“The exertion of crossing the Atlantic for fly-fishing will be amply repaid the sportsman by the quantity and weight of the fish he will capture; for there the fish are not troubled with the fastidiousness of appetite which in Great Britain causes it always to be a source of doubt whether the water is in proper order, the wind in the east, or thunder overhead, either of which, or all combined, too frequently cause the most industrious to return, after a long and laborious day, with an empty basket.”—Parser Gilmore.
“Of all places, commend me, in the still of the evening, to the long placid pool, shallow on one side, with deeper water and an abrupt overhanging bank opposite. Where the sun has shone all day, and legions of ephemera sported in its declining rays; the bloom of the rye or clover scenting the air from the adjoining field! Now light a fresh pipe, and put on a pale Ginger Hackle for your tail-fly, and a little white-winged Coachman for your dropper. Then wade in cautiously—move like a shadow—don’t make a ripple. Cast, slowly, long, light; let your stretcher sink a little. There, he has taken the Ginger—lead him around gently to the shallow side as you reel him in, but don’t move from your position—let him tug awhile, put your net under him, break his neck, and slip him into your creel. Draw your line through the rings—cast again; another and another—keep on until you can see only the ripple made by your fly; or know when it falls, by the slight tremor it imparts through the whole line down to your hand—until the whip-poor-will begins his evening song, and the little water-frog tweets in the grass close by not till then is it time to go home.”—Thaddeus Norris.
“You may always know a large trout when feeding in the evening. He rises continuously, or at small intervals—in a still water almost always in the same place, and makes little noise—barely elevating his mouth to suck in the fly, and sometimes showing his back-fin and tail. A large circle spreads around him, but there are seldom any bubbles when he breaks the water, which usually indicates the coarser fish.”—Sir Humphry Davy.
“It is not difficult to learn how to cast; but it is difficult to learn not to snap the fins off at every throw.”—Charles Dudley Warner.
NOT ALL OF FISHING TO FISH
By A. Nelson Cheney.
“We cast our flies on many waters, where memories and fancies and facts rise, and we take them and show them to each other, and, small or large, we are content with our catch.”—W. G. Prime.
The commonly accepted definition of fly-fishing is the casting—with a light, strong, elastic, pliant rod—of two, three or four artificial flies, on a delicate leader attached to a fine tapered silk line over the surface of waters inhabited by the lordly, silver-coated salmon; that aristocratic beauty, the speckled trout, or the more sombre-colored but gamy black bass.