WITH ROD AND LINE

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XLV, Issue 23, 7 December 1910, Page 9

WITH ROD AND LINE

■ Specially Written for the “Weekly Graphic.”

By

MAJOR BOYD WILSON.

THE EVENING RISE. /qV BRING is merging into summer, the weather is becoming J ■warmer, trout are fast putting on condition, and the time is at hand when the hour immediately preceding the darkness is, from the angler’s point of view, the most valuable of the whole twenty-four. Let us try and picture a typical evening of this sort. The sun is just setting behind the hills as we reach the waterside; all day he h-as blazed out of a cloudless firmament, and as not a breath of air has had force enough even to set the green leaves a-quiver since the early rays of dawn came shooting athwart the heavens, the noontime has indeed been hot. There is a respite now from the burning rays, and the anticipation of sport on this lovely evening makes the angler feel at peace with all the world, as he puts the split cane rod together and makes all preparations. He assures himself that he has three or four casts, each with a fly attached, at hand, ■in readiness to take their place on the line should any casualty occur; for the tying of eyed flies on the gut in the uncertain light of the gloaming is no easy task even for those whose eyesight is of the best. So far the bosom of the river flows placidly on, unmarked by the concentric circles which so infallibly betoken a feeding fish, but it is full early yet, and the rise of fly which must naturally precede the rise of trout has barely commenced. A few red spinners are floating down, their delicate wings standing erect, while each iusect balances itself on the skin of the water and sails down the lovely smooth reach and skilfully navigates itself over the ripples caused by a gravelly spit which rises somewhat near the surface. Faster and faster, more and more numerous, come the dainty ephemeridae, gliding down the stream heedless of the dangers from fish and bird that surround them on all sides. It will not be long before the trout find out what a banquet is being provided for them. Then! an undoubted rise; there he is again! A good trout, too, and fairly on the feed, for as we watch he sucks down three or four flies one after the other, making the least possible disturbance on the water as he gently puts his nose up, takes in the floating fly, and, as he turns, just breaks the surface with his back. The angler is all in readiness, Standing on the shingle a little 'below the rise he deftly drops his fly, just at the place where the last rise was seen. The trout, however, ignores the artificial fly, which, fished wet, must to the piscine eyes represent a drowned insect, llalf-a-dozen more casts are equally futile. This trout is evidently having none of the scrap of feather and dubbing, however craftily woven together, for he continues to feed on the natural insects, and remains entirely disdainful of the angler’s line. By this time other trout have discovered the feast that has been so bountifully provided, and fish after fish begins to feed, so that soon the erstwhile placid surface is a-boil with rises. Rise after rise the angler covers quite fruitlessly; the trout, although feeding on the natural insect, will not look at its drowned presentment. It is evident an entire change of tactics is necessary here, if defeat during thus mad, merry hour of feeding trout is to be averted, and averted it must be at all hazards, for it is evident that the big fellows have flung caution to the winds, and are tumbling over each other to feast on the floating ephemerjdae. Entire defeat at such a moment would be heart breaking, the wet fly is unpopular, will a dry fly have a better effect! A new cast is quickly knotted on in substitution for the wet one, and at the end of it is a double winged and doubla hackled coachman, whose bronze peacock body and white wires may, if floated over a feeding trout, tempt him

to his doom. A rising fish of goodly proportions is marked down within easy reach, a couple of false easts to try the range are swished in the air, and then the coachman is allowed to fall gently on the water. All is well, the fly settles down with the least possible disturbance about a foot above the spot where the last rise was marked, and, resting on its voluminous hackle, sails down the stream with its wings cocked as bravely as any of its living competitors. Suddenly it disappears amid a tell-tale ring, the angler gives a turn of the wrist which fixes the steel, then is one astonished pause on the part of the big trout, and next instant he is forging through the water with the speed of a steamboat, while the reel screams again, as the handle flies round, and the line glides off the spindle at lightning speed. The tackle is strong, however, and, as the angler- knows that with the darkness will come the end of the rise, and consequently the finish of his sport, he does not dally long with the fish, and, although it eventually turns the scale at three pounds, he brings all the power of the split cane to bear, and, putting on severe pressure, gives him short shrift; even in less time than could be believed the gait has done its work, and trhe fish is safely creeled. Three more trout, all about the same size, does the dry fly account for, and then, almost as quiekly as it commenced, the rise dies away, and not a crinkle can be seen on the darkened face of the water. It is time to pack up and go, the brief hour of fast and furious sport is at an end, and, with four trout in his basket of a combined weight of over thirteen pounds, the angler is fain to turn homewards. As he wends his way under the twinkling stars he again pictures in his mind’s eye all the fascinating details of the capture of each victim; the time of the rise has been brief, but many pleasurable emotions have been packed into a short space of t ime.