Salmon are never taken in fresh water with any food in their stomachs; they are reported not to eat their young, and do not apparently feed on flies. The fry feed almost entirely on flies, and I have seen them pick off one after another as skillfully as a trout; but I have never distinctly seen a salmon take a natural fly. When they spring out of water, it is in play, and at such times, contrary to the rule with trout, casting over them will be in vain, they will not rise. Moreover, our flies do not in the least resemble the natural flies of the rivers, which are of a dull green, and the salmon rivers afford very few flies at best. Observe me, I do not refer to mosquitoes or black gnats, at neither of which would gentlemanly fish deign to look. My theory, therefore, is, that salmon do not feed during the spawning season, but are supported by the animalculæ in the water, and have poor commons at that, as their miserable condition soon testifies. Many varieties of fish live without apparent food, often with the additional disadvantage of infrequent change of water, as goldfish in a globe.
When salmon first arrive in the harbors, they coast along the shore, and are then taken in nets, which are required by law to have a mesh too large to capture grilse; later, they leave the warm shallows, and follow the cooler channel beyond the nets, which are only permitted to extend a certain distance. The tide-water fishing is therefore practically over by the 1st of August. Net fishing above the salt water is forbidden, or at least subject to the same restrictions, which, if they were enforced, would almost put an end to it; but, discreditable as it may seem, and short-sighted as such conduct unquestionably is, this law is totally disregarded in many rivers, where of course the fish are rapidly diminishing. They spawn over gravelly flats and pools, covering up the ova after impregnation, and then descend slowly, greatly emaciated, ugly and woe-begone, to the sea. At such times, although they will still take the fly, they are unfit to eat, and while they notwithstanding frequently fall a victim to the cruel spear of the murderous savage, no true angler nor honest man will harm them.
Casting the fly gracefully and effectively is a peculiar art, hard to acquire, and picturesque to witness; it is altogether different from slashing the water, and almost as difficult of mastery as the corresponding science of trout fishing. The rod, being long and comparatively heavy, must be held in both hands, which are changed occasionally so as to alternate that at the but, and teach the angler to cast over either shoulder. The line is lengthened to the proper distance, is raised with a springing jerk, swung out straight behind, and then again cast forward with the same springy motion. The work has to be done with the tip, which, except in casting against the wind, must be kept as elevated as possible. The stiffer the rod the more command the angler has over his line in avoiding the rocks and making the best of awkward places; but this is counterbalanced by the disadvantages of excessive weight and a stiffness in striking that frequently breaks the casting line. A rod will cast four times its length beyond the tip; one of sixteen feet, therefore, will cast sixty-four feet of line, ordinarily abundant; and although one of twenty feet will cover sixteen more feet, unless it is made of cedar it is uncomfortably heavy. A cedar rod would be perfection, but it is not to be trusted in the hands of a bungler.
When there is any current, and it is rare to take salmon elsewhere, the fly is cast across the stream and allowed to swing over the fish, which invariably lie with their heads up-stream. When a salmon intends to rise, he generally separates himself from his companions and waits till the fly approaches to the precise distance that pleases him. Then
“Strike for your altars and your homes,”
not too hard, but as quick as the lightning from the sky, and this although contrary to the English books, on the ground that a salmon, if he rises once and fails to touch the fly, will always come again. If, however, he has tasted the unappetizing morsel, and has not been hooked, for he is quick to spit it out, you will see him no more. If you fail to hook a fish on the first rise, it is well if you can keep your impatience under control, to rest him by casting elsewhere a few times, and if you fail to strike him on the third rise, change your fly. Salmon are extremely particular and dainty in their tastes, and it is never advisable to fish too long with one fly unless they take it well.
The great rules are—keep out of sight, change your flies and rest the pools. The best time of a clear day is early and late, and in the midday heat not a boat nor a line should disturb the water; in fact, a pool that a canoe has crossed is ruined for the day, and when there is no rising, there is little good in casting. A pool that is not disturbed at night would be found much better, as a consequence, in the morning.
But after your fish is hooked, after he is played and almost played out, after you have exhausted him, and brought him skillfully and carefully to shore, he is not yet in the pot; nor will he be unless you have an assistant expert with the gaff. There are all sorts of directions about this important operation, some authors saying a fish must be gaffed in the shoulder, others preferring the tail, some the belly, and some the back, but, in fact, one place is as good another; the main points are not to miss nor graze him, and not to jerk so hard as to throw him off the gaff. To prevent this, where you anticipate finding only awkward aids, it is well to carry a gaff with a small barb, like an ordinary hook. I have had the indescribable pleasure of seeing my fish flung across the boat, and dropped in the water on the other side. The moment the fish is struck, the handle should be held perpendicular, so that he cannot flounce off.
The best size for this implement is a length of nine inches from the end of the shank to the middle of the bend, from the latter four inches in a straight line to the point, which should be delicate and sharp, and at least two inches and three-eighths from the inner edge of the shank opposite; the bend should swell out so as to be three inches across at its widest, and the end of the shank must be bent back and sharpened; the steel tapers gradually from the point to a thickness of one quarter of an inch. Being nothing more than a large hook, it is easily carried, and when wanted for use, fastened to any suitable stick by driving in the projection on the shank, and winding the whole with stout cord. For very large salmon, a stronger and larger gaff would be desirable, and for grilse a smaller one.
When fish run, and throw themselves out of water, some writers direct you to taughten your line; but I say, heed them not. Your line is well out and sunk to some distance, the very jump of the fish will consequently bring a great strain on the hook, without your aid, and many a fish is lost by such usage. On the contrary, if you give to him as he leaps, you diminish the tension, and then the quicker you take up the line after he has fallen back, the better. If, on the contrary, when he leaps he is near by you, and your line straight and out of water, he will try and strike it with his tail to break it, in which he may also be foiled by giving to him. My experience is to this effect, and you will soon find out, if the fish are large and strong, how hard it is to do otherwise.