SUPPLEMENTARY IN THE MATTER OF FLIES
OF WET-FLY DRESSINGS FOR CHALK STREAMS.
Assuming that we have made up our minds to test the wet fly upon chalk
streams, it must be taken as an axiom that the ordinary patterns of the
dry fly will not do. They are built to dry and to float. The patterns
required must be built to soak and to sink. Therefore bodies and hackles
which throw the water must be rejected in favour of bodies and hackles
which take up the water or readily enter it. So dubbed bodies in place
of quills, hen hackles in place of cock’s, and of these a minimum of
turns in place of a maximum; and if whisks are used, they, too, must be
soft and soppy. For the same reason, wing material, if employed, should
be so arranged as to take up the maximum of water, and to let it go as
unwillingly as possible. Furthermore, the bulk of material in proportion
to the hook metal must be reduced as far as possible.
Given these requirements, let us look around, as I did, among all the
various systems of wet-fly dressing in use, from John o’ Groat’s to
Land’s End, and see what features we ought to borrow from them. If we
make up our minds, as I think we shall, that it is desirable to expose
the body of our fly freely, we shall not adopt any system which lays the
wings low over the back of the fly, that type being designed to secure
what is called “a good entry” for a dragging fly, and we have nothing to
do with dragging flies or any form of river raking or dredging, or with
any flies which, like the Devonshire types, carry superabundance of
bright cock’s hackles. So we are limited to the systems which dress
their flies with upright wings, like the Tweed and Clyde types, and to
the soft hackled Yorkshire style.
The conditions, however, of our waters confine us to tiny patterns—Nos.
0 and 00 hooks in the vast majority of cases, and occasionally No. 1—and
the supply of tiny soft absorbent hackles from birds other than poultry,
sufficiently small to leave the body well exposed, is hardly to be had.
So, taking one consideration with another, it would seem that the Tweed
and Clyde patterns, being used on a broad and in many places
equablyflowing river, will have advantages enough to invite a trial.
Now, what are the features of the Tweed and Clyde patterns? First there
is the spare body, dressed with tying silk only, with or without wire
ribbing, or lightly dubbed with soft fur, making an absorbent dubbing;
then a small and lightly-dressed soft hackle, two turns at the outside,
close up behind a pair of wings tied in a bunch, and either left single
or, preferably for our purposes, split in equal portions, and divided
with the figure-of-eight application of the tying silk behind the wings
and in front of the head, the whole tied on a rank, and not too light,
round-bend hook.
It will be suggested that the trout does not see the winged dun under
water. That is approximately, though not quite absolutely, true; but for
all that, being in some respects rather a stupid person, if size and
colour are right, he will not make much bones of the position of the fly
with reference to the surface being incorrect. It might be supposed,
again, that a hackled pattern would better suggest the nymph stage than
a winged pattern. This may be true, but the theory has yet to be worked
out in much detail before one can dogmatize about it. Elsewhere my
preliminary efforts in this direction are described. Here I could say
that the wings built up of a length of feather rolled into a bunch have
the advantage of taking up a lot of water, and not releasing it readily;
and they also assist to let the fly down more lightly on the water than
so lightly dressed a fly would fall but for the wings. To let a hackled
fly down as lightly, one would need a lighter wire and a larger hackle.
The wings also help the fly to swim correctly in the water, with the
weight of the straight, unsnecked, round-bend hook as the counterpoise
to the parachute action of the wings.
My own belief is that wet flies tied on gut swim better and hook better
than those tied on eyed hooks. As the drying action of casting is
reduced to a minimum, they are not so ready to go at the neck as when
used as dry flies; but if the angler prefers it, there is no reason why
he should not use eyed hooks, though snecked bends of any kind and
upturned eyes are deprecated. Down-eyed hooks, round, unsnecked,
square-bend, and Limerick, in the order named, are recommended.
When immediate sinking in rather fast water is required, additional
weight can be got by tying on a second hook, and making the fly what is
technically known as a “double.” These are more easily tied on gut than
on eyed hooks, though there is a maker who supplies eyed hooks for
doubles in sizes Nos. 1, 0, and 00, one packet containing the eyed hook,
and the other the shorter-shanked companion hook to be lashed on. In
either case the hooks have to be separated with the thumb-nail, so as to
stand at an angle of 45 to 60 degrees before using. Lest it should be
suggested that these double hooks, fished wet, lend themselves to a form
of snatching, let me say that I can only recall a single instance of a
trout being hooked on a wet double otherwise than fairly in the mouth,
and in the course of my experiments I have given them an extensive
trial.
The range of wet-fly patterns required is not extensive. I have found
the following serve all practical purposes:
1. ROUGH OLIVE.
_Wings_: Darkest starling.
_Body_: Heron herl from wing feather dyed brown-olive, and ribbed
with fine gold wire.
_Legs_: Dirty brown-olive hen hackle, with dark centre and
yellowish-brown points.
_Hook_: No. 1.
2. GREENWELL’S GLORY.
_Wings_: Hen blackbird, dark starling, medium starling, or light
starling (lighter as season advances).
_Body_: Primrose or yellow tying silk, more or less waxed (lighter
as season advances), ribbed with fine gold wire.
_Legs_: Dark furnace hen hackle (black centre, with cinnamon
points) to medium honey dun (lighter as season advances).
_Hook_: No. 1, 0, or 00.
3. BLUE DUN.
_Wings_: Snipe.
_Body_: Water-rat on primrose or yellow tying silk. Vary body by
dressing with undyed heron’s herl from the wing, and ribbing with
fine gold or silver wire.
_Legs_: Medium blue hen.
_Hook_: No. 1 or 0.
4. IRON BLUE.
_Wings_: Tomtit’s tail.
_Body_: Mole’s fur on claret tying silk.
_Legs_: Honey-dun hen with red points.
_Hook_: No. 0 or 00.
5. WATERY DUN.
_Wings_: Palest starling.
_Body_: Hare’s poll or buff opossum on primrose tying silk.
_Legs_: Ginger hen’s hackle.
_Hook_: No. 00.
6. HARE’S EAR.
_Wings_: Dark or Medium starling.
_Body_: Hare’s fur from lobe at root of ear; rib, narrowest gold
tinsel or fine gold wire.
_Legs_: A few fibres picked out or placed between the strands of
the silk and spun.
_Hook_: No. 1 or 0.
7. BLACK GNAT.
_Wings_: Palest snipe rolled and reversed.
_Body_: Black tying silk with two turns of black ostrich herl or
knob of black silk at shoulder.
_Legs_: Black hen or cock starling’s crest, two turns at most.
_Hook_: No. 00.
It will be observed that hooks a size larger than those employed for
floaters can often be used.
The very short range of hackled patterns is dealt with later.
OF THE IMPORTANCE OF THE COLOUR OF TYING SILK IN DUBBED FLIES.
Years ago I spent a week upon the Teme, fishing wet, and I remember
looking down one sunny morning upon my cast in shallow water, and being
struck by the appearance of my Yellow Dun. The body was dubbed with
primrose wool, but though, while dry or in the air, every turn of the
tying silk was completely hidden, yet, looking down upon the fly in the
water, I could see every turn distinctly, and the dubbing was scarcely
noticeable, and I was glad that the tying silk harmonized so perfectly
with the hue of the dubbing.
The importance of the base colour of the tying silk was still more
strongly brought home to me a day or two later. I had tied some
imitations of a pale watery dun which was on the water with a pale
starling wing, light ginger hackle and whisk, and a mixture of opossum
and hare’s poll for dubbing; but some I had tied with pale orange silk,
and some with that rich maroon colour called Red Ant in Mr. Aldam’s
series of silks. The grayling took those tied with pale orange freely,
but would not look at those tied with Red Ant.
It maybe of less consequence for floating flies, but for wet flies I
have since always been careful to have the tying silk either harmonious
with the colour of the natural subimago, or corresponding to the colour
of the spinner. For instance, for an Iron Blue Dun I should use claret
silk dubbed with mole’s fur or water-rat; for the old-fashioned mole’s
fur Blue Dun, primrose to heighten the olive effect in the dark blue;
primrose silk also for a Hare’s Ear; in the Willow-Fly, orange silk
under the mole’s fur or water-rat; in the Grannom, green very darkly
waxed, or black; and so on. The fact is that the transparency of fur and
feather is marvellous. A starling’s wing looks much denser than a dun’s,
but place it over print, and you can read every word through; and fur is
practically as transparent when wet.
OF THE IMITATION OF NYMPHS, CADDIS, ALDER LARVÆ, AND SHRIMPS.
For some time after my introduction to Tup’s Indispensable I used it
only as a dry fly, but one July I put it over a fish without avail, and
cast it a second time without drying it. It was dressed with a soft
hackle, and at once went under, and the trout turned at it and missed.
Again I cast, and again the trout missed, to fasten soundly at the next
offer. It was a discovery for me, and I tried the pattern wet over a
number of fish on the same shallow, with most satisfactory results. I
thus satisfied myself that Tup’s Indispensable could be used as a wet
fly; and, indeed, when soaked its colours merge and blend so beautifully
that it is hardly singular; and it was a remarkable imitation of a nymph
I got from a trout’s mouth.
The next step was to try it on bulging fish, and to my great delight I
found it even more attractive than Greenwell’s Glory. It was the
foundation of a small range of nymph patterns, but for under-water
feeders, whether bulging or otherwise, I seldom need anything but Tup’s
Indispensable, dressed with a very short, soft henny hackle in place of
the bright honey or rusty dun used for the floating pattern. The next I
tried was a Blue-winged Olive. There was a hatch of this pernicious
insect one afternoon. The floating pattern is always a failure with me,
and in anticipation I had tied some nymphs of appropriate colour of
body, and hackled with a single turn of the tiniest blue hackle of the
merlin. It enabled me to get two or three excellent trout which were
taking blue-winged olive nymphs greedily under the opposite bank, and
which, or rather the first of which, like their predecessors, had
refused to respond to a floating imitation. The body was a mixture of
medium olive seal’s fur and bear’s hair close to the skin, tied with
primrose silk, the whisk being short and soft, from the spade-shaped
feather found on the shoulder of a blue dun cock.
Another pattern, successful in the last two months of the season, is
dressed with a very short palish-blue dun or honey dun hen’s hackle, a
body of hare’s poll tied on pale primrose silk, with or without a small
gold tag and palest ginger whisks. But it is evident that on this
subject I am only at the beginning of inquiry. Of course there is
nothing very new in the idea of imitating nymphs. The half stone is just
a nymph generally ruined by over-hackling.
In July, 1908, I caught an Itchen fish one afternoon, and on examining
his mouth I found a dark olive nymph. My fly-dressing materials were
with me, and I found I had a seal’s fur which, with a small admixture of
bear’s hair, dark brown and woolly, from close to the skin, enabled me
to reproduce exactly the colours of the natural insect. I dressed the
imitation with short, soft, dark blue whisks, body of the mixed dubbing
tied with well-waxed bright yellow silk, and bunched at the shoulder to
suggest wing-cases, the lower part of the body being ribbed with fine
gold wire. Two turns of a very short, dark rusty dun hackle completed
the imitation, much to my satisfaction.
Apparently it was no less agreeable to the trout, for, beginning to fish
next morning at ten o’clock, I found six fish rising on a shallow. I
began with a small Red Sedge, as no dun was yet on the water, and missed
several of them. Then, putting up Pope’s Green Nondescript, I again
missed three fish in succession. I then bethought myself of my nymph,
and, knotting it on, in a few minutes I had five of the six fish, and
had lost the other. I then found a trout feeding in a run, evidently
under water. I made a miscast at him, and he came a yard across to take
the nymph, but did not take a good hold, for I lost him, only to secure
a better fish a few moments later. It then came on to blow and pelt with
rain in such sort as to render it no sort of pleasure to continue
fishing, and I knocked off at eleven o’clock, with three brace as the
result of an hour’s fishing.
I have made me a shallow spoon-shaped net of butterfly-net material to
attach to the ring of my landing-net. It has the advantage of taking
anything which comes down the stream, whether on or under the surface,
and its practical use demonstrates itself in more ways than one. For
instance, in September, 1909, I went down to the river about 9.30, and,
having put my rod together, sank my net in the water, and watched for
what came down. There were a number of tiny diptera, but no trace of dun
or nymph. I therefore concluded that it would be some time before the
trout would be lined up under the banks, and that I could safely go away
for an hour, and try certain carriers where the feeding of fish is not
dependent on the rise. I did this, and put in over an hour’s exciting,
if not very remunerative, sport before returning to the main river. The
rise came on about 11.30. But for my net I might have wasted all the
time on the bank, instead of conducting a siege of three very handsome
trout, and bringing up two of them.
On occasion I have found a Dotterel dun tied with yellow tying silk on a
No. 00 hook, and hackled with the tiniest dotterel hackle, after the
manner of Stewart (_i.e._, not hackled all at the head, but palmer-wise
for halfway down the short body), quite remunerative fished wet. This, I
imagine, is taken for a dun emerging.
But it is not only duns whose nymphal stages may be imitated. I borrowed
a tube containing some nearly full-grown larvæ of the alder, and though
I am given to understand that in this stage the alder passes the greater
part of its existence in the black mud formed by decaying vegetation, I
made a sort of imitation of them which rather pleased me, and I tried it
in Germany in mid-May. Whether the trout are or are not familiar with
the natural insect in this stage I cannot say, but they took the
imitation with such avidity that I speedily wore out my three specimens.
They were only made as an experiment, and I tried no more, as I felt
qualms in my mind as to whether it was quite the game to imitate this
insect in this stage, any more than it would be to fish an imitation of
the caddis. I am therefore not giving my recipe. Nor do I give that for
making a caddis or gentle which I once tried, with mad success for a few
minutes, and gave up, conscience-stricken. I have since seen alder larvæ
in a glass tank in the Insect House at the Zoological Gardens, and,
though their conditions are there no doubt quite artificial, they were
swimming so freely and seemed so much at home in the water that I think
it more than probable that they venture into the open often enough to be
familiar to the trout. The long pale trailing processes along their
sides suggested to me whether there was not to be found in the alder
larvæ the prototype of the bumble.
I was at one time greatly interested in an attempt to imitate the
fresh-water shrimp, and I tied a variety of patterns, including several
with backs of quill of some small bird dyed greenish-olive, and ribbed
firmly while wet and impressionable with silk or gold wire; but somehow
I never used or attempted to use any one of them. I, however, gave one
to an acquaintance, and he tied it on, and, standing on a footbridge,
cast it downstream over some trout which were reputed uncatchably shy.
At the first cast a big fish rushed at the shrimp, slashed it, and went
off leaving the one-time owner lamenting.