My love affair with the Lake District Fells....and Wainwrights for pre-schoolers.

Regular visitors here may have noticed the occasional hill-walking related post - especially during the mid-winter months when the prospect of receiving frostbitten testicles whilst grayling fishing sometimes becomes too daunting to consider. At such times, I often head to the hills for a day of exercise and fresh air that can be found an hour up the M6 in the Lake District National Park.

Such excursions are all too infrequent these days, but it's only a few years ago that I would be up there most winter weekends - and plenty of summer ones too - hiking, rambling and scrambling over the tops and merrily bagging the famous 'Wainwrights' as I went. There is something about wandering out over the lonely fell tops that restores the spirit in a way that even fly fishing can't; the silence is tangible, the purity of the air a shock to the lungs, and the exhilarating feeling of striding out over a lofty ridge is more than reward enough for a hard week's slog at work.

The arrival of our little lad in 2006 severely curtailed activities until he reached about 6 months old and could be strapped into this child-carrier-rucksack-thingie that we had bought; we could tentatively set out on short walks once more. This was ok for a while - range and ascent were limited only by my ability to transport an increasingly chubby toddler for more than a couple of hours at a time. By the time has was about 2 ½ years old, my shoulders had given up the ghost....and with the little man unable to walk more than about half a mile without exploding into fatigue-induced tantrums, and a brand new baby soon to arrive, that was pretty much that.

I’m glad to report though, that we are now able to venture into the hills once more. Evie is old enough to occupy the carrier and George at 3 ½ yrs is of the age where anywhere outdoors – especially where climbing, water and rocks are involved – is just one big adventure play area. We were unsure at first as to how he would cope with the effort required in walking up a hill, but we needn’t have worried; our first outing up Hallin Fell proved successful – a short ascent of little over 160m proved well within his capabilities and the look of excitement on his face as he careered around on the windy summit collecting fox moth caterpillars, was a joy to behold.

And so has begun our quest for the ‘little Wainwrights’. - the ones which we ignored before in favour of long and majestic ridge walks. Based on the criteria that the total ascent should be no more than 250m, and that distance from the parking spot needs to be kept to a minimum, we have come up with a list of pre-schooler friendly peaks which under normal circumstances could be scaled in minutes, but with a little person in tow, become epic expeditions lasting half a day and involving collection of creepy crawlies, throwing stones into puddles and diving head first into springy patches of heather.

So if you’re in a similar position and need a good dose of fresh air, then try the routes below. They are the shortest, easiest routes to Wainwright fell tops that I can find, and well within the capabilities of a 3-4 yr old:

1. Hallin Fell from top of Howtown zig-zags.
2. Holme Fell from Hodge Close.
3. High Rigg from St John's church.
4. Latrigg from Applethwaite Road.
5. Black Crag from Hollin Bank.
6. Little Mell Fell from The Hause.
7. Binsey from Binsey Cottage.
8. Knott Rigg from Newlands Hause.
9. Castle Crag from Rosthwaite.
10. Souther Fell from Beckside Road.

Below are a few photos from recent outings:

On the way up Holme Fell.

At the top, the ceremonial stone placing.

Scrambling at grade 'junior'.

Baby gets to come along too....

The top of High Rigg.

Wet but happy, my little mountaineer!

The search for Yorkshire grayling - wind, rain and trout - Paul finds the ladies - the wading of nightmares - leaves and terrestrials.

We were going to fish the Eden today, but were deterred by a bloody awful weather forecast - heavy rain and a strong southerly wind. That means blowing downstream on the northward-flowing Eden; a re-think was required.

In the end, we agreed that a trip over to Wensleydale to fish the Ure would be a better bet. So with the gear packed, we headed off on the long trip down the A59 across the Pennines, to fish what many consider to be Yorkshire's finest grayling stream.
I was accompanied by Paul - a man who only took up fly fishing earlier in the year and yet through a combination of enviable natural aptitude and an intelligent, analytical approach to his angling, is already a very competent river fisher. I was hopeful that between us we would be able to locate a few 'silver ladies' and in the process, learn a bit more about a stretch of water that I have fished only once before.

The Ure is a lovely river and the middle reaches look like they were designed by the God of fly fishing: gravelly runs, bouldery pocket water and foam-flecked glides sit side-by-side to create a diverse habitat which just screams fish, and allows a full range of different techniques to be employed. Today though, with a persistant drizzle and gusty breeze, our efforts looked likely to be restricted to nymphing in one form or another. The river itself certainly looked in decent nick - a little above summer level and carrying a dark ruby tinge reminiscent of the famous strong ale brewed just a couple of miles down the road at Masham.

We both walked down to the lower limit, set up a pair of nymphs and set about prospecting the likely looking spots. I was first into a fish: not the hoped-for grayling, but a brownie of around 1.5lb which was quickly returned. Paul then dropped a grayling before we moved upstream and each returned another couple of dark looking trout - a bit embarrassing considering we were fishing a river renowned for its grayling stocks. I needn't have worried though; Paul eventually did the business and latched onto a couple of grayling from a popply run which I had just fished through (and hooked a trout!) Like I said, the guy has The Touch!

Shortly after, we entered wading hell. A very tasty looking bouldery stretch of about 100yds long just begged to be searched with bugs. We went in with high expectations....and half an hour later, we both emerged beaten, bruised and absolutely knackered. It was quite simply the worst water I have ever waded - a jumble of large, tightly packed boulders and moss-covered such that in the darkly stained water they were as good as invisible save for the myriad boils and surface patterns which betrayed their presence. Moving upstream therefore became an exercise in shuffling and edging very slowly along, over and around the rocks, with changes in water depth from thigh to chest-deep possible at every step. At one point I became isolated on one-such boulder and blindly reaching around its perimeter with my outstretched boot suggested that a step off in every direction but the one I came, would result in a chilly swim. I took a punt and hopped forward only spend the next few seconds bobbing along on my tippy-toes until I regained tenuous hold on the river bed!
The tremendous effort involved in fishing this section was hardly rewarded, although Paul did connect with another out of season trout. I have posted a photo of it below, only to illustrate the strangely dark nature of all the brownies we hooked. The fish was unhooked, photographed, and returned unharmed within a matter of seconds.



After a much needed break for a bite, we resumed operations in improving weather conditions. Grayling were proving hard to come by, but as a long, tree-sheltered flat was reached, we at last spotted the tell-tale dimple of a surface-feeding thymallus. Paul very kindly offered me in and I positioned myself downstream of the pod (there were by now at least half a dozen fish on the feed). A quick look at the water revealed that the yellow beech eaves being blown onto the water were bringing down with them all manner of terrestrial insects - aphids, spiders and so on - and the fish were gorging themselves on this autumn harvest, and on the few large dark olive duns which had begun to emerge. With such a varied menu to choose from, I didn't think the grayling would be too fussy over fly choice, and a small black paradun and olive emerger both worked just fine with four perfect 10" shoalies coming in quick succession.

That was pretty much it as the light was beginning to fade. I did however put up a team of spiders and spent half an hour in tribute to the late Francis Walbran - one of the forefathers of north country fly fishing who fished not too far from here at West Tanfield and died in 1909, drowning in the very river he loved. These magical little flies were conceived on the waters of the Yorkshire spate streams and I rather fancied that a play about with them as the light faded might produce a grayling or two. Half a dozen casts in and the tip of my fly line nipped forward and I lifted into the resistance of .......you guessed it - another trout!


Paul about to enter Wading Hell!

Blogger's Block?

I seem to have developed what can only be described as ‘blogger’s block’. You may have noticed that it’s all gone a bit quiet at NCA Towers recently.....and the truth of the matter is, I’ve found the prospect of putting finger to keyboard a bit daunting. It’s not that I haven’t got much to write about – I fished a few times in September and enjoyed sport with large, wild trout beyond my wildest dreams; but somehow I’ve been unable to articulate my experiences adequately. Every time I sat down to put something together, the result has been unsatisfactory and metaphorically speaking, another page has been screwed up and thrown in the bin.

It might be that the fishing is to blame. I’ve been lucky enough to enjoy sport of such exceptional quality that I think my senses might be saturated - numbed even – and that my ham-fisted words couldn’t possibly do justice to the things I’ve witnessed. It’s been the fishing equivalent of pornography and I think I’m ready for some good old fashioned romance with a glass of wine and a warm fire.

So I reckon it’s about time to dust down the grayling tackle and immerse myself once more in the Joy Of Small Pleasures. And when I’ve had a few hours on the river, standing in cold water throwing nymphs at disinterested fish and watching an occasional lonely olive dun sail past, then I might be ready once more to begin rambling on about my fishing days and winter fly tying sessions.

Watch this space.......

Reaquaintance with running water - rusty - surprise migrant - small dark olives.

A busy period at work and some time spent chasing the improbable trout of Malham Tarn, meant that tonight was the first time I have ventured out on to the river for some time. The season is drawing inexorably to a close once more and this will have been my last evening session of the summer – a summer that has seen me unable to take advantage of the evening rise half as many times as I would have liked. Indeed if you discount a brief visit to the Ribble in early August, then this was my first evening out since an early July session on the Eden with Steven and Terry.

So the latter half of the summer has largely passed me by in a blur of overtime, stress and fatigue and whilst two successful visits to the Tarn last week went a long way to restoring my equilibrium, it was nice to finally return to running water where I am most at home. That said, I didn’t feel very ‘at home’ tonight. Fly fishing is like anything else – regular practice invariably produces a better angler and after a couple of months away, my touch and feel with the 4 weight in hand was decidedly lacking.

Nevertheless, an absorbing time was had by the banks of the Ribble – pleasant enough but with little of interest to report. Only 5 fish came to hand on what looked a promising evening; a foot of stained but clear water invited nymphs and with nothing rising and barely an insect to be seen, that was pretty much my MO for the entire session. In such conditions, I sometimes find that a dark pattern works well in the beery coloured water and it was a little black nymph which picked out the fish tonight – a brace of 10” grayling, a brace of 10” trout and a surprise sea trout of around 2lb.

A drop in air temperature of some 10c between 5pm and 8pm will have gone a long way to ensuring the fish kept their noses firmly sub-surface, which was a shame as very late on, the appearance of a quite staggering number of small dark olive spinners would surely have resulted in surface sport on another night. It felt as if someone nearby had opened a huge box of tiny, translucent confetti as the little blighters fluttered upstream in their thousands. A remarkable sight to end an evening – and in all likelihood season - on a river which has not been nearly as kind to me as it was last year.

Two final outings await before the trout season breathes its last: a day on the Eden with fellow blogger Glen Pointon, followed by one last visit with Rob Denson to Yorkshire’s limestone miracle. Regardless of the outcome of those two trips, the season has been one of the most enjoyable I can remember.

My wet fly revolution: some thoughts on stillwater fishing.

I was discussing with a friend the other evening, my new found enthusiasm for tying wet flies and dabblers in particular. This season has seen me fishing stillwaters more regularly than in the past - in my quest to become an all round better angler, I have tried my best to get some sort of a grip on this branch of the sport and part of the territory is the dressing of appropriate fly patterns.
Although my fly fishing teeth were cut on various popular small stillwaters of the north west, I soon fell out of love with this branch of the sport. Some of the fisheries I frequented required little in the way of guile or imagination and could become crowded to the extent that I began to crave wilder places and the company of as few other anglers as possible. The logical progression was to seek the challenge of running water......and that's pretty much how it's stayed for the last few years.

Don't get me wrong, I've enjoyed an odd stockie bashing session each season, and a few forays into the fells to tackle the wild Cumbrian Tarns and such like. But before this season I'd have classed myself a confirmed river man. Strange then, that I've felt an increasing draw this time around to our stillwaters - both wild and stocked - albeit the larger waters which offer what I would call 'man's fishing' as opposed to the numb pursuit of daft stock fish at some of our overcrowded small water fisheries.
I still find the variety of running water has the strongest draw for me.....but fishing from a drifting boat now comes a very close second. And if that involves use of wet flies or suggestive nymphs and dries, then so much the better. I'm still very much a novice in this department, but keen to learn and I've been trying to develop my tying skills to allow me to produce passable dabblers, hoppers, mini lures etc a few of which are shown below.

Having previously concentrated on the dressing of delicate nymphs, duns, spinners, pupae, etc, I initially found the world of stillwater flies to be bewildering and daunting. For a start, a different set of materials are required; out go fine dubbings, genetic hackles and size 18 hooks and in come bronze mallard, seal's fur and an array of flosses and tinsels. The first stage was to lay my hands on some of these.

Next came the challenge of proportion. My first few attempts were hideous as I tried to introduce several materials without creating unecessary bulk. Ragging out seal's fur to within an inch of its life, palmering, cloaking with bronze mallard, and producing a neat head (I've never been a good finisher of flies), were - are - all challenging techniques to me.

Anyway I seem to have arrived at a point where I've just about got the basics sorted. Taking some inspiration from excellent tyers like Stan Headley, George Barron, Alex Ferguson and Rob Denson I've kept at it and have reached a point where the whole thing fascinates me greatly. The creativity it allows is infinite. Whereas in tying for river fishing, one seeks to imitate a certain insect or life cycle stage, in stillwater fishing the emphasis seems to be more on suggestion, attraction and the interplay of light and colour. I haven't found myself blending so many different shades of dubbing materials since I first started tying nearly 10 years ago.

So I'm definitely enjoying my foray into the stillwater world and if I can attain a degree of competency, then I will surely be a better angler as a result.


Perch Fry Dabbler


Hook: Fulling Mill comp #10
Thread: UTC olive
Tail: Cock pheasant tail fibres with Glo-Brite #5
Rib: Hot orange wire
Body: Blend of various olive seal's furs
Hackle: furnace hen palmered
Wing: Bronze mallard wit JC splits
Throat: Claret dyed golden pheasant

This was designed with the perch feeding Malham Tarn brownies in mind.


Airehead Dabbler


Hook: As above
Thread: Black UTC
Tail: Dyed dark olive pheasant tail
Rib: Fine silver wire
Body: Mirage tinsel
Hackle: Black hen
Wing: Bronze mallard with JC splits

My version of Alex Ferguson's creation.


Claret Dabbler


Hook: As above
Thread: Rusty brown UTC
Tail: Cock pheasant tail
Rib: Red wire
Body: Blend of clarets and red seal's furs
Hackle: Furnace hen
Wing: As above


Picric Dabbler (header photo)

Hook: Kamasan B175 #12
Thread: Olive UTC
Tail: Picric dyed pheasant tail
Rib: Oval gold
Body: Blend of fox squirrel and golden olive seal's furs
Hackle: Cree cock
Collar Hackle: Dyed golden olive partridge
Wing: Bronze Mallard

The Stocks Pairs Comp - pomonae - wet and dry at Halstead's - of time bonus and bag weight.

I was a bit nervous this morning when I set out in the car for nearby Stocks Reservoir. Consider the following:

1. Stocks is a good sized water which I am not very familiar with.......and my stillwater fishing knowledge is a bit sketchy to say the least.
2. I was taking part in, gasp, a competition - the Stocks Pairs.
3. I would be partnering Rob (his regular sidekick was unable to make it), who won the same comp last year.

That said, I was also eagerly looking forward to a day on the water after a mad-busy spell at work...... and a day out with Chorley's answer to Bob Church is always entertaining.

Word was that the heather fly were up in numbers, which bode well for some sport near the surface. And the warm, breezy, overcast conditions looked perfect from the off.
The format was pretty simple with each boat pairing needing to weigh in a limit of 10 fish as fast as possible. Final placings would be decided on total weight of the bag, plus 2lb per hour time bonus for returning to the lodge before the finish time of 6pm. Prizes were available for the top 5 boats, but with a strong field of 18 pairs - and fish seemingly being caught everywhere - success would require a slice of luck along the way.

So with bibio pomonae at the top of the trouts' menu, most anglers set out with some form of heather fly imitation on their cast. Most the boats motored off toward Newclose Bay where recent returns had been good. But Rob opted for a long drift up the east bank from the dam wall, along the alders to Halstead's Hike. We chose a two-pronged attack where I fished a team of hoppers tight in to the bank and Rob (over slightly deeper war at stern) fished dabblers on a slow intermediate. This worked a treat with three fish falling to my dries inside the first 20 minutes - things were looking good...and my nerves had settled down a bit.

By 11:30 we had seven fish in the boat and hopes were high. But the last three proved difficult to tempt. Takes to the dries had faded but Rob grafted away to boat the required fish to have us back in the lodge at 1:45pm. We had got a good little system going and contributed 5 fish each - a decent team effort, I reckon. Nevertheless, we knew straight away that our chances of winning had gone. We were second boat in and the pair in first had a heavier bag even without the time bonus. So second place was the best we could hope for......but with a weight of only 21lb, we knew our position was far from safe. With a couple of small fish in our bag, it would not take much to oust us if subsequent pairs in had a couple of good 'uns.

And so it proved. Not all 18 pairs managed the full limit, but of the ones who did, two weighed heavy enough to overcome our time bonus and edge us out to forth place.

With the hectic stuff over, we went out again in the afternoon and added a further 9 fish to the tally, drank a bit of whisky and generally had a fine time of it. A thoroughly enjoyable day.......and thanks to Rob for introducing me to The Dark Side!

An evening with Dad - half-arsed fishing - silverhorns - signs of migratory fish.

Had a walk along the Ribble with Dad tonight. The Old Git wasn't actually fishing, but it was nice to have a stroll and a chat considering that work commitments for both of us have meant it's been ages since we fished together.

The river looked in decent fettle - bright, clear and lively - although a bright, hot sun suggested that the going might be slow until dusk. Sure enough rising fish were few and far between; small trout were prepared to launch themselves at the balloon caddis in fast water, but that was about it. I did find a trio of moving fish in the shadow of some willows. The first one was small (see below), but welcome enough. The second took with a splash suggestive of salmon parr, but when I lazily lifted the rod, drove off powerfully into the main current before shedding the hook. The third did likewise and left me cursing my luck/incompetence/lack of attention (delete as appropriate).



The remainder of the evening followed a similar pattern: find some shade and a couple of rises would follow, with yours truly consistently pricking or missing altogether any offers from better fish....while a succession of parr readily came to hand. In one pool a very nice grayling was dropped, sandwiched either side by a pair of half pounders. A half-arsed display of dry fly fishing if ever there was one!

Of course on an evening like this, there is always the hope - expectation even - that the fish will come on the feed as the sun drops behind the horizon. Certainly a huge number of black silverhorns over the water bode well for later, even if examination of nearby tree-tops revealed a disappointing lack of dancing bwo spinners. However the rise failed to materialise and no further fish were added to the meagre tally.

My heart wasn't really in the fishing tonight. With a hard week at work behind me......and a hard weekend at work to come, I was too knackered to enjoy the subtleties of dry fly fishing on a northern stream. We had a pleasant enough time though, watching deer and walking the river, with the smell of freshly mown meadow thick in the air. And when at nightfall, a couple of salmon started to show in the head of a favourite pool, there was a realisation between us that summer has faded and autumn will soon be here.

Drawing a blank on Hayeswater!

It sometimes seems like we anglers are constantly making excuses for failure. So many variables can affect our fishing that it's usually easy to pick up on some external factor that can explain away our dismal performance. I drew a blank up on wild Hayeswater today and never really looked like hooking a fish......but I've got my explanation at the ready, naturellement!

I explained to my companion for the day, photographer Henry Iddon, that the Tarn fisher's wish is for two simple things; two elements which can be relied upon to combine on the majority of days in the Lakeland year - Cloud Cover And A Bit Of Breeze. Our grasp on both of these was tenuous at best today.

Hill tarn trout can be heartbreakingly naive at times, but given crystal clear water and bright sunshine, they can just melt away like they never existed. I was still hopeful of drawing a few fish up from the steep marginal shelf along Hayeswater's western shore, but apart from two half-hearted follows from barely interested trout, the going was dour to say the least. It's possible that a slow sinking line and/or team of weighted patterns might have snatched a fish or two, but I plugged away with hoppers/dabblers/bibios etc, gaining little more than a sunburnt neck.

Still, it's always a pleasure to escape the hamster wheel of day-to-day life, even for just a few hours. The quiet, moraine-mounded valley in which Hayeswater lies is one of my favourite places. It may only be a half hour romp up a well trodden track from Hartsop village, but once the top end of the reservoir is reached, it can feel as far removed from civilisation as anywhere in the district.

Incidentally, for those of you who may not have seen it, check out Henry's Spots of Time project - stunning nocturnal photography of the Lake District.

On The Tarn with Rob - cloud cover and wave - rub of the green - dabbler virginity lost - wet arse.

I fished Malham Tarn with Rob today, in conditions much more typical of this upland Stillwater than the hot sunshine which we basked in last time out. The forecast was for cloud cover and some light rain with a moderate easterly breeze and that is pretty much what we got – seemingly ideal conditions for the loch style angler. The leeward shore of the tarn was nice and calm with little more than a cord ripple, which increased in severity westwards until the windward third was choppy enough to be classed as a good wave. With a leaden sky and the mild breeze giving good drifting conditions, we embarked from the west boathouse in high spirits.

Immediately we noticed that a dozen or more swifts were hawking about over the calmer water, with a few brown midge seemingly being the food source. Malham Tarn fish aren’t the greatest of risers – probably because there aren’t that many of them in the first place. At best, I have only ever seen odd ‘oncers’ stick their beaks out sporadically and not really predictably enough to cover. So when a fish boiled not 5 yards off the bow of the boat as I was retrieving my first cast, I lifted out and got my flies over him pronto. A couple of tweaks from the line hand and the fish assaulted my top dropper (one of Rob’s tandoori dabblers) like it was the first food it had seen in weeks. Last time I fished the Tarn, I had boated a fish within half a dozen casts of starting and here I was on one of the dourest wild trout waters in England, attached to 2lb of angry trout within 2 minutes of making my first cast. Good fortune indeed!



When Rob had a good pull a few casts later (sadly it didn’t stick), the signs were looking very encouraging. However, the day turned out to be one of mixed fortunes. Success on the Tarn is, I’m convinced, largely a matter of luck. Stock density is undoubtedly low and I’m sure that 90% of the time, the angler’s flies aren’t covering trout. The trick seems to be nothing more scientific than to keep plugging away in the hope that eventually you pull your flies past the snout of a fish. Today, I had more luck than any man is entitled to – a total of 8 offers resulted in 6 typically spanking brown trout; none of the really big girls putting in an appearance but the best couple nearing 4lb.
In complete contrast, Rob just didn’t get the rub of the green. Despite being the far superior boat angler and busting a gut all day, 3 of his four offers resulted in dropped fish through no fault of his own (although the fine fish below was reward for persistence, taken on a hybrid bibio/octopus pattern named, wait for it, the pussio!). Ample demonstration that fishing is an unpredictable business. Rob has far more important matters on his mind anyway, when later in the year he is fishing the national finals for a place in the England squad. Good luck mate, I’ll be rooting for you.



So whilst I was obviously very pleased with my day’s work, I would much rather the boat return had been split equally between us. That said, I’ve got a feeling that my Malham luck may have been used up for the season....punishment inevitably awaits in the form of a succession of miserable blanks!

A real bonus for me was that I broke my dabbler virginity. A relative newcomer to the world of wet flies, I had previously caught fish on dabblers, but always ones which were shop bought/cadged from mates. Today I caught two trout – my two best trout in fact – on a dabbler of my own invention. It’s nothing special, being an insecty green concoction with a palmer hackle of furnace hen, but it really made my day when a 4lber latched on to it in mid afternoon. That and sneaking a peek at Rob’s box of immaculately tied patterns, has really inspired me to give the tying of Stillwater wet flies a good go.


The day was deteriorating as the afternoon wore on. Repeated upwind rowing was tiring work, the rain was becoming heavier and my knackered leggings had failed, leaving me with a disappointingly soggy arse. We called it a day at around 6pm, but no matter what the weather is like, or how successful/dour the fishing is, Malham days always linger in the memory........and this one will be no different.


.....and thanks to Rob for supplying the two uppermost pictures - in case you were thinking my photography had suddenly improved drastically!

One day I will find a spinner pattern that I am happy with........

Bloody spinner falls! They always seem to leave more questions than answers. I haven't actually fished one this season yet, but on Friday night I was reminded how frustrating they can be as I stood watching Terry and Steven cast at a number of hard-feeding trout on the Eden. Spent spinners of serratella ignita were to blame (blue-winged olive to you and I), and for half an hour in near darkness there were so many fish feeding that it seemed impossible to fail.

To be fair, Steven did nobble a couple of fish to a fairly large spent pattern, but overall we had fared better earlier in the evening when the fish were less preoccupied with a single food source.

I have yet to find a spinner pattern in which I am fully confident. I don't like spent wing patterns as I don't trust their floatability and like something that even in full darkness, I can just about see. Earlier in the year I tied a few of Kelly Galloup's sexy looking cripples and felt sure I had found the answer. However, when I took them for a trial run to see how they sat on the water etc, I found line twist to be a real issue as my fine tippet corkscrewed into horribly tight twizzles. I must have tied them incorrectly, such that the monolateral wing acted as a vane of sorts......

Anyway, I've given up now and decided to cheat. I've come up with a hybridised job, combining the cranked body of the Galloup pattern with a long-fibred, sparsely hackled parachute. I know that this will be visible and it should remain stable in the surface film alright. I'm also hoping that by keeping the tying light and sparse, the delicacy and translucency of the natural insect isn't compromised too much. Only time will tell, but at least I'll have a bit more confidence in what I'm doing......


Sherry Spinner




Same style adapted to suit Yellow May (viewed from beneath)

Some thoughts on fishing with friends - dry fly delight on the Eden - uncharactaristic insect activity - summer darkness.

If my life were made up of nights like these, then I could die now a happy man. I was accompanied by two friends tonight - Steven Dawson and Terry Cousin – Eden regulars both and always a pleasure to fish with. The fact that we were treated to an evening of breathtaking beauty along with some quality dry fly sport, only added to the experience.

In the main, I consider myself a solitary angler. Indeed I would venture that fly fishing is pretty much a solitary sport. I love the freedom it offers - just the angler, a rod, some flies and a few other odds and sods. I love the places it takes me, and the peace and solitude it affords. If you speak to fellow fly fishers about their motives for taking up the sport, they will more often than not refer to the hectic rat-run of modern living and the fact that to be alone in the middle of a river, or by a lake for a few hours, offers blessed relief and a chance to truly unwind. I am no different, and the majority of my fishing time is spent alone, at the end of the working week, safe in the knowledge that when I am good and ready to return to civilisation, my family will be waiting for me.



Having said that, there is something special about fishing with friends. The dynamic is different for sure - more time spent chatting and less actually fishing, a bit of gentle mick-taking, and a tendency to forget about catching fish yourself to ensure your guest does. The pace is slower, more relaxed, and less water gets covered. But the opportunity to fish with - and learn off - other anglers is one that should not be passed up, and I look forward to such occasions immensely. I consider myself lucky to be able to count a handful of excellent anglers as friends and days out with them - and of course, my old man - are the ones which I remember most fondly.

The Eden showed us her best side tonight. With the preceding week having been unbearably hot and humid, this morning saw a distinct change to fresher conditions. Heavy rain through the early part of the afternoon awoke brief fears that we might be confronted by a brown and rising river. But we needn't have worried; the bone dry ground had soaked up the downpour and when we arrived at 6pm, the river was low, clean and foam-flecked - as it had been the week before. There was a marked difference in the atmosphere though; whilst remaining warm, there was a renewed vigour in the air, a moist freshness which promised much. The rutted track down to the river held pools of water in its potholes and bankside vegetation was crowded with insect life.

Despite this, we started quite slowly. Terry and Steven set to with the dry fly, while I went in behind them with a duo set-up. A few fish were rising, but without any rhythm or conviction, so perhaps unsurprisingly it was my little weighted olive nymph which brought the first fish to hand - a nice brownie of just over 1lb which took in fast-ish water towards the head of the first pool. However it was not long after, that Steven's bw-o dun began to attract attention and it soon became apparent that some top of the water sport was very much on the cards. A 12" fish was followed by an angry looking cock trout of 1lb 9oz, and another slightly smaller fish.



Terry got in on the action too; what looked like a heavy fish was lost when the hooked pulled free......but a nice 10 incher and one of around the pound went some way to compensation.



In contrast to my previous two visits, the blue-winged olive duns were conspicuous by their absence. A few female spinners bode well for later sport, but the evening was dominated by a rather unusual spread of insect species: black and brown silverhorns were out in numbers, dancing below the willow branches, but most notable was the number of May dun and upright spinners over the water. I have rarely seen significant numbers of spinners of either of these large species, but tonight there were many and the number of offers I received increased notably when I swapped the dun olive klink I was using for a similar job in yellow.

In addition to the above was a surprising number of ecdyonurus insignis - the large green dun. Last week I saw maybe three mating pairs - my first ever sighting on the Eden - but tonight there were dozens of these handsome flies, much to the delight of one man entomological encyclopaedia, Terry!

Generally though, if an imitation was accurately presented over a rising trout, a take usually followed and Steven went on to return a good number of fighting fit trout, right on into darkness when a spent spinner pattern accounted for a couple of particularly nice fish. I even managed to get in on the act myself. After fluffing three or four good offers, I finally connected with the decent fish below - further evidence of the quality of these wild Eden trout.



Most important though, was the fact that my two guests had both caught some nice fish and that we had all had a thoroughly entertaining evening. Walking through the fields back to the car, I couldn't have been a happier man. Midsummer darkness has a special quality: a moon shrouded in thin cloud, the call of the tawny owl, barely perceptible wing beat of bats and the sweet scent of cut grass. I spend all winter day-dreaming about nights like these and I hope that when I grow too old to fish, I can still recall such occasions as vividly as now.

Eden and Eamont - scarcer ephemerids - great sport to dry fly - some thoughts on trout markings.

I decided to fish the lower Eamont tonight. We haven't had any significant rain for a couple of weeks now and our rivers are on the low side, but the Eamont flows briskly compared to many other streams and I felt that this abundance of well oxygenated water, coupled with an easterly breeze (upsteam in Eamont terms), might mean a better chance of sport than on the parent river.
As it happened, I made the wrong decision and a hasty about turn midway through the evening saw me back on my favourite beat of the Eden and in amongst the fish again.

The Eamont always looks to me like it could yield a fish every cast, so trouty does its clear, rannunculus filled water appear. Over the years though, it just hasn't produced the goods for me. I have fared ok on the upper river, but lower down below Penrith I have suffered a number of frustratingly dour days. Whether this is due to my approach or otherwise, I'm not sure. Either way, it's a lovely river to fish and as I worked my way upstream past the isolated little church of St Ninians, I was hopeful that sport would come eventually. It didn't. A few little trout had a go at the dry half of my duo set up, but otherwise the going was hard - an all too familiar scenario for me on this river I'm afraid.

If I'd stayed on until dusk, the situation might have changed, but I had a feeling that it would be best to move. So I motored over to a productive beat of the Eden below Appleby, in the hope that I might catch the start of an evening rise......

Straight away I got a better feeling about my prospects. The cloud hung heavy and warm over the nearby Pennines and as I caught sight of the river through bankside trees, I could see that it was foam flecked and carrying the faintest tinge of colour. Last time I fished here I witnessed the biggest blue-winged olive hatch I had ever seen, but a cold wind had inhibited sport on that occasion. Tonight I felt sure that a hatch of even half that density would surely lead to some dry fly sport on such a textbook midsummer evening. Luckily that is just how it turned out and two hours of tremendous sport more than made up for the slow start suffered earlier.

The blue wings were hatching for sure and their spinners were gathering under the trees ready to mate (in fact, this never happened and I was denied a spinner fall). There were also plenty of longhorn caddis and gnats over the water.....and I was treated to the appearance of some of the Eden's scarcer upwinged species which only added to the evening's interest: a couple of mayfly spinners, a few pairs of mating large green duns, and a single male spinner of the purple dun - a fly I have never seen before.

Spinner of the large green dun.

Spinner of the purple dun.

It was the blue wings that the trout wanted though, and my #16 dun olive klink worked a treat - as it had done on bwo feeders a couple of weeks previous. The fish were in unusually compliant mood and I was able to pick them off steadily until darkness fell. What was particularly notable was the average size of fish. Every time I have fished this beat, I have been surprised at the number of 1lb+ fish I have caught. I had put this down to a lucky run, but it genuinely does seem that there are large numbers of big trout (and on a northern freestone stream, I class this as anything over 1lb 8oz) on this particular stretch of the Eden. I wonder how long it will be before the magical 3lb-er comes along?!

In all I returned 8 trout and a solitary grayling. Of these, half a dozen were comfortably over the pound and the biggest went 2lb 2oz - tremendous wild trout fishing in anyone's book. A couple of the obliging fellows are pictured below. I've chosen a pair which demostrate the great variation in markings which Eden fish can exhibit, depending where they are caught and so on. Fish with the markings of the one at top are relatively common on the Eden system. The bottom fish shows markings which are less common hereabouts. When I've caught trout like this, they tend to have come from parts of the river with tree cover and a sandy-ish bottom. This fish was no exception.

Two trout with very different markings.

In all, an absorbing evening's sport.....eventually!

On the Ribble with Paul.

I recall making the transition from stillwater to river fly fishing several years ago. The first few months were a real trial as I struggled to come to terms with the various techniques available and when to deploy each. The invertebrate population and how to read its effect upon fishing remained a mystery and my line management was even dodgier than it is now. It took a good six months of practice - and a bit of help from more experienced rods - before I could venture onto the river with anything approaching confidence.

Tonight I had the pleasure of fishing with someone who is currently in the same boat as I was. Paul was hoping that our evening on the Upper Ribble might help with a lack in confidence that what he has been doing in the three months since he made the switch from coarse fishing, has been along the right lines.

Well from our few hours together, it seems Paul has nothing at all to worry about. For someone who has only recently picked a fly rod up, his casting, line control and reading of the water was superb. An onlooker would have been excused for thinking they were watching a seasoned hand as he smoothly worked upstream with a short line and nicely elevated rod - seemingly, a natural aptitude for the method.

Unfortunately when it came down to the business of catching fish, the conditions conspired against us; a cold north westerly meant that only small fish were prepared to rise to the few blue winged olives which hatched. We did return a few trout up to the half pound, but that was about it. More important was the fact that Paul hopefully went away with a bit of conviction that he has been on the right lines and that with perseverence - and access to some decent water - success will surely follow.

Dabbler apprenticeship

After fishing Malham Tarn recently with a handful of top quality wet fly fishermen, I have been inspired to try my hand at the gentle art of tying dabblers. One of my first efforts can be seen above.
My technique needs a lot of tuning, but thanks go to Alex and Rob for their patient explanation of the finer points regarding design, proportion etc. This is one dressing I'm determined to get right as I've been whole-heartedly convinced as to its deadly effectiveness both for wild brownies and stocked rainbows. Watch this space........

A return to Eden - the vagaries of the British climate - mass emergence - a poor performance redeemed.

It seems like far too long since I last made the trip north to fish my beloved River Eden, but I got the chance to spend a few hours after work on a beat near Appleby tonight. I was expecting a low, clear river after a couple of weeks without rain.....but what I didn't expect was to have to deal with more unpleasant conditions than one would expect at times during the winter.

The British climate is nothing if not unpredictable. And fly fishing in general is so unpredictable, that a marriage of the two is bound to throw up a few anomalies. Take last week on Malham for example, when numerous fish were caught from a notoriously dour water - despite conditions being as far from perfect as is possible. This afternoon saw a week of warm, settled weather break in a matter of hours as a cold air stream sprinting in from the east brought weather more akin to February than early June. Driving up the M6, the temperature dropped from an acceptable 12c in Blackburn, right down to 4c as I reached Shap village; and as I crested the bluff to begin my descent into the wonderful Eden valley, I could see a light covering of snow on the peaks of the Pennines to the east! My expectation level suddenly began to drop.

Down at water level, it was slightly warmer. My thermometer reading at 5pm was 6.5c air temp and 13.6c water temp. With such an inverse divergence between the two, it would likely sound the death knell for any surface sport. Which was disappointing because as I walked downstream from the car to my chosen start point, it seemed like every sand martin and swallow in the vicinity was hawking the Eden's surface for some as yet unseen insect. I could see a good length of water in either direction and every square yard was being quartered by the birds as they feasted on something which was obviously present in some quantity.

A close look in the nearest pool quickly revealed the culprits; dozens of pale wateries and a good smattering of yellow may duns were sailing downstream, apparently nailed to the surface as the cold breeze prevented their newly unfurled wings from drying. I didn't see a single dun in the air, they just couldn't get off the surface......but a walk along a 300yd section of the river, revealed not a single rising trout - detered from looking upwards by the cold air and breeze no doubt.

A quick play with nymphs brough a couple of 12" fish to hand - and would probably have proved fruitful had I stayed with that tactic all evening - but with so many duns on the water, I just couldn't believe that there wouldn't be an opportunity to fish the dry fly somewhere along the beat. So I put up a tapered leader and headed off in search of shelter. Sure enough, I eventually found a pair of feeding fish tight in below tree cover. Interestingly they were both shunning pale wateries in favour of the yellow mays, so I tied on a yellow klink and set to work. The rear fish, I put down straight away, but the second one took confidently - a nice fish of 1.25lb.


It took me a long time to find rising fish after that. Having slipped on a stone and taken a dunking, I was wet and cold and ready for home and was fishing so badly, I was glad that no-one was around to witness my tired thrashing of the water.
By now the pale wateries had subsided and a hatch of blue-winged olives was gaining momentum by the minute. Before long I was witnessing the most intense hatch of these summer olives I have ever seen - literally thousands of the duns were emerging.....and most were untroubled by trout.


However, I did finally find success when the breeze died at dusk. In the head section of a long pool, several trout were feeding casually on the duns. So delicately were they sipping down the stranded flies, that you would be forgiven for thinking they were parr. I had a feeling to the contrary though and set about covering the first fish with a small olive emerger on a short line and long, fine leader to combat the fractured currents created by mid-stream boulders. The fish took first pass and the surface erupted as a good wild trout careered off downstream. It turned out to be well over the pound and displayed typical markings of an Eden fish.


As it happened, I managed a further three fish - all over the pound - from that pool. They were taken from a living room-sized piece of water, but were feeding so assuredly that by quickly diverting hooked fish away it was possible to pick off each one in turn before the very head of the pool was reached. Terrific fishing which made the previous couple of hours' hard slog worthwhile and left me undeservedly rewarded, despite having fished like an idiot for most of the evening.

I'll sign off with this photo of a male pale watery spinner. He was the only one I saw, but is such a bonny fly I can't resist. My abiding memory of the evening though, will be the intense and sustained emergence of baetis fuscatus and serratella ignita which proves that even in these times of decreased aquatic diversity and abundance, the Cumbrian Eden remains a healthy river indeed.