No book devoted to the subject of the fishing of North Country rivers would be complete without a chapter on worm fishing.

This branch of the sport, has during recent years become more and more popular in the Northern Counties, as worm fishing, under the conditions mentioned later, undoubtedly deserves to be classed as an art alongside of the highest forms of fly fishing. Indeed, in its difficulties it exceeds fly fishing, both wet and dry.

There remains, however, still a certain amount of prejudice against worm fishing among fly fishermen, who continue to look upon it as unsporting and therefore beneath the notice of a self-respecting fisherman. But the prejudice of these men is probably largely due to their misconception of the term. For while trout can mostly be caught by any in a fresh with very elementary tackle, it takes an observant and persevering man to make a basket under conditions suitable for sporting upstream worming.

The use of the worm during the first few months of the season cannot be defended, whether the river be low and clear, or running strong with the Spring freshets; for seldom a day passes at that time of the year without a rise at some part of it during which trout will take a fly, and, while that is the case, what true disciple of Walton would use any other lure?

The season therefore when the worm can fairly be used is restricted to the time of low clear waters during the hottest part of the summer, when the trout have ceased to rise freely to the fly in the day-time, a period of some eight or ten weeks, beginning about the 10th of June. The Stone Fly is usually over by that date. Any antipathy to worm fishing under those conditions in our North Country Rivers is difficult to understand, for it provides a most sporting variety of fishing during the blazing days of summer when the fly is hopeless. And unless a man is prepared to work hard in the blistering sun, unless he has a good knowledge of the habits of trout, and is able to show a fair amount of skill, both in approaching his fish and in throwing the worm, his basket will be a light one.

Many are the days during the latter part of June and the month of July when the man who fishes fly only will return home with but an odd fish or so to show for his day’s outing. That may satisfy the gentleman of leisure, but to those who can devote to their favourite pastime only such days—often few and far between—as can be snatched from business, the killing of a few brace will appeal strongly.

To them in particular this chapter is addressed in the hope that some of those who, through prejudice, use fly only will reserve judgment, and, having read so far, may be sufficiently interested to read to the end of the chapter, and maybe to put into practice those hints which are here offered on one of the most delightful branches of trout fishing.

A day with the upstream worm always gives to the writers the utmost pleasure and satisfaction. Each cast is as full of interest as a cast made with the wet fly; and from the moment the worm touches the water to the moment it is withdrawn, the excitement rivals that conjured up by the approach of a dry fly to the spot whence recently emanated the rings made by a rising trout.

Then again, the skill necessary to throw a worm without flicking it off the hooks, and to drop it exactly where required with the least possible disturbance, is of no mean order.

That is not all, however; conditions vary, and all rivers from day to day present new problems. Unless therefore the angler is able to adapt himself to varying conditions, the most precise and delicate casting is of little avail.

To divine instinctively where the trout lie is the great secret of success; and it is the application of that knowledge that marks the expert in this branch of angling. To put the matter in a nutshell, an adept in upstream worm fishing combines delicate and accurate casting, unsurpassed even by the dry-fly man, with an intimate knowledge of the habits of trout. This can only be gained by keen and careful observation.

Neither wet-fly nor dry-fly fishing requires quite such a wide experience with regard to the habits of trout, and for that reason upstream worm fishing is to be classed as an art in itself. The knowledge gained of the habitat of the trout by clear water worming is a valuable asset to the wet-fly fisher and may often be turned to good account on one of those days when the hatch of fly is meagre and rising fish are few.

Is not this latter reason alone sufficient recommendation to induce every fly fisher to take up this branch of the art? If the reader thinks so, perhaps the few following hints on tackle and procedure may serve as some guide, particularly if he be a novice and about to make his initial effort.

The rod is, of course, of primary importance. Many writers recommend one of 12 ft. in length; and Stewart, who has always held the reputation of being one of the finest exponents of upstream worming of his day, recommends the use of a rod even longer than that. No doubt a long rod has the advantage of enabling the wielder to keep out of sight readily, but the writers seldom use any other than a 10½ ft. fly rod, simply because they frequently find it advisable to change from worm to fly and vice versâ.

The reel and line should be the same as that used for fly fishing, and also the cast (as in fly fishing), a tapered one of three yards, the last yard being of finest drawn gut. Then comes the worm tackle. With regard to this there is a choice of three different varieties, each having its own advantages, and it is for the reader to use that with which he best succeeds.

First there is the single-hook tackle, in which the worm is threaded over the shank of the hook, and is kept from slipping down by a crank at the top. The advantages of this tackle are that most of the hook is hidden, being buried in the worm, and, the hook being fairly large, a good hold is got upon a fish when hooked.

Second comes the two-hook or Pennell tackle. In this case two small hooks are used, one being whipped on to the gut an inch above the other. The upper hook is put through the worm a quarter to half an inch below the head, the worm is then twisted once round the tackle between the hooks, and the lower hook is put through the lower end of the body. This is a very good form of tackle, and is the one preferred by the writers, as the worm lives longer on it than when threaded on a single hook, is livelier and has a more natural appearance in the water. The hooks should be size No. 3 in the scale before mentioned on page 8.

Third comes the Stewart tackle, which is the same in form as the Pennell, except that it has three hooks one above the other, instead of two. This is a tackle the writers have very seldom used, and they are therefore, perhaps, hardly competent to speak of its merits. Their experience, however, leads them to think that the three hooks cannot be sufficiently well concealed by the small worms which it is imperative to use in low clear waters, and that therefore the trout have a better opportunity of detecting the deception.

The next point in the outfit is waders, and these are absolutely essential if the best is to be got out of upstream worming. The fish must be approached from almost directly behind, which is impossible in most cases if the fishing is done from the bank.

Lastly, the angler should always carry a few small leads or sinkers which can be easily put on and easily removed. Split shot in various sizes, hammered flat, will do quite well. They will not often be required, but it is always as well to have them handy for the odd places where their use is necessary, which are described later.

And now a word as to worms. “Maiden dews,” so often advertised, are not the best for the purpose, but those known as “Pinktails” are the real thing; they should be small, say 2 inches in length, and of a pale pink colour. They should, of course, be well scoured, and they can be carried in moss in a bag hung round the neck.

With regard to throwing the worm, the two aims never to be lost sight of are accuracy and delicacy, and this combination can only be attained by constant practice. The man who can cast a fly will soon get the knack of putting the worm where he wishes, if he remembers that, when throwing the worm, the action is slower and more of a swing than in casting a fly, and that the rod point should be brought rather nearer the water at the finish of the cast. In addition to this, the arm should be pushed forward just as the worm is about a foot from the mark, in order to obviate any recoil and ensure that there shall be little disturbance of the surface as the worm drops into the water.

The greatest trouble of the novice is the frequency with which he flicks the worm off the hooks, particularly if the day’s supply has not been well scoured. To master this trouble all jerks must be avoided, both when withdrawing the worm from the water and also when the cast is extended behind. As before stated, the movement should be more of a swing than in fly casting, with just sufficient power to extend the line behind and the same in front; there will then be few lost or broken worms.

The next and, without doubt, the most essential point for consideration is where to fish.

Imagine a bright day towards the end of June on the banks of a typical North Country river. The gate just passed through brings one to the tail end of a rapid stream some fifty yards in length, broken here and there by boulders, some submerged and others just showing their dark mossy heads above the surface of the water. At the head of the stream there is a line of submerged stepping stones which no doubt many years ago, before the bed of the river changed, served a useful purpose.

This stretch of river from bank to bank is nowhere more than two feet deep, except in the middle a few yards below the stepping stones, where the current is strongest and where it has dug out a deeper channel. The beginner looking at this stream immediately notices the darker tone of water denoting the deeper channel and concludes that, of all places in the reach, that is the most likely to hold a good fish. Let him not be misled; the deeper channel holds many good fish, but of all parts of the stream, that channel is the least likely place from which to basket one.

Often have the writers seen men enter this stream, and wade straight out to the deeper water, unwittingly driving scores of trout in consternation before them. They fish the deeper rush of water, are rather surprised that it does not yield a fish, and then move up the river to the next stream, splashing right through the best water as they go. These men, more often than not, return home with a creel lighter than it was before they ate their mid-day meal; and, besides doing nothing themselves, they make it absolutely impossible for another following on, to fish the stream with any chance of success within half-an-hour of their having disturbed it.

The way in which a friend, an adept at clear-water worming, would approach and fish this stream is very different. Here is a description of his method.

He enters the reach at the very tail end, where, at the edge, the water ripples along some two or three inches deep. The manner of his beginning may be compared to an otter’s in the quietness with which he enters the river; there is no splash or disturbance, and, more probably than not, he will stoop to avoid being seen.

He will make the first cast straight upstream, the worm entering the water twenty-five or thirty feet in front of him, but only some six to twelve inches from the bank.

Many beginners have laughed at the idea of a fish being caught in such a place, but let the unbelievers walk on a bright summer’s day along the bank of a trout stream, and what do they see? Innumerable fish darting away from the edges of the river, scared at their approach. It is for these very fish that our expert intends to try, when he makes his cast at the extreme edge of the river.

Directly the worm reaches the water, it begins to travel naturally and without drag towards the angler, who slowly raises the point of his rod, keeping in touch with the worm so that a twist of the wrist will immediately drive the hook home if a fish takes hold. He is careful to avoid drag, which is fatal, and is usually caused by the too rapid raising of the rod point. Without moving his position he makes another cast, only this time slightly more across the stream, then another and another, each being further from the bank.

He now wades gently a yard further upstream. In front of him, and just within casting distance, he notices an obstacle which causes a tiny eddy. The object is little more than a good-sized tuft of grass jutting out from the bank, but even that so alters the flow of the water, as to form a likely feeding place for a fish. The cast is carefully made and the worm falls into the water as though it had crawled to the edge of the grass and dropped in.

Almost as soon as the worm has touched the water the current carries it gently, and quite naturally, into the eddy. The line stops, our friend withholds his hand, and it is not until the line moves slightly towards the main stream that he gives a turn of the wrist, driving the hook home into a nice half-pound fish. For a moment it splashes dangerously in the shallow water before making off for the deeper stream. The hook, however, is well home and the captive is quickly brought down and drawn over the submerged net.

“Well!” says an uninitiated onlooker, “who would have thought that a fish would have been so near the edge, and in such shallow water too?” The more you fish the upstream worm, the greater will be your astonishment at the number and the size of trout caught in such places.

Having basketed his fish, the angler rebaits his tackle, and then gently moves a yard further upstream, repeating his systematic casting. In this manner he stalks his quarry up the one side to the head of the stream. Yes, “stalk” is the word which most adequately describes this man’s methods, as he takes the greatest pains to avoid being seen. It is work, and hard work too, on a blazing hot day; but it pays, and it is only necessary to see the expert’s basket at the end of it to be convinced. There is always a good dish of fish, and, as often as not, a very large fish to top off with.

The stepping stones having been reached, our friend leaves the water. Keeping well away from the edge he returns to the tail of the stream and wades some eight yards across. His first cast is made upstream and slightly towards the bank he has just left, the next one more directly in front, the next inclined towards the opposite side, and so on until he is casting more and more towards the far bank. Yard by yard the stream is covered in this manner, as the angler works upwards until two or three boulders are within casting distance, one showing distinctly above the surface of the water, while the others are detected only by the broken surface of the stream.

This is another very likely place, but our friend prefers the edges of the stream and thinner water to such places, although the latter are often good for two or three fish. The first cast is made towards the near bank, but without result. The second also fails to entice a fish, although the worm was dropped just by the side of one of the submerged boulders. At the third cast, however, which was made to the other side of the same boulder, a fish fastens and is brought to net. The golden gleam of another trout is seen as he is turned over, but missed, behind one of the other rocks. Then at the succeeding cast the worm enters the water about a foot beyond the rock which lifts above the surface of the stream. The sharp water running round the side of a boulder forms a favourite feeding place for a fish; a trout occupying such a position usually lies with his head slightly in advance of the rock. The worm has just time to sink before it is picked up by the stream and carried rapidly down the run. A fish turns and darts after it. He seizes his prey as it sweeps almost past the rock, the steel is gently driven home, and another fish duly joins his brethren in the creel.

The whole of the stream is worked in the foregoing manner, the far edge of the river being treated in the same way as the side on which a beginning was made, and great care is taken that a tell-tale wave does not precede the angler.

At the far side, immediately below the stepping-stones, and lying slightly across stream, is the submerged trunk of an old tree which lodged there years ago, no doubt washed down and left by some winter flood. The position of this tree trunk, resisting the force of the current, causes a sharp stream to flow parallel to it. In this run a good fish will always be found, lying ready to seize whatever of his fancy the stream may carry to him. A cast is made, the worm gently dropping into the water some two or three inches from the side of the log. The rod point is slowly raised, our expert being most particular not to do this too quickly, and cause a drag on the worm. This necessity for avoidance of drag is a point to be reiterated and insisted on as strongly in this branch of the art as in fly fishing, as one is often inclined to think a stream is running quicker than is actually the case, and an unnatural drag will cause many a good fish to turn away, that would otherwise have taken the lure. The worm has hardly travelled more than half its course, when the line stops. As it moves away a gentle strike is rewarded by a tightened line, and another lusty trout is battling for dear life. Upstream he goes for a few yards, then flings himself into the air, but a lowered rod point defeats the manœuvre, and control of the captive is regained as he re-enters the water. The split cane soon tells on his strength, and quietly he is coaxed down stream to the net, but instead of floating in he merges indistinct into the shadowy water, and an upflying rod tells of a light hold and the loss of a stout-hearted fish.

Leaving this stream, and incidentally the friend whose methods have been studied, let the reader give his company up the river to the next stream; and, to realize how failure may be caused by wrong approach, let him listen to an incident which happened to one of the writers in his early days of upstream worming. But first the stream must be described.

A long deep pool (or dub, as it is called on the Eden) breaks away in a short characterless rapid, narrowing towards the tail and then rushing under willow trees which hang right out over the river from the right bank. The strong stream has dug out a deep channel under these willows, while the left or near bank is a bed of fine gravel gradually sloping into the deeper water at the far side. This deep channel holds many good fish, but they are quite unassailable so long as they remain well under the willows.

Now for the incident. The day was blazing hot, the month July, and the river low and clear when the writer in question first essayed to fish it with the worm. Entering the water at the tail of the stream, he waded out as near as possible to the willows, which, as described, were on his left. Casting straight up in front of him he cherished the idea that the stream would carry the worm under the willows to the place where, it was hoped, the best fish would lie feeding. So far, so good. In this manner he worked to the top of the stream without a touch, when a final throw was made, pitching the worm into the water just where it rushed hardest under the willows.

Almost before the worm touched the water, the dark form of a large fish, some three or four pounds in weight, shot from the shallows on his right, to his holt in the deeps under the willows. This fish had been lying in the very thin water at the tail end of the rapids, no doubt seizing every morsel that came within reach, but ever ready to dart into his stronghold on the least sign of danger.

On the two following days the same thing happened, when it occurred to that youthful angler that his approach had been all wrong, and that if he had worked the thin water first, leaving the deeper channel until the last, success might have attended his efforts. But reflection had come too late; he had to leave, and he never saw the fish again.

There is another moral to the incident; although a deep inaccessible pool may be the stronghold of the largest trout, they will, during the hot summer months, frequently come to the thin edges of the stream to feed.

Another personal experience will perhaps serve to illustrate other possibilities. Towards the end of June, after seven weeks’ drought, the writers went to the upper reaches of a North Country river, where, thanks to the generosity of the proprietor, they were permitted to have a few days’ fishing. Owing to the long spell of dry weather the river, which at the best of times is there little better than a good sized beck, had shrunk to a mere trickle with deep pools here and there. The whole bed of the river was thickly coated with a green slimy growth.

Local opinion had it that fishing was waste of time until a good flood came to clean the bed of the river. Enthusiasm prevailed, however, as it was the first opportunity one of the party had of fishing this stretch, and the chance was not one to be missed, even though the prospects held out no great hope of success.

Up to about noon on the first day he who was strange to the water had never a fish to show for his efforts, although the trout were there and plentiful.

What with the oppressive heat and persistent failure, much of the keenness of early morning had worn off, and it was with a feeling akin to relief that the angler unslung his creel and threw himself on to the bank where he might enjoy a cigarette under the cool shade of the trees.

As the wreaths of smoke curled upwards, the unsuccessful one, with his back propped against the trunk of a tree, began to survey the stretch of river above him. Both banks were bordered by trees and clumps of willows for a distance of some two hundred yards. The water was nowhere more than two feet deep and so slight was the current that it was almost imperceptible. Not a ripple broke the surface of the stretch from end to end. It was like the proverbial “sheet of glass,” and, had it but been able to reflect the expression on the angler’s face, nothing but disappointment would have been revealed.

At length he jumped up with the intention of exploring the higher regions of the river and as he did so several fish, scared at his proximity, darted from the edge. Those trout decided the course of action, and, although the reach was to all appearances hopeless, the angler determined to try for some of the fish that were lying at the very edges, apparently basking in the sun.

Wading a stretch of water such as this, was most difficult, necessitating the utmost caution and slow approach, if the tell-tale wave were to be avoided. For obvious reasons it was essential that the angler should keep as close in to the willows on his side of the river as possible, and cast as long a line as he could control. Every time the worm was allowed to sink to the bottom, it was fouled with the vegetable growth on the stones. This happened almost every cast, and just as the angler was beginning to think that nobody but a fool would ever try to fish such a place, he came within casting distance of a narrow opening between the willows. Throwing carefully round the trees, the worm was landed within a few inches of the bank. There was a wave such as a trout makes when darting from the edge, and for the fraction of a second he thought that the slight disturbance caused by the worm dropping into the water had scared the fish. But no! the line quivered, then moved slightly, and, in response to a well-timed strike, the rod bent to the fight of a good half-pounder, which gave that thrill of satisfaction which is only felt when a difficult situation has been overcome.

That stretch of water yielded, within an hour or so, eight fish, which later proved to be above the average size for that part of the river.

The experience has been of the greatest value. Many times since then, when fish would not take well in the stream, has a blank been saved by attacking a stretch of water of this nature in this way. One thing leads to another, and perhaps a further use to which the knowledge gained on that occasion has been put is worth recording.

In common with many others, who can only go a-fishing at such times as business permits, the writers frequently wield the rod on most unpropitious days. Even in July they sometimes find on reaching the river that half a gale of wind is blowing dead down stream. An hour’s battling against the elements, trying in vain to get the worm well up in front, is as a rule enough for anyone. Even if the worm lands occasionally where it is wanted, the wind will catch the line and cause a most unnatural drag, and ruin all chance of enticing a fish.

Those were the prevailing conditions on the first opportunity that offered of making use of the experience just narrated.

Leaving an ideal stream, which on this particular day was absolutely unsheltered from a strong downstream wind, the writers walked upstream, but had not gone far when one of them noticed, in contrast with the wind-beaten surface of the water, an unruffled place between two large trees which overhung the bank. The water here was wadable, the current almost non-existent, and within the shelter of the trees it was not difficult to make a neat cast. The worm had scarcely touched the water when, from under the cover of the overhanging boughs, came a nice plump well-fed fish, and in full view of the angler appropriated the worm in the most unsuspicious manner. Enough, the angler walked on trying behind every bush, whether the river at that particular place was streamy or otherwise; and since then, the writers have often had the laugh of a heavy downstream wind.

Now by the foregoing it is not desired to suggest, that it is wise, whenever an almost streamless stretch of water is reached, to fish it, as the process is slow and takes up much time, which might probably be used to better advantage in the streams and thin water; but, as a stand-by, when conditions are against the angler and the trout not keen, it is always well to try such places.

Another favourite feeding ground, where innumerable trout always congregate, is the very tail end of a pool, just before it breaks away into the stream below. The water in such a place forms a glassy glide, in fishing which the novice will find his path to success beset with difficulties, particularly if the banks of the river afford no cover. The greatest circumspection in approach, and more than ordinary delicacy in casting, are two essentials which will go far towards the mastery of this situation; but there is again the difficulty of an unnatural drag to be overcome. To obviate this trouble entirely in such a place, is almost impossible, but much may be done to attain the desired end by fishing with a short line and letting as little of it touch the water as possible. Reaches of this character, however, will always fish best when the angler has the wind behind him, and under those conditions should never be neglected, as among the trout which haunt such places will frequently be found the largest that the river produces.

Let it be understood, however, that the remarks in the foregoing paragraph apply principally to large pools extending almost the whole way across a river; but at the same time, it must not be thought that the tail end of a small pool is useless; on the contrary, such places will often yield a trout, and they are easier to fish than the larger glides.

Mention of the uses for the sinkers suggested in the outfit has been purposely left until almost the last, as in clear-water worming the part they play is a very small one.

When on an open stretch of water trouble is experienced in casting against a wind, after having first tried in vain to overcome the difficulty by reducing the length of the casting line, then, as a last resource, pinch on to the cast a small lead eighteen inches above the hooks. This will materially assist in getting out the line, and at the same time the lead will help to reduce the drag on the line which the wind will be certain to cause.

Further use for sinkers will be found when fishing rapid rivers where many channels of very swift flowing water are frequently met with. Outside these occasions, however, leads will be found of little value and their use should be exceptional in upstream worming.

Without wishing to enlarge further on this almost inexhaustible subject, there is one other point of some importance which should be mentioned and that is a method by which any difficulty experienced in detecting when the worm has been seized may be overcome. Many beginners, particularly if their eyesight is not of the best, find this a great source of trouble. Let them grease the reel line well before a start is made. It will then float, and any check upon it will be noticed immediately. If even that does not get over the difficulty, let them tie on a small piece of light-coloured wool where the cast and line join (the wool can often be obtained from the fences at the stream side where sheep have rubbed), form the wool into a tiny ball and soak it with oil such as is carried by the dry-fly man. When this ball gets water-logged all that is necessary is to squeeze it between finger and thumb and occasionally re-oil it. It will be found to float splendidly, and by following the golfer’s first maxim, “Keep your eye on the ball,” few bites will pass unobserved.

Let it be hoped that those who have read to the end of this chapter and feel any inclination to give clear-water worming a trial will get from that branch of the sport as much pleasure and satisfaction as the writers have enjoyed, during those days in summer which come, alas, all too seldom. Days which open with the incomparable freshness of a June morning, continue with the brightest of skies, with songs of birds, and murmuring streams, and close with the landscape wrapped in shadows. The while great beetles drone by, and moths, white and brown, flutter out of the grasses under foot, when it requires an effort to leave such a wonderful world, and to re-enter the dwellings of man.