Notes and Sport of a Dry-fly Purist.
THE GRAYLING SEASON, 1905.
During the past season I enjoyed the privilege of fishing for grayling in the very best stocked portions of the Itchen at Twyford and Shawford.
On August 11th, 5 brace were killed; on the 12th, 3½ brace; on the 19th, 4 brace; on the 23rd, 4 brace; on the 26th, 1 brace—their weights varying from 14 oz. to 1¼ lb. On August 28th the evening was stormy, and until seven o’clock no signs of flies or of fish breaking the surface of the swollen, breeze-rippled, and strongly running stream could be noticed. I was standing near the swampy margin of the west bank above Shawford Bridge, and with little hope of the prospect for sport improving, when a single dark olive dun floated down, and just as its struggles to dry its wings seemed effectual it rose, but fell on the water again, and instantly a grayling flashed up and took it. Well hooked and played from the bended rod, it was felt to be a heavy one; nor could it be much restrained without risk until it had drifted to the ford, where I was in the act of trying to draw it over the shallow side to dry land, not intending to use the net, when a man watching from the bridge, a black retriever at his side, called out, “Shall I come and land him for you, sir?” At that instant his dog rushed round to the shallows, and wildly jumping about, repeatedly tried to seize the fish—in fact, to retrieve it as he would a moorhen. The chance of hooking the dog was so likely, and the consequent breakage of my tackle, perhaps losing the fish also, that I promptly used the net handle to beat him off, and as I landed and unhooked the grayling (afterwards found to weigh 1 lb. 7 oz.), the dog looked on, wagging his tail and barking excitedly—possibly he expected praise rather than a beating.
For the next half hour, at intervals, a few dark-winged Ephemeræ were seen to emerge on the surface. I knotted on to the fine-drawn gut point of my cast a red quill dressed on a cipher hook, and after many attempts, baffled by the wind, to present it just right, a grayling that could plainly be seen in a clear run close under my bank rose to it and was hooked and brought to net, weighing 15 oz. Another an ounce heavier soon followed. Afterwards, about 8 p.m., when the wind had lulled, some sedgeflies hovered over the surface in mid-channel, occasionally dipping on to it as they dropped their eggs. A larger red quill on a No. 2 hook was therefore tried, as it was similar in size to the natural sedges, and, presented by the horizontal back-handed casting method, it sailed lightly down over the ring of a feeding fish, and when he rose again and snatched at it he hooked himself, giving three minutes of exciting sport ere the landing-net secured him, a grayling of 14 oz., making up two brace weighing 4½lb.
On the 30th, after the total eclipse of the sun in the afternoon, the evening was dull, and low clouds threatened rain. I fished in the same place as last. The river was clear but brimful; indeed, here and away overflowing its banks, and running so wildly that a dry fly cast up stream in the usual manner immediately dragged, and if thrown across, the line sagged or bellied, and consequently, whenever a fish took my fly, it was most difficult, on the slack line, to strike and hook him. To let the fly drift was easier and the only alternative, and in this way 2½ brace of grayling, from 10 to 13 inches in length, were creeled by 8.10 p.m. At which time, having lost my fly in an overhanging branch, it was too dark to see to tie on another, and I reluctantly had to leave off. It was particularly provoking, for the fish were then rising in that reckless way they often do for a brief time at dusk.
Next evening my practice was between the bridge and the lower boundary of the Twyford fishery on the west side, and for once in a way all the conditions an angler wishes for were favourable: the smooth, clear, and sun-lighted stream reflected white cumuli clouds and the azure sky; flies were in the air, which the Hirundinidæ in graceful curves of flight and with unerring sight were intercepting, while olive duns, in straggling, intermittent groups, were floating down, and fish taking them eagerly. And to complete one’s satisfaction, a gentle breeze from the west made casting easy. The successful fly of yestereve, a red quill on a 000 hook, was again used, and from 6.30 to a little after 8 p.m. four brace of grayling, scaling from 12 oz. to 1 lb. 5 oz., were hooked, played, and brought to grass, besides several returned. And a larger grayling escaped by the small hook working out just as the net was nearly in position to thrust under him. There is no necessity to further describe this evening’s very good sport than to say that for the one and a half hours I was almost constantly at work, and that the fish rose and fastened to my artificial fly as readily as they did to the naturals; but with so good a rise of duns there were, of course, ten chances to one against the red quill. Bearing this in mind, the sport could scarcely have been better.
On September 2nd sport was greatly interfered with by horses drawing carts, vans, &c., passing through the ford, and as it was Saturday night, the drivers sometimes stopped midway to refresh their horses, wash wheels, &c. At another time a boy on the back of a tired horse that had done his week’s work was made to stand awhile in the ford for the benefit of his legs, and now and again the boy, evidently delighted to be riding, would take a turn from shore to shore, and once he began to splash up stream until I remonstrated. And twice a lumbering watering-cart was slowly filled from a bucket dipped into the river. With all these interruptions one’s patience was much tried, as I had no chance of fishing until about 7.30 p.m. I should have gone elsewhere had I not noticed that within a few minutes after each disturbance had temporarily ceased a shoal of about a dozen grayling came on to the churned-up gravelly bottom to feed, probably on crushed or crawling larvæ, snails, &c. I resolved, therefore, to bide my time, and when all was quiet again fish began to rise, freely taking Trichoptera as they touched or floated on the surface of the smooth stream, and at intervals my counterfeit fly, each time with fatal effect, for when I left off a leash of beautiful 11 to 13-inch grayling, as bright as silver, lay on the grass at my feet. And while they were being arranged in the creel for presentation to a friend, embellished with the wild flowers, mimulus and willow-herb, the clock of Twyford church slowly tolled out the hour of eight. Twilight was passing into darkness; Mars, the evening star, low down in the south-western sky, showed large and luminous; birds were mute—the silence was oppressive.
The evening of September 12th was bright, rather cool and windy, but at 6.40 black gnats were dancing in mazy groups under the boughs of trees and pale midges around my cap as I stood near the poplar-tree above Shawford Bridge. The river was very full and flowing swiftly, but smooth and favourable for dry-fly practice. Many small trout were unavoidably hooked and time was lost in putting them back, but one weighing 1½ lb. was kept, because an invalid friend wanted it, and I was not likely to fish in this part of the river again until the trout season would be over. Half an hour afterwards grayling were rising to dark-winged olive duns; I changed my fly for the Englefield quill pattern with silver tag, dressed on 0 hooks, and by a little after eight o’clock it had tempted to their fate three brace, measuring 10 to 11½ inches, when I had to hurry away to catch my train. It was very pretty sport, and a good wind-up of the foregoing ten evenings’ sport and pastime, on each occasion obtained within two hours, and aggregating 30½ brace.
On October 3rd, at noon, many large grayling had worked up to the shallows under the pretty little weir over which the water from the Shawford House garden reach was falling in a glassy cascade. The overhanging trees prevented overhand casting, but, by kneeling and crouching low, my fly could be sent forward over them. It was not noticed at first, but at the third essay it was snatched at, and the grayling hooked: fortunately he turned, and rushing zigzag down stream without disturbing the others, was followed and netted out. After prudently waiting a time, the weir was again quietly approached, and still the grayling were seen there, but now, more on the alert, rising to olive duns. My very poor imitation was nevertheless taken at the first throw as it lightly dropped in the white froth and among the air-bubbles under the waterfall, and a grayling well hooked and landed—his desperate struggling causing the other fish to scurry away out of the pool. It was satisfactory to know, while consuming an al fresco luncheon which followed, that a handsome brace was already in the creel—indeed, it gave a zest to appetite.
Lower down, where the broad water is divided by the first islet, the narrowed channel is a favoured feeding place for grayling. They were now darting up to the surface, taking floating flies—iron blues they looked like—but to pass along the bank would disturb them. I therefore several times let my dry fly drift down, and at last it was effective in bringing another fish to hand. About 4 p.m. the sparse rise of Ephemeræ was over, nor did they come on again until an hour after sunset, when dark-winged olives in considerable numbers were on the wind-rippled stream under the low-branching trees at the upper end of the mill race, where casting was almost impossible, but in an eddy one grayling could be tried over, and he came to grief, the two brace for the day scaling 4 lb. 2 oz.
The morning rise on November 3rd did not begin until about 11.30, and only lasted for two and a half hours. On the lower reach of the main stream in the park several small rings and splashes were seen on the glide above the second island, such as denote grayling busily taking surface food, but they were many times cast over before my 00 red quill was taken and a fish hooked, who instantly furrowed along the top of the water to the opposite side, and made vain attempts to rub the hook out in a shallow weed-bed; then when held firmly from the rod and played he repeatedly, as if in wrath, turned wildly over and over on the surface (grayling seldom or never spring out of water as trout do), and being thus exhausted and before he could take another turn, as they sometimes do when apparently dead beaten, was drawn near enough to be netted out. Almost under similar conditions another grayling was shortly after lured by the same fly and killed—the brace weighing 2¼ lb.
Higher up, twenty yards in the rear of the first islet, a large grayling was observed in a clear bay behind weeds, and, save for the gently waving movement of his tail to maintain his equipoise, showing no signs of life—“Glued to the bottom and very little use to cast over him,” an angler would say. Nevertheless, in a desultory sort of way I did send my red quill over him, and his head slightly moved up. Again my fly was floated over, and this time he came to inspect it, paused, and retired. I also retired some thirty or forty yards lower down, and under the dry sedge bordering my bank managed to hook and land an 11-inch grayling. Then I quietly worked up again to the beforementioned big one, and by a long throw deftly placed my fly a yard in front of him. Like a shadowy flash he boldly rose, touched the fly, and drowned it, no doubt seizing it submerged unknown to me, for in the act of recovering my fly it firmly hooked him, and after a well-fought battle he was safely landed, and, held on a steelyard, weighed 1 lb. 5 oz. Then at the extremity of the park where the two streams meet a grayling could be seen quiescent under the opposite branches, but, as before, an experimental cast tempted him to rise from his lethargy and snap at my fly, when, well hooked, and after giving exciting sport, he was brought to bank, under 1 lb. in weight.
On four other days in November my sport aggregated 15½ brace, and on seven days in December to finish the season, 19½ brace.
Red Quill.