morning and two 
hours in the early 
evening trying to get 
a rise, but failed. I 
tried nearly every fly 
I owned and every 
method and trick I 
knew, but I might 
just as well have 
cast over the fields, 
for all the reward 
my efforts brought. 
At 7:30 I quit fish- 
ing and watched the 
different anglers. One 
of them was truly an 
expert fly caster. The 
way his flies alighted 
on the water and the 
action he imparted to 
them when he wished 
to do so, was surely 
enough to tempt any 
trout. And they were 
interested in his offerings, for I saw 
at least ten trout turn over for his 
flies, but for some reason or other they 
would stop just short of taking ahold. 
At one time the angler started the 
flies over the water in swift jerks. 
“my ty 
al 
_ A ae breeze stirs the surface of Brandy Brook sufficiently to make conditions ideal for the 
SAW a trout start following and 
then leave as usual. For some rea- 
son or other the angler turned to 
speak with his companion leaving his 
flies sink as he did so. While talking 
he mechanically drew the flies a very 
short distance and then let them rest 
again. A second time the angler did 
this and at the same instant I saw 
a trout bravely take the tail fly. The 
angler did not take the hint thus 
handed him or perhaps he did not 
realize what had prompted _ the 
strike, but I had and I promptly 
ye re sie ms 
fly caster. 
marked it down for future refer- 
ence. 
HERE is always more or less ban- 
tering between the different par- 
ties fishing “Brandy” and there was a 
remark passed around this evening to 
the effect that the trout were not go- 
ing to start biting until nine o’clock. 
I laughingly made the crack that I 
would catch one at the stroke of nine. 
Of course I had no idea of doing so, 
at the time of making the comment, 
but afterward began thinking. “Why 
not?” 
T least I could make every effort to 
make my crack come true and it 
would be quite a joke. 
First I picked out my spot for the 
night’s fishing. From my vantage 

The author and some husky “brookies.” 

point I could see a sunken log on the 
further side of the brook. From the 
many gleams and flashes I saw near 
this log, I figured that for some rea- 
son or other there were a number of 
trout hanging around it. Having set- 
tled this matter I turned my attention 
to my book of flies. As I went over my 
assortment I failed to see any fly that 
gave me confidence, and knowing pard- 
ner’s lucky hunches were worth listen- 
ing to, I called him up from the brook. 
E had in his book a number of ca- 
hill quill flies, tied on No. 8 LS. 
hooks. The wings were genuine sum- 
mer wood-duck, the hackle a blue gray 
and very thin, but stiff. The tail was 
a few wisps of wood-duck. Although 
the flies were large, they were very 
delicate, and pardner informed me 
that he had been saving them for just 
such times as this. 
Every other angler on the brook 
was using either two or three flies 
and a fairly heavy leader. We decided 
to use only the one fly and our lightest 
dry fly tapered leader. We each made 
up three casts to be ready for any 
emergency and sat down to await the 
fatal hour. 
Nine o’clock came and not a trout 
had been caught since the one men- 
tioned. As I made my initial cast I 
suddenly felt sure that I was going 
to have good fortune. 
EMEMBERING the hint I had 
gathered from my earlier obser- 
vations, I let my flies sink a bit, then 
pulled them sharply about a foot, then 
repeated. As I gave the flies the sec- 
ond jerk I connected. “Well, boys,” I 
said, “you were right. They started 
(Continued on page 571) 
527 
