Hal.—I am sure I may congratulate you on your sport, for I see on the bank a fine salmon, three grauls or grilses, and three large sea trout.
Orn.—You have not seen all, for we have crimped two fish—one a large salmon, and the other a trout almost a yard long, and both in excellent season. We have had great sport, and sport even of a kind which you will not guess at; for, when the tide was falling, the fish ceased to rise at the fly, and I thought of trying them with a bait; so we sent for our swivel tackle, and put par or samlet on our hooks, as we bait for pike—cutting off one ventral fin on one side, and one pectoral fin on the other; and making the par spin in the most rapid streams, we had several runs from fish, and it was in this way that Poietes caught this large sea trout, which gave excellent sport.
Hal.—This kind of fishing is not uncommon. I have often caught salmon in the Tay, fishing with pars; but though the fish ran at the bait, when they would not rise at the fly while the tide was ebbing, they would have taken the par better still while it was flowing.
Phys.—From my experience to-day, I conclude the salmon has habits different from the trout; for I think the fish which broke my hook rose again at the artificial fly in the same place.
Hal.—I think you are mistaken. Salmon are usually shyer even than trout, and I never knew one in this season, that had been pricked even slightly, rise again at the artificial fly in the same pool. I should say, that their habits were precisely the same, but with more sagacity on the side of the salmon. It must have been another fish that rose at your fly in the same place. After such severe discipline, I do not think a fish would rise for many hours, even at a natural bait.
Poiet.—Your experience is so great, that I dare say I was mistaken, yet it seemed a fish of the same size.
Hal.—Salmon often in this season haunt the streams in pairs; but so far from rising again after being pricked, they appear to me to learn, when they have been some time in the river, that the artificial fly is not food, even without having been touched by the hook. In the river at Galway, in Ireland, I have seen above the bridge some hundreds of salmon lying in rapid streams, and from five to ten fishermen tempting them with every variety of fly, but in vain. After a fish had been thrown over a few times, and risen once or twice and refused the fly, he rarely ever took any notice of it again in that place. It was generally nearest the tide that fish were taken, and the place next the sea was the most successful stand, and the most coveted; and when the water is low and clear in this river, the Galway fishermen resort to the practice of fishing with a naked hook, endeavouring to entangle it in the bodies of the fish; a most unartistlike practice. In spring fishing, I have known a hungry, half-starved salmon rise at the artificial fly a second time, after having been very slightly touched by it; but even this rarely happens, and when I have seen it, the water has been coloured.
Phys.—Can you tell us why the fish rise better at the fly when the tide is flowing, than when it is ebbing? There seems no reason why flies should be sought for by the fish at one of these seasons, rather than at the other.
Hal.—The turn of the salt water brings up aquatic insects, and perhaps small fish; and I suppose salmon know this, and search for food at a time when it is likely to be found. I cannot think, that in these pools they can be on the look-out for flies, for there are never any on the surface of the water; and I imagine they take the gaudy fly, with its blue kingfisher and golden pheasant’s feathers, for a small fish.
Orn.—I have always supposed that they took it for a libella, or dragon-fly; for I have often seen these brilliant flies haunting the water.