CORRESPONDENCE.
AN ALBERTA TROUT-STREAM.
[TO THE EDITOR OF TRR " SPECTATOR-1
Snt,—The creeks that rise in the Rockies and flow into the big rivers of the Norte-West are very unlike the trout- streams of Britain, North or South. The clear green water hurries along between brown earth banks cut perpendicularly by the action of spring-floods, or spreads itself to wind in and out of acres of shingle, mostly bare, but dotted here and there by clamps of willows, and sometimes diversified by a prostrate tree, still green but not likely to live through the winter. The stones themselves have not a particle of moss or any green thing on them; the shingle, in fact, is like a sea-beach made up of pebbles varying in size from an ounce to a hundredweight. Occasionally one comes across a backwater where water-weeds, brown and green, flourish. And the stream-channel, for all its bareness, has beauties. Where it runs through the bush, the dark green of the cottonwood trees gives to its hue a deeper shade. At intervals a pictu- resque rock, tinted with lichen, stands out of the water. And fairest of all is the prospect of the mountains, with their sharp-cut peaks, and the ravines and ledges, with shadows deepening as the sun goes round, till the afternoon sees the whole range enveloped in a soft blue haze. The sharp out- line, of the towering peaks of the Rockies—in summer, it must be remembered, they are bare of snow—are a noble feature in a landscape that would otherwise be somewhat dreary and monotonous. The sunrises and sunsets are beautiful, the latter especially so to a spectator standing eastward of the great range. As one looks west, one sees the red sun disappearing behind the corner of some steep bank, and the whirling, eddying waters glittering and sparkling as they hurry down some little rapid. A fair sight indeed, and not the less fair because it is just the time when the trout rise best. They will even go on feeding for some time after sunset, if the evening is fine and there is a moon. Indeed, moat of the fishing here is done in the evening.
It is not easy to approach many parts of the creek, or work one's way up or down. Often the banks, especially the bush- banks, are much undercut, and the dense array of willows, with the piled-up debris of rotten trunks and uprooted willows, make the footing bad and the throwing of a line worse. In places where the rocky sides are nearly perpendicular, you must either go round or into the water. Of course one expects to go into the water, but naturally prefers to keep dry as long as possible. And after a day of hot and hard work the most enthusiastic angler has to consider his legs to a certain extent, and must remember that the water is much of it melted snow. True it is that towards the afternoon of a hot day the water gets warm, but he may go down another day after a rainstorm or a fail of snow from the mountains and wade in as usual and find the stream even dangerously cold,—of wading in stockings I am distinctly afraid. Where there is shingle the casting is good, though the angler will invariably find that there is a dwarf willow or some jetsam of the river to catch the fly. However clear the shallows may appear, there is sure to be an uprooted willow about just reaching to the top of the water. There are parts of the river where the dense willows on the bank and the depth of the water effectually prevent your throwing at all. Generally speaking, a deep run, say under an overhanging bank with willows, is compensate'd by a bit of open shingle on the further side. And so a deter- mined man can reach all but a small portion of the river. The footing in the water, except in the shallows, is uncertain, the bottom often crumbling away with the ease of a steep bit of sea-beach. A rock standing near mid-stream offers you a tempting stand, but you get on to it only to be smartly canted over. The spruce logs left by a " drive " often provide one with a capital stand, though they are given to rolling at a moment's notice. The trout are very fond of the neighbourhood of a log jam with its resultant eddies, and often dart under it when scared; the shade and warmth doubtless attract them. The soft though fibrous bark of the spruce holds a hook well, too, as I know. The wear and tear to the cast comes mostly, indeed, from the sunken willows, for the fish, if hooked near the bank, is certain to make a bolt for them. The bush, if you walk through it with the cast wound round the brim of your hat, is sometimes trying, but your worst moments are when dodging a long and very rotten piece of overgrown and undercut bank. The best feeding-grounds are near these banks, and probably just as you have got down on to the very narrow foothold on the edge of the deep water, up comes a bald-headed hornet, and you have to draw your landing-net from your belt and defend yourself. These are merely incidents in the day, and except when it is advis- able to be on the bank, wading does away with some of them.
A thoroughly enjoyable day you may have wandering down or up the stream, or across it, to try a quiet eddy you suspect to hold a fish or two. As a rule tbe channels of an otherwise shallow reach, cut in the bottom where the water is deep and draws slowly with a smooth surface, are the most likely places, the clearer and smoother the more likely. Remem- ber, the clearer the water in the river is, the better chance you have of a rise. The pools do not give the rises that the deep- running water and the eddies below the rapids do. Now and then tbe fish rise well in a clear, unbroken, quick-running, shallow reeeh. Sometimee, owing to fond being plentiful. scores of fish may be seen, and your fly is often chased, but not taken.
Towards the winter the water gets lower and clearer, and the fishing better, though the wading is a cold job. One sees but little life on the river ; a common object is the large hawk, who sails slowly round with steady wing, screaming at times. The " eyeholder," a woodpecker . with red underwings and white spot on his head, flits across the water as you move along. The handsome dove-grey kingfisher with his dark crest and reddish underwings is the liveliest living thing. He comes roun I familiarly from the bush and poises himself over the water, and then dashes into it with a noise like a cannon-balL He is a famous diver. He is tame, too, and will perch on a snag a few yards away and watch you. Often one notices that the wasps, smaller and better-tempered than those at home, are attracted by the fish, but they are easily driven away, and do not resent it either. If the fish are left on the bank alone for some time, especially e single fish, you may find it gone when you go to take it up ; either a mink or a hawk having taken it. The mink is an inquisitive creature. If you chance to look round into the willows you may discover his brown coat and black-tipped tail ; he has been to see what and who you are. During the fishing season duck is seldom seen, but at sundown mallard may dash past. The fish rise well when the thunder-gust that rushes down the creek before the storm roughens the water.; there is no need to strike them. The fish are on the watch, too, as the heavy rain pelts down. The current is strong enough in places to make wading in a foot and a half of water hard work, and rapid enough to take one's landing-net out of Bight if it should happen to drop. The deepest wading I ever did was when my cast caught on a horizontal willow on the opposite bank. I took my shirt out, and held it and my coat as high as I could; the water took to the lowest shirt-button. This was about 4 o'clock, and the best time to wade. The early morning is not the time to fish; the trout do not feed, it seems, till the sun has warmed the water. From nine to ten they will rise well, at noon for an hoar or so, again at four I should say, and from six till sundown and past.
They like a big fly, and it matters little where it is on the cast. I have caught a dozen with my middle fly while the end fly has been ignored. Unfortunately, I had no substitute for it, and before and since it had done well. Let me add this, that flies made by oneself are more likely to be useful out here than the highly finished products of the professional, many of which are unlike anything that ever flew, certainly unlike anything that ever flew in this country. Observation of the flies seen on the water, and the colours of such odds and ends that the fish rise to look at, are the best guides. The trout are not so civilised here as they are at home, but they have their likes and tastes and whims,—even the grass- hopper fails to catch them at times.
Of all remarkable things, a " spate " when the water is as thick as soup is the most hopeless time to catch fish. The best is when the water is clear enough for you to see almost every fish and almost every rise at the fly.—I am, Sir, &e.,
M. C.
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