WITH THE GRAYLING IN ENGLAND. 



S. HOWARTH. 



In October, '82, a friend asked me to go 

 with him for a day's grayling fishing in that 

 portion of the river Blythe running 

 through Bagot's Park. This was a part of 

 the stream I had never fished and which 

 was noted for large grayling. 



At the gate of my friend's house I was 

 greeted with " I will be there in a minute." 

 Rods, tackle and grub were quickly stowed 

 and we started for a 12 mile drive. The 

 first 6 were up a slight grade. The re- 

 mainder of the road led through Byrkley 

 Park, past Christ Church on Needwood, 

 and through Hoar Cross village. Leaving 

 Hoar Cross Hall — once famous as the 

 home of the Meynell hounds — on our left, 

 we drove on to Bagot's Bromley village 

 where we left our team. A walk of 1^ 

 miles along the Rugby road brought us to 

 the river. It would not be dignified by the 

 name on this side of the Atlantic but would 

 be called a creek. Leaving my friend to fol- 

 low his own way, I took out a cast prepared 

 the night before and put it in the creek to 

 soak. The flies were of the size we would 

 call midges here. They were the rusty olive 

 dun, October dun and the Burton blue. The 

 olive dun was tied on No. 14 Sneck 

 bend hooks, dressed as follows: Body a 

 minute portion of chocolate colored wool, 

 on yellow silk; hackle a yellow dun and 

 wings starling. The Burton blue, was of 

 the same size and tied with the same colored 

 silk, ribbed with fine gold twist, dun hackle 

 and wings. The October dun was tied on a 

 No. 16 hook, using the same silk hackle and 

 wings as the rusty olive and a little blue 

 fur from a rabbit, instead of the chocolate 

 wool for the body. These flies would seem 

 to most Americans as altogether too small 

 for fish up to 17^2 inches long and weigh- 

 ing nearly 2 pounds. In fact most Ameri- 

 cans to whom I show the kind of hooks we 

 used laugh and say they are only fit to catch 

 minnows with. My cast was tapered the 

 whole length of its 9 feet; the last 2 lengths 

 being of the finest drawn gut that it was 



possible to secure. I claim no superiority 

 for the English system of angling, but 

 merely give these details to show what is 

 used there. 



At the second cast I raised and hooked 

 a fish well over the 9 inch limit. All fish 

 under that size I put back. That was my 

 rule for years. A few yards lower down 

 I hooked another fish that looked 15 inches 

 long; but lost it just as I was putting the 

 landing net under it. Grayling are exceed- 

 ingly tender about the mouth. 



I then went about a ~%. mile farther down, 

 leaving that length to my friend behind me. 

 After about i l / 2 hours I returned up the 

 stream to see what he had done. Nothing 

 but one measly chub was the result. What 

 had I? I showed him the result — 12 fine 

 fish, 2 of them over 14 inches long. 



Would I teach him how to cast a fly? 

 Certainly. Get your light rod — he had been 

 bait fishing. Here's a cast all ready. The 

 first hour he hooked and landed 5 fish, los- 

 ing several others. Then we took a rest for 

 lunch. That finished, we took up our rods 

 again. Just as we did so the keeper — Sam 

 Gorse by name — came on the scene and 

 asked to see our permit. He then accom- 

 panied me by the river side and landed the 

 fish for me. He had plenty to do. The 

 grayling rose as I never but once before 

 or since saw them rise. In less than \ l /i 

 hours I had 18 more fish in my basket, the 

 largest almost 18 inches long and weigh- 

 ing just under 2 pounds, and 6 of the others 

 weighed over a pound each. Having made 

 what I considered a good catch I quit 

 and went back to my friend, whom I found 

 quite excited over a large fish he had just 

 lost. 



Soon after 3 o'clock we packed up and 

 left, my friend being well satisfied with the 

 10 brace he had caught in his first day's 

 fly-fishing. He gave up bait fishing from 

 that date, and when I left England he was 

 one of the most successful fly-fishers in his 

 town. 



" Papa," said Tommy Tredway. 



" Now, Tommy," replied Mr. Tredway, 

 " I shall answer only one more question 

 to-day. So be careful what you ask." 



" Yes. papa." 



" Well, go on." 



"Why don't they bury the Dead Sea?" 

 — Household Words. 



