Salmon casting—especially the frequency of the cast—depends largely upon the character of the water you are fishing. If the pool is straight and narrow and the current strong, and you are casting from a canoe, you can so manipulate your fly as to render frequent casts unnecessary—the important thing being not to let your fly sink, as it is not likely to do in such a current. In large pools where the current is sluggish, as is sometimes the case, frequent casts are necessary in order to touch it at every point with your fly on the surface. Where you are able to cast across a pool, if the current moves with a moderate force, you can sweep it at each cast by giving your rod the proper motion. This latter class of pools are those most coveted, because you can cover a great deal of ground with very little effort. If you fall in with a pool—as you sometimes will—where the current is so sluggish as to be almost imperceptible, frequent casts are unavoidable. Without them, not only will your fly sink, but your line will soon acquire a slack which not only gives one an uncomfortable feeling but is unsafe in case of a rise. The very first requisite in salmon fishing is a taut line. It is not only requisite for safety, but without it it is impossible to promptly and properly recover your line for a new cast.
But there is nothing so tests a salmon angler’s skill and patience as to cast in an eddy or whirl. No matter how carefully or at what distance one casts, the moment the fly touches the water it begins to come back upon you, compelling constant casting if you cast at all. The result is a great deal of hard work with very little effect, because to keep a straight line your fly must be lifted almost the very moment it finds a lodgment on the surface. In such a pool one soon becomes weary with his efforts to place and hold his fly in the desired position, for it is not often that he is rewarded by a rise. Since my first experience in such a pool I have never hankered after its counterpart. And yet it was a sort of success in this wray: Having become tired casting I allowed my fly to go as it pleased. It was soon out of sight, having been drawn down by one of the whirls, and in reeling up to prevent its being twisted around the rock I presumed to be the primary cause of the whirl, I found myself hooked to a fish which had taken my fly at least ten or twelve feet below the surface. When I first felt him he came up as easily as a six-ounce chub, and I supposed I had nothing heavier than a medium sized trout. But as soon as he felt the hook and saw my canoe he showed his mettle, and gave me just such a fight as I might have expected from a twenty-pound salmon, as he proved to be. That was the first and last salmon I ever took with the fly so far under water. The rule with some anglers is “to let the fly sink a little”; my rule is never to let it sink at all. When a fish strikes I want to see him. There is no movement that so thrills and delights me as the rush of the salmon for the fly. To me, half the pleasure of a rise is lost if I don’t see the head and shoulders of the kingly fish when he leaps for the lure.
The manner of casting is almost as varied as the casters themselves. You will seldom see two salmon anglers cast precisely alike. Some cast with a straight backward and forward movement, without the divergence of a hair. Others secure a half sweep to the line by giving the backward movement over the left shoulder and the return over the right, or vice versa. Still others almost invariably cast sideways, or “under” as it is called, seldom lifting their rod perpendicularly. Some stand as erect and motionless as a statue when they cast. Others sway to and fro as if they made their body rather than their arms do the work; and others still push themselves forward as they cast, as if they were not sure their fly would reach its destination unless they followed it. These, however, are simple mannerisms. Each may be equally expert—that is, equally successful in placing his fly just where he wants it and just at such distance as he please. My own preference and practice is, a slight sway of the body and a nearly straight backward and forward movement of the line. There are, of course, occasions when a semicircle sweep of the line, or a lateral movement, or an under cast is necessary to reach some desired objective point. All these movements, when they are deemed necessary, will come from experience; but for unobstructed waters I prefer a straight cast, and only such slight motion of the body as will give occasional respite to the arms; for it is no boy’s play to so handle a ponderous salmon rod for hours in succession as to give the needed sweep to an eighty-foot line.
The flies used for salmon are more numerous and varied than those used for trout, and quite as uncertain and puzzling to those who use them. I have taken salmon, as I have taken trout, out of the same water within the same hour with flies of directly opposite hues, and of shapes and sizes which were the counterpart of nothing “in the heavens above, in the earth beneath, or in the waters under the earth.” There are, however, standard flies which experience has shown to be generally more “taking” than others, and for this sufficient reason are always found in salmon anglers’ fly books. But no expert deems any fly or any dozen flies invariably adapted to all waters and all conditions of wind and weather. It is superlative nonsense, therefore, to multiply varieties indefinitely. It is only necessary to have an “assortment,” gaudy and sombre, large and small, but plenty of them. It is very unpleasant to run short when you are two or three hundred miles away from “the shop.” Those who have had any considerable experience know just what they want, and the only safe thing for the novice to do, when ready to lay in his stock, is to seek advice of someone who knows something of what may be required in the waters to be visited.
And then let him go to the quiet and roaring rivers where salmon congregate, experiment with such flies as he has, lure the fish by his skilful casts, strike quick, fight hard, and be happy.
Albany, Dec. 7th, 1882.
THE SALMON AND TROUT OF ALASKA.
By L. A. Beardslee, Captain D. S. Navy.