Part 5

While the casts need not be as long as for trout, unless in very shallow water, they should be perfectly straight, and the line be kept taut, so that the fish may hook itself upon taking the fly into its mouth. When hooked, it should be led away to one side of the pool in order that the rest of the school may not be alarmed. The fish should be held with a light hand, so as not to tear out the small hook, but at the same time kept on the bend of the rod until exhausted, before putting the landing-net under it. The landing-net should always be used, as the hold of the small hook may be a slight one.

Unlike the trout, the grayling often breaks water repeatedly when hooked, making short but mad leaps for freedom that require considerable skill to circumvent. During the struggle the tall bannerlike dorsal fin waves like a danger-signal, and with the forked tail-fin offers considerable resistance in the swift water. But when safely in his creel, the fortunate angler can congratulate himself on having fairly subdued and captured this wily and coquettish beauty of the crystal waters.

The outfit for fly-fishing is about the same as for trout, say a rod of five or six ounces, light click reel, enameled silk line, with a four-foot leader for two flies, or one of six feet for three, though two flies are enough. The flies should be tied on quite small hooks, Nos. 10 or 12. While ordinary trout-flies answer pretty well, they are much better if made with narrower wings, or still better with split wings. Any of the conventional hackles are capital, especially if the hackle is tied so as to stand out at right angles to the shank of the hook. The most successful flies are those with bodies of peacock harl or of some shade of yellow, as coachman, grizzly king, Henshall, alder, governor, and black gnat, with bodies of harl; and professor, queen of the water, Lord Baltimore and oak fly, with yellowish bodies. Other useful flies are gray drake, gray coflin, and the various duns. Four of the most successful grayling flies in England are the witch, Bradshaw's fancy, green insect and red tag, samples of which were sent to me by one of the best grayling fishers of that country. They were tied on the smallest hooks made, Nos. 16 to 20. All have harl bodies, very plump, with tags of red worsted, and hackles of various shades of silver gray, except Walbran's red tag, which has brown hackle. Mr. Howarth, an old English fly-tier, of Florissant, Colorado, is an adept at tying grayling flies.

For bait-fishing the fly-rod and click reel mentioned will answer, as the bait used is very light. The line should be of braided silk, undressed, size H, with a leader of three or four feet. Snelled hooks, size Nos. 7 to 9, are about right. The best bait is the "rock worm," as it is called in Montana, which is the larva of a caddis fly encased in an artificial envelope of minute bits of stick, or grains of fine gravel. Other baits are earthworms, grubs, crickets, grasshoppers, natural flies, or small bits of fat meat.

In comparatively still water a quill float, or a very small one of cork, must be used to keep the bait about a foot from the bottom, with a light sinker to balance the float. In swift water the float will not be required, but the small sinker is needed to keep the bait near the bottom. My advice, however, would be to pay court to the "lady of the streams" with the artificial fly as the only fitting gage to cast before her ladyship.

The angler who visits Yellowstone National Park, after viewing the beauties and marvels of that wonderland, and enjoying the excellent trout fishing, may go by a regular stage line to Riverside at its western boundary, and thence a few miles to the upper Madison basin. Here, within an area of a dozen miles, are several forks of the Madison River, and Beaver Creek in the upper cañon, where he may enjoy the finest grayling fishing in the world. Under the shadows of snow-clad peaks, and amidst the most charming and varied scenery, he may cast his feathery lures upon virgin streams of crystalline pureness, while breathing in the ozone of the mountain breeze and the fragrance of pine and fir.

There is a tradition in England that the grayling was introduced into that country from the continent of Europe by the monks and friars of olden time. This is not improbable, as the grayling was always a favorite fish with the various monastic orders throughout Europe, and there still remain in England the ruins of ancient monasteries on most of the grayling streams. As the original habitats of all the graylings are the coldest and clearest waters, the streams of England, while clear enough at times, are not of very low temperature; this would seem to give some credence or warrant for the legend mentioned.

One can readily imagine the tonsured fathers of old--friars white, black and gray, and the hooded Capuchin and Benedictine--during the lenten season and before fast days, repairing to the limpid stream with rod and line in pursuit of the lovely grayling.

But the angler, of all others, can realize that it was not alone to gratify the palate that the holy brothers left the dim cloister for the sunlit stream, the rosary and missal for the rod and line, and forsook the consecrated pile for God's first temples--the sylvan groves. And there, rod in hand, seated on the verdure-clad bank, he sees the silent and ghostly figures eagerly watching the tell-tale float, fishing all day, perhaps, from the matin song of the lark to the vesper hymn of the nightingale, while they are quietly drinking in and enjoying the many bountiful gifts of Nature--the merry brook, the nodding flowers, the whispering leaves, the grateful breeze.

And how the hooking of a grayling must have stirred the stagnant blood and quickened the pulses of those austere souls! And how the languid muscles must have stiffened, and the deadened nerves thrilled, when the gamesome grayling leaped into the sunlight sparkling like a gem and glittering like a crystal!

Ah! what a happy contrast to the gloomy cell and breviary it must have been to those rigid and frigid celibates to view the ever-changing tints and the reflected glory of the "lady of the streams" after she had coquettishly responded to their lures!

But let us return from the musty ages of the past, and the hoary fathers--those wise conservators of their beloved fish--to the present day, with the sad vanishing of the Michigan grayling as a solemn warning. Let us, then, guard and preserve this beautiful creature that has come down to us through the centuries, hallowed by the jealous care of the good fathers of yore, so that the toiler in these stirring times may, if he will, forsake the busy marts, the office or workshop, for a period, be it ever so brief, and journey even a thousand miles to enjoy--as the monks of old--the catching of a grayling.

THE TROUT: THE ANGLER'S PRIDE

THE TROUT: THE ANGLER'S PRIDE

The brook trout, or char, with the beautiful and suggestive name of Salvelinus fontinalis, by which it is known to the naturalist, is fast disappearing from its native streams. The altered conditions of its aboriginal environment, owing to changes brought about by the progress of civilization, have resulted in its total extinction in some waters and a sad diminution in others. In many instances the trout brooks of our childhood will know them no more. The lumberman has gotten in his work--the forests have disappeared--the tiny brooks have vanished.

The lower waters still remain, but are robbed of their pristine pureness by the contamination due to various manufacturing industries. In such streams the supply of trout is only maintained through the efforts of the federal and state fish commissions. It is to be hoped that by this means the beautiful brook trout, the loveliest and liveliest fish of all the finny world, may be preserved and spared to us for yet a little while. Its introduction to the pure mountain streams of the Far West has given it a new lease of life, and the time may come when, outside of the game and fish preserves of wealthy clubs, it will be only in its new home that it can be found.

On long winter evenings the angler, sitting before his cheerful fire, may be meditating on the passing of the brook trout--that his angling record for the last season was not so good as the year before, and that next summer it may be still worse. But such disheartening thoughts are quickly dispelled as his glance falls on the fly-book and tackle box within his reach. His fly-book is eagerly overhauled and frayed snells and leaders and rusty hooks discarded. Some well-worn flies that recall the big trout that gave him sport galore in the long summer days are, on second thought, snugly and affectionately tucked away in a separate pocket of the book, to be brought forth on occasion, to excite the envy of some brother angler, while relating with minute detail the story of the part they took in the capture of the "big ones."

Through the rings of smoke rising from his brier-root he sees the stream rippling and sparkling as it courses around the bend. And in fancy he is wading and casting, and as eagerly expectant of a rise, with his feet encased in slippers, as when plodding along in clumsy wading boots. The pipe-dreams of retrospection are as engrossing and enjoyable as those of anticipation to the appreciative angler. The pleasures though passed are not forgotten.

He even smiles as he remembers the slippery and treacherous rock that caused his downfall, and the involuntary bath that followed, just as he hooked the biggest fish in the pool. He is even conscious of the chill that coursed up his spine as the stream laughed and gurgled in his submerged ear--but he remembers, best of all, that he saved the fish, and that he laughs best who laughs last. There is a saving clause of compensation in every untoward event to the philosophic mind.

In "the good old summer time" thousands of weary toilers from every station in life are leaving the home, the school, the workshop, the office, for a few weeks of rest, recreation and recuperation. And nowhere else can the overstrung nerves and tired muscles find surer relief and tone than beside the shimmering lake or brawling stream. The voices of many waters are calling them, the whispering leaves are coaxing them, the feathered songsters are entreating them--to leave the busy haunts of men and repair to the cool shadows and invigorating breezes of sylvan groves and shining waters.

Here, indeed, may be found a solace for every care, a panacea for every ill, furnished without cost and without stint, from Mother Nature's pharmacopœia of simples: fresh air, pure water and outdoor exercise. But while all of this is patent to the seasoned angler, the preachment of the resources of Nature for the relief of the "demnition grind" of those who dwell in cities cannot be too often reiterated.

Trout fishing is lawful in several states during a part or throughout the entire month of April; but unless the season is exceptionally forward and pleasant the wise angler will lose nothing by ignoring the privilege.

May and June are, by all odds, the best months for brook trout fishing. By May Day most of the streams of the Eastern States have cleared sufficiently for fly-fishing, and their temperature has sensibly diminished.

"About this time," as the almanacs say, the most interesting literature for the impatient angler is the catalogue of fishing tackle. After a final overhauling and inspection of his tools and tackle he is impelled, irresistibly, to pay a visit to the tackle store for such additions to his stock, be it large or small, as he thinks he needs, and is not happy until his wants, real or fancied, are supplied.

A woman at a bargain counter is a sedate, complacent and uninterested personage compared with an angler in a tackle store at the opening of the fishing season. He is covetous to a degree, and would walk off with the entire stock should he follow the dictates of his inclination as to his fancied requirements. As it is, he buys many things he will never have any use for; but he thinks he will, all the same, and leaves the attractive place an impoverished but happier man.

Of course it is best, when one can afford it, to provide duplicate rods and reels and a liberal supply of minor articles. But the careful angler, with but one ewe lamb in the shape of a tried and trusty rod, and a single, reliable click reel, with a limited but well-selected supply of leaders and flies, will take as many fish as his prodigal brother with a superabundant equipment.

The length and weight of the rod depends on the character of the waters to be fished: whether open water or a small brushy stream. Good rods can be obtained running from nine to eleven feet and from four to seven ounces. For narrow, shallow streams overhung with trees and shrubbery, and where the fish are small, the lightest and shortest rod is sufficient and most convenient. For larger streams or open water the rod should not exceed ten feet, and six ounces. Where trout are exceptionally large, as in the Lake Superior region or in Maine, the maximum of eleven feet, and seven ounces will be about right for most anglers.

Fly-rods built for tournament work, especially for long-distance casting, are marvels in their way, but it does not follow that they are adapted, or the best, for work on the stream. The essential and most important office of a rod is that which is exhibited after a fish is hooked--in other words, in the playing and landing of the fish. In practical angling the act of casting, either with fly or bait, is merely preliminary and subordinate to the real uses of a rod. The poorest fly-rod made will cast a fly thirty or forty feet, which is about as far as called for in ordinary angling. But it is the continuous spring and yielding resistance of the bent rod, constantly maintained, that not only tires out the fish, but protects the weak snell or leader from breakage, and prevents a weak hold of the hook from giving way; and this is the proper function of a rod.