SUBAQUEOUS HAPPENINGS IN ART
OF MEDICINE FOR BULGERS.
For many a year bulging trout were the despair of my life, and in those
days I would gladly have said “Amen” to the opinion expressed in a
letter to the _Fishing Gazette_ of March 13, 1909, by the angler who
writes over the pen-name of “Ballygunge,” that when trout were bulging
you “might as well chuck your hat at them” as a fly. Many times had I
vainly plied them with Gold-ribbed Hare’s Ear, as recommended by Mr. F.
M. Halford, as well as most of the current imitations of duns on the
water, and Wickhams, Tags, and other fancy flies to boot. Hoping against
hope, I never gave up trying for those aggravating fish, and one day,
towards the end of a bad exhibition of bulging by the trout, I actually
caught a brace, and lost a third, on a Pope’s Green Nondescript—a dun
tied with starling wing, red hackle and whisk, and a dark green body
ribbed with broad flat gold.
On many occasions since I have found that fly kill well at the beginning
of a rise, and it may be that on the occasion spoken of the trout which
I got were on the verge of giving up bulging in favour of the winged
dun. But I was not satisfied. Then the recollection of a visit to the
Tweed struck me with the notion that on that water all the trout
practically bulged all the time, and that with their wet-fly patterns
Tweed anglers were able to give a good account of themselves, and I
searched among Tweed patterns for the nearest analogue to Pope’s Green
Nondescript. I thought I found it in Greenwell’s Glory, if varied by
exchanging for the hen blackbird wing a starling wing. The likeness was
not very exact, but it was close enough to experiment on. The point that
I wanted to achieve was to combine with the colours of Pope’s Green
Nondescript the type of dressing special to the Tweed Greenwell’s Glory.
Rough, slim upright wings, well split, and standing well apart when wet,
made of several thicknesses of feather so as to absorb water, and not to
give it up readily when cast; body spare, consisting of the waxed
primrose tying silk only, closely ribbed with fine gold wire, and one or
at most two turns of a furnace hen’s hackle with ginger points, no whisk
(whisks only help flotation), and a rather rank hook to take the fly
under. The type of dressing is to be found applied to all his patterns
in Webster’s “Angler and the Loop Rod.”
Whether it was because I had faith in my medicine, or whether any other
cause was at work, I know not, but the experiment was, despite some
misses due to failure to judge the right moment to pull home the hook,
an immediate success.
Bulging trout are bold feeders, and seem to mind being cast over less
than do those which are taking surface food; but they are much more
difficult to cover accurately, because they rush from side to side and
up and down, and the odds are that, if you cast to one spot, the trout
is careering off in pursuit of a nymph to right or left of it. But once
the trout sees the fly, the chances of his taking it are far better than
are the chances that a surface-feeding trout will take the floating dun
which covers him. The fly is allowed to drag in the stream, so as to be
thoroughly wet, and is then cast upstream to the feeding fish in all
respects like a floating fly, except that it is not dried or allowed to
float. The weight of the reel-line will probably be enough to dry the
gut, so that the risk of lining your trout is minimized, only the fly
and the first link or so of gut going under before it reaches him. I
found it best to tie this pattern on gut, and, dressed as described, it
has been worth many a good bulger to me, apart from its value for
general purposes.
Later on the value of Tup’s Indispensable fished wet impressed me much,
and its resemblance to a nymph induced me to give it a trial upon
bulging trout. For wet-fly purposes this is as near the dressing as I am
at liberty to give: Primrose tying silk lapped down the hook from head
to tail, a pale blue or creamy whisk of hen’s feather as soft as
possible and not long, three or four turns of coarser untwisted primrose
sewing silk at the tail, body rather fat, of a mixed dubbing of a creamy
pink (invented by Mr. R. S. Austin, the well known angler and
fly-dresser of Tiverton), and a soft blue dun hackle, very short in the
fibre, at the head, the dressing being preferably finished at the
shoulder behind the hackle. When this fly is thoroughly soaked it has a
wonderfully soft and translucent, insect-like effect. It proved even
more successful than Greenwell’s Glory, and with one or other I am
almost always able to give a good account of bulgers instead of coming
empty away.
OF UNDER-WATER TAKING, ITS INDICATIONS, AND THE TIME TO STRIKE.
Friends with whom I have discussed the use of the upstream wet fly on
chalk streams have frequently said to me: “But how are you to know when
the trout takes, and when to strike?” It is a very pertinent question,
and the answer is not to be given in a word. Often the indications which
bid you pull home the hook are so subtle and inconspicuous that the
angler is at a loss to account for the miracle which is evidenced by his
hooped rod and protesting reel, but even in the roughest water something
helps the angler to divine the moment for action. In a subsequent
section, under the heading “The Grey-Brown Shadow,” will be found an
account of a day’s sport with the wet fly in an upstream wind so rough
as to throw the river into waves. The flash of the fish as it turns to
take the fly may often be seen, so dimly and so momentarily as to be apt
to escape notice if one does not know what to look for; but I have on
several occasions even divined it through water which reflected a bright
white glare, and seemed opaque to the eye. If on these occasions a
hooked trout had not proved the truth of my observation, I could not
have sworn to having certainly seen anything move; but there through the
surface, which looked at the angle of view impenetrable to the eye, I
did seem to glimpse a faint pink flash that corresponded to no movement
on the surface, and there was the fish soundly hooked, and no fluke
about it.
Often under an opposite bank, when the light will not permit you to see
your gut or fly, you will see a trout suddenly ascending to near the top
of the water, and as suddenly sinking; then, if you tighten, ten to one
your hook is firmly in his jaws, and you see him shaking his head
savagely at the unexpected restraint upon his liberty ere he makes his
first rush.
When fish are bulging, the moment of taking the fly is generally marked
by a swirl, and the angler should strike immediately. Fortunately, a
wet-fly strike, even if misconceived or mistimed, is far less likely, so
long as the fish is clean missed and not lined, to alarm him than is a
strike with the dry fly, because the wet fly comes out through the water
at a point far below the fish instead of being drawn along the surface.
In glassy glides, which are always fast water, one either sees the fish
turn to the fly, or, if the light prevents it, one sees a little
crinkle, or break, work up through the water to the surface, which warns
the angler to strike. Often the gut lying on the surface goes under as
the fish draws in the fly, and alike in daylight and moonlight it acts
as a float; and even if the fly be taken too deep below water for any
other indication to be in time, it will warn the angler to attend to
business. An ingenious angler, as elsewhere explained, has conceived and
utilized successfully the idea of oiling his gut cast for fishing wet
directly upstream in rapid water, and an excellent device it is for its
occasion.
But perhaps the commonest indication of an under-water taking in water
of slow or moderate pace is an almost imperceptible shallow humping of
the water over the trout. It is caused by the turn of the fish as he
takes the fly, and when the angler sees it it is time to fasten. If he
waits until the swirl has reached and broken the surface (and it may not
be violent enough to do so), he may be too late. If the fly drops
directly over the fish, that shallow hump seems often almost
simultaneous with the lighting of the fly; but if the cast be wide, your
trout will not infrequently dart a yard or more to a wet fly—when for a
dry fly he would do no such thing—and then the angler has a warning of
the coming of the shallow hump on the surface which tells him that the
iron is hot. It may be questioned, however, whether it is not more
difficult to time correctly the strike for which one has had such
warning than one which comes without warning.
In my experience, the trout which takes under-water is generally very
soundly hooked. A trout taking floaters on the surface frequently sips
them in through a narrowly-opened slit of mouth, but an under-water
feeder draws in the fly by an extension of the gills which carries it in
with a full gulp of water.
In the effort to divine the indications which call for striking with the
wet fly I confess I find a subtle fascination and charm, and, when
success attends me, a satisfaction beside which the successful hooking
of a fish which rises to my floating fly seems second-rate in its
sameness and comparative obviousness and monotony of achievement.
OF ROUGH WATER AND GREY-BROWN SHADOW.
It was blowing up freshly from the south-west as the train ran into
Winchester one April a year or two back, and ere the water-meadows were
reached the distinct bite in the wind had given ample warning that,
maugre the crisp yellow sunshine, 11.30 clanging from the cathedral
spires left ample time to get down to the water-side and put rod and
tackle together before the big dark olives or the smaller and rather
lighter olives, which warn one to put up a Gold-ribbed Hare’s Ear, put
in an appearance. April was three parts through, yet the backwardness of
the season made conditions correspond more nearly to three weeks earlier
in the normal year.
Soon everything was in readiness, and a couple of dark Rough Olives,
tied on gut, with dark starling wing, heron herl body dyed in onion dye
and ribbed with fine gold wire, and hackle and whisk of ginger, lightly
dyed olive, were put into the damper to soak, on the chance that the wet
fly might pay better than the dry.
Noon and the quarter-past chimed from the belfry, and then a big dark
olive drifted on to an eddy near by, and, lifted out on the meshes of a
landing-net, was identified. The hint was enough. One of the flies in
soak—tied on No. 1 hooks—was knotted on, and the surface was scanned for
the first dimple. Presently it was located—such a tiny, infinitesimal,
dacelike dimple, hinting rather than proving the movement of a trout. It
was hardly noticeable in the turmoil made by the strong ruffle of the
upstream wind against the somewhat full current of the stream. It was
rather far across for accurate casting in such a wind, and presently a
sudden gust slammed the line down upon the spot with such a splash as no
self-respecting trout could be expected to endure.
A movement upstream was prescribed by the conditions, and presently
another dimple like the last was spotted in a more favourable position.
It was repeated after an interval, but no fly was to be seen on the
surface; so, without an attempt at drying, the Rough Olive was
despatched on his mission, and lit a foot or so above the spot. Again,
and once more, it did so, and then there was a hint of a grey-brown
flicker in the hollow of a wave. By instinct rather than reason the hand
went up, and the arch of the rod showed that the steel had gone home. In
due course the trout—a fish of fourteen inches—was landed, and the
angler proceeded upward.
He soon found, however, that to reach and cover the trout satisfactorily
it behoved him to cross, and tackle them from the other side, and he
made his way to the footbridge. On the way down, on the main stream he
saw another hint of a rise in midstream, where the waves were highest.
The wind served him well, and the fly was over the trout in no time. For
four or five casts there was no response; then again that grey-brown
shadow for a moment in the trough of a wave, mounting rod, a screaming
reel, and a vigorous trout was battling for his life.
Arrived presently at the desired spot, the wet Rough Olive was taken off
and a dry-fly pattern mounted and duly oiled, and offered to three fish
in succession, with the result that they all went down. Then back once
more to the wet-fly, and thrice more ere 1.30 struck there was the faint
flash of grey-brown under water, the same instinctive response, a
spirited battle for life (successful in one instance), and then the rise
petered out and not a fish was stirring. And though at 2.30 a strong
rise of the smaller olive came on, and lasted till 4.30, keeping
hundreds of swallows and martins busy, yet not another fish put up a
neb. Perhaps it was because the sun had gone in.
There are those who wax indignant at the use of the wet fly on dry-fly
waters. Yet it has a special fascination. The indications which tell
your dry-fly angler when to strike are clear and unmistakable, but those
which bid a wet-fly man raise his rod-point and draw in the steel are
frequently so subtle, so evanescent and impalpable to the senses, that,
when the bending rod assures him that he has divined aright, he feels an
ecstasy as though he had performed a miracle each time.