Brook and river trouting / A manual of modern north country methods, with coloured illustrations of flies and fly-dressing materials

by Harfield H. Edmonds; Norman N. Lee

He now wades gently a yard further upstream. In front of him, and just within casting distance, he notices an obstacle which causes a tiny eddy. The object is little more than a good-sized tuft of grass jutting out from the bank, but even that so alters the flow of the water, as to form a likely feeding place for a fish. The cast is carefully made and the worm falls into the water as though it had crawled to the edge of the grass and dropped in.

Almost as soon as the worm has touched the water the current carries it gently, and quite naturally, into the eddy. The line stops, our friend withholds his hand, and it is not until the line moves slightly towards the main stream that he gives a turn of the wrist, driving the hook home into a nice half-pound fish. For a moment it splashes dangerously in the shallow water before making off for the deeper stream. The hook, however, is well home and the captive is quickly brought down and drawn over the submerged net.

“Well!” says an uninitiated onlooker, “who would have thought that a fish would have been so near the edge, and in such shallow water too?” The more you fish the upstream worm, the greater will be your astonishment at the number and the size of trout caught in such places.

Having basketed his fish, the angler rebaits his tackle, and then gently moves a yard further upstream, repeating his systematic casting. In this manner he stalks his quarry up the one side to the head of the stream. Yes, “stalk” is the word which most adequately describes this man’s methods, as he takes the greatest pains to avoid being seen. It is work, and hard work too, on a blazing hot day; but it pays, and it is only necessary to see the expert’s basket at the end of it to be convinced. There is always a good dish of fish, and, as often as not, a very large fish to top off with.

The stepping stones having been reached, our friend leaves the water. Keeping well away from the edge he returns to the tail of the stream and wades some eight yards across. His first cast is made upstream and slightly towards the bank he has just left, the next one more directly in front, the next inclined towards the opposite side, and so on until he is casting more and more towards the far bank. Yard by yard the stream is covered in this manner, as the angler works upwards until two or three boulders are within casting distance, one showing distinctly above the surface of the water, while the others are detected only by the broken surface of the stream.

This is another very likely place, but our friend prefers the edges of the stream and thinner water to such places, although the latter are often good for two or three fish. The first cast is made towards the near bank, but without result. The second also fails to entice a fish, although the worm was dropped just by the side of one of the submerged boulders. At the third cast, however, which was made to the other side of the same boulder, a fish fastens and is brought to net. The golden gleam of another trout is seen as he is turned over, but missed, behind one of the other rocks. Then at the succeeding cast the worm enters the water about a foot beyond the rock which lifts above the surface of the stream. The sharp water running round the side of a boulder forms a favourite feeding place for a fish; a trout occupying such a position usually lies with his head slightly in advance of the rock. The worm has just time to sink before it is picked up by the stream and carried rapidly down the run. A fish turns and darts after it. He seizes his prey as it sweeps almost past the rock, the steel is gently driven home, and another fish duly joins his brethren in the creel.

The whole of the stream is worked in the foregoing manner, the far edge of the river being treated in the same way as the side on which a beginning was made, and great care is taken that a tell-tale wave does not precede the angler.

At the far side, immediately below the stepping-stones, and lying slightly across stream, is the submerged trunk of an old tree which lodged there years ago, no doubt washed down and left by some winter flood. The position of this tree trunk, resisting the force of the current, causes a sharp stream to flow parallel to it. In this run a good fish will always be found, lying ready to seize whatever of his fancy the stream may carry to him. A cast is made, the worm gently dropping into the water some two or three inches from the side of the log. The rod point is slowly raised, our expert being most particular not to do this too quickly, and cause a drag on the worm. This necessity for avoidance of drag is a point to be reiterated and insisted on as strongly in this branch of the art as in fly fishing, as one is often inclined to think a stream is running quicker than is actually the case, and an unnatural drag will cause many a good fish to turn away, that would otherwise have taken the lure. The worm has hardly travelled more than half its course, when the line stops. As it moves away a gentle strike is rewarded by a tightened line, and another lusty trout is battling for dear life. Upstream he goes for a few yards, then flings himself into the air, but a lowered rod point defeats the manœuvre, and control of the captive is regained as he re-enters the water. The split cane soon tells on his strength, and quietly he is coaxed down stream to the net, but instead of floating in he merges indistinct into the shadowy water, and an upflying rod tells of a light hold and the loss of a stout-hearted fish.

Leaving this stream, and incidentally the friend whose methods have been studied, let the reader give his company up the river to the next stream; and, to realize how failure may be caused by wrong approach, let him listen to an incident which happened to one of the writers in his early days of upstream worming. But first the stream must be described.