HOW TO CAST A FLY.

BY

SETH GREEN.

I AM asked a great many times what is the secret of fly-casting? There are three principles. First, quick out of the water; second, give the line time to straighten behind you; third, throw. I will explain these principles more definitely.

Raise your rod straight up, or nearly so, the inclination being backward; then make a quick stroke forward. When you take the line from the water it should be done with a quick jerk; then give your line time to straighten behind; then give it the same stroke forward that you did to get it out of the water.

Why so many fail in fly-casting is, they throw the rod backward too near the ground behind them, and when they make the forward stroke, and the line gets straightened out, it is some distance above the water and kinks back, so that when it falls upon the water it lies crooked, and is some distance short of what it would have been if it had struck the water as soon as it was straightened out.

If a fish should strike at your flies at this time you are pretty sure to miss him. By never throwing your

rod back more than to a slight angle from the perpendicular, and making the stroke forward, your line goes straight out and the flies go to the point you desire.

Great care should be taken when you have thrown the line behind you, that the line is given time to straighten before making the stroke forward. I have thrown seventy feet of line against a strong wind, first, by giving my rod a quick, strong back stroke, carrying my rod but slightly back of the perpendicular, and giving my line time to straighten behind me, then making the same stroke forward that I did to get it back of me.

I nearly forgot to mention that it is more important to have your line fit your rod than it is to have your coat fit your back.

You may think it strange that I should tell you three or four times over in the same article, that in order to do good fly-casting you must throw your rod back only just so far, and then wait for your line to straighten behind you; and when your line is straight, to make a quick stroke forward, without carrying your rod forward, even a little, before delivering your line, but these movements are the essential principles in flycasting. By observing them one may hope to become a skilful fly-caster.

TROUT:

MEETING THEM ON THE "JUNE RISE."

BY

"NESSMUK."

There is a spot where plumy pines
O'erhang the sylvan banks of Otter;
Where wood-ducks build among the vines
That bend above the crystal water.

And there the blue-jay makes her nest,
In thickest shade of water beeches;
The fish-hawk, statuesque in rest,

Keeps guard o'er glassy pools and reaches.

'Tis there the deer come down to drink,

From laurel brakes and wooded ridges;

The trout, beneath the sedgy brink,

Are sharp on ship-wrecked flies and midges.

AND of the scores of mountain trout-streams that I have fished, the Otter is associated with the most pleasing memories.

It is, or was, a model trout-stream; a thing to dream of. Having its rise within three miles of the village,

it meandered southward for ten miles through a mountain valley to its confluence with the second fork of Pine Creek, six miles of the distance being through a forest without settler or clearing.

The stream was swift, stony, and exceptionally free of brush, fallen timber and the usual débris that is so trying to the angler on most wooded streams. Then, it was just the right distance from town. It was so handy to start from the village in the middle of an afternoon in early summer, walk an hour and a half at a leisurely pace, and find one's self on a brawling brook where speckled trout were plenty as a reasonable man could wish.

Fishing only the most promising places for a couple of miles always gave trout enough for supper and breakfast, and brought the angler to the "TroutHouse," as a modest cottage of squared logs was called, it being the last house in the clearings and owned by good-natured Charley Davis, who never refused to entertain fishermen with the best his little house afforded. His accommodations were of the narrowest, but also of the neatest, and few women could fry trout so nicely as Mrs. Davis. True, there was only one spare bed, and, if more than two anglers desired lodgings, they were relegated to the barn, with a supply of buffalo skins and blankets. On a soft bed of sweet hay this was all that could be desired by way of lodgings, with the advantage of being free from mosquitoes and punkies. The best of rich, yellow butter with good

bread were always to be had at Charley's, and his charges were 12 cents for meals, and the same for lodging.

The two miles of fishing above the "Trout-House" led through clearings, and the banks were much grown with willows, making it expedient to use bait, or a single fly. I chose the latter; my favorite bug for such fishing being the red hackle, though I am obliged to confess that the fellow who used a white grub generally beat me.

But the evening episode was only preliminary ; it meant a pleasant walk, thirty or forty brook-trout for supper and breakfast, and a quiet night's rest. The real angling commenced the next morning at the bridge, with a six-mile stretch of clear, cold, rushing water to fish. My old-fashioned creel held an honest twelve pounds of dressed trout, and I do not recollect that I ever missed filling it, with time to spare, on that stretch of water. Nor, though I could sometimes fill it in a forenoon, did I ever continue to fish after it was full. Twelve pounds of trout is enough for any but a trout-hog.

But the peculiar phase of trout lore that most interested me, was the "run" of trout that were sure to find their way up stream whenever we had a flood late in May or the first half of June. They were distinct and different from the trout that came up with the early spring freshets. Lighter in color, deeper in body, with smaller heads, and better conditioned altogether.