huntsmen, for various reasons too lengthy to go into here, prefer to
draw up stream. Perhaps several miles are traversed and no sign of an
otter. Suddenly one of the old hounds is seen to hang and lash his
stern at a bend of the river, the rest of the pack eagerly rush to
him, and soon are busy trying every stick and stone and tuft of grass
an otter may have touched during his nightly wanderings, and though
they cannot quite speak to it, there are unmistakeable signs that an
otter has been on the river. The whole pack know it too, and become
doubly keen and swim backwards and forwards across the river eagerly
examining with their trusty noses, every stone, island, or bit of
shingle where an otter may have touched. Every now and again they come
to some spit or bend in the river where he has touched, and then they
can just "feather" to it, and one old hound actually speaks, but it is
only a stale line and the rest of the pack can but just own it. A mile
higher up we come to a spot where a small brook joins the river we are
drawing, and in a moment a change comes over the scene. Across a bend
at the mouth of the brook every hound dashes forward on a hot drag, a
cheer from the Master--who is his own huntsman--a touch on his horn,
and away the whole pack of eighteen couples dart up the rocky dingle,
and with a musical chorus make the wooded valley ring again.
Here is a burning scent, and the ground being rough they get clean
away from the most of the field for nearly two miles, but at length
they check on an old weiring made of wattle work and covered with big
stones. One by one the old hounds leave this, and with a satisfied
shake plainly say they know their otter is not there. No doubt a place
where he has been lying the day before, but now he has moved on to
fresh quarters. The master makes a dash up stream to make quite sure
his otter is not above him, then a return is made to the main river, by
the nearest route. And now as we are quite sure the otter is not below
us we have every hope of a find. We soon strike the drag again, but
here there is more water, and consequently it is only across certain
bends or spots where the otter has landed, that hounds can speak to his
line.
[Illustration: _OTTER HOUND AND TERRIER_]
For nearly three miles they pick out his line up stream, trying every
hole and corner and tree stump where an otter might possibly lie,
till at length we come to a long deep pool half-a-mile in length, and
shaded by many overhanging trees. At the head of this is an old ash
tree, with roots spreading down to the water's edge. Hounds seem to
wind it before they get within twenty yards of the spot, and with a
dash and cry they rush at it, and begin baying and tearing the roots
with tooth and claw. Excitement is now at its height. "Look out below!"
shouts the master, and the first and second whippers-in make their best
pace to the fords above and below, accompanied by willing members of
the hunt, all anxious to help in the day's sport, whilst others put
themselves in likely spots to get a view if the otter should but show
his nose above water, or betray his whereabouts by the long line of
bubbles called "his chains." The hounds dart a little way down stream
to make sure that our quarry has not slipped away from the belt, but
they can make nothing of it and seem loath to leave the old ash tree,
most of the old hounds persisting in returning to it. At last, after
some difficulty, an entrance is made for one of the terriers, and after
a short scuffle inside, a line of silvery bubbles darts out from the
belt. Another minute and a ringing "Tally-ho" comes from down stream,
and away swim the hounds, every one in the pack speaking to him. Now
the hunt begins in real earnest. For two long hours they hunt him
in this pool, marking him first in one place, now in another, then
they swim him from one end to the other, and once he narrowly escapes
meeting his doom on the bank. Suddenly he disappears, and nothing can
be made of him for some twenty minutes, till at last one of the old
hounds hits him off below the lower ford. He has slipped by, unseen
in the muddy water and after going about a hundred yards or so down
stream, has taken to the land, through a thick covert overhanging the
river on the steep hillside. Every hound is now throwing his tongue
wildly on the line and making the woodland fairly rattle again with
their music, they are close behind him, after a couple of rings round
the big wood, and it seems as if he would never reach the river, but
the briars are very thick and the hounds have difficulty in getting
through, and he just manages to reach the water as one hound makes a
grab at him. Hounds, otter and one of the field all come tumbling down
into the water together. We are now in a deep pool half-a-mile lower
down the river, but there is little or no cover here and he gets no
rest. There is a capital scent on the water too, and hounds never give
him a moment's peace. He is constantly viewed and is getting dead beat.
At last he makes an attempt to get over the lower ford. But the hounds
are too close to him, and with a dash they are on him. Woo-whoop, and
another dog-otter is added to the tale of the slain after a capital
hunt of three-hours-and-a-half. With considerable difficulty he is
taken from the hounds, his head, tail, and pads are distributed to the
field and the hounds receive their well-earned blood.
To those women who can enjoy healthy exercise, good sport, and can
appreciate beautiful hound-work amidst lovely surroundings, and at a
time of year when they can get no other kind of hunting, my advice is
"come otter hunting." Having once come out, you will assuredly want to
come again.
The season for otter hunting commences as soon as the water is warm
enough, that is in March or April, and goes on till about the end of
September. Of course May, June, July and August are the best months,
as to hunt big rivers they must be low and the weather warm, to enable
hounds and men to stand many hours of water work.
[Illustration: _END OF THE SEASON._
(_Looking back._)]
The late Lord Hill hunted an otter for ten hours and eventually killed
it. Hunts of five to seven hours are of frequent occurrence, and often
end in the otter being left master of the situation.
One word of advice to those ladies who may be going out for the first
time. _Do not_ in your eagerness crowd on the hounds or get in front
of them when drawing. _Do not_ walk down the river the hounds are going
to draw, to find them, instead of coming to the meet. _Do not_, when
an otter is found, rush wildly about, up and down the bank in front of
hounds swimming their otter, in hope of seeing him. If you do, you will
be doing harm and spoiling the sport of others as well as your own.
Remember that thick boots and a short skirt are necessaries, if you
wish to enjoy your day with otter hounds.
L. Wardell.
[Illustration: _Alice Hughes._ _52, Gower Street._
_SUSAN, COUNTESS OF MALMESBURY._]
SALMON FISHING, WITH NOTES ON TROUT AND COARSE FISHING.
Autrefois, Carpillon fretin
Eut beau prêcher, il eut beau dire,
On le mit dans la poële à frire.
In olden days the little fish
In spite of all they could say or wish
Were fried in a pan and served on a dish!
La Fontaine's lines, to which I have appended a somewhat free
translation, could certainly not be applied to the modern
representative of the species, whose extensive educational privileges
on the subject of bait and flies have formed his mind, brought his
acquirements thoroughly up to date, and elevated him from an innocent
unresisting victim into an adversary whose cunning not unfrequently
out-matches our own, but of whom the true fisherman should scorn to
take an unfair advantage.
This being a sport in which delicacy of hand is more necessary than
mere brute strength, it is especially adapted to women who love fresh
air and beautiful scenery, and who are willing to bide the good time at
which the fish feel disposed to rise.
I should perhaps say here that my remarks are intended to apply to
salmon and trout fishing in rivers and lakes, taking incidentally such
"coarse fish," pike, perch, etc., as are to be found by the way.
Of all fish the salmon stands pre-eminent for his sporting qualities,
and next to him in order come trout of all kinds.
Salmon are a curious and interesting race, whose habits have been an
object of study to the naturalist for many years past. They are born in
the shallow reaches of rivers, the eggs taking from eighty to over a
hundred days to hatch, the exact length of incubation being determined
by the temperature of the water, and they sometimes remain in or near
their original quarters till they are from one to three years old, when
they migrate to the sea. By far the greater number, however, descend
to the sea within twelve to fifteen months after they are hatched out
from the _ova_. Up to this crisis in their history they are called
parr, and seldom exceed some three ounces in weight. As the period of
migration approaches--usually in the spring, though autumn migrations
also occur--the samlets increase in size; silvery scales replace their
barred markings, and they are known as smolts. Both parr and smolts
feed greedily in the rivers, but it is a curious fact that subsequent
to their first visit to the sea none of the salmon tribe appear to
feed in fresh water, the stomach almost invariably being empty when
examined. They remain in the sea for an uncertain period which may vary
from three or four months to as much as two years, and during this time
must certainly feed with voracity, as they increase many pounds in
weight. On their first return to fresh water as grilse they weigh from
two to eight pounds.
I have myself seen, in the Killery Bay, a shoal of salmon making for
the mouth of the Erriff river. They were apparently led by a large
fish, which from time to time sprang out of the water, I suppose to
reconnoitre the neighbourhood. The fisherman used to look out for this
leading fish, and run a net round the shoal. Salmon certainly do not
live in company in the rivers, whatever they may do in the sea. They
start on the journey up stream in shoals, but soon separate to take
up their quarters in the different pools through which they pass. They
are now promoted to the name of grilse, and attain the rank of salmon
on their second and all subsequent migrations. Their arrival in fresh
water is partly determined by conditions of weather and water; also by
the special circumstances of the river to which they belong, _i.e._,
whether it be early or late. The fish come up in prime condition, for
the purpose of spawning, and return eventually emaciated and most
unattractive-looking, after this has been accomplished. In the first
state they are called "clean" or "fresh-run" fish, and are a bright
silvery colour; in the second they are termed "kelts," become reddish
or dark in colour, and from being thick and cobby in shape appear long
and eel-like, the males having developed strange crooked snouts which
vanish in quite a miraculous way when they return to the sea. There is
no sign of this odd proboscis when they first enter the river, so that
it comes and goes, leaving no token of its presence behind.[4]
Salmon are now unfit for the table, and must be returned to the water
uninjured, when they are caught. I might here say, as I am regarding
the salmon from a culinary point of view, that it greatly enhances
the flavour and firmness of a clean fish, if he is "crimped" at once
on being landed. He should first be killed by a blow on the head, and
then cut into slices about an inch thick; taking out the joints of
the backbone and running a stout piece of cord through the hole thus
made. These slices may then be put into the river where the current is
not too strong, the string being secured to the bank by a stout peg,
and they should remain in the water for several hours until the flesh
"rises," as it is called, to the "crimp."
My appetite for crimped salmon received, however, on one occasion a
severe shock. I caught a beautiful fish weighing about eight or ten
pounds, in the Hampshire Stour. The keeper proceeded first to kill
him, and then began the crimping process. He advanced as far as the
shoulder, at which moment I told him to stop, saying he might have the
rest for himself. Thanking me, he laid his portion on the ground and
we went further down the river. In half-an-hour we returned, and a
friend who was with me and who had studied medicine, took up the head
and shoulders of the fish and showed it me. To my horror, the heart,
which was plainly visible and untouched by the cut of the knife, was
still beating strongly. My companion assured me it was merely muscular
action, but it was a ghastly sight, and for a long time I could not
face crimped salmon again.
The instinct of the fish urges them to run up the river as high as
possible, sometimes at a tremendous pace, and to make violent efforts
to leap all obstacles in their way.
When in this state of mind they very frequently turn into small
tributary streams, which, being flooded, allow them to pass up, but
where they are sometimes found almost high and dry and unable to
return, like a stranded whale of small proportions.
Sea trout also belong to the migratory species, and of them it may be
said, shortly, that they are, in appearance much like miniature salmon,
and have game and fighting qualities of very high order.
I may perhaps be allowed to say here that I have found mackerel, caught
in the sea with a light trolling rod and trout tackle, give a great
deal of sport. They are particularly muscular little fish, and the curl
of their lithe tapering bodies, and forked tails, seems to give them a
hold on the water which is out of all proportion to their actual size.
When caught, after they have been killed, the large vein in the throat
or gills should be torn. They bleed to quite an extraordinary extent,
but are much better eating and less oily when they have been treated
thus.
Bull-trout are something between the salmon and the sea-trout, and
are also migratory fish of much the same habits and characteristics.
They are very common in some rivers, less so in others, but I remember
seeing one caught in Dhulough, County Mayo. There were also in this
same place numbers of sea-trout which rose to the fly or came at a
minnow, but as far as we could learn there was no egress from the lake
by which these fish could get into the sea. They must, however, have
had some means of descent.
The Salmo Ferox, or Great Lake Trout grows to an enormous size,
weighing as much as thirty pounds. They give quite as good sport as a
salmon, and many of them were caught some years ago in Loch Arkaig. The
method of fishing was to troll for them in a boat, either with a fly
or with a small gudgeon or minnow, but always with pretty fine tackle,
heavily shotted so as to sink to a considerable depth. I hear that none
have been taken in this way for a very long time in that water.
There only remains to be mentioned the ordinary brown trout of our
streams and rivers, so common and so delicious when in good condition,
but by far the most wary and difficult to catch of all his tribe.
[Illustration: _The Cast for Salmon._]
One of the greatest initial mistakes made by the novice in
salmon-fishing is to continue flogging the water for hours together,
without intermission, and regardless of the state of the sky or water.
It is very difficult to give general directions as to the latter, for
circumstances vary in different rivers, and experience only can enable
the angler to judge when the right moment has come, but in floods or in
rising water no fish will, as a rule, pay the slightest attention to
the fly. As to the weather, a fresh breeze which ripples the current of
the river or the surface of the lake is always a point in the angler's
favour, and the sky should be overcast. A bright sun is generally fatal
to any chance of sport, but there are of course exceptions to this
rule. The largest salmon I ever caught, and which weighed thirty-two
pounds, rose to a fly just before sunset, after a cloudless day, during
which he had remained at rest close under the bank, holding a _levée_
of numerous visitors who came to admire his fair proportions as he lay
motionless and, apparently, without fear, within a foot of the surface
of the water.
I have seen fish rise as if they were mad, in a gale, with pelting
rain and flashes of lightning. In weather like this, my father caught
in one day some years ago, thirteen salmon and one hundred-and-seventy
sea trout to his own rod in the Erriff. It was a sort of convulsion
of nature and the fish seemed to look upon it as an opportunity for a
Saturnalia.
In all rivers and lakes with which I am acquainted I have found that
the Salmon rise at certain fixed hours morning and evening, and
sometimes also in the middle of the day. As salmon do not rise from
hunger, as far as we know, it is difficult to understand why this
should be. I leave the explanation to others and merely state the fact
as I have found it. In that part of the Hampshire Stour with which I
am best acquainted, the hours for rising were five in the morning, one
p.m., and sunset. At one p.m. the fish were so regular in their habits
that the servants' dinner-bell, which rang at that hour and was audible
for some miles round, came to be called the Salmon bell.
In Dhulough, Delphi, and Glendalough lakes, in County Mayo, the fish
were lotus-eaters, and preferred the afternoon for intercourse with the
human race.
In Pool Persyn, on the Usk, near Brecon, they never rose, as far as we
could find out, before twelve o'clock, or between two and four, when
I presume they had their siesta. No doubt a great deal depends on the
time of year and the amount of daylight. These peculiarities in a river
can only be ascertained by experience, or by consultation with someone
who knows the water, and should never be disregarded, as for all we
know to the contrary, fish may get used to the sight of a fly which
is constantly being dangled before their nose, and end by paying no
attention to it.
Another very important matter is to make oneself acquainted with the
haunts of the fish, the spots where they lie and rest on their way up
the river--I do not say "down" as well, because they must not then be
caught at all, owing to their condition.
In fine weather, therefore, when the sun is bright and the water
low, the wise fisherwoman will leave her rod at home and walk along
the bank, slowly and carefully examining the bed of the river and
ascertaining, as far as she can, where the fish are lying and where the
rocks and roots of trees, or "snags," as they are called, are situated.
This knowledge will assist her to cast her fly in the right and not in
the wrong place, and may avoid the loss of a fish which would otherwise
either accidentally or of _malice prepense_ entangle the line and snap
it by means of a resistance which he cannot get from a lissom rod and a
running line.
This is such a favourite trick with pike that it amounts to a
recognised dodge, and would almost seem to be the result of some form
of reasoning, however dim.
To flog the river for hours at a stretch, without having first
ascertained these simple facts, at a wrong time of day, or when, for
instance, the water is rising, is worse than useless, for it disgusts
the angler, and renders her incapable, from sheer fatigue, of throwing
a light fly when at last there is really a chance of a prize. Casting,
let us say, from forty to sixty feet of line with a heavy rod is hard
work for any woman; indeed, most men return from their first day's
sport with a stiffness in the muscles of the back and shoulders which
it takes a vast amount of "Elliman" to alleviate.
It is most important for a woman, in fishing for salmon, to husband her
strength, otherwise, if she hooks a heavy fish and is already tired
out, she may find it a difficult matter to play it safely, and to land
it eventually, after perhaps following and keeping strain on him for
some distance over unequal ground.
Thick waterproof boots, made high in the legs, gaiters if required,
a short skirt, a blouse or tennis flannel, strong belt of leather or
webbing and loose jacket, with a small hat well fixed on head, is the
most suitable costume to go out fishing in. I take for granted that
most women will not care to wade, a practice which is dangerous to
health and sometimes to life itself, even when waders are used, as few
women so hampered could regain their footing in a strong current once
they had lost it, or if they accidentally stepped into a hole.
Quiet colours, heather mixture and the like, should be worn, as fish,
and more especially trout, have a quick eye for a bright patch. White
objects are to be avoided. It is a well-known trick with poachers to
send a large piece of white paper floating down stream. Not a fish will
rise for hours afterwards. It seems to affect them as flying a kite
does partridges--they lie close and can be netted afterwards with ease.
Salmon are distinctly less clever than trout, and the same precautions
against being seen are not so necessary, although always advisable
even in the case of the former, which will also be attracted by a
much coarser form of lure. No doubt the reason is partly that we fish
for salmon and its varieties--the sea and bull-trout--in deeper water
of which the surface, being broken by the current, is roughened and
intercepts their view of the upper world. In trout streams this is not
nearly so much the case, as a rule, and where the banks rise high above
the water, trout require the greatest care, coaxing and delicacy in
handling to induce them to exchange a comfortable home for the angler's
creel.
When salmon are rising, they will take almost anything, and in thick
or heavy water I have caught them myself with the identical spoon-bait
which I used for mackerel in the sea.
It is difficult to fathom what is in the salmon's mind when he takes
either a spoon or a boiled prawn, objects which he can never have met
with in the sea in his natural state, but many fish will come at the
fly merely to drown it by striking at it with their tail, and are
ingloriously "foul-hooked" in consequence. When this happens they
are far more difficult to kill, and often lead their captor a pretty
dance before being finally gaffed or netted, the tail fin not being
so sensitive as the mouth, which the fish can therefore close, thus
swallowing no water when the strain begins to be severe.[5]
Before starting for a day's fishing it is necessary thoroughly to
examine the rod and tackle which are to be used. I recommend from
personal experience, for a woman, a light, well-balanced rod about
sixteen or seventeen feet in length. Greenheart is a very good wood,[6]
and mine, which is made of this, has lasted for years and is,
apparently, none the worse. All depends on the care which is taken of
it during the time it is not being used. I have always kept my rod in
a moderately warm place, where neither the damp could get at, to warp
and swell the wood, nor too great dryness make it brittle, and before
beginning the season I varnish it carefully to preserve it from wet.
Spare tops should be always kept ready in case of an emergency, but the
accomplished sportswoman will of course learn how to splice a broken
joint, as accidents do not always occur within reach of assistance.
Each joint, unless made with screw fastenings, is provided with brass
eyes; a piece of waxed thread should be fixed to these so that, being
wound round an eye in each joint, the whole rod can be securely put
together.
Having omitted this precaution on one occasion when I was fishing for
pike, I cast into the river, with my bait, the top joint of my trolling
rod, which floated in the water, but did not, strange to say, prevent
my hooking and landing a fish of seven or eight pounds.
Examine the reel carefully; take it to pieces, oil it, if necessary,
and work the handle to see that it runs smoothly without a hitch
before winding on the line. Large heavy reels and coarse tackle are, to
my mind, very inartistic and unsuitable for women, as they naturally
lessen the chance of hooking a fish, although, once hooked, all the
angler has to do is to hold on, "show the butt" persistently, keep the
point of the rod well up and tire out the fish by main force.
[Illustration: _Knot for Gut Loop._]