The Game Fish, of the Northern States and British Provinces / With an account of the salmon and sea-trout fishing of Canada and New Brunswick, together with simple directions for tying artificial flies, etc., etc.

by Robert Barnwell Roosevelt

How splendid is the sport, to deftly throw the long line and small fly with the pliant single-handed rod, and with eye and nerve on the strain, to watch the loveliest darling of the wave, the spotted naiad, dart from her mossy bed, leap high into the air, carrying the strange deception in her mouth, and turning in her flight, plunge back to her crystal home, with the cruel hook driven into her lips by a skillful turn of the angler’s wrist; to meet and foil her in her fierce and cunning efforts to escape, paying out the line as she rushes away resistless, meeting her in emergencies firmly and steadily, till the tip crosses the but, when she insists upon reaching the old stump or the weedy bottom; to slack the line when she leaps into air, trying to strike it with her tail; and above all, to watch the right moment, and keeping her head well up, to bring the beautiful prize quickly and steadily to the net! There may be others who have killed more and larger trout than myself, there may be others who can cast a longer line and lighter fly; but there are none who will work more steadily or who can enjoy it more intensely.

There are innumerable rules applicable to trout fishing and innumerable exceptions to each; neither man nor fish is infallible. A change of weather is always desirable: if it has been clear, a rainy day is favorable; if cold, a warm one; if the wind has been north, a southerly one is advantageous; a zephyr if it has been blowing a tornado. Generally, in early spring, amid the fading snows and blasts of winter, a warm day is very desirable; later, and in the heats of summer, a cold, windy day will insure success. Dead calm is dangerous, although many trout are taken in water as still, clear and transparent as the heavens above. The first rule is never to give up; there is hardly a day but at some hour, if there be trout, they will rise, and steady, patient industry disciplines the mind and invigorates the muscles. A southerly, especially a southeasterly wind, has a singular tendency to darken the surface, and in clear, fine waters is particularly advantageous; a southwester comes next in order; a northeaster, in which, by the by, occasionally there is great success, is the next; and a northwester is the worst and clearest of all. Give me wind on any terms, a southerly wind if I can have it; but give me wind. It is not known what quality of the wind darkens the water, it may be a haziness produced in the atmosphere, although with a cloudy sky the water is often too transparent; it may be the peculiar character of the waves, short and broken, as contradistinguished from long and rolling; but the fact is entitled to reliance.

Slight changes will often affect the fish. On one day in June, in the writer’s experience, after having no luck till eleven o’clock, the trout suddenly commenced rising, and kept on without cessation, scarcely giving time to cast, till two, when they as suddenly stopped. There was no observable change in the weather, except the advent of a slight haze, the wind remaining precisely the same. I was much disappointed, not having half fished the ground and being prevented, by the numbers that were taken, from casting over some of the largest fish that broke. As it was, I caught seventy trout in what is ordinarily considered the worst hours of the day. But in this particular, also, the same rules apply as to the warmth of the weather. In early spring it is useless to be up with the lark, even supposing such a bird exists; no fish will break the water till the sun has warmed the air; but in summer, the dawn should blush to find the sportsman napping. In fact, trout will not rise well unless the air is warmer than the water. They do not like to risk taking cold by exposing themselves to a sudden draught.

There is a very absurd impression, that trout will not take the fly early in the season; this is entirely unfounded. As soon as the ice disappears they will be found gambolling in the salt water streams, and leaping readily at the fly. At such times, on lucky days, immense numbers are taken. In March they have run up the sluiceways and are in the lower ponds, lying sullenly in the deepest water; then is the cow-dung, politely called the dark cinnamon, the most attractive fly. In April, May and June they are scattered, and entrapped by the hackles, professor, ibis, and all the medium sized flies. In July and August they have sought the headwaters of navigation, the cool spring brooks, and hide around the weeds and water-cresses, whence the midges alone can tempt them.

Any flies will catch fish, cast in any manner, if the fish are plenty and in humor to be caught. A few feathers torn from the nearest and least suspicious chicken, and tied on an ordinary hook with a piece of thread, will constitute a fly in the imagination of a trout, provided he follows, as he sometimes appears to do, the advice of the young folks, shuts his eyes and opens his mouth. I cannot recommend such tackle, being convinced the most skillfully made is the best; but I do advise simplicity of color. One of the best of all flies is the female cow-dung, made of a dark cinnamon color, and after the pattern used in England; there is a greenish abomination unjustly foisted upon American invention that is worthless. The hackles are in my opinion altogether inferior, except the black-winged hackle, which, of a bright warm day, is irresistible. The ibis and professor, dressed à l’Américaine, with yellow floss body and red tail, are both excellent flies. The coachman is the best evening fly, and will attract trout long after the angler can see to strike them, and when the sound of their plunge alone entices him to continue his efforts. The May and stone flies are good, and of late years a fly of mixed red and black, with wings, called by some, from his colors, the devil-fly, has come into vogue. The palmers are only to be despised and avoided. In summer, of the midges the yellow sally, the alder fly, the little cinnamon, the black gnat, the black and red ants, and in fact all others, are attractive. The water is then covered with myriads of many-colored flies, and there is hardly any artificial but will find its representative among the real life.

These are but a few of the flies that can be purchased in the shops, which yearly invent new varieties, regardless of truth to nature or the recommendations of experience. Many have no names whatever, and in others the workman has given his fancy such play that they are unrecognizable. In these pages, when the name is given of any fly described in Ronald’s “Fly-Fisher’s Entomology,” it is intended that it shall be dressed after the directions therein contained. A more full description of the various flies, both in use and to be found in our waters, will be given hereafter with some directions for tying them; but a great deal must be left to the practical experience of each fisherman, according to the range of waters he is in the habit of fishing.

Good luck, that synonym for all the virtues, does not depend so much upon the kind of flies as the skill in casting, and a poor fly lightly cast into the right spot will do better execution than the best fly roughly cast into the wrong place. The lure must be put where the fish habit, often before their very noses, or they will not take it; and when they lie, as they generally do in running streams, in the deep holes under the banks, where the bushes are closest and cause the densest shade, it requires some skill to cast properly into the exact spot. Sacrifice everything to lightness in casting; let the line go straight without a kink if you can, drop the fly into the right ripple if possible, but it must drop gently on the surface of the water. An ugly splash of a clear day in pure water, and the prey will dart in every direction, and the angler’s hopes scatter with them.

A beginner may practise a certain formula, such as lifting the line with a waive and a smart spring, swinging it backward in a half circle, and when it is directly behind him, casting straight forward; but as soon as he has overcome the rudimentary principles, he should cast in every manner, making the tip of his rod cut full circles, figure eights, and all other figures, behind him, according to the wind; bearing in mind, however, ever to make his fly drop as gently as a feather. He should use his wrist mainly, and practise with each hand, and should never be otherwise than ashamed of a bungling cast, though he be alone, and none but the fish there to despise him. If the line falls the first time with a heart-rending splash all in a tangle, it is useless to make the next cast properly. The fish have found out the trick, and know too much to risk their necks in any such a noose.

A skillful fisherman can cast almost any length of line, but practically, fifty feet, counting from the reel, is all that can be used to advantage. Some English books say only the leader (gut links) should alight in the water; but this is nonsense, for at least one half the line must fall into the water, unless the fisherman stand on a high bank. With a long line the difficulties of striking and landing the fish are greatly increased; in striking, there is much slack line to be taken up; in landing, it requires some time to get the fish under control, and he is apt to reach the weeds or a stump.

That most excellent fisherman and learned scholar, Dr. Bethune, in his edition of Walton, Part II., page 73, says that candid anglers must confess that nine out of ten trout hook themselves; this may be so in streams teeming with fish, where a dozen start at once, frantically striving to be the first; but in clear, well-fished streams, not one fish in a thousand will hook himself; and on Long Island an angler would grow grey ere he filled his basket if he did not strike, and that quickly. Striking, to my mind, is by far the most important point, and hundreds of fish have I seen escape for want of quickness. It must be done quickly but steadily, and not with a jerk, as the latter is apt, by the double action of the rod, to bend the tip forward and loosen instead of tightening the line. There are days when fish cannot be struck, although they are rising freely; whether they are playing or over-cautious, I never could determine; whether they are not hungry or the water is too clear, they put man’s capacities at defiance. Their appearance must be signalled to the eye, by that reported to the brain, which then directs the nerves to command the muscles to move the wrist; and ere this complicated performance is completed, the fish has blown from his mouth the feathery deception and has darted back to his haunts of safety. A fish will occasionally leap up, seize the fly, discover the cheat, and shaking his head, jump several feet along the surface of the water to rid his mouth of it, and do this so quickly as not to give a quick angler time to strike. How often fish are caught when they rise the second time, as then the angler is more on the alert, whereas on the first rise he was off his guard! How often fish rise when the angler’s head is turned away from his line, or when he is busy at something else, and how rarely are they caught! In my experience it is so great a rarity, that it might almost be said they never hook themselves. In the language of youth, the only hooking they do is to hook off.