by JOHN E. HUTTON
1FOR many years the ties of business have compelled me to take my fishing holidays when rivers are at their lowest ebb. Invariably I am met with the comment, “The river is at its lowest in the memory of man.” Faced with the alternative of not fishing at all, or trying to find a way of enticing the fish to come to the lure, I set about experimenting with various means and modes.
In assembling these notes, which are the result of decades of low-water fishing, I have endeavored to avoid the pitfalls of dogmatism. One of the charms of salmon angling is the wide scope it affords for discussion; and if we cannot always agree with each other’s theories and practice, we can at least concede that a salmon caught in dead low water gives greater satisfaction than a dozen taken in a flood.
By “low water” I mean a river that has been deprived of rain for so long that it is reduced to a minimum of volume, and the rocks, stones, and margins stand out in startling relief like the bones of a starved cow. Places where one would normally look for fish either are dry or have become sluggish deep pools. Rivers which are fed at their heads by large lakes are better able to stand up to drought than are those solely dependent upon springs and contributory streams.
In normal water anyone can catch salmon; indeed, the salmon catch themselves. In low water the angler has to do the work himself.
In good water, anyone who can get a fly out a few yards may look for sport. The current will soon straighten out the most wobbly line. Then the fishing of the fly is automatic. In high water, sometimes called “duffer’s water,” the veriest tyro is quite likely to catch a bigger fish than the experienced angler. Further, the much larger hooks used in high water permit harsher treatment of a hooked fish, with more certainty of landing him, than is permissible with the tiny hooks used in low-water fishing.
But to achieve any measure of success in low water, it is essential the angler be able to put out an accurate long line. It is astonishing how many anglers expend substantial money and time in visiting salmon rivers without first learning to cast properly. They miss nine tenths of the real joy of fishing. How often do we see anglers proudly exhibiting their catch, when the fish were really hooked by guides. It is true the anglers played the fish; but, at the best, that is a purely mechanical process in high water. They missed the thrill of the pull as the fish fastened. If anglers who are deficient in casting skill would only put themselves in the hands of a professional teacher for three or four hours, they would find their enjoyment and satisfaction in fishing increased beyond belief.
Salmon are unpredictable. On some days they will come to the fly like tigers, and on other days will refuse your most insidious lures. At the best of times they are sporadic takers. That they are very susceptible to weather, and particularly to magnetic conditions, is well known. The approach of a thunderstorm usually puts them down. On the other hand, I recall exciting sport in a raging thunderstorm — exciting in more ways than one, for it is no fun playing a fish with a wet lightning conductor in your hand. Salmon often take well the day before rain, and the first inch or two of a rise of water seems the best of all.
One may hear anglers lamenting a falling barometer, absence of cloud, too low cloud, bright sun, too hot, too cold, and so on, ad infinitum. Fish are caught under all conditions of barometer, temperature, water, and weather. The most theoretically unfavorable day will sometimes turn out most prolific of sport, while what looks perfect may result in a blank.
An Englishman, the author of Fishing Days and Fishing Ways, JOHN E, HUTTON is one of the most accomplished anglers to visit our shores. He has perfected his skill over five decades of fishing in the Irish lakes and in Scotland, England, the Red Sea, New Zealand, the Bahamas, and last but not least, in Canada, This is the first of two articles.
Had I the power to control the weather, I should specify for low-water fishing a beautiful fine day, the sun shining brightly in a blue sky, the trees and mountains (if any) reflected in the water. Under these conditions I should at least enjoy the day on the river even if the sport should be unexpectedly poor.
Fishing in the rain is at best a miserable pastime. The rain waterlogs the line, making it almost impossible to keep it afloat, while the slack, or “shoot,” refuses to run out through the rings.
I have rarely had sport in continuous, heavy rain. Perhaps age makes one reluctant to take one’s pleasures sadly!
From 10.00 to 12.30 is usually the best time of day, but so many fish are caught at any hour of the day that it is futile to try to form any reliable forecast of when the fish will take. To get sport the angler must be at the right pool at the right time, and the golden rule for successful fishing is to “keep your fly in the water.”
Late evening fishing can be tantalizing. Fish may be showing themselves all over the pool, and yet refuse to take. Even in ultra-low water, late in summer, fish will “run” directly the sun goes down, and much of the activity seen in the dusk is probably due to running fish, which are non-takers.
In dead low water, salmon and grilse move about much more than is generally supposed. In extremely clear water, like that of the Gaspé rivers, in which every fish can be clearly seen, it is astonishing to find how the fish content of a pool will alter in a few hours. In some pools, fish tend to drop back into the almost streamless deep holes, to emerge later for aeration in the running water. This movement of fish may explain why an angler, confining his activities to one pool, and lashing the same water for hours without a rise, will suddenly hook a fish. This is very noticeable in rivers where, by reason of gross overcrowding, an angler in a canoe may only have a few yards of pool in which to fish.
There have been theories advanced as to the influence on fish of the relative temperatures of air and water. Some claim that fish will not take a floating fly when the temperature of the water exceeds that of the air. One can only retort that fish are taken when the water feels like a hot bath. It may be admitted that, generally speaking, overheated water is certainly not conducive to free rising, particularly in regard to salmon. On the other hand, in some rivers, grilse rise freely under these conditions.
If fish are in the mood, they will rise to a fly no matter what rules and regulations the angler may make for his own amusement. If fish are not in the mood, they will ignore the fly even when conditions exactly comply with the angler’s ideals. On the whole, it would appear wiser to ignore man-made rules and regulations for the behavior of fish, and to hope for the best. More often than not, the angler will be surprised at the results of the day’s endeavor, be they good, bad, or indifferent.
2AHERE are many misconceptions among anglers regarding fishes’ senses. Scientists tell us that fish cannot hear in the same way humans can. On the other hand, they have organs which are very sensitive to vibrations. Loud talk or shouting is likely to be inaudible to a fish, but the noise of a carelessly dropped anchor or the crunch of the metalshod end of a canoe pole is doubtless heard by fish in a pool. It may be better, when approaching the lie of the fish, to use the wooden end of the pole when maneuvering for position. It must be further realized that sound travels farther in water than in the air. While we do not seem to know much about powers of communication between fresh-water fish, it is known that many sea fish are provided by nature with special sound-making devices which they use for communication with one another, particularly at breeding time to call the shoals together. Some fish, like the grunt, make a noise by expelling air from their air bladders; others make a noise by rubbing one surface against another. Horse mackerel and some of the triggerfish produce harsh noises by grinding their teeth, while others make a noise with the aid of their fin spines. The sound made by the drumfish may be heard by a person standing on the deck of a ship, fifty feet above them.
From these facts it seems reasonable to suppose that salmon can communicate with one another and possibly utter a warning of impending danger.
The sight of fish is much keener than most people realize. Any deep-sea fisher who has seen a school of dolphins starting to “hurdle-race” some four hundred yards away from a trolled lure, which one of them strikes with unerring accuracy, will appreciate the distance fish can see through clear water. In the upper waters of the Wye, in the autumn, when the water was clear and low, I have often seen a pike start off across the wide stream to meet the lure he had seen many yards away.
Salmon see a submerged fly, in clear water, a very considerable distance away. Fortunately for the angler, a fish’s vision of what goes on above the water is limited to a very confined “window,” almost directly above him. For this reason, a floating fly has to be drifted almost directly over him if he is to see it at all. For the same reason, a salmon is very unlikely to be able to see the angler, or his rod, or anything that is his, other than the line, leader, and lure as they pass directly above the fish.
Should any angler doubt these contentions, let him sit quietly by the side of a stream where a shoal of salmon fry are swimming around looking for food. Let him shout as loud as possible, and the fry will take no notice. Let him wriggle a stick or the point of his rod in the water: the fry may come to see what it is all about. But if the angler stamps heavily on the bank margin, he will see the fry dart away in evident alarm. They received the vibrations through the water.
It is interesting to surmise how it is that salmon, or any other fish, are able to make tremendously fast and long rushes through dirty floodwater, in which their vision is limited to a few inches, without colliding with a rock. Fish are provided with sensitive nerves, supposed to be located near the central line, and are given radar-like warning of obstructions in their path. It is supposed that blind fish, inhabiting caves or underground rivers, owe their existence to this sense.
Fish not only use their bodies and tails for propulsion, but are greatly helped by jet propulsion. This is effected by jets of water squirted from the gill covers during respiration, and plays an important part in driving the body forward. This method is probably always brought into play for high-speed traveling, and assists the muscular action of the body. The jets reach their maximum strength between the flexures of the body, and are so timed that the motions of the fins do not get in the way of the jets. A particularly powerful jet is usually expelled when a fish begins any swimming movement — in flying jargon, a “rocket-aided takeoff.” By holding down tightly the gill opening on one side, and forcing all the water out of the opposite one, the fish may make the most abrupt turns.
Why does a salmon take a lure? The only rational answer is: “Because he thinks it is something to eat.” On many Canadian rivers, salmon and grilse may be seen regularly feeding on stone fly and other insects, and I have seen them take dragonflies struggling on the water. If, as some still maintain, a salmon never eats in fresh water, what is he doing with a worm in his mouth? Those who have killed a large number of salmon on the worm will ask why, if the fish thought of some other reason to take it, the worm hook has to be cut out of his throat.
Once, in Scotland, I argued on this thorny subject with the acknowledged greatest authority on salmon, who was an intransigent advocate of the non-feeding theory. At two o’clock in the morning he got up, saying, “I’m going to bed. Salmon do not feed in fresh water, but they sometimes take food — which is a good thing for you, or you would never catch one!” So, with this delicious scientific epigram, one may leave this perennial subject of postprandial discussion.
3TIME has changed our ideas in regard to salmon tackle. Fifty years ago my proudest possession was a 20-foot split bamboo rod. What a wonderful weapon it was! And what a terrible pole to carry over your shoulder, in a strong wind, from pool to pool! But it did the job for which it was designed, that of driving out a 4/0 fly into the teeth of the early spring gales encountered on the British rivers. The fly was tied to the end of a tapered triplex leader, of immense strength and thickness, fastened to a line of corresponding proportions. Up to twenty years ago, we habitually used a 16foot rod in high water and never less than a 12-foot, 6-inch weapon in low water. This latter rod would still be my choice in big water when using large flies. Lighter rods are put to a severe strain when efforts are made to drive a large fly into the teeth of a strong wind.
There is a tendency today to go to the other extreme, using rods so light as to handicap the angler seriously except under the most favorable conditions of wind. Further, such light rods will carry only very light reels, which do not, in my estimation, afford the flexibility, length of line, and speed of rewind which are necessary at times when dealing with wild fish.
In low-water fishing we are primarily concerned with casting very small flies, fitted with very small hooks which would be too readily pulled out of fish by heavy rods. When I am fishing rivers which require only short casts, my favorite rod is a singlehanded 9-foot, 6-inch one which possesses great casting power and carries a reel with a capacity of 30 yards of tine and 100 yards of fine silk backing — enough for most emergencies.
For large rivers, where in low water there is considerable distance to be covered, I use a 10-foot, 6-inch double-handed rod, which will take care of most conditions of wind or water when fishing wet fly or dry, and is not too severe on a hooked fish if properly handled. A double-handed rod always seems less tiring to handle when casting or playing a fish.
The essential factor of the line must be that it will float properly under all conditions of casting. A line which drowns on the slightest provocation is better scrapped immediately. Nylon lines, when new, float well but, from my limited experience of them, soon begin to fail in this respect, and have to be discarded. The explanation would appear to be that nylon is extremely elastic, whereas the dressing applied to it has a lesser coefficient of expansion and, consequently, cracks rapidly. For durability I prefer the tapered silk lines, which float very well and, if properly looked after, have a life of several years. To protect a silk line, it should be stripped from the reel at the end of the fishing season and hung up in a dry, dark cupboard. Light seems to have a bad effect upon lines — that is, on their dressing.
Sometimes one comes across a line which is twisted, and the slack “shoot” forms into loops which invariably foul the reel when casting. If this is not an inherent fault in the manufacture of the line, about which nothing satisfactory can be done, a twisted line may be straightened by pulling it over a grass meadow or up the rapids of a river. In either case, one must, of course, remove the fly and leader before dragging the line.
The “torpedo-head” line is delightful to cast and is likely to improve the distance of most anglers. The weight is all forward, and the line goes out like a rocket. Its only disadvantage would appear to be that the line cannot be reversed, as in the case of double-tapered lines; therefore, its life is only half that of the latter. But lines are so inexpensive an item in the general cost of angling that this expense may be ignored.
Because flotation is such a vital factor in the science of low-water fishing, it is essential to use a satisfactory flotant. Cerolene and solid paraffin wax are both excellent. There may be other preparations with which I am not familiar.
When fishing is over for the day, always run the line off the reel, together with any wet backing, onto a line drier. To get satisfactory flotation, next morning, it is essential that the line be thoroughly dry before greasing. If the night or early morning air is foggy or damp, do not leave the line outside on the porch, where the damp air can get at it. The day’s sport may be ruined by lack of this simple precaution, if it results in the line’s not floating properly. Putting grease on wet lines is disastrous; they sink worse than ever.
4LEADERS may be of nylon or silkworm gut. Having heard so many lamentations from other anglers over fish they have lost because nylon knots broke or came adrift, I have decided to stick to my old reliable gut. Whether these casualties were the fault of the angler or not, I do not know.
It required the lapse of time occupied by World War II to debunk the plea of tackle dealers to “buy fresh leaders” each year. Receiving the bulk of my tackle, which had been laid up in England since 1938, I found a large number of leaders dated 1936, 1937, and 1938. I discovered them to be (in 1946) far better than any I could acquire new. They had been stored in the original transparent envelopes in which the makers had packed them. Oneof these antiques accounted for fifty-two salmon and grilse before being discarded because of wear and tear.
Some thirty years ago, when I first began to experiment with low-water salmon fishing, I tried 4X trout leaders, and two 9-foot leaders knotted together to give 18 feet of gut in the water. Now I never, under any circumstance, use a leader longer than 9 feet. I can say positively that it is unnecessary so to do. The use of these ridiculously long leaders adds to the difficulty of handling your equipment, and complicates beyond all reason the landing of a fish.
A steady deterioration of the leader results from chafing of the point by fish being played. This has, for safety’s sake, to be cut out and the leader gradually shortened. Towards the end of the normal life of a leader I frequently find myself fishing with only 7 1/2 feet of gut. I have never been able to see any difference in the behavior of fish when I was using so short a leader. With two flies, the effective length of the leader, above the dropper, is only 4 1/2 feet, and certainly salmon do not take exception to that.
There is no need to handicap yourself by using unnecessarily fine leaders, which are a menace. In dry-fly fishing, where an instantaneous strike has to be made, one is too apt to leave the fly in the fish. In any type of fishing, no matter how skillful you may be, you cannot prevent a salmon from rushing downstream, then turning upstream, and thoroughly drowning the line, and then jumping. Too fine a leader will not stand this treatment.
I consider IX, if an angler wishes to fish very light, the finest gut permissible. But it is unnecessarily light, and is sure to spell disaster sooner or later. For low-water fishing in general, there is nothing to beat the tapered 7/5 leader. It has great strength and a point fine enough to pass through the eye of the smallest hook, and stands up well to the shock of dry-fly strikes.
The fact is that, within wide limits, salmon (unlike trout) do not care in the least what length or thickness of leader you put over them. They simply ignore it. Gut leaders must, of course, be kept thoroughly wet. This should be the rule during the whole fishing life of the leader. A solution of at least 25 per cent glycerin and water should be in your damper. Do not dry out leaders at night: keep them wet. If you knock off fishing for lunch, leave the leader in the water, while the line is drawn off and is drying at the same time.
Keep old ends of leaders: they can be knotted together to serve another life. Keep new leaders away from light. Always carry a spare wet leader. A fish may cut the leader, or even the running line, on a rock edge, and it is annoying to have to wait while a new leader soaks. In traveling in a canoe between pools it is advisable, if the distance to be covered is at all far, to trail the leader in the water so that you can start fishing the next pool with a properly soaked leader. (No doubt the nylon enthusiast will comment that with nylon no damping is necessary.)
The reel is an important unit of the outfit and should be of the simplest, most reliable construction. Self-winding reels, and those fitted with gadgets, are better left alone. On the 9-foot, 6inch rod I use a reel with a diameter of 3 1/2 inches, carrying 30 yards of line and 100 yards of backing. On the 10-foot, 6-inch rod I use a reel 4 inches in diameter, carrying 40 yards of line and 110 yards of backing. Avoid overcrowding a reel, but at the same time mount sufficient line and backing to fill the drum fairly.
As a fish takes line, and consequently reduces the effective diameter of the line pack, great additional stress is thrown on the backing because of the accelerated speed of rotation. Any deep-sea fisher knows what this means. When a marlin has stripped a quarter mile, the angler reduces the drag, or disaster may follow. The same applies, to a lesser extent, in salmon fishing. It may be pointed out that a salmon running at 30 miles per hour will cause the reel drum to rotate at some 3500 revolutions per minute when the effective diameter is 3 inches, but when the effective diameter is reduced (by line stripping) to 2 inches, the reel will be making more than 5000 revolutions per minute.
In low-water angling, set the drag very light. It should be only sufficient to prevent a line from overrunning.
Like any other piece of fine machinery, the reel must be kept clean and well oiled. After fishing in rain, always dismount your reel, dry it, and thoroughly lubricate it. When you are putting a reel away after the season is over, always reduce the drag to a minimum to ease the tension on the spring. Drags left on, at high tension, through the off season, may be permanently weakened.
5FOR low-water fishing with wet flies, it is almost impossible to use too small a fly under all ordinary conditions. In over half a century of salmon fishing I have, like most anglers, acquired an enormous collection of salmon, sea trout, and other flies. True, many of them are only suitable for highwater fishing and are lovely to gaze upon. For present-day use I rely on two flies only: the Logie and Blue Charm. If the fish will not take these I might as well give up, although I usually try other patterns in desperation. I do not believe that salmon can distinguish color, as such, but I suspect that different-colored flies may present different shadows, silhouettes — call them what you will.
What is of the utmost importance is the size. Just why a salmon will take a 4/0 in high water and a No. 12 in low is one of those mysteries. In this connection, I had a remarkable experience, one July, when fishing a Highland river, in which I usually used a No. 10 fly in low water. The pools were full of fresh-run fish which utterly ignored my small flies. In desperation I mounted a 2/0 silver gray, to be rewarded with six fish in quick succession. For two weeks this fly accounted for a substantial number of fish which continued to ignore the small flies presented to them. I cannot think of any credible explanation. I have tried this experiment many times since without getting any result.
What hooks are best? When we are using very small flies, the hooks are necessarily tiny, but we have the choice of three types: the short single, the long single, and the double. Any one of them will lose a substantial proportion of fish hooked. Salmon will sometimes readily take the smallest trout flies, but the No. 16 hook with which they are fitted simply means the loss of 80 per cent of fish hooked, when the fish jump. It is perhaps better to have hooked and lost than never to have hooked at all! That substantial losses will occur must be expected. On some days, one seems to lose more fish on singles, and on other days on doubles. Probably, in the end, the double No. 10 hook is the better holder. Long, low-water hooks are provided with a short dressing, and fish do not seem to mind the projection of the hook. Indeed, at times it seems that a long hook is actually an attraction rather than a deterrent.
6A TYPICAL low-water pool consists of three sections. At the head is the fast water, or run. The run gradually tapers away to smoother water with a fair current, which in turn tapers to a glide, sometimes terminating in an almost motionless deep hole, or to shallows.
Starting right at the head of the fast water, the high-water angler may feel at home. There are three axioms for low-water fishing with a wet fly: —
1. The line must float throughout its whole length. The knot, where it joins the leader, must cut the water visibly.
2. The fly must be fished square across the stream, so that it passes as nearly as possible at right angles to the direction in which the fish is lying.
3. The fly must move rapidly all the time, from the moment it alights in the water.
It is impossible, on paper, to lay down rules for the speed of drag. The amount of acceleration may vary with every cast. As a rough guide, try to imagine the river in perfect order and try to get the fly across the pool at the speed you estimate it would travel under such conditions.
The run, at the head of a pool, may be very deceptive. One is likely to assume that the fly is coming round at the proper speed. Careful watching of the knot will indicate to the angler if it is. There are sometimes whirls and eddies in a stream which so manipulate the line as to bring the fly almost to a rest. This must be corrected by drawing the line with the hand unoccupied in holding the rod. Except in unusually fast water, it pays to draw the line across a stream. On the other hand, in very fast water, in which the fly is obviously tearing around too fast, the fishing speed must be reduced. This can be accomplished by casting the fly more downstream, or by “mending” the cast by throwing a loop upstream directly the fly reaches the water. This latter method is also useful when fishing across a rapid stream into a stream of much less velocity. This “mending” the cast permits the fly to fish the slower water properly, and often proves effective at the moment the swifter intermediate current suddenly takes hold and sweeps the fly away.
It is well worth while to start fishing in the shallow water at the very head of the stream. Salmon and grilse are frequently taken in extremely shallow, fast water; salmon will lie, and take, in eighteen inches of water.
As the angler proceeds down the stream in which the current is becoming less, he must increase the rate of drag by drawing in the line quicker. He should be careful to fish out each cast into the “straight” and let the fly hang a moment before picking it up. Salmon, particularly grilse, often lie at the edge of fast water, and have a habit of following a fly around, across the stream, to rise to it at the very moment the angler lifts it; therefore, fish out every cast.
When fishing from a canoe, in midstream, do not neglect the short cast. Try the water all around the canoe with a very short line and pull the fly back and forth across the surface of the water. Fish will come from under the canoe, apparently, at a fly so fished. If there is a breeze downstream, “dap” the fly by alternately raising and lowering the rod, so that the fly jumps on and off the water surface. Having exhausted this method, start fishing with a very short line, which may be gradually extended until the whole width of pool is properly covered. Never neglect short-line fishing.
A fish rising to a fly without taking it is known as a “short rise.” Some anglers will say “the fish missed the fly.” Now it is very doubtful if a fish ever “misses” a fly by accident. He is much more likely to miss it on purpose. Something, at the last moment, excites his suspicion. How are we to deal with this fish? The fact that the fish rose at all shows he is a potential “taker.” Sometimes it is almost impossible to rise a fish a second time. Such fish are known as “oncers.” Anglers differ on how to deal with a short rise. Some say “rest it,” others recommend that the same fly be presented again immediately. In high water, the rule used to be to present a fly two sizes smaller. This is excellent advice in low water when you are using, say, a No. 8 and change to a No. 10. But when you are already using a No. 12, you are unlikely to be able to present, usefully, anything smaller. Under these circumstances, it is well to try a lowwater long hook, with very skimpy dressing, in place of the double hook you were using when the fish rose — or vice versa. If he still refuses the alternate wet fly, try a dry fly over him. Owing to the amount of labor that is involved in getting salmon to rise at all, it is worth while to spend some time over a fish that has shown an inclination to rise.
Except when you are dealing with a risen fish and have plenty of water in front of you, I consider it waste of precious fishing time to put two or more casts over the same water. Generally speaking, a fish will come to the wet fly at the first cast and very rarely to subsequent casts on the same water. On the other hand, if you are restricted as to water, you have no alternative but to duplicate casts. If there is plenty of water open to me, I fish a pool down quickly but very thoroughly, covering every inch of water, and then move to another pool. Fish are often taking in one pool and not in another — exploration often pays well.
In low water, the glide at the foot of a pool, when the current is still good, but on the surface of which is no ripple, often holds a number of fish, which can sometimes be taken more freely than in the run. In this class of water, the draw must be greatly increased so that the fly is working swiftly across the current.
It is of paramount importance to have the whole length of line floating on the water and the fly traveling only an inch or two below the surface. If any portion of the line sinks or is waterlogged, it will prove fatal to success. If the line is not sodden, a few false casts through the air may correct it; but if this proves ineffectual, the line must be thoroughly dried and greased. Sometimes fish will come to a fly which is cutting the surface of the water, but as a rule the fly should be just submerged. If the leader is greasy, through being handled by greasy fingers, it is likely to prevent the fly from sinking. This can generally be overcome by giving the line a sharp pull as soon as the fly alights.
Sometimes glides exist at the head of a pool just before the water breaks into a rough stream. This is usually good taking water, particularly at the very point where the glide ends and the stream begins. Fish love to lie with their tails just on the silk and are often free takers there.
Fish, particularly grilse, may sometimes be seen lying behind a stone in quite shallow glides, a long way from a recognized pool. These are worth a square cast, rapidly drawn across their noses, and afford an angler occasional satisfaction in extracting a fish from what looks like an impossible situation.
7As I pointed out previously, fish move about a pool — some days, or part of a day, fish will be found on the right side of a pool, and at other times on the left. At times they will be in the run, at others out of it. Every part of a pool should be thoroughly explored in order to find the taking fish.
If fish are known to be in a pool, and decline to rise, try approaching them from different angles and with different rates of draw. In dead low water, one is most unlikely to be drawing too fast; it is far more probable that the fly travel is insufficient. Try increasing the rate of draw. Some anglers always wave their rods up and down in the supposition that this imparts a jerky movement to the fly. It may on a short, tight line, but on lines of any considerable length, no movement whatever is imparted to the fly unless the rod-lashing attains a fantastic degree. Actually it is detrimental, as a rule, to good fishing. A fish may take the fly as the rod point is being lowered, and consequently fail to fasten.
Never, under any circumstances, strike at a fish you see rise to your wet fly. Wait until you feel the pull and then just tighten on him. There is no excuse for leaving a wet fly in a fish when he rises. The tiny hooks will fasten, as well as they are likely to do, through the weight and friction of the line. Striking at a rise will probably result in a fish’s being pricked and put down, possibly for days, or the fly will be taken away from him before he has it in his mouth. There is one strange type of rise, particularly from grilse, which I have never been able to understand. You will be following the course of the knot, across the pool, when suddenly you see the line being drawn away towards the fly. No sign, or break, of a rising fish can be seen. When this is observed, tighten instantly. The fish has apparently sucked in the fly, an inch or two below the surface, without showing any disturbance. It is a weird performance.
Rising lish do not always mean to take the fly. Apparently they intend to drown it and, in consequence, get foul hooked — sometimes in the “face,” sometimes in the tail, and often in a ventral fin. And what a time-wasting performance it is playing such fish! Large salmon, at times, amuse themselves by hurdling the floating line, a tantalizing experience. Anyhow, it shows how little danger a fishing line conveys to a salmon!
“Coming short” may be due to the fish or to the fly. On some days, these short rises are a nuisance, and nothing you can do seems to overcome them. One must suppose that the fish just do not want the fly and are simply making passes at it. On the other hand, coming short may be due to the fly. Most shop-dressed flies are too full and take much better after having killed a number of fish. A No. 12 Logie I used last season accounted for over fifty salmon and grilse, and was killing fish freely at the end, with only a few turns of silk left on it. It was noticeable that with this skimpy fly there were few short rises. It is well worth trying the special long low-water hooks, with very short, skimpy dressing, on short-risers; they sometimes work miracles. Fish coming short to a wet fly may frequently be taken on a dry one.
The grilse has always been a great favorite of mine. He is, weight for weight, the bravest and finest fighter that swims. In Canadian rivers the grilse runs rather small, averaging a little over three pounds, with a four-pounder considered large. In a Scottish river I fished many seasons, the grilse, which ran in vast numbers, averaged around six pounds. Grilse often lie apart from salmon, and are frequently taken so. When working out the end of a cast, I always make a point of fishing for them. In rivers like the Miramichi the grilse abound in thousands — many a day in August, when the salmon have been reluctant to rise, has given delightful sport by the capture of six or more grilse.
A grilse is, of course, no different from a salmon, except that he has passed less time in the sea. The aquabatics and acrobatics put up by a sporting grilse remind me, in miniature, of those displaved by a marlin, and when I lose a grilse which has fought so gamely for his life, I cannot help feeling he deserved his freedom. Grilse take just the same small wet flies as do the salmon, and the presentment of the fly is exactly the same. Grilse will lie, at the head of fast water, in scarcely depth enough to cover their dorsal fins. The behavior of grilse is just as unpredictable as that of their elder brethren. Like salmon, they may refuse to rise all day, except for an hour or so, and then take greedily.
To encourage others to try the methods I have endeavored to describe, I give the following extracts from my fishing log for part of August and September, 1946, on the Miramichi in the lowest water “ in memory": —
August 14 6 ” 15 6 ” 19 0 ” 21 5 ” 23 4 ” 30 4 September 222 5 ” 7 11 ” 0 9 ” 12 6 ” 13 11 ” 14 4 ” 15 4 ” 16 4 ” 18 4 ” 28 4Only days on which four or more fish were hooked are recorded above. In forty-two fishing days (in dead low water) I hooked 133 fish, with only four blank days in the whole period. There had been no rain since May, and the volume of water flowing through the narrows was that of a brook. The Miramichi is a very broad river, but most of the pools are exceedingly shallow in low water. Rarely is there more than three or four feet when the fish take.