Sunshine and the Dry Fly

By J. W. Dunne

“Sunshine and the Dry Fly” is a classic guide to fly-fishing, with a special focus on fishing for trout. Written in simple, plain language and full of helpful illustrations, this volume represents a timeless handbook for the fly fisherman, and it would make for a fine addition to collections of related literature. Contents include: “Troubles of a Beginner”, “Against the Light”, “The Blue-Winged Olive”, “The Sherry Spinner”, “The Sense of Colour”, “Pale-Wateries”, “Pale-Wateries (continued)”, “Olive, Iron-Blues, Brown Ants, and Black Gnats”, “Mostly About May-Flies”, “The Trout and the Fly – A Psychological Speculation”, “Cavear Juvenis”, etc. Many vintage books such as this are increasingly scarce and expensive. It is with this in mind that we are republishing this volume now in an affordable, modern, high-quality edition complete with a specially-commissioned new introduction on the history of fishing.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Read Books Ltd.
• Release date: Oct 18, 2011
• ISBN: 9781447492986

Book preview

SUNSHINE AND

THE DRY FLY

by

J. W. DUNNE

CONTENTS

SUNSHINE AND THE

DRY FLY

CHAPTER I

TROUBLES OF A BEGINNER

MANY years ago I bought, in preparation for my first visit to a real chalk-stream, a complete set (one dozen each of twenty-seven patterns) of the smaller Halford trout flies. And for many years after it used to afford me considerable satisfaction to inspect the contents of twenty-two nicely labelled compartments—apportioned between two fly boxes—and speculate upon the day when I should discover the prototype of one or another of these beautiful little things actually hatching out upon the water. The remaining five patterns had already in a measure justified their purchase. I had scooped off the water a female Welshman’s-button which was simply Number 30 come alive; a fly which looked like the Female Olive Spinner (ordinary) took the air every evening; and once, in the late dusk, I had glimpsed, drifting past the bank, a spinner remarkably like the Female Olive (red). The little red-headed Black Gnat had proved particularly deadly. And there had been a morning when, finding a small, blue-winged fly hatching in great numbers, I had put up, after some hesitation (for the body seemed entirely different), a Male Iron-blue, and had annexed therewith three hefty Test fish. So I had no reason to doubt that the remaining patterns would in due course prove their worth.

But, to tell the truth, I was more than a little puzzled at the number of Test flies which were not included in the Halford series. Every day, and all day long, these neglected insects were hatching out in hosts. They were all duns, sober - looking duns with almost colourless legs and setœ, with wings varying from crinkled pewter to the tint of Sheffield plate worn thin, and with plain, monochromatic bodies varying from palest honey to darkest amber. I could only conclude that these flies were peculiar to the Longparish part of the Test, and that for beautiful, barred olives, and for cream-striped pale-wateries, one must journey down-stream, Stockbridge way. Since, however, these latter Ephemeridœ were not to be found where I was fishing, I had to make the best of a bad job, and, with the assistance of the Little Marryat and the Whitchurch dun, did well enough upon the whole.

May-flies, again (but this was on another river), were a source of equal difficulty. I seriously supposed that there were at least fourteen kinds of these insects: the two which I actually saw on the water in their various stages, and the other dozen varieties represented by the cunningly tied artificials in my boxes. That the originals of these latter never showed up did not trouble me. What did, however, worry me was that nowhere could I purchase imitations of the two flies I always saw. I remember I used to wire descriptions to the tackleists. Eventually I perceived that, if I wanted representations of these (apparently) purely local insects, I should have to tie them myself.

Among a quantity of second-hand, dyed hackles, over fifty years old, I came upon a few which had faded to a tint that seemed to my untrained eye almost perfect for the job in hand. Dyed wool plus gold tinsel made a body nearer to that of Ephemera vulgata than did any straw or dubbing that I had so far seen. And the trout seemed also inclined to that opinion. At any rate, short rises ceased. There were, of course, refusals: but when the fly was taken, it was with a businesslike gulp that did one’s heart good to see and hear.

Oiling or otherwise wetting the body of this fly turned it almost black; and, in order to recover the colour, it was necessary to squeeze out the moisture with a handkerchief, and subject the fly to a prolonged drying in the sun. Consequently, this imitation was seldom successful on rainy days. Nevertheless, it served its turn; and, as a rule, by the time these rather uneducated fish had got to know it from the natural, the spent gnat would be on, and the game would commence de novo.

In course of time, however, these artificials became unsatisfactory. For some reason, the previously imagined resemblance between the tints of these flies and those of the natural insect ceased to be perceptible. And, of course, as soon as that began to happen, the trout (this is a thing which every angler will understand) appeared to be taking the flies less freely.

Hunting through materials for body dressings, I turned up a skein of one of those artificial silks which have come into prominence of late years. They possess certain distinct advantages over the ordinary floss-silk. They are far more brilliant, and they look more translucent. They are pleasanter to work with, for the fibres are fat and glossy and do not catch in every little roughness of one’s fingers in the maddening fashion peculiar to floss-silk. It is, in fact, the easiest stuff to wind on to a fly that I have so far come across. The slipperiness of the fibres is so great that they are able to slide longitudinally upon one another, and the stuff, consequently, packs more evenly in winding, and gives a smoother, less woolly result when wound than does real silk. Finally, owing to this slipperiness, the fibres comb out and separate at a stroke; and this peculiarity enables one to blend together strands of different colours as easily as one, mixes paints.

But it is, of course, a commonplace of fly-dressing tradition that all silk darkens hopelessly when oiled; and I had no reason to anticipate anything else in the case of this artificial material. Nevertheless, the beautiful sheen of the stuff tempted me to such an extent that, more in idleness than with any serious purpose, I tied a May-fly body therewith. Then I oiled it.

The body promptly turned black.

So unexpectedly black, indeed, that it occurred to me to unwind the still oily silk and examine it. To my immense surprise I found that it had not noticeably darkened at all!

The solution of the mystery was obvious. What looks like darkening in such cases is merely the black hook showing through the transparent covering.

So I tried covering the hook with silver tinsel and winding the artificial silk over that—a tip from McClelland’s book. The result was extremely disappointing. True, the body was no longer actually black; but it was still hopelessly dark and dingy.

Fly-tying tradition again. I ought to have remembered that silver tinsel is merely a polished reflector, and is not bright, except at the one small point of its surface where it reflects white light from the sky. The remaining surface reflects nothing but the comparatively dull colours of its immediate terrestrial surroundings. Normally, the greater part of any polished reflector is actually dark, as every painter who has ever tried to portray such a surface knows. For brightness, one requires what is known as diffuse reflection. And the best diffuse reflector is—white paint. If the reader will hold a mirror over his head, and then compare its surface with that of a piece of white paper held against it, he will see what I mean.

I dipped the shank of the hook into a tin of quick-drying white enamel, and stuck the hook upright in a cake of soap to dry. Then I covered it with the proper thickness of artificial silk, and touched the result with oil.

What I had been aiming at was merely a well-defined, monochromatic body which should maintain its selected surface-colour when oiled. But what now developed was something entirely different.

As the oil passed inward, the body began to glimmer with a sort of pale transparency; and this transparency grew and grew until, presently, the entire depth of the fly had become, to all appearance, a shining mass of delicate, translucent colour. The thing was alight, like jade. I took it to the window, held it against the sky, and brought a strong magnifying-glass to