The Unpredictable Trout

by JOHN E. HUTTON

1

WHAT constitutes a successful angler? First and foremost he must possess an inexhaustible fund of patience and perseverance, He must use his intelligence in applying knowledge acquired from angling literature, from the advice of others experienced in the art, and above all from his personal observation in the pursuit of the fishes he seeks; he must study and practice to acquire gradually the knowledge and technique necessary to become a successful fisherman. He may be petulant in his home or irritable in his business, but when he angles he will sit, or stand, for hours and hours displaying a complete tranquillity, entirely divorced from the cares of the world. Unless an angler can attain this high degree of relaxation he will never excel in the sport, since impatience is fatal to success.

As the result of some decades of experience, I would generalize that the object of an angler is to catch fish in a sporting manner. This embraces the return of undersized fish and the faithful observance of rules as to limited catches or the nature of the lure to be used. But let the angler beware of becoming a “purist”: one who fatuously declares there is only one way to catch a fish. A dry-fly purist, for example, is one who regards with disdain and abhorrence anyone who catches a trout by any means other than a floating fly. I feel sorry for such purists, because their inhibition discloses a one-way unimaginative mind whose narrow outlook causes them to lose a lot of fun.

To get the maximum enjoyment from angling, a constant study of the fish should be made, which will not only enhance the angler’s pleasure but greatly aid his sport. Unless the angler knows where fish love to lie and where and when and upon what they feed, he cannot take full advantage of opportunities afforded him.

On the Test, by Romsey, I spent some of the happiest days of my younger angling career in a wooden but, ten feet square, pitched on the very bank of a pool where trout and salmon could be easily seen and watched from a window.

When I first rented this water, it was considered of little account since the lower boundary was a dam, with hatches or sluice gates, to provide power for a flour mill. Years of damming had so filled up the river with silt as to make it fit only for pike.

I engaged a firm that specialized in clearing mud from ponds to clean out the river down to its natural gravel bed. The river was then stocked with tenand twelve-inch trout and I arranged with a local cowkeeper to feed them twice daily. Very soon the effect was apparent: trout from the river below began to work upstream and rest in my water. In addition I rented two carriers, or tailraees, from mills which were the home of large trout and transient salmon. The most tiresome job was the effort to eliminate the pike which take such a toll of the trout. Although that could not he done, with the aid of trimmers, setlines, traps, and shotguns the pests were reduced to reasonable dimensions.

Possession of this water taught me a lot about the habits of trout in rivers. One would see a good trout below the dam with his nose almost against the hatches: this was a certain sign he meant to go upstream. Sure enough, the next day or next week, one would see him in my water, just above the dam, from which he would make his way upstream until he found a feeding place to his satisfaction, where he would remain throughout the entire season or until he was caught. Sometimes, of course, the fish would go on right through my water into my neighbor’s, some three quarters of a mile above.

It is interesting how a particular spot, often under the bank, will hold a large trout year after year. In one of my millraces was a tree under the root of which I might nearly always expect to see a large trout. I do not know how many trout I killed from this hole in fifteen years: it must have been forty or more. I discovered exactly where to stand and how to present the fly. I did not cast; I just lay up against the tree trunk and let the fly drop off the grassy edge so that it fell plump in front of the trout’s nose. No fish could ever resist this maneuver. And what sport they gave! The water was exceedingly fast and the tree was at the end of my beat where another stream joined, making it impossible to follow a fish. Often my backing was nearly spent when I resorted to the trick of stripping as much of it as I could get off the reel to reduce the pressure on the fish. This invariably stops them and I lost very few. But what a job it was to coax them upstream to where I could net them.

It was on that same stream that I killed my biggest fish on the dry fly: and it took me two years to do it. This fish used to feed, ns far as I could judge from countless hours of observation, only at dusk and then usually on blue-winged olive. He lay under the opposite bank, in fast water, almost at the head of the tailrace, and was accompanied by six or more trout from one to three pounds. In July I hooked him on a blue-winged olive and instantly he dashed downstream, my reel singing a merry tune, until he stopped in a weed bed some forty yards below. Recovering line, and getting opposite him, I could clearly see into the shallow weed bed. I realized he was bigger than my estimate of five pounds. Gently hand-lining, with a steady draw, I got him free — when he again dashed upstream and into another weed bed. After visits to four weed beds and some fifteen minutes of play the 4X leader parted, the entire point being badly raveled. Fine gut will stand only a very limited amount of weed cutting. I saw him twice again that year, but every attempt to entice him scared him downstream.

The following year I spotted the same trout in almost the same place, but he had dropped down a few feet and had taken up his feeding position under the branches of an overhanging tree. For several nights I watched the fish and studied the currents which bore the olives over him. I guessed that if I were to get him at all it would be with my first cast. There was only three feet of clearance between the water and the overhanging branch, which made casting a problem in any case, and to stand up was to scare the fish instantly. At last a suitable moment arrived, and lying full length on my side I made a horizontal cast, being lucky enough to put the fly exactly where I had calculated it might be successful. My hand holding the rod trembled as the fly followed the current, and I anxiously eyed the line to see if any drag would come. After a breathless moment the fish rose confidently to my blue-winged olive and the fight was on. Hastily scrambling to my feet, I followed the fish downstream, keeping the rod point as high as possible with as much pressure as I dared. Passing over two weed beds he came to rest at the same weed bed in which I had lost him the previous year, though this time he had not buried himself but was lying on the top of the weed holding on to it with his teeth. Getting below him I gave him slack, and the moment he let go I dragged him unceremoniously downstream to net him in a deep salmon hole some forty yards below. He proved to be a magnificent Test trout, with a great girth in relation to his length. The weight? Seven pounds and two ounces.

2

WHY does a trout take the angler’s fly or lure? There is, I think, only one rational answer: he takes it because he thinks it is something to eat. It is hard to accept the suggestions sometimes put forward by writers on angling that fish occasionally seize a fly, or lure, out of curiosity, irritation, or anger. One must consider that a fish’s life under water consists mainly in a search for nutriment, which is rarely plentiful at all seasons. A fish, from its earliest life as an alevin, lives in constant danger from a host of enemies, and fear must be one of its principal characteristics. Obviously it is more repelled than attracted by the unknown.

It has always seemed to me curious that so many wild creatures take quite naturally to bread, which they are unlikely to have seen in their natural habitat. Many fish take it avidly. I once tested the value of bread as a lure for trout on a famed Wiltshire river. It was towards the end of the May-fly hatch, which had proved rather poor, that, having exhausted the feeding fish in the main river, I decided to explore the feeder streams. Below a hatch, I spotted a large trout all alone. There were a few flies, mostly drowned, coming through the hatch, and a few duns hatching out below. Although the fish was alert and moving about the pool, I could not see him take a fly. After a while 1 put a spent-gnat over him and then tried wet flies without any response. I reluctantly came to the conclusion he was a cannibal.

While eating my luncheon, I threw into the stream a few sandwich bread pellets which, to my astonishment, the fish greedily seized. Moistening some bread, I pressed a pellet the size of a pea round a fly and gently swung it into an eddy just below the hatch. The fish seized it at once and, after an exciting struggle, came to the net: a 3pound, 12-ounce trout in prime condition.

When I returned to the hotel that evening, another angler, who from his demeanor had not enjoyed a profitable day, came to look at my basket of four fish. Seeing the large one, he inquired with what fly I had enticed him. On my telling him it was with a “dough fly" he appeared too modest to expose his ignorance of this entomological specimen and, heaving a sigh, retreated contemplatively towards the bar.

Fish live in a world of shadows; any unusual ones will instantly attract their attention and possibly arouse fear. The angler should learn the imperative necessity of keeping himself or his shadow out of sight of the fish. He should be careful to avoid having the sun, or the moon shining wanly in a cloudless sunny sky, directly behind him. Whether he wades or fishes from a bank, he must exercise the utmost caution if he is to get the best sport.

When casting a dry fly I rarely use the overhead cast, which raises the rod so high in the air as to bring part of it into the view of the fish’s window. It may also show a flash which can be seen an extraordinary distance away. Apart from the question of visibility, I find that the horizontal cast, which differs from the overhead only in the position of the rod, is a far easier one to control when laying the line in difficult, positions to overcome drag. In false casting, between fishing casts, the rod point must necessarily be held high enough to clear obstructions behind or at the side, such as tall grass, sedges, and other high herbage.

The angler who is beneath a tree, or in some other position that prevents him from making any sort of normal cast, may project the fly a distance not exceeding the length of the rod by stripping an amount of fine which, with the leader, equals the rod’s length. Holding the fly by the curve of the hook in a finger and thumb, the angler bends the rod, and when the tension is released, the fly will shoot forward in the desired direction. This is a tip that is useful, when you are wading under overhanging branches, for putting a sedge close to a bank, where trout love to lie.

If, in fishing upstream, no action is taken to check it, the line will form an ever increasing belly of slack which will not only contribute to drag but will make it impossible to strike a rising fish. To counteract this, the angler should, with the hand not engaged in holding the rod, gradually take up the slack, as the line comes towards him, by palming it. This method also prevents the slack, if allowed to hang down, from fouling the angler’s clothes or equipment.

3

WHILE dry-fly fishing for trout may be practiced in quite fast water, its application to slow-running streams may be considered fly-fishing at its highest. The angler deliberately sets out to catch a shy fish feeding near the surface, in exceedingly pellucid water, which is taking natural insects floating over him.

Having spotted a sizable fish, he should kneel or squat some fifteen feet below the fish and definitely identify the kind and sex of the fly upon which the fish is feeding. He must also make a study of the current between him and the fish.

There are few stretches of a river in which the velocity of the current is uniform across its width; indeed, there may be several sections with greatly varying velocities. Much of the art of this type of fishing consists in the elimination of this bugbear. A perfectly straight line laid across and upstream, by lying on faster water than that of the fly, causes the latter to drag obliquely across the fish’s nose instead of allowing the fly to continue its natural course with the insects floating down. Drag has to be eliminated at all costs. A dragging fly will certainly put a rising fish down even if it does not scare him altogether. Therefore, before presenting a fly to a fish, always study the intermediate currents.

When there is a prodigious batch of the natural insect and a fish is feeding steadily with the precision of a metronome, it is surprising that he should select the artificial, almost smothered by the multitude of natural insects. It may be that the artificial looks slightly larger and fatter than the natural and the fish seizes it as a particularly choice and juicy morsel. If, under these conditions, the angler fails to rise the fish, he should try a fly of an altogether different appearance, such as a sedge or Welshman’s button.

It is of great importance that the dry fly, when floating, should swim cocked upright. A fly lying sideways on one wing or upside down not only is useless but may scare a fish. This cocking is, to a considerable extent, under the control of the angler.

The fly must be perfectly dry: a wet or partially sodden fly will not float upright. Because of this, the angler will be constantly drying the fly by repeated false casting between the fishing casts. Further, the cocking may be controlled by the actual cast. The fly, when cast, should come to a definite check at the end of the cast and will alight, like down, upon the water without any splash or obvious disturbance on the surface of the stream.

The fly should float directly over the fish’s nose. Observation of a feeding trout will usually show how little he deviates, on either side, from center. When he takes a fly he just rises deliberately, opens ins mouth, and sucks in the fly. The whole operation is calm and rhythmical. It is, I think, this unhurried, orderly feeding which makes the pursuit of trout with the floating fly so fascinating. It all looks so easy and simple! The unsophisticated observer will wonder why you do not catch the fish every time.

Dry-fly fishing demands a stout rod, preferably 9 feet to 9 feet, 6 inches. The perpetual false casting, when drying the fly or putting out the cast, subjects the rod to extremely severe stresses, and unless the rod is of stout build it will not stand up to the hard work, nor will it give proper command of the line. Further, this type of rod will carry a heavier reel of, say, 3 inches diameter, accommodating a line of 30 yards and 70 yards of fine backing, which is necessary when dealing with heavy fish in fast water.

The rod I have used for many decades for trout fishing and for salmon in low water is singlehanded, 9 feet, 6 inches in length, and weighs 8¼, ounces. A rod of this type may be justly termed a “general purpose" one. Mine have been used, or rather misused, for all kinds of fishing in emergencies — for trout, wet fly and dry, salmon, pike, and, for some weeks, trolling a spoon for salmon in British Columbia salt water. They were, of course, never designed for this, but have stood up to various forms of abuse with impunity. Whatever rod is selected, it is of vital importance to gel one which suits the angler — an unsuitable rod will develop bad casting habits.

4

IT is probable that some 75 per cent of heavy trout I have taken in chalk streams have been “ bankers.”The reason for fish taking up this feeding position is not far to seek. Apart from the added feeling of security such a position may suggest to the fish, they are likely to find a steady flow ol hatching insects floating over them on a well-defined course. The weed beds in the middle of the river bed serve as a dam to divert the stream to either side, thus maintaining deeper channels with unobstructed water into which hatched flies are naturally diverted. Added to this, sundry trout feed may drop off the grass and sedges at the edge of the bank to provide a variation in the fish s diet.

To circumvent a banker successfully involves a number of problems, some of which may prove exceedingly intriguing. Before attempting a cast, the direction of currents, position of overhanging grass or sedges, and the nature and velocity of the stream between you and the fish, likely to cause drag, should be closely studied. If the fish is feeding against the opposite bank he need not present any greater difficulty than one feeding in midstream, except for the risk of hooking the bank’s herbage by an overshot cast. The fish may be feeding only a very few inches from the bank, from which grass may be actually covering the fish. The fly should, after careful trial for distance, be placed some eighteen inches above him in such a way that the current floats it naturally over him without drag. If there should be a bush or tree branches overhanging the fish it is very easy to foul them, particularly in a breeze, which may divert the most carefully calculated cast. To detach the fly from a branch, point the rod at the fly and, gently gathering in slack until there is a very slight pull on the fly, give the rod one or two smart hits with the hand. about 18 to 24 inches above the grip. Almost invariably the fly will be released and recovered. To pull hard, lash the rod, or exhibit annoyed impatience will almost certainly result in the loss of the fly and, very likely, a considerable portion of your leader.

Other fish will suck in the fly with a most pronounced plop, a sound which cannot fail to excite the most blasé angler. Sometimes, on a quiet evening with the sun well below the horizon, the plops may be heard all over the stream and serve to betray the whereabouts of feeding fish which otherwise would be difficult to locate in the evening shadows. Do not allow these shadows to deceive you into supposing the fish cannot see you or sense your footsteps. The same caution should be observed as if the sun were at its zenith.

The “cruising trout is certainly one of the most irritating fish the dry-fly angler can meet. Instead of quietly resting in one place and rising, with clockwork regularity, to the stream of flies passing over him, he will cruise about a deep hole, rising to a fly at most irregular intervals, and never in the same place twice running. He usually chooses a pool whose depth or shadows make it impossible to follow the fish’s movements below.

The importance of vibration transmitted to trout cannot be too highly stressed and the angler should try to emulate the invaluable attribute of Agag, who walked “delicately.” There are many places in the banks of chalk streams that are boggy and unstable and where the vibration of a human footfall is sufficient to warn a trout of the presence of his enemy alongside.

On my water was such a place and in the river alongside I could see three trout of two pounds or more, steadily rising. Each time I got into position to cast, these trout stopped rising and had to be abandoned. One evening I approached them shod in rubber sneakers and was gratified to sec them quite unconcerned at my approach. On successive evenings I killed the three fish and learned a lesson which afterwards proved valuable. It also showed that trout took no notice of horses or cattle in the vicinity although even I could feel the vibration of the latter, stampeding from fly bites.

Of the trials which may beset the angler one of the most vexatious is the appearance of an amorous, and trespassing, couple mooning leisurely down the stream during the last hour of the evening rise. As they near the kneeling angler who has, for the past hour, been trying to hook a particularly fine fish, their approach is heralded by waves of trout tearing downstream.

The angler, whose sport for the evening is now ruined, sadly gathers up his gear and, mentally consigning the intruders to the nethermost depths of the Styx, homeward wends his weary way and leaves the stream to darkness — and to love.