In considering the merits and demerits of dry-fly fishing, one cannot be altogether blind to the fact that down-stream fishing must inevitably prick and therefore educate many more fish than the floating fly. This being so, it is still more inexplicable that in former days, in chalk-stream waters, our forerunners were able to account for far heavier baskets of trout than we are, despite the heavy restocking our streams now receive, to their great advantage; and we necessarily come back to the old point, what can we do to secure an adequacy of free-rising fish? Is our system of fishing the rise wrong? Or does the mischief lie more in our river, water, and weed management? And can we so improve these as to obtain the desired results? Angling is now so much sought after, chalk-stream and other similar waters command such high rents, that surely it is worth the while of those interested in the sport to initiate and carry through some exhaustive inquiry into the subject.
THE May fly is up! Every year, about the first week in June, telegrams to this effect are hurriedly despatched to those favoured few who own or rent water where this member of the _ephemeridæ_ disports himself. It used to be called the May fly Carnival. There are, however, grave disadvantages in connection with our friend that greatly discount the apparent advantages. Fish gorged with this luscious food are wont to try a course of semi-starvation after their over-indulgence, and for a long time will not look at smaller and more wholesome diet. Then, to my thinking, a May fly is a horrible thing to cast with. It is not at all like casting with the more delicate duns or quill gnats. There is a clumsy feeling about it; it is exceedingly difficult to dry, and if you catch a fish a change of fly is at once necessary, the old chawed-up imitation being rendered useless. It is also not easy to get exactly the right pattern to suit, though for choice the small dark-winged May fly has given me the best results. It is, unless you live near your water, very difficult to hit off the precise day--you are always too early or too late; you are told "You should have been there yesterday; there was a grand rise of fly, and the fish were simply mad after them, and no one was on the water"--and so on. Cheery news, no doubt, when you find the fish all lying near the bottom. When they really are on, there is excitement enough; mad splashes all round you, frequently made by the smaller fish. Your proffered imitation may produce a rise or two, but somehow or other the fish don't take hold as you think they ought. You are inclined to lose your calmness of mental balance, to cast without sufficient care and with a half-dried fly. In desperation you put on a fair-sized red quill, fish more carefully, and probably get better results.