Death on a cold, wild River by Bartholomew Gill

Author:Bartholomew Gill [Gill, Bartholomew]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 074900309X
Publisher: Allison & Busby Limited, London
Published: 1999-03-09T23:00:00+00:00

11. A Hackle of Jungle Cock

Once back outside, McGarr glanced up the street towards the church on the hill. The funeral was just breaking up. He moved quickly across the street towards the fly shop, since Nellie’s name would still be on every tongue, and the Ardara rumour mill was doubtless a potent enough engine on its own.

There were three stout locks on the sturdy front door of the shop—two dead bolts, one high, one low, and an automatic latch on the door knob. The small bay display window was both wired and secured with a steel mesh. Behind it was a collection of antique rods and reels, their make, model, and date of manufacture described on neat intaglio nameplates.

Stepping in, McGarr had to put his shoulder against the door and push. Piled on the floor was the mail that the shop had received in the short week since Nellie’s death. Much of it was foreign and contained in envelopes that appeared to be from a catalogue or mailing that Nellie had sent out. The fly shop address was printed, and Nellie’s leaping salmon logo was on the back flap. The volume of the responses gave McGarr an idea of the success of her enterprise here in Ardara.

Without touching the inner door handle, he let the door swing back on itself, not wishing to touch anything that he found in the shop. He looked up.

The shop was long and narrow with a bank of multiply-paned windows looking out over the Owentocker River that flowed past the south wall of the building. Like the bar across the street, every available space had been put to use. There were rods of every description—salmon, trout, pike, even spinning and surf-casting varieties—either lined on hangers from the ceiling or bristling from rod-holders on the display floor.

One aisle was devoted to fishing lines, leaders, and tippet material; another, which was an immense case, to reels. A third aisle to fishing accessories, such as stream boots, waders, implements—snips, forceps, jacket-lights, knives, creels, priests, gaffs, nets, etc.

The inventory was impressive, especially the section that contained fly-dressing materials. McGarr’s eyes swept over rolls of tinsels, glassine bags of feathers of every sort, others of herl, fur, hair from various animals—caribou, elk, deer, polar bear—the choice went on and on. An octagon case on a swivel in the middle of the shop offered hooks from all the manufacturers that McGarr had ever heard of. And three others he had not.

He turned to the long continuous case of already dressed flies that lined the entire length of the shop beneath the bright river windows. The collection was about evenly divided between trout and salmon flies, which were larger and far more colourful. The intent in dressing a trout fly was usually that of imitating some creature in nature, for instance—McGarr glanced down—midsummer emergers.

Emergers were mayfly nymphs that had begun their trip from the bed of a stream or river, where they had been hiding, to the surface where they would shuck their nymphal casings, free their wings, and fly off to mate.

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