


So, this afternoon I arrived armed with my new river rod and reel. My plan was to walk to the downstream end of the stretch and then fish back up, but some rising trout caught my attention on the way and I was soon tackling up with feverish enthusiasm. Sadly, they must have felt it, as they melted away. Chalked up for later. I wandered further down, and got chatting to a local, who wanted to put me onto a good swim. Unfortunately, it looked more of a roach swim than a trout swim, deep, slow and and soft of bottom, and in any case I couldn't get downstream of it. I gave up after a little while and moved up to a swim I'd caught trout from before when roaching. I'd seen no more rises, so I thought I'd have a bash with a PTN. My half-hearted attempts to hone my nymphing skills were cut short, however, by a bloke with a skinhead chucking his loopy labrador in the swim round the corner. This was going to achieve nothing. I stopped fishing for a while, and watched and waited as the sun sunk lower and the dog-walkers and dog-swimmers went home.
Soon, I started to see occasional rises a little way upstream. I couldn't cast to it, and entry to the water was awkward. I walked upstream, crossed the bridge, walked down, tried from the opposite side. No good, and I spooked them trying to find a way in. I put on a rough olive, and had a bash in another swim while I let the fish return. Then attempted another tack. Not really cricket, but could I get to them from upstream? After some faffing, I managed to get a fly to them, which raised a fish. The fish rejected the fly fairly spectacularly before I could do anything, but it was clearly not going to be easy. Right, time to cut the Gordian Knot and just get downstream and in the bloody water!
I clambered down the bank and upstream in the riffle. The fish were rising under some low overhanging branches, which was going to be an interesting challenge. I found that a roll cast kept the loop low enough only to put my fly in the tree much of the time.
(the fish were actually just round the bend at the top of the shot)


As the light levels fell, more and more fish were rising. I couldn't quite place my fly where I wanted it every cast, but eventually I put it where I just knew it would be taken. And it was. Reflexive strike, no conscious thought, the muscle memory that twitches when a float goes under on the TV screen, and I had something small and very fast attached. Better land it!

And there it was, a perfect little wild brown trout of about ten inches, caught on a dry fly and so much the point of the agonising over rods and reels and lines, and the generous advice from friends. As he went back, arrowing downstream, I assumed that I would need to find another swim, but no, still there were rises under the trees. I moved closer and fished on. I missed rises, including one that had two bites of the cherry as I retrieved an unpromising cast. The tree claimed both of my rough olives and a couple of klinkhammers. I put on a little black gnat - the klinkhammers didn't seem to be quite what they wanted. A teenager with a spinning rod and float gear settled just upstream of my swim - I think my casting upstream confused him. Being a newcomer to flyfishing, I was unsure of the correct etiquette - does downstream early bluebottle take priority over upstream dry, or does one chuck the little bugger in? He wasn't catching anything, at least, and his choice of bottom-end only float severely curtailed the damage a skilled trotter could have done to my swim. He didn't stay long. Then, another trout, a good deal smaller but no less welcome;

By this point, I had followed the fish upstream (perhaps "chased" rather than followed) and it was becoming harder and harder to cover the rises - I just couldn't get under the branches. I considered retreating and letting them come back out, but decided instead to try another promising swim; somewhere with enough space for a nice overhead cast, too! A thick iron pipe formed a bridge and a boom across the stream, backing the flow up like a weir. There had been nothing to see earlier, but it looked as if it must be worth a go. As I arrived, I could see something rising upstream and into the near side. I climbed down and stood on the pipe, and began casting, running the fly down the inside. After only a couple of casts there was a swirl and I had another fish on. This one, similar in size to the first, turned out to be hooked just under the jaw, but it was a fair rise and a fair fight, and close enough for jazz, so I shall count it all the same.

Perhaps it is Izaak's admonition for such unsporting thoughts that the photograph came out unfocused. Perhaps it is because my phone doesn't have a very good camera. I don't mind that the only good photograph is the smallest trout - this wasn't a day for weights and measures! And that was all. I had a few casts on the way back to the car, but nothing more came of it, and I was content. Wild brownies caught on the dry fly, with my new rod, reel and line, some challenging casting, some challenging bites and my new waders don't leak. Perfect! Thanks, everyone, for all your help and advice.



