Dry-Fly Fishing - With 18 Illustrations and Numerous Diagrams

DRY-FLY FISHING

CHAPTER I

THE OBJECT OF FISHING

THE primary object of trout-fishing is to catch trout. If, however, the angler had no desires above and beyond the mere slaying of fish, his favourite appliances would be the net, the explosive, the lime-shell, and the otter. These are so extremely effective that it is well they are viewed with disfavour, for, otherwise, both trout and anglers would have ceased to exist long ago, and much happiness would have been lost to the world.

The angler imposes upon himself certain restrictions. His overwhelming desire, amounting to a passion, occupying his waking thoughts, and even obtruding itself upon his dreams, is to capture trout; but at the same time he stipulates that the pursuit will give him pleasure and sport. The quest must also be attended with some, but not too much, difficulty. If there is either too much or too little, then no sport can ensue. For example, if he fishes the wet-fly in July on a much-frequented stream, he finds it so difficult to catch a single trout that sport vanishes; if he works the otter on some remote mountain tarn, he may find it so easy to fill his basket that again sport is altogether awanting. Above all things, he desires trout, but he must be called upon to display skill in deceiving them, and exercise supreme care in dealing with them.

It is rather curious that, while every angler is anxious to catch fish and still more anxious to bring them home, very few thereafter want them for themselves. It is not a desire to eat that drives men to the river. If that were the case, none would be particular as to method, none would shudder at illegalities. Why is it that an empty creel is considered a great calamity?

The trout are necessary to justify to others the undertaking of an expedition, and to provide clearly visible proof of its success. The angler must have them to give to his friends, who will be convinced of his piscatorial prowess. If these friends are stupid enough to congratulate him on his luck, he is annoyed, because, of course, fish are caught by skill; should they meet him at the end of a blank day and commiserate him on his bad luck, he is comforted, because certainly it is misfortune that prevents trout being caught. He would much rather have commendation than condolence; hence trout are a necessity. They represent the realisation of an ambition; they demonstrate the successful accomplishment of an enterprise.

In addition the angler demands that the trout he catches will provide him with sport. Individuals differ as to their conception of what constitutes sport. One will fish in a dirty, yellow, flooded water with coarse tackle and coarser worms, and find cause for congratulation in several dozens of trout caught under such conditions. There is a little skill required even in this, probably the lowest branch of angling; it consists in a knowledge of the parts favoured by trout at the various stages of the flood, and in an ability to detect and answer at the right moment an offering fish.

Another refuses to regard it sportsmanlike to take trout when their vision is blinded by the murkiness of the water, considers it unfair, finds no pleasure whatever in heaving them on the bank, and is quite prepared to affirm that the former would take trout with a net or by other illegal means whenever there was no serious risk of being discovered.

Some find infinite pleasure and sport in fishing by night; others regard it as but little removed from poaching. Some restrict themselves to natural baits, some to artificials of various kinds, while others use all legal lures in their respective seasons. In all probability everyone has a lure which he prefers above all others; for one reason or another it appeals specially to him. It may bring him consistently good results; he may imagine or know that it produces the finest class of trout; it may be the most suitable for his favourite water; it may give little trouble to acquire and manipulate; he may merely have enjoyed one great and glorious day with it.

No one should dare to dictate to the angler what he should use and what he should not, when he should fish and when he should refrain from fishing. Some do not find any pleasure in fishing in floods, but others may then find their greatest happiness. Night-fishing has its delights: great baskets can be killed with the fly, the fly and maggot, the dock-grub, and the minnow. Nevertheless, it is entirely unnecessary to be on the river at night. Many anglers have discovered that it is possible to capture more trout and better trout in the full light of day, and moreover obtain more enjoyment in their capture, than ever they used to do in the darkness.

The purpose of this book is to describe the lure which makes such a remarkable thing possible, which removes all necessity for fishing under the stars or in flooded water. That lure is the dry-fly. If the angler finds that his pleasure varies directly with the number of fish hooked and landed, if he measures it by the average weight of his catch, if he judges it by the number of large trout caught during a season, if he estimates it by the quality of the sport obtained under difficult conditions, or in any praiseworthy way whatever, he will at once acknowledge it largely increased when he adds to his list of lures the floating fly.

He is not advised to discontinue the use of any lure, because after all a basket of trout is what everyone desires, and that cannot always be obtained even with a dry-fly. That lure is not absolutely infallible; at certain times and under certain conditions, not few in number, but occurring with great frequency all through the season, no other is comparable with it.

Nor is he asked to abstain from fishing in the circumstances above described. That would be quite superfluous, as such practices will automatically cease, when the necessity for them disappears, and that will be when the floating fly becomes known to all. There is, however, so much fascination in this lure that, when he learns its powers and appreciates its capabilities, he will in all likelihood, as many others before him have done, discard most of his present possessions, and devote all his attention to his new acquisition.

ON THE YARROW.

If that should happen, it is to be hoped that he will not scorn, or pretend to scorn, other methods of filling the basket, as well as those who continue to use them, for without their years of research and without the knowledge of trout and their ways that the advocates of other lures have been the means of furnishing, the art of dry-fly fishing would not have been evolved. On one point all, who are qualified by experience to pass an opinion, are in agreement, viz. that the floating fly is the most reliable and most sporting lure that has been perfected.

It has been wisely said of fishing in general that its practice is calculated to induce forgetfulness of all worries that can render miserable the life of man. The dry-fly fisher can claim, and, moreover, easily substantiate his claim, that his branch of the art of angling can never fail to produce complete oblivion to all but the object in immediate view. He must, of necessity, watch with engrossed attention for the rising trout, or determine from his experience the exact position of an expectant one, study and discuss with himself the difficulties of its situation produced by contending currents formed by stones or banks of weed seen and unseen, discover the species of fly that is being pronounced acceptable or is expected, and select its counterpart.

His prospective victim may be an old and wary trout, far advanced in knowledge of artificial flies, ready to take alarm at flash of rod or glimpse of the most fragile gut. Possibly it has been hooked a score of times, and the memory of the piercing barb or the suffocating strain may be strong and clear. It may be that, to ensure success, the cast must be delivered to fall in such a way that the fly reaches the trout before the betraying gut arrives, a trick which will reap great rewards, but which requires assiduous practice and the acquisition of a knack that is difficult.

When the fly is sent out on its mission, it may hover hesitatingly, as if uncertain yet of making the attempt, but gradually it settles slowly down, until it sits riding the rippling wave forward to the fateful spot. Its progress must be closely watched, for it may disappear, and the moment of its going be unmarked, and a golden opportunity be gone for ever. With so much to do, all else is forgotten, and the dry-fly angler obtains the happiness that alone can come by the moorland pool or the sparkling stream. After the trout is securely hooked, all is commonplace though exciting enough; but it is the prelude to the fight that requires the thought, demands the preparation, and claims the undivided attention.

Some who have spoken regarding the dry-fly have unfortunately done the sport great harm, and retarded very seriously the advance of the angler’s education. To very many they seem to be striving to put themselves into a position of splendid isolation, and to claim for their methods, and also for themselves, a vast superiority. They appear to disparage other lures and other anglers, proclaiming that they alone are sportsmen, that the floating fly is the only honourable, the most scientific, means of capturing trout, and suggesting that it is to be used only by a few mortals, who have been endowed by Nature with extraordinary intelligence.

It is not surprising that only a comparatively small number of anglers have had the courage or the vanity to adopt a lure which demands so much. Any legal lure is honourable, if used in waters where it is not forbidden by general agreement. The dry-fly is not the most scientific lure, that is to say, it does not call for the most expert knowledge; the place of honour is occupied by the artificial nymph.

It has been laid down that a dry-fly must be presented only to a rising trout. Now every angler knows that there are days, many of them in the course of a season, when he will not see a single fish rising. Is he, after journeying fifty miles or more to the river, to weary his soul out waiting for the rise that never comes? Does he cease to be a sportsman if he enjoys himself casting the wet-fly, worm, dry-fly, or any other lure? The art of dry-fly fishing consists of fishing with a floating fly. Every sensible angler will place it over a rise when that is possible, and into likely places when no fish are rising. He will act in precisely the same way as the wet-fly man acts; the only difference between the methods is, that in the one case the fly floats and in the other it sinks.

The man who praises the clear-water worm does not declare that we must on no account offer a worm to a trout until we first discover that the trout is feeding on worms. If he did, he would be no more ridiculous than the dry-fly purist. The latter seeks to lure a tailing trout, that is to say, one grubbing about in the weeds, searching not for fully-fledged flies but for nymphs and shrimps, and betraying its presence and occupation from time to time by throwing its tail above the surface. It would be more logical to offer it a wet-fly or a worm, and more in accordance with his own principles.

The dry-fly, used as indicated in the following chapters, assists the angler to accomplish every object he has in view when out on a fishing expedition. He catches trout in a fascinating, sporting manner, indulges in a pleasant recreation, enjoys in the sunlight the beauties of the country, exercises and increases his skill in manipulating the rod, reading the stream, and overcoming his captives, all of which he might also do sometimes, whatever his lure; but the floating fly will ensure their continuance during that period of the year which is at present least kind to him, and at other times it will certainly not fail him.

There are a few who say that the practice of dry-fly fishing has one great effect, viz. that it destroys the most reprehensible desire for big kills, and yet they give instructions in the art, so that anglers may be enabled to catch more trout than ever they did before. They record instances where the superiority of the dry-fly over other lures was clearly demonstrated, and relate how certain pools, considered to contain impossible fish, were made to yield freely of their magnificent specimens.

The expert with the dry-fly does not lose his desire for a big basket—no angler ever does. On the contrary, he accomplishes his ambition. He, however, raises his standard, either intentionally or unconsciously; he ceases to be responsible for the death of small trout, but tries his hardest to overcome, and succeeds in overcoming, the biggest fish the river contains.

CHAPTER II

THE NECESSITY FOR THE DRY-FLY

THE dry-fly is already a necessity on many rivers, and as fishers increase in number and wander ever farther afield in pursuit of the trout, so will the list of waters which will yield results to a submerged imitation of a fully developed fly become reduced.

Consider a day of early April, when beside the river the angler rests expectant. Across the broad expanse of brilliant blue great clouds sail before the fresh west wind; now the sun blazes through a cleft in brilliant rays, lighting up the pool, revealing every rock set amid the gleaming gravel; now it is obscured, and the air feels chill; the water is dark and dismal.

The river is flowing full and free, merry and lively; the brightness is not dimmed by summer weeds; the wave-crests sparkle when the cloud passes; but of life beneath the waters there is no sign. Every trout seems to have been swept along the floods of winter. The angler begins to stir with impatience, but let him wait a little longer.

On the wings of the breeze is borne a shower of March Browns, a most welcome sight, welcome because they mark the passing of weary idleness and herald the coming of activity. Winter has passed away, and the season of plenty is at hand. The flies alight upon the pool; the wind buffets them about, blowing them across to the farther shore towards the saughs, that also have answered the call of spring. The brown insects dance from wave to wave of the rushing throat, but there is no time to observe them all, for, from the first moment of their advent, the trout are leaping joyously, leaping to welcome the gift of April, leaping until not one fly remains.

The angler’s rest ceased with the first grand leap, his rod has awhile been active; but, though he finds its labours not quite without reward, he is perplexed with doubts and vexed with questionings.

Why should his fly disappear beneath the surface, when the beautiful insect it copies sails the wave? Though it be an exact imitation in form, size, and colouring, can it give him faithful service when it errs in such a conspicuous and important particular? Why does it not remain in full view, bobbing to every wavelet, sitting naturally on the water, answering the wind and the current?

Will the wise and wary trout not look with suspicion upon his lure, made with infinite pains and skill though it be, and treat it with the contempt it merits? The younger fry, not yet versed in the wiles of man, and still unaware of the dangers that surround them, may accept the unnatural object without hesitation; but the older, experienced trout will flee from its vicinity.

With so much to persuade him the angler will retrieve his unsuccessful fly, which miserably fails to yield the sport that the pool can give, and the conditions allow; he will dry it carefully, anoint it with some preparation which will enable it to resist the water, and send it forth endowed with greatly increased capacity to compete with the living insects for the attention and acceptance of the eager trout. No longer will it be ignored, but at every subsequent shower of March Browns it will deceive a fish or two, and the basket will begin to grow agreeably heavy.

The only really wonderful fact about the dry-fly is that it was not invented first. Instead of being a development of the wet-fly, it should have been its precursor. Why did these old anglers, who have assisted so much by their study of the food of trout and by their laborious search for materials wherewith to copy the various species of flies, attend only to certain details, highly essential no doubt, and ignore the most important characteristic? Of course, in these far-off days trout were numerous and unsophisticated, and anglers were few, so that little thought was demanded; but even that fact does not excuse or explain the omission.

Some may respond that it is easy to be wise after the event. They should, however, note that the use of a floating fly was advocated at least seventy years ago, and that the idea has occurred to many anglers who had previously never read a single word about it or seen anyone using it. It is certainly surprising that the art of dry-fly fishing has taken so long to become well-known.

As long as trout are accustomed to see flies, living or dead, sailing on the surface of the water, and are willing to take them, so long must the angler take heed that his artificials behave in exactly the same way. Wherever trout have reached a degree of wariness sufficient to make them suspicious of a winged lure borne down beneath the surface in answer to a current or other force, then he must make sure that his fly will not be unnatural in action.

In some streams, thrashed every day by many anglers, it is a well-known fact that sport is generally poor during the summer months. It is commonly stated that the reason for this is that the trout are well-fed, and neither require nor desire food. With that some disagree, maintaining that the fish have had such abundance of insect-food that they are completely sated with it, and wish a change of diet. Acting on this assumption, they fish the worm in clear water and prove conclusively that the trout are very keen on food; but it does not follow that flies are temporarily out of favour.

On a cold day in July or on a warm summer evening, flies are plentiful, and trout will take them quite as greedily as at any other time. The fact is that flies never are unwelcome, but on certain days, particularly in summer, they are very scarce, conditions being not such as they prefer. It is very seldom indeed that on a river a hatch is not accompanied by a rise; but the trout have learned a lot during the spring, re-learned all that they forgot during the winter, and the result is that they are less easy to deceive.

The ordinary wet-fly is now practically worthless; but a dry-fly, if floated carefully over a feeding fish, is almost certain to produce a rise. Those anglers who object to natural baits of all kinds will find that a floating fly will bring to an end much of the disappointment they experience in the difficult days of July and August.

It would be perfectly fair to ask why it is that the wet-fly meets with any success at all, when it acts in such an unnatural manner. That success should attend the use of spiders or wingless flies is not surprising, because some of the best patterns suggest tolerably well nymphs and other subaqueous creatures. The majority of wet-flies, however, are dressed in imitation of fully developed flies, and yet are fished beneath the surface, that is to say, they are put into a position which the natural fly can seldom occupy.

When thus submerged, the wings in many flies fold over the hook, and covering slightly the body and modifying its colour, presumably give the lure the shape and shade of a nymph. Being under water and subjected to movement by the current and perhaps also by the rod, the so-called fly resembles the nymph in another particular, viz. action, and therefore it is accepted. In short, though designed to represent a fly, it accidentally suggests something else well enough to delude a hungry fish.

Again, it seems reasonable to assume that a trout has no clear view of the surface; in certain circumstances at least, for example, when the water is ruffled by a breeze or current, it is possible that it cannot see exactly whether a fly is on the surface or slightly above or below it. Consequently it may rise for a fly which has not yet reached the water, just as it may take one that has sunk an inch or two.

It is now understood that a trout is able to see objects coming through the air towards the water. Those who dap with the natural fly must have had the experience of exciting the curiosity of several trout in a pool and leading them about by dangling the fly in the air; it is possible at this game to select the best trout out of the following company. Most wet-fly fishers will agree that on the river a great many rises occur at the moment the flies alight on the surface. Everyone must have observed a trout break water as soon as, or even before, the fly arrives, as if it had been awaiting and expecting the event. The trout is there on the surface actually before the fly.

Intent on feeding, the fish eagerly watches for the appearance of food, and takes the artificial the instant it arrives, not knowing whether it is going to act in unnatural fashion by sinking in the water. The trout accepts the fly without suspicion, because the fly is acting precisely like a natural insect. It cannot tell whether the fly is similar to those already accepted, and it has no reason to suspect its genuineness. Hence it is that the wet-fly sometimes meets with a fair response.

At every part of the season and in all streams inhabited by worthy and wary trout, the dry-fly is essential when the fish are feeding on flies in their winged state. Other lures may then produce a trout or two; but if the maximum of sport is to be forthcoming, then the fly used must be a good imitation of the insect on the water, and it must likewise float.

The dry-fly is not a satisfactory lure when trout are feeding exclusively on subaqueous forms of flies or on any of the many and varied creatures which pass all their days beneath the surface; but it is often a means of securing a fair basket, though not a rise is seen.

A rise is an effect of which a fly is the cause, and if the fly is absent the rise cannot take place—an axiomatic truth which is sometimes overlooked. If, however, the fly is supplied, even though it be an artificial fly, a trout will accept it, provided always that the fish is in a humour to feed, and is satisfied in all respects with the object placed before it.

In summer the trout are certainly not always on the look-out for food; they can afford to do without for a short time, if necessary; they do not meet the flies half-way, unless a hatch is on; they examine and either reject