If dace would take the fly, why not also roach and chub, and soon, faute de mieux it is true, but none the less with very considerable enjoyment, I was fishing the little stream for all three kinds in turn. On the gravelly bottom of a certain portion of the water, I found a red Palmer very attractive to the roach which were there in considerable numbers. Some of them were of fair size, the largest I took turning the scales at 1-lb., but I am bound to confess that I found these fish such very shy biters that I generally preferred to try either for dace or chub. One roach, however, gave rather a novel experience by hanging itself in a tree, and causing the greatest excitement among our party, the members of which quickly came from their chosen spots to see and admire. I was fishing from the shelter of a bush on the top of a high steep bank, and with some trees close at the rear and a decidedly fresh breeze blowing, it was not an easy matter to get the line safely out at all. The water, however, was but little disturbed by the wind, from which just there it was protected by the high ground, and the fish were clearly visible in the water below. As there was nothing for it in such a position but to swing the fish out if I caught one, I did not for that once wish to make a big capture. Scarcely had the tail fly—this was a red Palmer—touched the water than one of the usual shy bites was made, and fortunately my strike secured the prize so far. But he seemed heavy and was, besides, the gamest of his kind I have ever played. Quietly we could not manage things, and it was very soon clear that if I did not then secure him, I need not struggle with the difficulties of casting again in that part of the stream, for every other finny inhabitant would have taken the alarm. All my faculties were therefore intent on the capture. When I saw him at last tired of struggling and almost beneath me, I tried to swing him up, wondering, as I did so, if it were possible my light tackle could stand the strain. A flash of silver through the air, then a puff of wind, and a red-finned, black-backed roach of about 8-oz. in weight, was dangling over the topmost bough of a tree which grew up from the lower part of the bank a little to my left. The poor fish struggled and the line swayed ominously among the branches, till at last a nimble climber released them both, and to my delight restored them to me.
For chub I found a larger fly effective, and a Coachman and a Red Palmer, both tied large, were what I generally used. In my experience, chub is the most determined biter of any of those I am now discussing, and he is very game up to a certain point, his dashes and struggles as he tries to free himself from the hook, being as fierce as those of many a good trout. The battle, however, will be over much sooner than with one of the latter species, and when you see the inert form in the water, you will realise with sorrow that after all he does not belong to the kind known as "game fish." In fishing for chub you must be as careful about showing yourself as you would be in trying for a trout, for he is very quick in spotting anything unusual, and once he has done this, you may offer him the most tempting flies unavailingly. By the time you have landed a 2-lb. chub, you will, in my opinion, have exercised to the full as much, if not more skill, than you would have done in the capture of a trout, and though the sport of playing him will be sooner over, it will have been good indeed while it lasted.
Method of fastening Reel-line to Cast.
The chub I found to rise earlier in the day in this little Sussex stream than either dace or roach, the two last on the warm August evenings often rising freely as long as we could see to cast for them.
The great difference between fishing with the fly for game and coarse fish lies in this, that while with the latter you require even more lightness of hand and skill in casting than on any ordinary trout stream, the intense excitement of the moments when you play a good trout or salmon will not be experienced to the same extent. But that sport and good sport may be enjoyed with any of the three varieties I have named, I have proved to my own satisfaction, and I hope that what I have said may induce others to try for themselves.
At the same time that nothing can equal the joy of playing and landing your first trout, I would be the last to deny, for the day on which the first fell to my rod is still marked as a red letter day in my life. This also was in Sussex, in a well-stocked merry little stream which babbled and chattered over its white stones, giving the last touch of beauty to the peaceful valley through which it flowed. After the preliminary walk along the banks of that part of the water I was to fish, so as to get the knowledge of the position of the pools and eddies and overhanging banks without which one's labour is likely to be thrown away, I sallied forth, rod in hand, to the neighbourhood of a bridge from which I had noted several trout lying with their heads up stream. A few hundred yards from this, where the banks it is true did not seem to offer much facility for casting, there was an eddy at one side of the stream and a mass of rushes on the other, all under the shadow of trees which rose between them and the bridge. When it is remembered that I was trying for my first trout—the experience now lies back in the dim distance of the past—it will not perhaps cause surprise if I say that my whole being thrilled with the excitement of the moment. My cast had a red Palmer for the tail fly, and black Alder as dropper, for at dinner the night before I had been advised to try these by a local fisherman. I should probably make a mess of it, and catch my line in one or other of the traps that literally bristled on all sides of me, was the thought that was uppermost, as after scrambling down cautiously and keeping well out of view, I craned my neck to see how I could possibly get my cast to alight on the spot I had chosen. As I had my hand up for the venture a swift rise just where my eyes were fixed on the water, told me of the presence of a trout. My line flew out, and the tail-fly falling within the widening circle was instantly seized, and a sharp turn of the wrist gave me a trout with a bewildering suddenness. Up went the point of the rod, and the good cane bent to the weight beneath. A maddened dash across stream to the reeds, was the first attempt of the prey, then a trial to get to the shelter of a rock conveniently near, but slowly and surely he gave in to the steady pull brought to bear on him, and soon I looked with unspeakable delight on a ½-lb. trout, in the prime of condition, safe within the folds of the landing net. That no fish ever comes up to the one you first capture, has since this moment been an article of faith with me. Others larger, gamer, better in every sense may, and will if you have ordinary skill and perseverance, fall to your rod, but nothing will give you the same thrill of rapture you felt when you saw your "first trout" on the bank at your feet.
A good Gut Knot.
To make a good trout fisher there are of course many things to learn, and one of the greatest charms of the sport lies in this, that you never come to the end of what there is to know of it. But pre-eminently is it true that an ounce of practice is worth a ton of precepts. You must to a very great extent buy your own experience, and though you will always do well to profit by other people's advice, you must yourself build up the theories which will show you how, when, and where to cast so that fish may rise to your fly, when they are proof against the blandishments of the less skillfully-thrown lure. That you should always study the lie of the water over which you mean to fish is a truism, and yet it is a fundamental rule to the neglect of which many both men and women owe the fact, that they never rise above a very mediocre degree of skill. Unless you know something of the habits of the fish and the spots in which he is likely to be found, how can you hope to succeed in making him acquainted with your fly? To prevent him catching a glimpse of you, and for this end to be dressed so as scarcely to be distinguished from the ground upon which you will be standing, to make no noise or disturbance, to throw with the utmost delicacy of hand, to strike instantaneously or the reverse according to the particular class of fish you are angling for, to cast up stream or partly up and across, and never to allow the gut to make a ripple as you draw your cast through the water, all these constitute the ABC of an angler's stock of learning.