Dry-fly fishing, as practised in the South, differs slightly from the method here advocated for the rougher streams above-mentioned, inasmuch as the purist of the South will not throw a fly to any but a rising fish, even though he wait an hour or more before locating one, while the North Country angler not only throws to the rise, but also to such places as are likely to hold feeding fish.
When a specially strong hatch of duns takes place on Northern rivers and the fish line up to suck in the insects as they hurry downstream, sails spread to the breeze, it will pay the angler to try the floater. Again, between streams on rapid rivers one often comes upon a long stretch of quiet steady flowing water ideal for the dry fly. By applying themselves to such a stretch with the methods of their friends of the South the writers have more than once retrieved a bad day. Quiet eddies too may frequently be fished with success by this method, and every river has some places, and is subject to some moods, in which the dry fly scores over the wet.
The first experience of one of the writers in dry-fly fishing was years ago. He had fished for grayling till noon on a bright frosty October day with indifferent success, when, on reaching a long stream with the current under the far bank, he noticed several fish rising at the tail. In between himself and the fish was a wide stretch of water some twelve or eighteen inches in depth, and the fish were out of reach, as the angler was not wearing waders.
Now the occasional fish he had managed to reach during the course of the morning absolutely refused the wet fly.
At the moment another fisherman appeared from upstream and, wading out, immediately caught several nice fish, to the no small envy of him on the bank. Before passing on the successful angler vouchsafed the remark “dry fly,” and gave the writer in question the “oil tip” in theory and in practice.
Off came boots and stockings, and, with the shallow water safely waded, the rising grayling were within casting distance. So long as the fly—a Red Tag—could be kept dry, so long did the fish rise at it, but they would not look at it when water-logged. Between whiles the angler came to shore to stamp a bit of feeling into his legs, for the water was icy cold; but he enjoyed himself hugely and got quite a decent bag, besides adding greatly to the scope of his accomplishment in the gentle art.
The writers have seen the dry fly score heavily during the rise of Iron Blue Duns, and they remember one occasion when that most dainty and beautiful Ephemera was sailing down in numbers, and when a feathered imitation accounted for six brace of fish from a weed-grown reach of steady flowing water.
A word here must be said with regard to the timing of the strike when using the dry fly, for the man who is used to wet-fly fishing will probably strike too quickly and at the most only prick his fish. In the former method, before attempting to drive home the steel, the fish should be allowed to turn with the fly in his mouth. In wet-fly fishing the fish has often turned before the rise becomes apparent.
Many occasions could be mentioned on which the dry fly has given the writers most pretty fishing. Once on a Cleveland stream, slow flowing and edged with most luxuriant vegetation, the wet fly, cast over rise after rise, was totally ignored, but a change to a floating Female Black Gnat at once worked wonders. Had it not been for the innumerable derelict branches and water weeds in which the cast was time after time tied up, the creel would have been heavy. But the enjoyment was intense that glorious June evening.