In the meanwhile, some of the men had been sent forward with ropes, and with the boat-hooks and oars belonging to the expedition; for, though boats are always procurable in a place where the river forms the usual means of communication, their gear is not always to be relied on in cases of difficulty.
The fishermen selected their short lake rods, as better adapted to the work they were going about than the great two-handed salmon rods with which they had been fishing that morning; and having fitted fresh casting lines, which, in consideration of the work they were going about, were of the strongest twisted gut they could find, they took the path up the river.
“I wonder what are the proper flies of this river,” said the Captain. “In Scotland every place has its own set of flies, and you are always told that you will do nothing at all, unless you get the very colours and the very flies peculiar to the river.”
“You seem to have done pretty well on this river, at all events,” said Birger, “without any such information.”
“No information is to be despised,” said the Parson. “The oldest fisherman will always find something to be learnt from men who have passed their lives on a particular stream, and have studied it from their boyhood. There is, however, only one general principle, and that will always hold good. By this the experienced fisherman will never be at a loss about suiting his fly to the water. Here is the Captain now; we have had no consultation, and yet I will venture to say that we are both fishing with flies of a similar character. What fly did you catch your fish with, this morning, Captain?”
“I have been using my old Scotch flies,” said the Captain, “such as they tie on the Tay and Spey,[16] and the largest of the sort I could find.”
“To be sure you did; and tell Birger why you did not use your Irish flies.”
“They were too gaudy for the water,” said the Captain.