I do delight in the art, for one of the arts and sciences it surely is. I have bowed my head in reverence before the skilled hand of my dear friend, George Dawson—now beside the bright waters of the Happy Land above. I have stood silent and pleased while Seth Green deftly made casts which I could only feebly imitate.
Yet those who know me best say that I can use a fly-rod and catch trout and salmon therewith, so I essay a few words on the subject, speaking only from my own experience. I have never been observant enough to see a trout strout strike a fly with his tail, drown it and then eat it. I always take a trout in the mouth on my fly—generally hooked in the upper lip, showing that he does his part of the business in a straightforward way and does not come tail first to the lure.
I own to be a little particular about my rod, the middle joint not too limber, but with back-bone as well as spring; it suits me if it tapers so as to describe a perfect arc when the tip is brought near to the butt. I specify no makers—though I own to favorites in that line. I wish to make no petty jealousies here.
A rod as near ten feet long as may be, for trout fishing, weight from seven to eight ounces, never over ten, with the reel close to and under the butt; an easy running click-reel; a line of braided hair and silk, strong and weighty enough for a cast against the wind as well as with it; a clear, strong, looped leader for a quick change of flies; a book well supplied with the latter to give the speckled beauties a choice, and I am ready for work.
The idea of special flies for special seasons of the year I have found to be a humbug. Trout are exceedingly whimsical about flies. Watch those that are on the stream, see which the trout leap for and get as near the like of them as your book will allow.
Always, if possible, fish down stream. It is easier. You can detect swirls, eddies, shaded pools, coverts of rock, mossy-banks and overhanging branches, from above, better than below. Trout do not scare so easily that a cast of fifteen or twenty feet will not find them ready to rise if they are hungry. You have also the aid of the current in guiding your fly to each coveted spot after it touches the water.
Enter a stream, say its average width is seventy-five or one hundred feet, few of our mountain streams are so much, and a skilled rodster can cover it with ease—for wading down lie chooses his water, makes his casts, seldom over twenty or twenty-five feet of line to a cast, much of oftener less, and in “good waters” fills his creel.
For a forward cast, with your line as far out as may be necessary for the distance, throw your rod sharply back to an angle of not over fifteen degrees, and then bring it forward quickly till, as your line and flies are extended, the tip is on a level with your breast, never lower so as to dip water. With a line “taut,” so to speak, if a trout rises as your fly or flies touch the stream, a sharp, quick turn of the wrist will strike the hook home and secure him. Your strike must be firm and decisive; give the trout one second to understand and he spits the fly out. Laugh if you will, but that is what he does.
When hooked, if not too large for your tackle, draw the trout swiftly to you, lift him out, and break his neck, by bending back the head where it joins the back-bone. Thus he is out of pain, and does not bruise and flop himself soft, while dying, in your creel. “Playing” a trout for the mere fun of the thing, is unnecessary torture; besides, you frighten more than you secure, in the process. A very large trout, of course, must be weakened in the water, but many fishermen think there is no sport without they “play” a fish, no matter how small he is.
Never cast a foot more line than you need. You cannot gather slack half as easy as you can pay it out.