Part 18

Bream of several species exist in great numbers in many of the streams and lakes of the State. They range from four ounces to one pound, and afford considerable sport on a light rod. Roach are not plentiful, but there they exist they will not refuse a brown hackle.

In many of the streams of the State war-mouthed perch exist in numbers, ranging from one to three pounds. When the streams are low, they readily take a fly, and give the angler all lie can attend to.

In some of the creeks tributary to the St. Johns’ and in some of the interior lakes, pickerel exercise their snapping propensities, and do not object to appropriate a gaudy fly in the early mom or at the close of the day.

On the Eastern Coast, more especially at Indian River inlet, small blue fish congregate in numbers during the winter months, and at times will not refuse a fly. They are fair fighters, and as the piscator can fish from a sandy beach, much enjoyment can be secured.

In Florida cat fish will take a fly, and I may also add a spinner. In this State we have a number of species of this fish, and one is a surface feeder. In the evening, when they are feeding on the surface, they will not reject a large and gaudy fly. To those who have been accustomed to capture with a stout rod diminutive specimens of catties, I will say, hook on to a catty weighing from six to twelve pounds and there will be “music in the air,” and unless skill is exercised on the part of the fisherman the leader will go to where the “woodbine twineth.”

In Florida, as everywhere else, the best fishing is near where A., B. or C. run a hotel or keep a boarding house, or where certain steamboats make a terminal landing. But in my experience the best places to fish, as a rule, are where there are no hotels or specimens of the colored persuasion with their cast nets. When “I go a-fishing” I leave civilization, hotels, and boarding-houses in the rear.

The best points for fly-fishing for large-mouthed bass are on the upper St. Johns, the tributaries of Indian river, the Kessimmee and the streams and lagoons on the south-west coast. For pickerel and bream the best points are the tributaries of the St. Johns between Mandarin and Lake Monroe. For war-mouthed perch, the best streams will be found in Alachua County.

From all that I can glean from gentlemen who have fished the locality, the lower Indian River and its tributaries will furnish a fine field for the fly-caster. West of Cedar Keys to St. Marks is a shoal coast covered with marine algæ; and the coast line is cut up with a number of small streams stocked—nay, swarming—with fish. This section is uninhabited, the streams have not been fished, and a fine field for sport awaits the fisherman. In addition, hand line or bass rod fishing can be enjoyed for sheepshead and channel bass. The woods abound with deer, the hummocks contain plenty of turkeys, and the bays and grassy flats during the winter are alive with ducks, and in certain localities geese and brant will be found. Beech birds, as snipe and curlews, can be bagged in quantity.

The first stream worthy of notice on the southwest coast is the Homosassa River, forty miles south of Cedar Keys. But this beautiful river has lost its greatest attraction, “Mother Jones.” I have been informed that she left Homosassa, and, as a sequence, there will be wanting the clean rooms and beds, the stewed and scalloped oysters, the aromatic coffee, the delicious breakfast bacon, and the luscious sheepshead done to a turn. With “Mother Jones” will depart many of the attractions of the place, more particularly the cuisine. I write feelingly, for I was the first to make known the attractions of my favorite Homosassa.

According to my friend, Dr. Ferber, Billy Bow Legs Creek, a tributary of Sarasota Bay, presents many attractions to the fly-fisher, more especially in the capture of cavalli and ravallia. Long Boat Inlet, an entrance to this bay, must not be overlooked.

Many points in Charlotte Harbor offer inducements to the fly-fisher. If he tires of using the split bamboo, he can troll with a spinner and land large channel bass and cavalli; for diversement he can seat himself in an arm chair on the dock at Punta Passa and imitate my friend Matthew Quay (late Secretary of State of Pennsylvania), who landed fifty-six large sheepshead in one hour. If dissatisfied with this description of sport the piscator can indulge in the capture of Jew-fish, weighing from one to three hundred pounds. On the Calloosahatchee, above the islands, the fly caster can be satiated with sport in landing large-sized cavalli. From Charlotte Harbor southward every entrance, bay, pass and lagoon will afford royal sport.

Delicate mist-colored leaders are not a necessity, for Florida fish have not been educated or posted with regard to the tricks of the craft. They seem to recognize but little difference between a single strand of gut and a clothes-line. The main things requisite are strong leaders and large-sized hooks, for when fish are so plentiful and valueless the fisherman is apt to try and see how many he can land within a given period. With regard to flies, almost any of the more common ones will answer a good purpose. My choice for channel bass, cavalli, sea trout and bone fish is a large-sized gaudy fly with a large-sized hook.

To reach the south-west coast persons can go direct from Savannah or Fernandina, or visit Jacksonville _en route_. At Cedar Keys, Tampa, or Manatee they can charter a sloop or schooner of from four to six tons for five or six dollars per day. This amount will cover captain, boy, small boat, bedding, stove and cooking utensils. Fish, beach birds, oysters and clams are plentiful, and the expense of the culinary department will be from fifty cents to five dollars per capita per diem, according to the Dutch proclivities of the persons comprising the party.

The coast is shallow, the ten-fathom line ranging from thirty to forty miles from shore, and as a consequence there is no undertow, rollers or heavy seas. The passage from Cedar Keys to Bay Biscayne can be made in a small boat at almost any time. On one occasion the writer made the trip from Key West to Cedar Keys in a boat sixteen feet in length.

Fly-fishing in Florida is a recent development, and it offers a large field for experiment and investigation; and I trust that the period is not far distant when the sport will be indulged in by the many. By the first of January, 1884, Tampa will be reached from this city in twenty-four hours via Sanford and Kissimmee. From what we know of railroads in this State we feel assured that one will be completed to Punta Passa within two years; when Charlotte Harbor and Estero Bay, the greatest of fishing points, will be rendered accessible to all.

In preparing this article we have used the common names of fish, and the reason for so doing will be obvious to all. In passing through this city, if fly-fishers will call upon me between 12 m. and 2 P.M., I will endeavor to smooth the road for them.

Jacksonville, Fla.

FLY-FISHING.

By Col. E. Z. C. Judson.—“Ned Buntline.”

Fishermen are _born_ such—not made! That is my private opinion, publicly expressed. It is founded upon the experience of full half a century on ocean, lake, river, and brook. I have taken a mature man with me on a fishing trip, who had never cast “a line in pleasant places,” lent him rod and tackle, made a few casts in his presence, caught perhaps a half a dozen trout, and then watched his imitative power combined with the tact _born_ in him. If he was one of the right sort he would go right on improving every hour, and in a little while begin to fill his creel with the best of us.

My personal knowledge of fish and fishing began early. My father had few superiors as an angler, and trouting was his specialty. He made his own rods, lines and flies. The first was a tapering ashen pole—generally about ten feet long—scraped, oiled and varnished till it was as smooth and bright as glass. The line was made from horse-hair and braided with a care and patience that used to be a wonder to me.

The blue-jay, the red-headed woodpecker, the pheasant and wood-duck were shot for fly-feathers. When I was a wee toddler in skirts I used to hold hooks and snells and play at “helping papa.”

All this was done here at the head of the Delaware, where both my father and myself were born. But a change came. When I was about six years old my father bought a large tract of wild land in the wildest part of Wayne County, Pennsylvania, and settled on it. The Lackawaxen Creek ran right through it, and that then lovely stream was literally alive with speckled trout. From the day we entered our log house there I was a _fisher_-boy. I caught trout every day in the summer, for a big spring rose within a rod of the house and from it ran a lively brook to the main stream, ten rods away, and even a pin-hook and linen thread would draw them out.

As I grew older I would go with my father to the big eddies and deep holes, where he would lure the largest to his fly and I was only too—too utterly happy when allowed to wade waist deep in the water to carry or float his string of trout toward home.

Since then never a summer has passed, except when actively engaged in naval or military service for my country, that has not found me fishing somewhere. I have covered the best waters in Maine, New Hampshire and Vermont; Canada and the British Provinces know me of old; California, Oregon and British Columbia—all along the Big Rockies—have seen me testing flies and bait, the former often tied rudely on the spur of necessity, but generally very effectively. For where trout are _very_ plenty, food is scarce, and they will bite at anything. I speak of trout mostly, for that is my _favorite_ fish. Salmon next, although the work comes in when you strike anything over eight or ten pounds, and sport degenerates when it becomes _labor_. I have heard of “labors of love,” but I never took stock in anything of the kind.

In all this active piscatorial life, I have studied _Fishermen_ as well as fish. And I have come to the conclusion which opens this article—that fishermen are _born_ for it and can’t he manufactured out of _raw_ material!

I have felt thankful to our Father above that nine out of ten of the _tourists_ who take to the streams in easy reach, are indifferent fishermen. For thereby the streams still contain fish. Were all who fish in them skillful and hoggish, in a little while there would be no fishing except in “far-away” places, difficult to reach.

I do not claim to hold a Master’s Degree as a fly-fisherman.

I do delight in the art, for one of the arts and sciences it surely is. I have bowed my head in reverence before the skilled hand of my dear friend, George Dawson—now beside the bright waters of the Happy Land above. I have stood silent and pleased while Seth Green deftly made casts which I could only feebly imitate.

Yet those who know me best say that I _can_ use a fly-rod and catch trout and salmon therewith, so I essay a few words on the subject, speaking only from my own experience. I have never been observant enough to see a trout strout strike a fly with his tail, drown it and then eat it. I always take a trout in the mouth on my fly—generally hooked in the upper lip, showing that he does _his_ part of the business in a straightforward way and does not come tail first to the lure.

I own to be a little particular about my rod, the middle joint not too limber, but with back-bone as well as spring; it suits me if it tapers so as to describe a perfect arc when the tip is brought near to the butt. I specify no makers—though I own to favorites in that line. I wish to make no petty jealousies here.

A rod as near ten feet long as may be, for trout fishing, weight from seven to eight ounces, never over ten, with the reel close to and _under_ the butt; an easy running click-reel; a line of braided hair and silk, strong and weighty enough for a cast against the wind as well as with it; a clear, strong, looped leader for a quick change of flies; a book well supplied with the latter to give the speckled beauties a choice, and I am ready for work.

The idea of special flies for special seasons of the year I have found to be a humbug. Trout are exceedingly whimsical about flies. Watch those that are on the stream, see which the trout leap for and get as near the like of them as your book will allow.

Always, if possible, fish down stream. It is easier. You can detect swirls, eddies, shaded pools, coverts of rock, mossy-banks and overhanging branches, from above, better than below. Trout do not scare so easily that a cast of fifteen or twenty feet will not find them ready to rise if they are hungry. You have also the aid of the current in guiding your fly to each coveted spot after it touches the water.

Enter a stream, say its average width is seventy-five or one hundred feet, few of our mountain streams are so much, and a skilled rodster can cover it with ease—for wading down lie chooses his water, makes his casts, seldom over twenty or twenty-five feet of line to a cast, much of oftener less, and in “good waters” fills his creel.

For a forward cast, with your line as far out as may be necessary for the distance, throw your rod sharply back to an angle of not over fifteen degrees, and then bring it forward quickly till, as your line and flies are extended, the tip is on a level with your breast, never lower so as to dip water. With a line “taut,” so to speak, if a trout rises as your fly or flies touch the stream, a sharp, quick turn of the wrist will strike the hook home and secure him. Your strike must be firm and decisive; give the trout one second to understand and he _spits_ the fly out. Laugh if you will, but that is what he does.

When hooked, if not too large for your tackle, _draw_ the trout swiftly to you, _lift_ him out, and break his neck, by bending back the head where it joins the back-bone. Thus he is out of pain, and does not bruise and flop himself soft, while dying, in your creel. “Playing” a trout for the mere fun of the thing, is unnecessary torture; besides, you frighten more than you secure, in the process. A very large trout, of course, must be weakened in the water, but many fishermen think there is no sport without they “play” a fish, no matter how small he is.

Never cast a foot more line than you need. You cannot gather slack half as easy as you can pay it out.

In regard to flies—I have found the brighter the day, as a general thing, the darker fly do trout want. At early dawn, or in the soft twilight of evening, a very light fly—a Coachman, is best. Next, Gray Miller, and especially the Stone fly. I use more Coachmen, Black Gnats and Stone flies in _one_ season, than I do of all other flies put together in three summers.

Be sure, of all things, that your line runs easy through the standing guides, or guide-rings. I like the former best.

In casting right or left, to reach under bushy or over-hanging limbs, the same sharp, or quick action which makes an over-cast successful, is required, and great care not to draw any slack line when your fly drops where you want it.

Many fly-fishermen are considered adepts according to the _length_ rather than the grace and certainty of their casts. I do not think in actual stream fishing an average of a day’s casting, would reach over fifteen feet to a cast. I never made but one _very_ long cast in actual angling in my life.

Once, on the bank of a mill-pond in the upper part of Alder Brook, in Ulster County, N. Y., I saw a trout in shoal water, the largest I ever caught in that vicinity. To reach him without alarm, I cast seventy-two feet, _measured_ afterward from a knot on my line near my reel, and got my fish.

He weighed two and a quarter pounds, and I had to play him some to save him.

And now, with a word to young fishermen and old _beginners_, I will close.

Learn first to cast a line and take a trout with bait before you try a fly. You will thereby gain confidence, learn to hook your fish at the instant he strikes, and gain the supple use of arm and wrist which makes the fly-fisherman skillful.

My dear wife, by whose sick bed I pen these words, for one long joyous summer in camp, fished by my side, using bait while she saw me casting no lure but flies.

The next time we went on the stream she had a six-ounce fly-rod, and fifty beautiful trout in two hours to her basket proved how apt a pupil she had been.

With many words of cheer to all who love the glorious pastime, I remain, as of yore—Uncle Ned—_a born fisherman_.

“Eagle’s Nest,” Delaware Co., N. Y.

“There are two peculiarities of all sorts of fish, which are frequently unnoticed; that they are largely attracted to their food by scent, and that they feed at night.”—_Seth Green_.

“The first and last object of the fly-fisher is to show as much of the fly to the fish as possible, and as little of anything else.”—_Francis Francis_.

“The notion of the main mass of anglers would appear to be, that if an unusually cunning fish takes up an impregnable-looking position he is to be religiously left unassailed. ‘Breakers ahead!’ seem to be scented by the over-cautious pliers of the rod, when the chances of conquest are really ‘as even’ as in less dangerous localities; and even supposing this were not so, the greater the difficulties the more exciting the sport, and the keener the pleasure.”—_David Foster._

(Illustration Missing)

26. Manchester.

27. Blue Jay.

28. Imperial.

29. McLeod.

30. Black and Gold.

31. White and Jungle Cock.

“Many men of fame, even equal to Dr. Johnson’s, have been eminent as anglers, and have redeemed and disculpated angling from his surly and foolish sneer.”—_John Lyle King._

“I invariably endeavor, when dressing a fly, to imitate the living insect; still I have seen nondescript flies beat all the palmer hackles and the most life-like flies that ever graced a casting-line.”—“_Frank Forester_.”

“If we are content with an ungainly fly, we will be satisfied with inferiority of rod and tackle; and although the fish may not see the difference, the angler may become, from neglecting one point, slovenly in all. A well-made fly is a beautiful object, an ill-made one an eye-sore and annoyance; and it is a great satisfaction both to exhibit and examine a well-filled book of handsomely tied flies.”—_R. B. Roosevelt_.

“What is life, after all, but just going a-fishing all the time, casting flies on many rivers and lakes, and going quietly home as the day is ending?”—_W. C. Prime._

“This fishing story is at an end; not for want of material, for there are other scenes and other times of equal pleasure that crowd my memory as I write these lines. And so it will ever be to you, my friend, should you, even in your later years, take up the angler’s art: it grows with its growth, and strengthens with its strength, and, if uncurbed, may perchance, with many of us, become a passion.

“But, for all that, it will fill the storehouse of our memories with many a scene of unalloyed pleasure, which in the sunset of life we may look back upon with fondest satisfaction.

“If in the minds of any one of you who as yet are ignorant of the charm of fishing, as it has here been revealed. I have induced the desire for a test, ‘Stand not upon the order of your going, but go at once,’ provided it be the season, and, the word of an old fisherman for it, you will thank me for these random pages.”—_Charles W. Stevens._