38 



when fishing with my father, the trout have been feeding 

 freely, and, although we tried numbers of our favourite 

 flies, we could not get a rise, my father saying we were 

 wrong in colour ; and, requesting me to catch a natural 

 fly, he would place it under his magnifying glass and get 

 his material book to compare his colours with the real fly. 

 He had a wonderful eye for colour, and always made his 

 materials wet before comparing them with the natural fly. I 

 well remember on one occasion, when my father was 

 fishing the river Derwent, opposite the Lee hat factory, 

 below Cromford (the late Sir Richard Arkwright's water), 

 I caught a natural fly from the water, sat down on the 

 bank and made three imitations, putting them on his cast. 

 There were numbers of trout and greyling rising, and he 

 had been trying his flies with no success. The first or 

 second cast he made with the three flies he hooked three 

 fish, one on each fly, and had an excellent battle 

 in bringing them to the landing net. One fish broke 

 his hold, and lay exhausted on the water. I instantly 

 jumped in, regardless of consequences, put my net under 

 it as it dived down, threw it out on the bank, and landed 

 the other two. My father was very angry with me, telling 

 me I might have been drowned ; but I could not resist 

 the momentary impulse of jumping in after it. My 

 father made a heavy basket of trout and greyling that day 

 with the same kind of fly. This is only one instance out 

 of numbers in which I have observed that colour is a 

 grand secret in fly fishing. 



