DRY-FLY FISHING 



After a most excellent lunch at the camp, Mr. A. 

 seemed very anxious to join the game and see just 

 how we did it, so I took him in my boat to the large 

 bunch of fish just below the camp to give him a 

 chance. The weather had become dark and a 

 few drops of rain were falling. I knew what 

 would happen. We got into position with the 

 other two boats below us, parallel to the bunch of 

 fish, and the show began. Mr. A. was not used 

 to my single-handed rod and could not place the 

 fly in the proper way to raise the fish, so both the 

 other boats had fish on before we did, but my light 

 two-handed rod exactly suited him. He soon 

 hooked a fish with this, leaving in his own boat to 

 land him and letting me take one for myself, as all 

 the other rods had fish on. The one which finally 

 got the fly seemed a big one, as it took out the line 

 fast and I could not turn him at all. However, in 

 half an hour or so we got him up to the beach 

 and found he was a sixteen-pound fish hooked in 

 the belly with a five-ounce rod on a No. 8 fly hook. 

 I kept this skin for my Neversink camp. 



The next fish on the other rod ran at least 

 500 feet before Mr. B. could get up to take him; 

 when 650 feet had run out, I held rather tight to 

 turn him, and the backing broke at the reel. It 



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