FLY FISHING.
So much has already been written on fly fishing by men of wide and varied
experience, that it is with no little diffidence the writers approach
the subject. Yet the more thoroughly the whole art of trout fishing is
explored, the more engrossing does it become, and, as experience is
gained, the more evident it appears that little is really known and that
a vast field still remains open for investigation.
It is not intended to try in this chapter to teach the art of fly
fishing, as more can be learned by observation, perseverance and practice
on the river, than by reading all that was ever written on the subject;
but it is desired, by emphasizing a few essential points, to help the
novice through his initial difficulties.
Some anglers who are only able to devote a few weeks during the season
to their pastime are content to go to the local tackle dealer or the
professional fisherman and to rely entirely on his advice. While it is
always well to consult the “local men”—quaint characters for the most
part and many of them cobblers by trade—it is often a mistake to rely
entirely upon them; for, if a man’s ambition be to get out of the rut and
to kill fish under difficult conditions, he must think for himself.
The “local man” often has a strong partiality for certain patterns of
flies, no matter what the conditions. Only recently the writers came
across a most glaring example of this particular tendency, which is
perhaps worth mentioning in order to illustrate their point. Arriving
at the river one September afternoon, they noticed on the opposite bank
the local professional, who is held in very high esteem as a fisherman.
He certainly casts as neat a line as the writers have ever seen thrown.
In answer to their enquiry, “What sport?”, they received the reply, “A
few,” and were more than a little astonished to learn that he was using
flies which, in their opinion, were more suitable for the end of July. It
is always a pleasure to see this man cast, so they sat down and watched
him. Time after time he put his flies in the most beautiful manner over
rising fish, but without result, although the water was coloured and the
fish continued to rise steadily. Soon one showed within casting distance
of the bank on which the writers were seated, so a fly was immediately
put over him and was accepted at the first offer. Earlier that day there
had been a large hatch of Dark Needles, and it was an imitation of that
insect which induced the rise. Alternately the writers threw over rising
fish with more or less success; but the professional, who persevered for
another half-hour without changing his flies, at last gave up in disgust.
For the time being at least he was beaten. Not that he did not know the
river or understand the habits of the trout—both were to him as an open
book—but simply because he was deficient in his knowledge of insect life.
This man probably knew some ten or a dozen good all-round flies which he
used the season through, but without due regard to the hatch of natural
insects.
Now put yourself in the professional’s position on that particular day,
only add to his knowledge that of insect life. On finding your flies
rejected, you would have picked from off the water, and examined, the
natural insects which were floating down; then, immediately realizing
what was amiss, you would have substituted an imitation of the taking
fly for one on your cast. Success would have followed failure, and a
light-hearted angler would have tramped homewards at sunset with a creel
the heavier for his practical knowledge.
From the foregoing it will be gathered that the novice should make it his
first duty to study on every possible occasion the insect life of the
river he is going to fish, and not merely rely upon the tackle dealer
or professional to supply his deficiency in this, or indeed in other
matters. By this let it not be thought that the writers consider it
necessary to go deeply into the study of entomology, fascinating as that
study is; but if the greatest amount of pleasure is to be derived, and
incidentally a fair number of fish to be killed, it is essential that the
angler should arm himself with a good general knowledge of river insect
life.
A great deal in this direction can be learned by an occasional emptying
of a trout’s stomach into a glass of water, and an examination of the
_débris_ after they have been separated by a brisk stir round. It is
most instructive, and it shows how catholic fish are in their feeding.
It shows too, not infrequently, the reasons for a poor day’s sport, and
often gives a hint which may turn failure into success on some future
occasion.
Though a knowledge of insect life is highly important, it is equally
necessary to learn to adapt oneself to varying conditions.
This latter point may at the first glance appear unnecessarily
elementary, so much so as to seem hardly worth making, but speaking from
personal experience, the writers think that, probably on account of its
very obviousness, it often receives far less attention than it deserves.
How many anglers, after working the long winter through begin, as the
trout season draws near, to let their thoughts wander to some favourite
stream and live for days, aye, almost weeks, in anticipation of the
opening day? They conjure up in their minds all the details that have
gone to make up some red-letter day in the past, the whole scene comes
up as fresh as ever, and memory, ever willing, gives them a most vivid
picture of the pool in which the fish of the season put up his last
gallant struggle. They recall those exciting moments when the strength
of the cast was taxed to its utmost as the fish wildly endeavoured to
reach the roots of an overhanging tree, and the joyful feeling of power
that crept over them when at last the lusty trout, having somewhat spent
himself, allowed them to regain a foot or two of line. Then came that
last mad rush when the captive perceived the net.
These memories are happy indeed, though often enough they lead one
astray, as, when the eve of the opening day arrives, one has probably
definitely decided to begin operations at the exact pool that was the
scene of one’s former success. Is this adapting oneself to circumstances?
It can hardly be so, and yet probably very few can say that they have
never fallen a victim to such foolishness.
The wise man waits until the morrow, when he can see how the wind strikes
his favourite stream or reach, whether the water is too high or too low,
and whether the sport that it normally might be expected to yield is
going to be adversely affected by any other condition. If so, even though
disappointed, he will find a more suitable place at which to begin and
no doubt at the end of the day his creel will reveal the reward of his
adaptability to circumstance.
The consideration of adaptability to circumstance naturally brings one
to a classification and subsequent subdivision of the methods of fly
fishing, which methods, judiciously and intelligently combined, make for
the true road to success.
Fly fishing may be practised in two principal ways, with the wet fly and
with the dry fly.
In the former, as the name implies, the flies are fished slightly
submerged; and three or sometimes four flies may be used on the cast.
They are placed some 20 inches or so apart, but varied as to distance
according to the state of the river, greater distance between them being
necessary, and fewer flies being used, in low clear water. In dry-fly
fishing, as perhaps it is unnecessary to state, only one fly is used, and
it is made to float by being whipped through the air after each cast,
so as to shake off any globules of water that may be attached to the
feathers, a process which is generally assisted by the fly being lightly
touched with oil before use.
Before going further it is as well to say a few words regarding the rod
and tackle. The length of rod the writers find most useful is 10 ft. 6
ins., and, if it is to be used for wet-fly fishing exclusively, they
would unhesitatingly recommend a two-piece rod made of greenheart, or of
hickory for the butt, with greenheart top, not too whippy and not too
stiff. Such a rod is softer in the action and less tiring to the wrist
than one made of split cane. That is a matter well worth consideration
when one is whipping the stream for long periods at a stretch.
For dry-fly fishing however, and general use, and for almost unending
wear, a split-cane rod by one of the first-class makers will probably
best suit the requirements of the average man; only in selecting the rod,
of whatever pattern, great care should be devoted to getting one which,
with reel and line attached, will make a harmonious whole. If the rod
be a split cane, it should be rather more whippy than the average type
in use on Chalk streams. These points should be carefully attended to,
otherwise the beginner, after working for an hour or so, will find his
wrist growing tired, and he will then get into a slovenly way of casting,
which is easier to learn than to unlearn.
Regarding the reel, line and cast, we should recommend, if the reader is
buying his rod from a man of practical experience, that he leaves the
first two to the maker’s discretion. He will then no doubt get both reel
and line of suitable weight for the rod. The cast should be approximately
three yards, tapered, the last yard being of finest drawn gut for
ordinary waters, but a coarser cast may be used when fishing a full or
slightly coloured water. A good cast for ordinary waters can be made
of ten strands of gut, each strand either 12 or 14 inches in length and
tapered as follows:—First two strands of Quarter drawn, then two strands
of Half drawn, then three strands of 2x, and finally three strands of 4x.
WET-FLY FISHING.
It is with wet-fly fishing that it is proposed to deal first, as this
method is by far the more important on the majority of North Country
rivers, the dry fly being a useful auxiliary under conditions to be
detailed later.
Why, it may be asked, should the fish be more partial to the wet fly than
to the dry fly on Northern streams. The reason is not far to seek; for,
owing to the roughness and rapidity of such rivers, a large percentage
of insects, as they rise from the bed of the river preparatory to
hatching out, are carried many yards downstream before they reach the
surface of the water. Others, getting into rough water, find themselves
unequal to the effort of emerging from their nymphal case, or emerge with
wetted and helpless wings, while many flies, surviving these natural
difficulties, are carried down some rapid almost immediately after they
reach the perfect state, and get water-logged before ever they have the
opportunity of using their wings. Hence the trout become used to taking
much of their insect food in a submerged or partially submerged state.
Therefore so long as those streams remain as heretofore, the wet fly is
likely to continue to hold the premier position in the filling of a North
Countryman’s creel.
There are two methods of fishing the wet fly, upstream and downstream.
Follows an attempt to give a brief outline of how and when each method
may be used to the best advantage.
The use of the word “downstream” in this connection is, perhaps, somewhat
misleading, for it is not intended to refer to that method of fishing
in which the angler casts his flies across and downstream, allowing the
current to sweep them round to a point below him, in the same manner as
when fishing the salmon fly. To fish an imitation of a natural insect in
such a way as to make it resist the onward flow of the water in a most
unnatural manner, is, in the writers’ judgment, unsound, and they wish it
to be understood that, by “downstream,” they do not allude to this manner
of fishing.
The downstream method advocated might quite appropriately be termed
across-stream fishing, as the angler faces the bank towards which he
purposes fishing, casts across and slightly upstream, then allows the
flies to be carried without drag till they reach a point a few yards
below where they alighted upon the water. Wading downstream a yard or
more, he repeats the cast, until the whole stream has been worked in
this manner. The only reason for the term “downstream” being used in
connection with this class of fishing is that the angler himself works
down the river.
The next question for consideration is, when is downstream fishing
advisable? It may truly be answered, “Not often,” for its practice might
be confined to strong and full waters, to waters tinged with colour,
to cold Spring days before and after the hatch, to evening fishing in
such places as have the river flowing towards the sunset, and, lastly,
to occasions when a heavy downstream wind or the nature of the country
leaves the angler no choice.
The enthusiast frequently finds himself on the river bank on a Spring
morning long before the sun’s rays have warmed the air, or any sign of
insect life is visible. With experience he will find that at such times
the trout are not in the heavy rapid streams, but may be looked for in
steady flowing water.
A favourite place, which the writers would never pass by on such an
occasion, is formed when a stream some two feet deep flows gently along
the edge of a bank, and particularly if the bank be overhung, or other
natural causes make it a harbour or refuge for the stream’s inhabitants.
Let the novice who finds himself, cold Spring weather prevailing, at the
top of such a stream, cast in the manner described across, but slightly
upstream, towards such bank. As the flies are carried down, let him
vibrate the point of his rod slightly by an up and down motion in order
to make his flies appear as though they were struggling to reach the
surface of the water. Ten to one before the stream is fished out a sharp
pluck will be felt, but the beginner, unprepared, will in many cases
leave his fly in the fish or miss him altogether. The hooking of trout
under such conditions is difficult in the extreme, as frequently no rise
is seen; and it is only by perseverance, leading to appreciation of the
moment to strike, that he can hope to succeed.
To teach in theory the correct method and timing of the strike under such
conditions, is beyond the writers. The knowledge seems to come to the
persevering almost as a sixth sense. At times it is positively uncanny to
watch an “artist,” in his instinctive response to the rises of fish under
the conditions described, for they are totally invisible to the average
man.
Practice, coupled with intelligent reasoning out of the whys and
wherefores of success and failure, will do more to help the novice than
anything else. But, even with the rod in the hands of a past-master, this
method of downstream fishing will not always succeed, though the waiting
hour before the rise may often be well spent in giving these tactics a
trial.
As soon, however, as the first insects floating on the surface have been
noticed by the fish, the time has come to change methods and to fish
upstream.
Upstream fishing is far more difficult than downstream fishing, and the
initial efforts will prove disheartening. Rise after rise will be missed,
and the flies will be swept to the feet of the angler almost before he
has seen where they lit. It is nevertheless all important that the novice
should school himself in this branch of fly fishing beyond any other, as
upon it will depend his future success.
The education of the angler who has only mastered downstream fishing,
or even dry-fly fishing, is incomplete; and, though the dry-fly purist
may shrug his shoulders at the remark, it is not too much to say that,
if he were transferred from the pellucid waters of the Chalk stream to
some rapid broken river of the North, and were to endeavour to fish the
wet fly, it would be some considerable time before he achieved any great
success. Whereas the man who has once thoroughly mastered the art of
fishing the wet fly _upstream_ would be able quickly to adapt himself to
the conditions and surroundings of the home of the dry fly.
Scoffers have often termed wet-fly fishing in general the “chuck and
chance it” method, but those who thus described it can never have seen
an expert at work fishing upstream. There is no such thing as “chuck
and chance it” in the way he throws his flies. Every cast is made to a
definite point, not necessarily to a rising fish, as in dry-fly fishing,
but successively to each of the many little runs, eddies, channels, and
slack waters behind boulders, which his experience teaches are likely
to hold feeding fish. It is just the experience gained by such definite
fishing that the dry-fly purist who throws to none but feeding fish would
lack, if he overcame his prejudices and essayed to throw the wet fly on
Northern waters.
The obvious natural law which causes fish to lie head upstream should
convince the reader that no undue stress has been laid upon the
importance of fishing upstream, and that that method should be rigidly
adhered to on all occasions, except those previously mentioned.
That trout have exceptionally keen eyesight, no one who has ever
walked along the banks of a trout stream will deny. How then can the
least thoughtful expect to creel decent fish with the river in normal
condition, if he stands with the fish below him, or, for that matter,
stands anywhere within their very wide range of vision, a range so wide
that, if a circle be described with the head of a trout for the centre,
only about one-sixth of the circumference of such a circle, and that
immediately behind, would appear to be outside the range of vision of the
fish?
From these well-known facts it will be obvious, even to the uninitiated,
that the best approach for the angler bent on capturing trout in clear
water is from behind. Yet, astonishing as it may seem (and for the
simple reason that it is the easier way), many men—we might almost say
the majority of men—invariably fish their flies across and downstream,
letting the flies sweep right round until they are directly below, where
they are often allowed to dangle in the water at the end of a taut line.
To fish downstream in this manner requires no particular skill, as the
stream does most of the work; and, while the great majority of fish risen
are merely pricked and lost, those caught are below the average of size
for the river fished. If the beginner is having a bad day and everything
is going wrong, if he grows tired with his efforts to fish upstream and
is tempted to resort to this method, rather than do so, let him knock
off for a while and smoke a pipe, and then return, with renewed hope and
vigour, to his upstream fishing, determined to master it.
Now it frequently happens that the angler wading upstream gets almost up
to, or at any rate within two or three yards of a fish, before ever his
presence is noticed. There is therefore in general little necessity to
use a long line when fishing upstream, yet it is often done.
Frequently anglers are met who say that they cannot fish upstream,
urging, by way of excuse, that they have difficulty in seeing fish rise,
which causes late striking, the fish being missed entirely, or, at the
most, only turned over. Of course it is difficult to see a rise, or
to strike a fish, in a rapid stream if a long line is used, and in the
majority of these cases the reason for failure is to be found in the use
of too long a line.
Therefore the novice who is bent on mastering fly-fishing upstream can
almost dismiss from his mind _the first part_ of the “far off and fine”
theory. In practice it will be found that, for fishing strong flowing
streams, a line (including the cast) but little longer than the rod is
ample; while for fishing the more gently flowing shallow water at the
edges of such streams, another yard or two of line will be necessary to
assist the angler in keeping out of sight. The angler must be ruled by
circumstances, always bearing in mind the fact that the most practical
length of line to use is the shortest on which a trout may be killed.
Once this fact has been fully appreciated and carried into practice, many
of the supposed difficulties of upstream fishing will vanish entirely,
leaving the novice free to tackle other problems.
Arriving at a likely stretch of water, and full of excitement on noticing
a fish rise at the tail of the main stream, the beginner will often wade
straight out to a point below the fish and then cast over him. There is
always a temptation, even to the expert, to go for a rising fish, but
under such circumstances, if the angler be wise, he will take a careful
survey before wading out, and will note the character of the water within
casting distance of the edge.
The experienced angler will do this instinctively, and will make his
first cast to the sharp run at the edge of the bank. His second will be
made slightly more across; and, after he has released another foot or two
of line, his flies at the third throw will search the slack water behind
the rock. Here the cast will be repeated two or three times in rapid
succession, the flies not being allowed to remain in the water more than
a moment, lest the current pick up the line and cause a drag.
The fear of drag is ever present, but drag may be avoided in many cases,
if care is exercised in regulating the speed at which the rod point
is raised as the flies are swept down by the current. When the flies
have been thrown to a quieter bit of water and there is a danger of the
current picking up the line, the moment of drag can often be postponed
if the cast finishes in a wavy line on the water, as the current has to
pickup the slack before the drag takes effect on the flies. To cast thus
is a feat not difficult of achievement for many of the fraternity.
Another throw is now made, then another, each rather more across stream,
and then, as a result of the next cast, the flies are hustled rapidly
down a race between two boulders. Here, as in all swift-flowing water, it
is necessary to make several casts before the angler can be sure that his
flies have thoroughly searched the run; and it is most important to keep
in mind that the casts of a past master at upstream fly fishing follow
quickly one after another.
[Illustration: _Headwaters of the Aire_
_Photo by N. N. Lee_]
Wading now a few yards across stream, the angler continues this system of
casting until he eventually reaches a point from which he can assail the
trout that was noticed rising at the tail of the main stream. A few more
steps then bring him to the far bank.
To fish a stream or length of river systematically, crossing and
recrossing, each time a few yards higher up, until the whole has been
thoroughly covered, takes time; but it is far better that the angler’s
flies should be on the water, searching every spot fit to hold a fish,
than waving in the air while he moves rapidly on from stream to stream.
Particularly is this the case in Spring when the rise comes on late and
ends early, and also on a Summer’s evening when the water seems literally
alive with fish, so madly do they rise, but for all too brief a spell.
Time is of all importance on such occasions, and here it is that the
angler who fishes methodically and with intelligence scores so heavily
as compared with the rod who spends half his time in walking from stream
to stream, and the other half in fishing them in a mechanical sort of
way. So many unsuccessful fishermen only fish the larger streams of a
river (and usually downstream), entirely ignoring the fact that, while
such streams afford a harbour for a great number of fish, they are often
deserted in favour of odd corners and favourite “lies” directly the
“rise” begins.
The thoughtful fisherman studies the water, its pools, currents and
eddies, and all those other details, the meaning of which under varying
conditions he has learned to read, and he is always alive to gather some
new hint. He brings to his aid the wisdom gained by past experiences,
successes and failures, and a knowledge of the habitat of the trout which
has been the reward of keen observation and a reasoning mind.
He will tell you that in early Spring the trout, having hardly recovered
their energy after spawning, are not to be found in the heavy rapids,
but may be looked for at the tail ends of streams and in gently flowing
water; that, as the weeks go by, and as the sun’s rays warm the water,
insect life becomes more plentiful, and that the trout, once more lusty
and strong with the abundant supply of food, spread themselves over the
river, into rapid streams and all those places into which steady supplies
are concentrated; and further, that during the heat of Summer they will
be located in the thinnest of water, at the very edges of streams, pools
and eddies, where they lie ever ready to dart away at the least suspicion
of danger.
Such an angler realizes the necessity of a good knowledge of insect life,
watercraft and the habitat of the trout, and becomes as intimate with
each as an artist is with his colours. And as blue and yellow combined
will make a green, so surely will the man who thoroughly acquires such
knowledge be a long way towards being numbered amongst the elect.
A goodly dish of trout hardly come by is a great satisfaction to a man
who has to fit in his fishing days when he can, but perhaps the greatest
pleasure to the true disciple of Walton is the capture, after many
failures and disappointments and under difficult conditions, of some wily
old trout whose education, by the constant bombardment of his stronghold,
has been brought to a high degree of finish. What memories of his capture
crowd the mind when some chance word stirs the chords! Perhaps he came
from out a moorland stream when the snell wind flung back the spray from
every sounding fall, or may be he stubbornly gave up his virile life on
some sun-steeped day when first the daffodils proclaimed that laggard
Spring had come to a waking country side. Whatever the memory, it is
wholly delightful.
The charm of fly fishing is never ending and a great part lies in the
infinite field for experiment open to him who runs. Every day some new
feature is revealed; and, even in this twentieth century, he who will
leave the beaten track, bent on exploration, will always discover new
ground for investigation. The truth of this was brought home to one of
the writers most forcibly when on a fishing expedition one July some
years ago.
Rain on the previous day had left the river slightly coloured, and in
magnificent condition, and as the sun was some little way above, though
nearing the horizon, he, with the lightest heart and full of hope,
approached a steady flowing reach where the banks were here and there
fringed with clumps of willows.
A fish rose well out in the stream, then another, and another; and as
the tackle had been fitted up before leaving the farm-house, even to
the putting on of a cast of flies, it was not long before those fish,
which were apparently seizing every fly that passed over them, were
covered again and again. All to no purpose, for the trout proved very
discriminating, and at last, when a fish half rose without breaking the
surface of the water, a change of fly was decided on.
Hovering round the willows, dancing to and fro in the air, were hundreds
of insects, which on examination proved to be Light and Dark Silverhorns.
Five minutes had barely elapsed when, with a Light Silverhorns to replace
his point fly and a Dark one as first dropper, the angler was again
assailing his fish; but he could get no more satisfactory response than a
bulge or two. Then the position of these two flies was reversed, a step
which often pays, but it did not on that occasion.
The case was becoming desperate, for the rise would soon be over. So with
some reluctance he left the rising fish and waded into the stream and put
his flies into a likely looking eddy below an overhanging willow bush
growing on the far bank. Almost immediately a fish was battling for dear
life, but without avail; and soon five more, all coming from under the
bank, quickly joined him in the creel.
As the last of these fish was being drawn over the net, two local anglers
appeared on the scene. Neither had killed a fish, so a few precious
moments were taken up in wading out and giving each one or two of the
killing fly.
When the rise was over the angler counted eight brace of nice sizable
fish, all but two being killed on the Silverhorns, the exceptions
having fallen to the Brown Owl, which was probably taken for the Light
Silverhorns. All came from under the willows and banks on a reach no more
than fifty yards in length, but strange to say, the local men finished up
without a fish to show between them.
Later on, when considering the events of the evening between the sheets,
it occurred to the successful one, that the killing fly of the evening
was a killing fly only so long as it was fished close to the banks near
the willows, and in those places over which hovered the natural fly. The
locals had evidently fished the fly out in mid-stream; hence their clean
creels.
The following day was a Day of Rest, and as this idea was after all but
surmise, nothing was said to the two local fishermen, but the results of
the next evening’s fishing were awaited with considerable interest.
Conditions on the Monday proved to be very similar to those prevailing
on the Saturday, and the results of the day justified the surmise,
that the fish under the willows were feeding on such insects as hovered
above them, every now and then to touch the water, while those out in
mid-stream had no Silverhorns available and so confined their attention
to the spent spinners, smuts and other flies, which were brought to them
by the current.
If the solution of the problem that presented itself on that first
evening be correct, then the killing power of a fly is often dependent
on its being fished with due regard to the haunts of the natural insect
it is supposed to imitate. What a field is here for investigation, and
yet the matter is one upon which no hard and fast rules can be made.
Prevailing conditions must be studied carefully. A cross-wind might
obviously entirely alter the local conditions, and one would not look in
such circumstances for flies in their usual haunts. On windy days the
observant angler would probably find that the menu of the fish on the
side from which the wind was blowing would include many Diptera or other
land-bred insects, while the fish on the lee shore, would most likely be
feeding principally on such insects of aquatic origin as happened to be
hatching out at the time.
The foregoing merely serves to illustrate a few of the many
considerations involved in this absorbing sport; and in following up
these problems many side issues of equal importance will be opened up.
If the beginner is dogged by disappointment and failure (and who can
feel the utter bitterness of disappointment more than a fisherman?), let
him be advised to take heart of grace and not to blame the lowness of
the water, the brightness of the day, thunder or any of the elements,
for his lack of sport, but to say to himself, “What have I left undone
that should have been done? Where have I failed?” For trout, like human
beings, take their daily bread; and it is up to the angler to find out
when and where and in what shape. If the beginner will therefore reason
out the causes of failure instead of making excuses for it, he will be
more likely then and on future occasions to remedy his mistakes and to
know the satisfaction of killing fish on a really difficult day.
DRY-FLY FISHING.
Next to be considered are the dry fly and its use on the North Country
Rivers; but the novice is strongly urged, before ever he seeks to master
this branch of angling, to get a good grip of the wet-fly method.
From the term “North Country Rivers” are naturally excluded such rivers
as the Costa, which is probably the nearest approach in the North to the
Chalk streams of Hampshire, the home of the dry fly. On that particular
river the dry fly would probably on most occasions take the premier
position, whereas on the rougher and more rapid streams, such as the
Wharfe, Ribble, Lune, etc., the position is reversed.
Not many years ago one very seldom came across anyone further North than
Derbyshire fishing the dry fly, but slowly and surely has the method
become more and more popular; for it is only by the judicious combination
of the two methods of fly fishing that the best results and the greatest
pleasure can, in the judgment of the writers, be obtained. But _chacun
à son goût_, and far be it from them to legislate for any sportsmen who
wish or agree to keep their waters exclusively for any one method of
fishing.
Dry-fly fishing, as practised in the South, differs slightly from the
method here advocated for the rougher streams above-mentioned, inasmuch
as the purist of the South will not throw a fly to any but a rising fish,
even though he wait an hour or more before locating one, while the North
Country angler not only throws to the rise, but also to such places as
are likely to hold feeding fish.
When a specially strong hatch of duns takes place on Northern rivers and
the fish line up to suck in the insects as they hurry downstream, sails
spread to the breeze, it will pay the angler to try the floater. Again,
between streams on rapid rivers one often comes upon a long stretch of
quiet steady flowing water ideal for the dry fly. By applying themselves
to such a stretch with the methods of their friends of the South the
writers have more than once retrieved a bad day. Quiet eddies too may
frequently be fished with success by this method, and every river has
some places, and is subject to some moods, in which the dry fly scores
over the wet.
The first experience of one of the writers in dry-fly fishing was years
ago. He had fished for grayling till noon on a bright frosty October
day with indifferent success, when, on reaching a long stream with the
current under the far bank, he noticed several fish rising at the tail.
In between himself and the fish was a wide stretch of water some twelve
or eighteen inches in depth, and the fish were out of reach, as the
angler was not wearing waders.
Now the occasional fish he had managed to reach during the course of the
morning absolutely refused the wet fly.
At the moment another fisherman appeared from upstream and, wading out,
immediately caught several nice fish, to the no small envy of him on the
bank. Before passing on the successful angler vouchsafed the remark “dry
fly,” and gave the writer in question the “oil tip” in theory and in
practice.
Off came boots and stockings, and, with the shallow water safely waded,
the rising grayling were within casting distance. So long as the fly—a
Red Tag—could be kept dry, so long did the fish rise at it, but they
would not look at it when water-logged. Between whiles the angler came
to shore to stamp a bit of feeling into his legs, for the water was icy
cold; but he enjoyed himself hugely and got quite a decent bag, besides
adding greatly to the scope of his accomplishment in the gentle art.
The writers have seen the dry fly score heavily during the rise of Iron
Blue Duns, and they remember one occasion when that most dainty and
beautiful Ephemera was sailing down in numbers, and when a feathered
imitation accounted for six brace of fish from a weed-grown reach of
steady flowing water.
A word here must be said with regard to the timing of the strike when
using the dry fly, for the man who is used to wet-fly fishing will
probably strike too quickly and at the most only prick his fish. In the
former method, before attempting to drive home the steel, the fish should
be allowed to turn with the fly in his mouth. In wet-fly fishing the fish
has often turned before the rise becomes apparent.
Many occasions could be mentioned on which the dry fly has given the
writers most pretty fishing. Once on a Cleveland stream, slow flowing and
edged with most luxuriant vegetation, the wet fly, cast over rise after
rise, was totally ignored, but a change to a floating Female Black Gnat
at once worked wonders. Had it not been for the innumerable derelict
branches and water weeds in which the cast was time after time tied up,
the creel would have been heavy. But the enjoyment was intense that
glorious June evening.
Quite sharp streams too will often fish well with the dry fly in the long
evenings, and on one occasion it was again the Female Black Gnat which
accounted for some difficult Wharfe trout that refused all wet flies,
however presented. It is indeed during the evening rise that the dry fly
will be found most generally useful on Northern streams.
That fickle evening rise that so many anglers impatiently wait for all
day, only to return home beaten and disappointed at dark! Not that the
fish do not rise, for at times the water literally boils with them, but
their discrimination is truly wonderful. How many an angler on occasions
during all that mad rise has never killed a fish, or not until the sun
had dropped well behind the horizon and dusk was upon him. Then perhaps
he has creeled four or five before the rise ceased, but has returned home
dissatisfied, realizing that he had been thoroughly beaten, and that it
was the failing light, and not his skill, knowledge or ingenuity, that
saved him from a blank.
An autopsy will often reveal on such occasions spinners, gnats and sedge
flies; and yet the most lightly and carefully made imitations, however
deftly thrown, utterly fail as wet flies to attract the fish.
At times like these a Black Gnat, Ginger and Red Spinners No. 35 and No.
36, fished dry, and later, as the sun drops behind the horizon, a Silver
Sedge may be recommended.
The angler should begin at the tail end of the stream and work gradually
up, placing his fly over every rise and in all such places as are likely
to hold feeding fish.
On occasions when all else fails, a trial may be given to a fancy fly,
such as the Pink Wickham or Coachman. With such patterns during that most
tantalising of rises the writers have sometimes retrieved their fortunes.
Then, as dusk comes on and the dry fly becomes difficult to see, let the
angler quickly change to a cast of wet flies, the flies dressed a size
larger than those usually used during the day, and before the rise is
over his creel may be the heavier for the change.
The dry fly has done yeoman service on some of those impossible days when
fish streak away like lightning directly the cast falls on the water.
By much stalking and careful fishing of out-of-the-way places and odd
corners, the writers have sometimes finished with a brace or two which
have given great satisfaction.
It is very comical to see the evident surprise of a fish which is taken
in by a dry fly when he is quietly feeding in the shallows. Before he
moves off for the stream he often seems to completely lose his head,
bouncing about half in and half out of the water, and creating no end
of a splash. On one occasion within the writers’ experience under such
circumstances a trout landed himself high and dry on the shingle where
he broke the hold, and, continuing his antics, regained the water. Long
ere this he must have made room for his descendants, as agile, let it be
hoped, as himself.
How inordinately fond trout must be of the “fisherman’s curse”—a term
which covers, no doubt, several varieties of fly—for it will be found to
have occurred in the trout’s menu with unfailing regularity throughout
the summer and autumn. It almost always is the fly which the trout pick
off the surface of the water when they rise in the quiet flats the
livelong day, days which, most anglers will agree, are usually the most
difficult. Sometimes something may be done with Ginger or Red Spinners,
wet or dry, under such conditions, when imitations of the “curses,”
probably on account of their size, fail to attract.
The Ginger and Red Spinners described have only by degrees worked their
way into the inner circle of the writers’ flies. Experience has proved
their usefulness, for they will often be taken when all else fails. These
dry patterns have killed fish under particularly difficult and hopeless
conditions; and their use is recommended with the greatest confidence.
Such then is a brief outline of the occasions on which the dry fly has
been found to be of most use to the North Countryman; but no hard and
fast rules can be made, for the angler’s discernment must play the
greater part in regulating his actions, and the foregoing hints are
merely given as some small guide to the beginner. But let all who try the
dry fly beware of drag; it will ruin the chances of the most artistic
cast.
Anyone with designs on dry-fly fishing on Northern streams may well
confine himself to a few of Mr. Halford’s patterns, say the Olive Dun,
Dark Olive Dun, Iron Blue Dun, and Black Gnat, with the addition of the
Ginger and Red Spinners, Nos. 35 and 36, the Red Quill, and the Silver
Sedge, and a fancy pattern or two, such as the Coachman and Pink Wickham,
for use on occasions described above.
A great debt of gratitude is due to those who introduced the dry fly and
developed its use so whole-heartedly, for there is a charm about dry-fly
fishing which is distinctive, and a fascination that almost defies
description in watching a neatly cocked artificial fly approach the
rings made by a rising trout. A moment of suspense, intense excitement,
followed by joy supreme when a timely strike is rewarded by a tightened
line. So, apart from its being an asset in the filling of the creel,
the dry fly increases the pleasures of the gentle craft to a very great
extent, a craft as unique in its scope and variety as it is intriguing in
its difficulties. The whole setting of the craft enhances its enchantment
and give it a hold upon its followers, powerful as that of friendship,
converting them into ardent devotees for life. Whether one follows its
calling in the flower-starred water meadows of the South, or explores
the rivers of the “stone-ribbed North,” the peace and beauty of the
surroundings, far from the noisy crowd, add a charm which every good
fisherman knows how to be thankful for.
[Illustration: _Broken Water_
_Photo by Mr F. Creedy_]
How pleasant is the time of the after-luncheon pipe, with the dipper
curtseying from the stones in mid-stream. May be the desolate call of
the curlew floats down from the fells, and the grey dale village, with
its quaint architecture, speaks of times long past, of times when the
Borderers filed down the valley, perhaps to fall upon a party of Monks
from the rich Abbey of Fountains. Imagination suggests to the ear the
savage shout of exultation of the assailants and the screams of the
stricken, when a widening circle in the stream brings one back to present
day realities in a second.
Such is a part of the angler’s day, which, lingering in the mind,
inspires him through the long wintry months to look forward to the time
when God’s earth shall be fresh and green again, and the wild thyme be
fragrant on the banks of many a North Country stream.
Great men and small alike are held by the wonderful fascination of the
sport, which gives such joy, affords such relaxation to the mind, and
is so free from all taint of brutality. And though the actual angling
requires the utmost concentration of mind and thought, yet after all, it
has truly been described as “The Contemplative Man’s Recreation.”