“That, Birger, will give you the principle,” said the Parson. “The Captain has been very successful with flies belonging to another river; now, look at mine, which I tied last night, while I was waiting till you came home from sacrificing to Nyssen. Except in size, this is as different as possible from the Captain’s; and yet its principle is precisely the same; mine is a green silk body, black hackle, blackcock wing, no tinsel, and nothing bright about it, except this single golden pheasant topping for a tail. Now, the Tay flies are quite different to look at; they are mostly brown or dun pig’s wool bodies, with natural red or brown hackles and mallard wings; but the principle of both is the same; they are sober, quiet flies, with no glitter or gaudiness about them; and the Captain shall tell you what induced him to select such as these.”
“I chose the largest fly I could find,” said the Captain; “because the water here is very deep and strong; and as the salmon lies near the bottom, I must have a large fly to attract his attention; but I must not have a gaudy fly, because the water is so clear that the sparkle of the tinsel would be more glittering than anything in nature; and the fish, when he had risen and come near enough to distinguish it, would be very apt to turn short.”
“You have it now, precisely,” said the Parson; “the depth of the water regulates the size of the fly, and the clearness of the water its colours. This rule, of course, is not without exceptions; if it were, there would be no science in fishing. The sun, the wind, the season, the state of the atmosphere must also be taken into consideration; for instance, this rapid we are going to fish now, is the very same water we have been fishing in below, and therefore just as clear, but it is rough, and overhung by rocks and trees. I mean, therefore, to put on a gayer fly than anything we have used hitherto. But here we are,” he said, as they looked down upon the rush of waters, “and upon my word, an ugly place it is.”
The Parson might well say that, for the waters were rushing below with frightful rapidity. Above them was the fall, where the river, compressed into a narrow fissure, shot through it like an enormous spout, into a channel, wider certainly than the spout itself, but still very narrow; while the perpendicular walls reminded the spectators of an artificial lock right in the middle of the stream; at the very foot of the fall, was a solid rock, on the back of which the waters heaped themselves up, and found their way into the straight channel by rushing round it. In fact, without this check, their rapidity would have been too great for anything to swim in them; and as it was they looked anything but inviting.
“A very awkward place!” said the Parson! “and how do you mean to fish this?”
“Come away a little from the roar of the waters,” said the Captain, “and I will explain my plans. You see that flat ledge of rock below us, just above the rush of the water; that spot we can reach by means of the rope. Make it fast to that tree, Tom: you learned knotting in the English navy, you know.”
Tom grinned, and did as he was told, and the Captain ascertained the strength of his work practically, by climbing down the face of the rock, and reconnoitring personally the ledge he had pointed out.
“Now,” said he, when he had returned, “we will get the boat as near as we can to this rush of water, and then veer out a rope to her from this rock: birch ropes will float, and the stream is quite sufficient to carry it down. If we make the boat fast to this, we may command every inch of the rapid, and you see yourself, how many turn-holes are made by the points of the rock which project from either side. You may depend upon it, every one of these contains a salmon, and the water is so troubled and covered with foam, that not one of these fish will know or care whether the sun is shining or not.”
“I think your reasoning is sound enough,” said the Parson; “but if the boat capsizes, the best swimmer in Norway would be drowned, or knocked to pieces against these rocky points.”