving the angler more than a little breathless by the time he arrives at his destination.
On arrival he surveys the scene, and picks the most inaccessible spot of all. After being caught several times by surrounding bushes, he mutters a curse and moves on to the next hole, hoping that there will be at least one fish in it and that this spot will not be like the one he has just left. If, of course, a seasoned fly fisherman sees a cigarette packet or similar object near a pool, that pool "has been fished out" and is immediately vacated.
By mid-day, when he stops for lunch, our fisherman has walked several miles and has caught perhaps three fish-all too small. After lunch he continues to fish till he slips on a rock and becomes temporarily submerged. At this point he slips a frog on the hook and, after a short wait, hauls a two-pounder flapping to the bank.
He races back to the car, wet but happy, to tell his mates they should try a red and black matuka fly, the one which caught his big fish.
Well, that's fishing.