SALMON FLIES 



The hero of this adventure and author of the fly in question was one 

 Michael Maher, fisherman on the Longfield water of the Suir, who started 

 from home one spring morning in 1874, leaving his fly-book behind and 

 taking only the Devon minnow as bait, for he had heard that the water 

 was thick. He found it, on the contrary, very clear and, seeing a very 

 large flsh rise near a certain big stone — a grand taking place — he deter- 

 mined to avoid the risk of alarming him with a sunk bait, and to try a 

 fly over him first. But never a fly he had on him — only a big hook or 

 two for loach -fishing — ^and the day would be far spent before he could 

 return home for his book and get back to the river. 



There was a farmhouse at hand, however, and therein a maiden with 

 whom Michael was on terms of friendship. Repairing thither he begged 

 a bit of silk and some feathers with which to tie a fly on the spot. 



*' For feathers, sure there's lashin's of them," replied the nymph, 

 "for I'm afther plucking a poulthry this very morning; but for silk, 

 Michael, you're afther coming to the wrong shop, for sorra a bit of it is 

 there in the house." 



Now the fringe of pretty Phoebe's shawl was of pink worsted, and, 

 in default of silk, she willingly allowed Michael to pull out a few strands 

 of the same. Then she showed him where the spoils of the slaughtered 

 cockerel were lying. 



•' Musha! but them's poor stuff," quoth Michael. " Wasn't there 

 an iligant yuUa feather in the hat ye wore at the chapel on Sunday ? And 

 yuUa's the colour to fetch a salmon with the could weather we do be 

 having." 



Phoebe was too good-natured to refuse the appeal; a pinch of yellow- 

 dyed swan fibres would never be missed from the ample splendour of 

 the Sunday hat. In half-an-hour Michael had rigged up such a fly as 

 had never been displayed on the Suir or any other water — a pink worsted 

 body, a yellow swan wing and a hackle from the deceased " poulthry '* 

 wound under the same; and off he hurried to the river again. The big 

 fish seized the strange fly at the first offer, and within half-an-hour 

 Michael was on his way back to Gashel, carrying his noble quarry with 

 him. It constituted a record in weight for rod-fishing on the Suir, 

 famous as that river is for big fish, for it weighed just 57 lb. Of course 

 the first question asked by everybody who came to view the great fish 

 was — " What fly did you get him with, Michael ? " and to every one the 

 answer was the same — " Ah, that's a mysthery." 



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