Trout Flies of Devon and Cornwall, and When and How to Use Them

by G. W. Soltau

If a fish has been moved, note the place, and try him again in a few minutes. Be careful, not to throw immediately over the spot where he rose; but let the fly approach him in one of the glides made in the curve. Should the fish then take the fly, don’t strike directly, but allow a second or two to intervene, when you will find the fish well hooked. Don’t be frightened—keep perfectly cool—hold your rod well back, the butt end rather from you; indulge the fish with as much line as he requires, taking care however to bear well and steadily against him, so that he encounters much resistance in drawing the line over the rod and off the reel. When the fish slackens his pace, reel up as much of your line as you can do with safety; this economy may be most useful when he again rushes off. The length of time occupied in playing the salmon depends somewhat upon the nature of the adjacent banks, and also upon the size and disposition of the fish, some being more lively than others; and a small fish will frequently afford better sport than one of twice or thrice its weight.

A gaff, or landing net, is necessary, as no gut will stand the strain of lifting a large fish out of the water. The foregoing remarks will be found applicable to peal fishing, which may be obtained in some of our rivers, and is justly considered very excellent sport.

To enter more into the detail of this amusement is not my present intention, I must be content with this rough sketch, leaving others to complete the picture. It is proper however to remark, that the flies used in peal fishing are about twice the size of those used for trout: they should be purchased under the advice of an experienced fisherman, as they differ materially from these which are applicable to the Irish and other rivers.

The ingenuity of the sportsman has been taxed to vary the means of capturing the salmon. Sometimes they are shot whilst leaping the weirs, at others they are speared by torch lights from the banks of rivers, or from boats. The otter has been trained to catch and bring the fish to his master; and, in “Red Gauntlet,” we find a lively sketch of a salmon chase, which is thus described by Darsie Latimer, in one of his letters to Allan Fairford.

“The scene was animated by the exertions of a number of horsemen, who were employed in hunting salmon. Aye, Alan, lift up your hands and eyes as you will, I can give their mode of fishing no name so appropriate, for they chased the fish at full gallop, and struck them with their barbed spears, as you see hunters spearing boars in the old tapestry. The salmon, to be sure, take the thing more quietly than the boars; but they are so swift in their own element, that to pursue and strike them is the task of a good horseman with a quick eye, a determined hand, and a full command both of his horse and weapon. The shouts of the fellows, as they galloped up and down in the animating exercise—their loud bursts of laughter, when any of their number caught a fall—and still louder acclamations, when any of the party made a capital stroke with his lance—gave so much animation to the whole scene, that I caught the enthusiasm of the sport, and ventured forward a considerable space on the sands.”

In the Arms of the city of Glasgow, and in those of the see, a salmon, with a ring in its mouth, is said to record a miracle of St. Kentigern, the founder of the see, and the first Bishop of Glasgow.

“They report,” says Spotswood, “that a lady of good place, in the country, having lost her ring in crossing the Clyde, and her husband waxing jealous, as if she had bestowed the same on one of her lovers, she did mean herself unto Kentigern; entreating his help for the safety of her honour; and that he, going to the river after he had used his devotions, willed one, who was making to fish, to bring him the first fish that was caught, which was done. In the mouth of this fish, he found the ring, and sending it to the lady, she was thereby freed of her husband’s suspicion.”

The classical tale of Polycrates related by Herodotus, a thousand years before the tale of St. Kentigern, is perhaps the earliest version of the fish and the ring. “This ring,” says Herodotus, “was an emerald set in gold, and beautifully engraved;” and this very ring Pliny relates, was preserved in the Temple of Concord, in Rome, to which it was given by the Emperor Augustus.

It is somewhat singular, that the Natural History of a fish, which constitutes so important an article of commerce—that adds so much to the wealth of a country where it abounds—that forms so nutricious and delicate a food—that affords an amusement which rivals that truly British sport of fox-hunting, should have remained for centuries in considerable obscurity.