Fly swap update.

At last. I have completed my quota of flies for the previously mentioned Derbyshire anglers' swap. Neither particularly fancy nor well tied, they won't make anyone's pulse quicken.......but they will catch fish. Hopefully.

New Lake District Fishing Website.

Take a look at the new re-vamped Windermere Anglers' website (link adjacent). Neil Birkinshaw has worked long and hard to develop the new look site and I'm sure you'll agree that his effort has not been in vain.

It represents the single most comprehensive guide to Lake District waters available to the visiting angler - a brilliant resource!

Click on the post header above to visit.

Winter walking above Langdale.

Obeying the need to get some fresh air into the lungs, I headed up into the fells today. With a dusting of fresh snow above 800m, I felt it might be nice to cover some of the district's higher tops and hopefully get a slice of that 'alpine' feeling which I haven't had the opportunity to experience for too long now.

So off I headed from the head of Great Langdale, up to the col at Red Tarn, over Cold Pike and the Crinkles and up the mighty Bowfell, before descending back down the interminable Band. I won't lie to you: it's been such a long time since I last did a 'proper' mountain walk that I found the going bloody hard; by the time I got halfway up the final ascent to Bowfell's summit, I was blowing hard and my thighs were beginning to cramp - an unwelcome reminder that my fitness levels are certainly not what they used to be.

Still, I made it back to the car without having to call out the mountain rescue helicopter......and the day was a cracker - bright sunshine, fresh snow and a Baltic northerly blasting into my face at 40mph, leaving me pleasingly 'wind-burnt'. Photos below:


Cold Pike was first. It lived up to its name. This is the view from Great Knott looking Soutwards as the sun began to rise over the Coniston Fells.

On to the Crinkles....and a peek through Mickle Door to the Langdale Pikes.

Looking in the opposite direction from Long Top - over Eskdale to the highest ground in the country.

At Three Tarns, looking up to the day's final challenge - Bowfell, seen here proudly displaying its 'Links'.

Halfway up and a pause to rub the tired legs, looking back over the terrain just traversed.

At the same spot, some interesting patterns in the igneous rock.

The summit of Bowfell looms through cloud and spindrift.

On the descent, the Langdale Pikes again; this time viewed over Bowfell's famous 'Great Slab'.

Spindrift being blown off the summit ridge by an express train of a northerly.

Summit rocks in the clag.

Yesterday's efforts.

I was supposed to be tying crippled spinners for the fly swap, but somehow I got waylaid.........and entered the twilight zone of stillwater wets once more.

Fly Swap tying frenzy!

I was chatting to fellow blogger and budding TV star Glen Pointon yesterday, who somehow managed to persuade me to take part in a fly swap he is helping to organise. The premise is simple: a dozen anglers each knock up a dozen copies of two different patterns, which are then posted to a central source (whoever offers to organise). The 288 flies are then divvied up and posted back to the contributors so that everyone ends up with two dozen different patterns to try out. It's a great way of sharing ideas adding a bit of regional variety to the old fly box.

In this case the participants are largely Derbyshire based anglers - fishers of legendary rivers like the Dove, Derwent and Wye. Quite what my Eden - based patterns will be able to add to the equation is debatable, but I took up Glen's offer and set about deciding what to tie.

Now I am woefully slow at the vice, so the thought of producing 24 flies in a relatively short time is enough to set my shoulder aching before I've even started. So I've settled on two straightforward patterns: a dark tung bug and a para cripple bwo spinner. The latter requires a bit of attention in cranking the hook shank and creating a neat parachute hackle and will probably require two evenings of six flies each (told you I was slow). Tonight I got the easy bit out the way and lashed out the dozen tung bugs shown above....and it's been nice to get into some sort of rhythm and further shake off the tying cobwebs ready for the winter re-stocking onslaught.

Quite how my mate goes on is beyond me - tying buzzers to order, sometimes in batches of 50 at a time. As I sit writing this, my eyes feel strained and my shoulders are aching.......and that's after a meagre hour and a half behind the vice. So Glen, if you're reading this - I hope you bloody well appreciate it!!

Winter tying - a dilemma.

So I suppose that's it then. As the north west of England drowns under some of the heaviest rainfall ever recorded on these Isles, I've resigned myself to the fact that meaningful fishing has ended for the year and that it's high time I reacquainted myself with the vice and got some tying done for next season.

I do enjoy my winter fly tying sessions, although it always takes me a few hours to get the eye in sufficiently to be able to produce something better than purest crap. This year I have a dilemma though: river or stillwater patterns...or both? My normal MO would be to set about replenishing the river dries and bug boxes which have become depleted over a season of snagging the river bed and bankside bushes.....but I haven't done as much river angling this year as normal and my stocks are looking pretty healthy if truth be known.

That in itself won't necessarily prevent me from trying out a load of new ideas for running water.......but perhaps I should concentrate on developing my wet fly tying - dabblers/muddlers/palmers/bumbles and so on. After all, the creativity and scope for experimentation offered by the latter disciplines have really caught my imagination over the last 6 months.

In reality, I'll probably do a bit of both. I could certainly do with establishing some sort of plan though - my most recent efforts have spawned an ad hoc mixture of patterns with no real focus or aim. Things will improve, I promise. But for now, here are some of the motley patterns that have resulted from my initial efforts.......a strange bunch indeed.

A) Flies for running water

Trapped Gas Olive

Peacock Bug

 

Glister Rhyac

 

B) Stillwater flies

Claret Straggle mini lure

Claret Muddler

Kate McLaren mini lure

Sparkle Dabbler

Knowing When to Turn Back!

They say the mark of a good mountaineer is knowing when to turn back, when to acknowledge defeat in the face of a conflicting and intense desire to reach the summit.

We were faced with such a dilemma this weekend as we attempted the risky and notoriously dangerous ascent of Southern Lakeland’s Black Fell. This formidable peak towers above Skelwith at a lofty altitude of 322m and its most feasible line of weakness involves a gruelling 180m ascent from the Coniston–Ambleside road near Hollin Bank. Even this is far from straightforward with numerous deadly hazards to overcome – boggy ground, a couple of gates, some aggressive sheep.

Word at base camp was that the upper slopes were clear of snow, but that the weather was looking decidedly dodgy for an assault on the summit. To get caught in a heavy downpour in such unfriendly terrain could be disasterous.....but hey, we had come this far and the excitement within the party was palpable. So we took the decision at approx 13:00 hours to take advantage of a brief window in the weather to make a final push for the top.

Unfortunately, today was not to be our day. Conditions under foot were diabolical – ankle deep mud rendered the going very slow and without supplementary oxygen, our laboured attempts proved fruitless. When the weather set in again as we were approaching ‘death camp’ at approx 300m, we decided it was time to beat a hasty retreat back down off the mountain to avoid risking our lives spending a night trapped and exposed to the elements.

The youngest member of our party was obviously devastated, but took consolation from the fact that being only 3 years old, he will have plenty more shots at glory......and that it is the failures and sound decision making that allow a man to truly grow in stature and experience.

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.