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.
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.