CHAPTER XXI.

FISHING.

BY "HERMIT," Contributor to The Field, etc.

AMONGST the many and sometimes fanciful divisions into which mankind is sorted out by wise men and philosophers, someone must ere this have discovered that all men are fishermen or not fishermen. Some cynic has remarked that the difference between the sane and the insane is that the former are in the majority. The notfishermen are also in the same division and they not infrequently speak of the fishermen as though they belong, or ought to belong to that minority above alluded to. It is one of the funny things of this sombre life to hear these spoken of by those. "I cannot imagine what you find in fishing to amuse you. Sitting on a bank or in a punt or standing in the middle of the water waiting for a bite!" This point is seldom passed. Your friend who does not fish, but thinks he understands what it means, is arrested by the utter absurdity of the thought. "Waiting for a bite, you know!" This bite is a sort of mythical thing, heard of, but—well, they don't go beyond that. Perhaps it is well they do not, looked at from a selfish point of view, for fishermen are already a very numerous class, and fishing becomes harder to obtain for the majority year by year, and undoubtedly had they ever travelled beyond that bite, passed the

meridian of the "glorious nibble" and reached the zenith of a real catch, they would have become, one and all, ardent fishermen. For what is more fascinating than the art of angling? It tests the skill of the cleverest, it arouses the energy of the most phlegmatic, it entices into the open air, and often into the water, the most hypochondriacal, it charms the most used-up man of the world, and it so occupies the attention and engrosses the mind that the hours slip by unnoticed and a real re-creation is produced in the worn-out frame. It is well known how the late Right Honourable John Bright was recommended to try salmon fishing, when every other remedy for an overwrought mind was exhausted and without effect. He tried it and was quickly restored to health and vigour. I remember taking a very tired and worn-out man fishing with me. He was no angler and had, indeed, never attempted it before, except on one occasion. We fished on a well-known lake for trout, and, as is usually the case the neophyte came in for the best of the luck. His first fish was a game poundand-a-halfer, and he went on in the same way. We began to fish about half-past ten in the morning and at half-past six I remarked that we must begin to think of packing up for we had a long way to go. "What!" exclaimed he "do you mean to say the day is over and it is time to go home! We don't seem to have been here an hour, and I have never had one thought of that bill for the regulation of the manufacture of dynamite which has never been out of my head these three months." The gentle craft is a heaven-sent boon to weary mortals.

And there is another thing to be noticed about angling. In many sports and pastimes as the youthful energy of body and mind wear out, a change comes on and what used to charm charms no more. It is not so with fishing. The

keenest fisherman is as often as not the oldest, and though he has learnt restraint, and many a crafty dodge to boot, yet is he as ardent at heart as the wildest youth who has just grassed his first salmon. And to hear the tales of these old hands, and to pick up all their wrinkles -what a legacy of traditions do they bequeath to the good listener, and how they stir the spirit to fresh effort.

There are as many, and more, kinds of fishing as there are months in the year. From the bleak, the gudgeon, the roach, the dace, and the chub, to the barbel and the pike; there is a vast variety of ways and devices by which the fisherman, from early boyhood to grey old age, seeks to ensnare his prey. But probably few anglers who have once addicted themselves to trout and salmon fishing will very much care to turn to the coarser fish. Amongst those who make salmon and trout their quarry, there is a great variety of opinion as to which shall rank first. Some put trout fishing at the head of the list, others salmon. Perhaps the best, if the most cynical, answer to the question "which do you prefer, salmon or trout fishing?" is that made to the analogous query "which do you like best, shooting or fishing?" "Both." For the perfection of fishing is when the angler has both trout and salmon within reach of him, and he can turn his attention to either. Speaking generally, salmon fishing requires more patience, but has a greater reward to offer when that patience is crowned by the hooking of a king of the waters, a mighty fish of twenty, thirty, forty pounds. Phew! how he rushes away with the first yards of line, and what a holding on to him, and what leaps and dashings as he vainly tries to snap the line with his powerful tail; and his frantic endeavours to get up to the rapids and show you what he can do amongst the boulders and

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moss-covered rocks; and then his sullen mood as he gets down into deep water or sulks under the bank of the stream, and at last his giving way slowly, and not without one or two final and dangerous struggles, and his being deftly gaffed and laid on the bank, a picture never to be forgotten. Nor is the smaller fish of eight, ten, twelve pounds weight a whit less lively if he is angled for with fitting tackle. Many a lively hour has rod amongst the peel.

been spent with a fifteen foot Salmon, it is well known, are curious fish as to their feeding and taking the fly. They may be seen in ranks, lining the bed of the river thickly, and yet not one will notice any bait yet invented unless the spirit moves them, so to speak. And anon when they are moved they will take anything almost that can be offered them. I remember once fishing from dewy morn, for I was very keen, until the post-prandial hour, without any luck. I handed the rod to my gillie who tried another hour in vain. We sat down and waited a bit. Presently I began to let out the cast again, and when only about six or seven yards were loose and I was just throwing off more line, close in under the bank of the stream there rose a fish of twelve pounds and made friends with my tail fly to his grief and sorrow, but, as Samuel Pepys would say, to our mighty contentment. What is it salmon take the so-called flies with which they are lured to be? Who can tell? Few things are more exciting than to have the luck to see the salmon rising when one is in pursuit of them. Only make sure of the right colours to put over him and you are tolerably sure of a rising fish. But waste no time, for the rise may be off in a few minutes, and then the water is flogged in vain. On the other hand few things are more tantalizing than to see the fish jumping. A pool will suddenly, from the

appearance of having no life in it, assume the aspect of a salmon hotel-fish leaping and jumping all over its surface. In vain the hope that we can lure even one of them to the bait. It is not their day on.

Trout fishing with the fly is perhaps the most skilful of all angling. Whether it be pursued with the dry fly, or up stream with the cast of three, it equally requires great dexterity in the use of the rod. In the Derbyshire streams the dry fly is the only lure, it is asserted, that will attract the fish. The precision with which this must be placed just over the rising fish is such that the slightest mistake, a trifle of slack line or an inch too far or too near, will mar the result. There is something in the skill required for this and other kinds of fly fishing, that makes the pastime pleasantly exciting apart even from the capture of fish.

One of the most enjoyable modes of trout fishing is to be found in wading up stream with a ten foot stiffish rod, dropping the flies here and there into likely spots, and acquiring a basket of pretty trout which may weigh from ten to twenty pounds. Here, too, the skill as well as the knowledge of the fisherman is taxed. In under those overhanging boughs is a likely hole for a good fish. Can the cast be brought in and the flies be dropped over the fish without entanglement in the briars?—a predicament not conducive to equanimity. There! a pretty cast, just at the head of the hole, and the flies floating round over the likeliest spot. A ripple on the eddying water, a tightening of the line, a gentle strike, and Mr. Trout is hooked and comes quickly into the net, a nice half-pound fish. Again the reel flies round and the cast is dropped at the edge of a mossy stone, the tail fly resting for a moment upon the very edge of the moss until drawn away by the movement of the stream, and