CHAPTER VIII

MAINLY TACTICAL

OF THE DELIBERATE DRAG.

Of all trials of the chalk-stream angler, perhaps drag is the worst. Yet even drag may be made use of on occasion, to add to the weight of the creel. Years back, on the Erlaubnitz in South Germany, I sat by a mill-head on a blazing and wellnigh hopeless September afternoon. The water was low, much of the head having been run off by the sawmill, and such little current as there was confined itself almost entirely to the centre. Brown and dirty-looking weeds topped the surface along my side of the head. Suddenly I detected a tiny dimple in a little spot where, among the weeds, an eighteen-inch square of clean surface showed itself. I despatched my fly—a Landrail and Hare’s Ear Sedge on a No. 3 hook—and by good luck or good management it dropped neatly on the spot. I waited. Three minutes passed. Nothing happened. Then I thought to recover my fly and drop it again in the hole, but with rather less delicacy, so as to attract attention to its fall. But first I had to recover it. I moved it gently towards the side of the hole, but I could not prevent the effect of a drag on the surface. Yet ere the fly had moved three inches a good pound-and-a-half trout had it, and, after a game of pully-hauly in the weeds, was duly brought to net. This was a limestone stream, and not a chalk stream.

But in August, 1908, I was on my way through the meadows to the main Itchen, when in a much-weed-encumbered carrier I became aware of a good trout lying in, and near the head of, a little pool of open water three or four yards long at most, and perhaps a third as wide. My rod and cast were ready, but no fly. So I knotted on a good big sedge—I think a No. 3 Silver Sedge. The water was glassy smooth, and the current would not have carried my fly the length of the open water in much under five minutes. I was afraid to cast above the fish, or to right or left of his head, for I knew it would send him scuttling to weed. I wanted to drop the fly just behind his eyes, but I misjudged, and it fell several inches short, almost upon his tail. I waited a moment; the trout lay still, but evidently excited. Then I remembered my German experience, and began to draw the fly along the surface. Immediately the trout turned and slashed it, and was soundly hooked. Candour compels me to admit that the gut was also smashed by a strike of unregulated violence; but this is entirely beside the point, for it in no sense detracts from the value of my illustration of the occasional serviceableness of the calculated drag in still waters, even with the dry fly.

My friend M. Bouglé acutely distinguishes drag of the kind here described as the drag of _déplacement_, as compared with the drag of _rétention_, which occurs on moving water.

On the Pang at Bradfield resides a blacksmith named Holloway, who is a first-rate angler, and I have seen him practise the deliberate drag on fast water with the May-fly in a manner which in other hands would send every trout scuttling to cover, but he did not put them down a bit. He ties a May-fly—not a very pretty confection, but admirably constructed for this purpose. The hackle, which is white, instead of standing out more or less at right angles to the hook-shank, is so tied as to lie almost flat upon it, and as a result the fly leaves practically no wake when it is drawn over the fish, and the movement, which he practises assiduously, far from scaring the fish, appears to be actually attractive. Yet the Pang fish are quite wary, and liberties may not be taken with them with impunity. In this case once more we have the drag of _déplacement_, but it is hard to see why it should not be just as fatal to the angler’s chances as the drag of _rétention_.

IN THE GLASS EDGE.

A more unpromising May day than that I now tell of it would be hard to conceive. The wind—from the west, with a bite of north in it—blew for the most part dead across stream with strong, shuddering gusts, so violent at times as to force the angler, taken unawares, two or three steps nearer to the water’s edge, and more than once nearly to precipitate him into the water between the sedgy tussocks which fringed one side of this length of Upper Itchen. On the previous day there had been a sparse skirmishing line of dark olives on the water at 10.15, covering the main advance at 11.30; but to-day 10.30, 11, 11.30, noon, and the intervening quarters, chimed from the belfry, without a fly showing on the water or in the air. At noon the sun shone out for a few moments, and made fitful reappearances at intervals till 1.30. Strolling slowly and watchfully up the bank, with an eye on the far side, the angler came upon Keeper Humphrey in attendance on another angler, and, on his advice, put up a Red Quill on a No. 0 hook, for lack of one a size larger, and, leaving the other a couple of hundred yards below, sat down to wait for the rise. At length a little upwinged dun was seen in sail in the glass edge, hugging the far bank as close as possible. For a few yards it staggered down, battered by the gale, and then slid sideways among the flags under pressure of a stronger gust than usual, and was lost to sight. Pitiably sparse the fly were, and in half an hour not more than half a dozen came in sight. All vanished disappointingly among the flags. But at last the watcher was rewarded by seeing one disappear in the centre of a tiny widening ring, which scarcely rippled out beyond the narrow glass edge. In a moment distance was got by a trial cast a yard or two downstream, and then the Red Quill dropped perkily a foot above the spot where the dun had disappeared, and went swiftly down on the full current—so swiftly that the angler did not realize until a second too late that the same neb which had lain in wait for the dun had sucked in the Red Quill. The strike was just too late, and a pricked and badly scared trout dashed violently out into the stream.

In the next little bay another rising trout was located, but the violence of the wind made it necessary to cast too tight a line in order to drop the fly in the glass edge, with the result that a drag began to develop immediately, putting the trout down. A few yards higher a clump of trees made a sort of buffer of air, and the conditions were a bit easier. Yet, though the sun came out and showed the Red Quill gliding down the glass edge, the rise of the next trout was such a delicately neat movement that the angler was once again almost taken unawares. Yet this time he fastened, and his first fish of the day, after a dumbfounded second’s pause, forged upstream with a rush, tearing line from the protesting reel. He was not, however, allowed to reach his holt among the weeds, but was turned, and netted out thirty yards or so downstream, after a strenuous resistance. The hook was on the extreme edge of his upper lip, but, fortunately, had taken a beautifully firm hold. The spring-balance recorded one pound fifteen ounces—rather a disappointment, for his hogback and splendour of general condition suggested that he might, though a short sixteen inches, have topped two pounds.

A moment sufficed to knot on a fresh fly, and the very first cast into the glass edge, to a glide where a dimple betrayed a trout, produced another rise; and again the offer was accepted, and an excellent fight put up. When eventually netted out, the fish proved to be one pound nine ounces, and even handsomer and finer in condition than number one. He was hooked exactly in the same way. There was one more rise spotted, the fish risen, touched, and seen in the clearness of the glass edge to flash some yards upstream under the far bank. Then the sun went in for a spell, and all was over for the day. The other angler had a brace—two pounds ten ounces and one pound odd—caught in the same way by floating the Red Quill in the glass edge.

This was one of those rare days when the dry fly can be fished into the bays under the opposite bank.

OF THE CROSS-COUNTRY CAST.

If questioned on their favourite mode of approaching a trout, it is probable that nineteen out of every twenty chalk-stream anglers, if not a larger proportion, would plump for the right bank with the rod held over the water. It is doubtless the easiest method. It has various advantages not difficult to enumerate, but it may be gravely doubted whether it is the most effective from the point of view of catching trout. Later under the caption (“The Bank of Vantage”) it is shown—with what success the reader must judge—that in most states of the wind the left bank has, contrary to general opinion (other things, of course, being equal), decided advantages over the right.

Apart from states of the wind, it must be apparent that, where the horizontal cast is used, and often where the cast is not strictly horizontal, the left bank has the advantage over the right that the rod and line are less displayed, and far less likely to alarm a wary fish under the angler’s own bank than a rod held more or less over the stream; and, naturally, it is only to a fish under the angler’s own bank that the cross-country cast is made.

Secondly, there is the advantage that little of the line—possibly not all of the gut, even—strikes the water. It is enough if the drag and the recovery occur far enough below the fish not to disturb him; but if the fly be the right pattern the drag is a matter of no consequence, as the cross-country cast comes so lightly, so naturally, and with such concealment of its perils from the trout, that as frequently as not he takes the fly at the first offer.

Of course, the vegetation on the bank may be such as to render it almost impossible to deliver this cast without being hung up, but the angler should not be too ready to assume that this is so. It is wonderful how, with care, a light hand, and a little patience, the line may be recovered, and what risks may be taken with comparative impunity. It is often astonishing to see how anglers who pay largely for their fishing rights, own costly rods, reels, and lines, and make long train journeys for their fishing, will decline to tackle trout in difficult positions, because it involves the possible loss of a cast or a fly—perhaps 1s. 2½d. all told—with the odds long in favour of the loss being no more than a fly, and perhaps a point. I am ever for the adventure. The certain smash does not always come off.

But after the meadows are cut, and when the sedges are low, it is often excellent sport to beat slowly up on either bank, left or right, keeping in either case well inland—especially so on the right bank—and flicking a grass-moth or a small sedge dry into every little eddy and bay, and on to every likely spot under the bank, with never more than three feet—or four feet at the outside—of gut on the water (often not more than eighteen inches or a foot). Of course, a rod which will cast a short line accurately is indispensable. The fly lights like thistledown. On such days, if you work orthodoxly up your right bank, casting a longish line upstream, and covering the water with it, you shall not hook one fish for three which you shall take with the cross-country cast. Then, to recover it, you must either draw it slowly over the edge where the danger lies, or you must flick the line up so as to belly vertically away from you, and pick the gut and fly cleanly off the water or the herbage. And if occasionally one is hung up, what does it matter? If it be of service, the angler is not denied such relief as the golfer freely avails himself of when the deadly bunker has him for its own.

WHAT TUSSOCKS ARE FOR.

This is not a riddle. It is a speculation which many anglers have probably indulged in. Some have considered them a providential arrangement for the protection of the business of the dealer in flies and tackle, and verily they have their reasons. At one time I was of that fold, but of late years I have had glimpses of the other side of the shield, and I am beginning to realize that while tussocks may be put along river-sides as a trial of the patience of some, yet for others they are a means of providing an occasional trout, and generally a good one, on days when disappointment is king. They are placed, in other words, for the trout to stand on the upstream side and the angler on the downstream side, the latter substantially concealed from the former. It is equally true that the former is also concealed from the latter; but this is of little consequence if, as is commonly the case, the screen is not dense enough to hide the ring from the angler when the trout takes his fly.

But it may be said, “What is the use of the concealment if the inevitable result of casting over the tussock is to get hung up in it?” Well, it is not the inevitable result. There are two ways of tackling a tussock. One implies the use of a short rod, or at least a rod capable of an accurate short cast. It will not do to dib. At the first glimpse of the rod-top over the tussock off goes your trout. No; the fly must be cast, and cast so near the tussock that it drifts down to the fish just above the tussock before it is necessary to pick it up for the next cast with a forward flick. The other method is to cast over the river-side of the drooping sedges of the tussock from such a distance that only the gut and a foot or two of the casting line go over the tussock, and to let the belly of the line dip in the water between you and the tussock. Then, if the fly be not taken, the angler shall see his line coming back smoothly and at the pace of the stream over the tussock, and finally the fly shall be lifted off the surface with no disturbance, and be drawn by the current softly over the tussock, and drop on the surface on his own side, free for the next attempt.

Obviously, this latter cast is not well suited to the left bank unless the angler be left-handed, and, then, it is not suited to the right bank, unless he be ambidextrous. _Ergo_, the rod which casts a short line with delicacy and accuracy is a desideratum for this business, as for many others. A heavy rod will seldom be found to do it. When you have hooked your fish, he may be depended on to carry your line at once free of the tussock. I have never had an instance to the contrary, and I have rather an affection for the tussock cast.

OF THE ALLEGED MARCH BROWN.

Everyone who reads much angling literature must have come across ingenuous arguments on the wonderful usefulness of the March Brown even on waters, such as the chalk streams, where the natural is not found. It is so. I have found it so myself. One 6th of April some years back I reached the Wey, to find that the Grannom was well on a good week in advance of time, and that I had one imitation, and one only, in my box. To improve upon the humour of the situation, I allowed—nay, I forced—the first trout to whom I presented it to keep it. But was I downhearted? No! I had some small floating March Browns, which, with the whisks pinched off, made quite satisfactory Grannoms and saved the situation. On other occasions I have used Grannom and March Brown indifferently to represent the grass-moths with which the meadows and banks were teeming, and they each did the job excellently and were most attractive. I have also used the March Brown as a Brown Silver Horns, and to simulate other sedges, and there is no doubt that it is an excellent fly, and, as generally tied, quite a poor imitation of the natural March Brown, and quite a passable imitation of almost anything else.

GENERAL FLIES AND FANCY FLIES.

The alleged March Brown may be called a “general fly”—_i.e._, it is a more or less satisfactory imitation, not merely of one, but of many flies. In the same way the Red Quill is a general fly, covering not only a series of red spinners, but also probably the whirling blue dun. Tup’s Indispensable used as a floater is an excellent rendering of many red spinners. The sunk variety is an efficient rendering of many nymphs. No. 1 Whitchurch is, I see, included by Mr. F. M. Halford among fancy flies; but I should venture to class it as “general,” being an effective presentment of the yellow dun series of flies. Greenwell’s Glory, again, is a general fly, and with its starling-winged variants it represents a series of olives, from the blue-winged olive to the iron blue (male).

It is hard to say what precisely are fancy flies, unless one defines them as flies which are not known to represent definitely any insect or class of insects. Whether Wickham’s Fancy to the eye of a trout looks the gorgeous golden thing which it does to mankind it is hard to say. I have floated one on water over a mirror, and the reflected image did not look golden at all, but a pale, dim green, much like the colour seen through gold beaten so thin that it is almost transparent. The Pink Wickham may seem to the trout to be a sedge with a greenish body. The Red Tag _may_ have its living prototype. The Soldier Palmer is supposed to represent the soldier beetle. But in most of these cases it is impossible to say what the artificial represents, or may represent, in life, and its attraction is apt to be that of something bright and garish which appeals to curiosity or tyranny in the trout, rather than to appetite. Indeed, why a trout should take any artificial fly is a puzzle to me. The very best are not really very like the real thing. One thing is clear: It is not form which appeals to the trout, but colour and size.

I know a skilful angler who, when he ties on a new split-winged floater, rumples and breaks up the fibre of its wings with his fingers before using it. This he does for the excellent reason that it pays. His theory is that it lets the light through; but form is entirely sacrificed.

It is a curious fact that, though the Test and Itchen are “by ordinar’” clear, yet double-dressed floaters can be successfully used on them, which would do little or nothing on other streams, of which the Wandle occurs to me as an example. If I had a day on the Wandle, I should take care to provide myself with single-winged patterns. Can it be that the clearness of the Test and Itchen is such that the fly looks distinct enough by reflected light, while transmitted light is necessary to render the fly noticeable on such streams as the Wandle? In any case, when visiting a strange river, the angler should see if the fish will or will not stand double-dressed floaters, if he has a fancy for that build of fly.