North Country Angler

Dilemma

2012-01-21T12:58:00.003Z

I tied a few flies this week for the first time since the laboriously assembled clinger nymph I did a sequence for back in October. And they're not for me either! It seems that over the last few years I have become less and less inclined to engage with fly fishing over the winter months, possessing neither the time nor inclination to shuffle about in freezing cold water searching for bottom hugging grayling.....and a visit to a stocked small stillwater over Christmas reminded me why I left that particular scene behind many years ago. Even fly tying fails to inspire me much when the days are short - I'm so out of practice that the prospect of starting up again seems a bit daunting.

I did catch a few hours along the Ribble last week, in glorious, crisp winter conditions. It was a pleasure to be out in the fresh air, and a pleasure to witness one or two signs that winter, if not exactly on it's last legs, has certainly entered it's final act. Despite the chill, there was a certain thin warmth in the sun's direct gaze that just isn't present before the solstice. I felt it most after midday when seemingly in response to the melting hoar frost, a few large dark olives began to emerge; and underneath the far bank of a long slow glide, a couple of grayling rose sporadically to intercept them. Unfortunately the mere act of slowly edging across the belly deep water to reach a casting position was enough to send them packing. No matter, it was an encouraging sign - a precursor of spring. Later in the woods, I saw that the shoots of wild garlic were breaking through the wet ground, already a full inch high. What will the coming season bring I wonder?

The brief grayling session got me thinking: the unexpected opportunity to attach a tapered leader to my line reminded me how little I enjoy tossing heavy bugs around for longer than a few minutes, and how for me these days, a whole third of the year can pass without my extending a proper fly line. I realised that one of the aspects that I enjoy most about fly fishing is the actually deployment of the fly line, the act of casting itself. Not that I am particularly gifted in this department (in fact I would go so far as to say my casting is decidedly agricultural), but that's not to say I don't enjoy the quiet whisper of the line through the air and the rare satisfaction which comes with getting things right occasionally. I've come to the conclusion the primary reason I can't fall in love with Czech style nymphing techniques, is that it just doesn't involve fly fishing - casting - in the conventional sense; a theory backed up by the fact that when I went through a spell of experimenting with braid nymphing techniques, I may have had tremendous success in a fish-catching sense, but I hated it all the more for the fact that the tip of my fly line was further than ever from seeing the light of day.

Which leaves me a problem. Being an angler who likes to keep abreast of contemporary developments in the fly fishing world, I realise it's high time I 'got with the programme' and embraced the current trend for ultra long leader (leader to hand) techniques. A development I have resisted stubbornly for the last couple of seasons. Slowly but surely the compelling arguments offered by the likes of Jeremy Lucas have got under my skin to the point where I have started scanning the catalogues for a rod in the 10-11' #3 class. Indeed Jeremy has been very helpful in assisting my induction into this refinement of our beautiful sport and I fully expect to be out there this spring, long rod in hand, delivering a dry fly attached to nothing but 14m of tapered braid and copolymer.
I can see that the presentational possibilities are exciting, but a part of me worries that I will find jettisoning the fly line too painful and yearn to revert back to more traditional techniques. And what of an 11' rod in a pokey corner beneath a bush - will I need to start taking two rods to the river with me? Will the benefit of vastly reduced drag with the leader to hand method mean that I become hugely out of practice with the slack line techniques needed with conventional fly line, leaving me the poorer for it? I have a host of unanswered questions which I intend to address over the coming months. I will keep you posted here. First I need to save up for a rod of length and line rating which together just didn't exist a few years ago. That in itself will be interesting - just what does an 11' #3 handle like I wonder?

For those of you whose interest in leader to hand techniques has been piqued by recent magazine articles and developments on the international scene, then the website below will be of interest. I can recommend a visit.

Presentation Flyfishing

Snapshots from an Angling life #2

2012-01-01T14:38:00.004Z

The morning had gone well. It was one of those late summer days of mild air and thick cloud and the wind was forecast to veer during the day from south easterly to south westerly on the back of an incoming high pressure system. It was a day breezy enough to keep the boat moving at a decent clip; not to the degree where the drogue was necessary, but sufficiently so that one could justifiably be deployed if tactics required a slower drift. And the white overcast softened the light beautifully, creating a damp, cotton-wool fuzziness to the atmosphere that made it feel as though the air and water were one, their limits all but indistinguishable. I could sense the vigour of the place as the breeze infused the water's surface with oxygen and fine spray whipped off the wave crests absorbed into the humid air around. It was one of those days the stillwater trout fisher dreams about and I felt with every bone in my body that the native brownies would be, as a friend of mine puts it, "up and looking for trouble".

As I motored upwind to start my first drift of the day, I remember feeling a peculiar combination of emotions: there was pure, nerve-jangling excitement at what the day might hold. There was also a strange sense of loneliness at the prospect of spending perhaps 12 hours afloat, alone, on a wild, untamed northern stillwater. And counteracting this was the feeling of comfortable familiarity which derives from having spent many hours getting to know a water intimately. It is difficult to explain, but I felt slightly ill at ease, yet at the same time totally at ease as I turned the boat beam-on and rolled my team of wet flies out into the wave.
The next few hours followed a mesmerising pattern as I sank into the rhythm of deep concentration that loch style fly fishing demands. I changed line a few times, tweaked my choice of fly patterns, drifted both unfettered and be-drogued. I pulled the flies slowly, pulled them fast, stripped, twiddled and hung them. I drifted contours and open water, weedbeds and rocks. The melody may have occasionally altered but the theme remained the same: constant working of my team as the little boat rocked and nudged in the wave.

By mid afternoon, my fugue had been interrupted seven times by magnificent trout which ambushed my flies from seemingly out of nowhere. In each case I had developed an eerie feeling beforehand that they were coming - a feeling I cannot begin to articulate but which I could best liken to the nymph fisherman's 'sixth sense' which compels him to lift into a fish which ostensibly gave no clear indication as to its presence. I would be drifting along, thinking nothing in particular, when a sudden certainty would take hold that something exciting was about to happen. No more was this evident than at the end of the last drift I made before breaking for lunch when, without any reason other than a gut feeling, I began the upward sweep of my flies a little earlier than I normally would, to be met by an almighty pull as a huge trout took hold of the middle dropper. The fish weighed just over six pounds; a broad shouldered, yellow-bellied beast of a hen fish which regurgitated a mess of part digested sticklebacks into my lap before scything off into the depths leaving my head and arms soaked through. That trout should have etched an indelible mark on my memory. But like an accidental tape recording of one song over another, the subsequent events of that day have unfairly diminished the magnificent creature's splendour in my mind.

I took lunch on the bank, basking in the afterglow of a good morning's work. I knew then that the bulk of the day's action was probably behind me. This water, like so many others, has a tendency to drop quiet in the afternoon before maybe picking up again late on. The evening sport might or might not materialise, based upon a number of variables which would be impossible to accurately predict; and in any case, I sometimes find it difficult to continue on into the 'simmer dim' when my whole body aches after a full day of repeated casting and retrieving. No, as I reclined amongst the grasses and wildflowers, I half conceded that the big trout I had just caught would quite possibly be my last of the day. I would venture out again for sure, but my expectations were not high.

Three hours later and my prediction was looking safe. The wind had veered square southerly and eased a touch, bringing the inexorable feeling that here was a water at rest, it's residents taking their mid afternoon siesta. I propped my feet against the bulwarks, leaned into the backrest of my seat, and maintained a casual working of the flies; an occasional break for a nip from the hip flask, and an awful lot of gawping at the bleak majesty of the surrounding scenery. At such times, the rhythmic nodding of the boat can induce an almost trance-like state in the angler, where despite nothing at all happening for long periods, time seems to just slip away such that an hour can feel like five minutes. So it was that afternoon: the hours eased by like the low clouds and I fished away, replaying the morning's events over and over in my mind.
Then, as the wind picked up again and began a subtle shift towards the south-west, everything changed once more. The sky darkened a touch, the atmosphere freshened, and I began to sense that another fish might be on the cards.

Brown trout are strange creatures. Seemingly the slightest thing can switch them on or off at the drop of a hat: a brief spell of invertebrate activity maybe, change in light levels or atmospheric pressure perhaps. The variables are many and only partially understood and I personally find the whole thing fascinating. Nearly every angler you speak to will have a few stories about days when the fish suddenly went off the boil for no apparent reason, or conversely, a long period of complete inactivity was followed by a short burst of hectic sport. Sure enough, location is often part of this equation as the territorial nature of brown trout means that the importance of fishing where the fish are (as opposed to where they are not), is paramount - obviously. But notwithstanding this, there are definitely occasions when brownies will lie completely doggo, unresponsive to any external stimuli.....and the change from this state to that of actively feeding, never fails to surprise me in it's suddenness or apparent unpredictability. Sometimes it just takes a change - any change - in the atmosphere. A slight increase in wind speed, a change in light intensity, or something less obvious and difficult to articulate, but nevertheless tangible. I needed a change that afternoon, and as I motored to the top the wind and felt renewed vigour in the air, I knew straight away that I had got what I wanted.

It was early September and a couple of the cock fish I had caught in the morning were heavily kyped and showing late season colour....and the quality of light seemed to suggest a pattern with claret in the dressing. I went with a gut feeling and tied on my 'Bloody Dabbler' in the point position, popped the drogue out and resolved to fish the flies deep and slow. Minutes later I tightened in response to a vicious yark early in the retrieve and brought fish number eight to the boat - a small but aggressive looking trout of round 1lb 8oz. Then, a few casts later, and with every nerve in my body quivering in anticipation, I felt a long slow draw countering the steady pull of my retrieve hand and as the stretch of the fly line bottomed out and the hook went home, I lifted the rod into the biggest trout of my life.

Not that this was apparent straight away. When you've returned a six pounder earlier on, it's difficult to see what more the day can hold. Sure this fish was a heavy one and it's initial fifteen yard run was ponderous, deliberate and entirely unstoppable; but after that the fish went deep and stayed there, striving - as a wild brown trout will - to get behind the drifting boat and back to the place from whence it came. I knew I had hold of a good 'un, but I confess I didn't realise how big.

Fifteen minutes later, I was beginning to get some idea. This trout just wouldn't behave itself. My set up was geared to the size of fish I expected to catch and as such, was by no means subtle by loch styling standards. A ten foot rod rated for a seven weight was teamed with fluorocarbon of the same strength. And I'm a fairly hard player of fish compared to some. Make no mistake, this fish was receiving some pressure, but although it was showing signs of tiring, I had yet to get a proper look - brief flashes of gold-brown a couple of feet below the surface seemed to suggest an exceptionally deep, if not overly long trout. It was hooked on the point fly - the bloody dabbler - so I had the comfort of knowing that there were no trailing flies which could get caught up on the lake bed. I took my time, applied optimum pressure...and waited.
It would be nice to tell you that this fish made a number of searing runs, stripping my line to the backing and leaping clear, porpoise-like several times. The truth is that the fight, although protracted, held absolutely nothing remotely exciting to report. As time passed, my right arm began to tire and I became impatient to get the beast in the net. Every moment brought me closer to landing or losing the fish and I became strangely resigned to accepting either outcome. Eventually after some wallowing around and final half-hearted lunges, I got the trout's head up - this huge, kyped jaw - and turned it into the waiting net. I left the net in the water allowing the fish to rest for a minute, stretched my aching limbs, collected myself, and then peered over the bulwark to behold a wild brown trout of simply stunning proportions.

It was a cock fish. A big ugly cock fish. Relatively short in the body, but impressive in girth. His adipose fin was bigger than my thumb and his teeth shredded the skin on my fingers when I went to unhook him. If I fish until the day I die, I will probably never see anything of his like again, but the memory of lifting that great trout from my net will always stay with me. I didn't weigh him - an attempt would have proved futile in any case as my scales only went to seven pounds. He measured just under 28 inches long.

And so ended the first day afloat of a September which would continue to yield sport beyond my wildest dreams. The memories of that month are tattooed on my mind, but none more so than when I watched that huge brown trout sidle off into the depths and sat back in the knowledge that one of the defining moments of my angling life had just occurred. Even a blind squirrel finds its nuts, and we anglers are all entitled to our red letter day. That - at least in the context of wild stillwater fishing - was mine: a happy convergence of circumstances which placed me in the right place at the right time. Sheer fortune? Probably......but such moments provide the driving force which press us to the water's edge time and again. I hope that it always remains so.

A happy new year to you all!
Matt

Snapshots from an Angling Life #1:

2011-11-25T20:23:00.003Z

The gear is stowed and I'm ready to go. The little two piece rod is lashed to the frame of my 5-speed racer and my backpack contains my reel, hooks (big ones, size 6), a couple of ounces of Morrisons cheddar and little else. The homework will wait; a long summer's evening fishing awaits at the end of a 4 mile bike ride which will be spent almost entirely thinking about Carole Earp and how, in another life, I might pluck up the courage to ask her out.

My destination is the lower River Brock - an uninspiring, artificially leveed, silty bottomed ditch of a river. But it is my bit of river, almost never fished by another angler, and I value that sense of ownership and the intimate knowledge of the small things of the place - a trait which unknown to me at the time, will follow me staidly into later life. Here is a stream which doesn't even register on the radar of most anglers; a minor tributary of a minor river, whose flood-prone past has resulted in the construction of heavily reinforced banks, and whose shallow, sluggish flow over light-coloured sand betrays a complete dearth of fish of any kind, save an odd miniature flounder and a few eels. Except I, as a fluff lipped, awkward, but arrogant 15 year old, reckon to know better. With little more productive to do with my copious spare time than walk the banks of my local rivers, I have seen how in the days following a big flood in the main river, groups of chub come up into the tributary seeking comparative shelter whilst the waters recede......and can then be found in the sandy shallows, hugging tight in to the banks below the lank, overhanging bankside grasses.
To a more experienced angler, this probably reeks of 'Mickey Mouse' fishing - a captive audience of schoolie chevin herded into an ugly channel barely five yards across. And fair enough - here is my quarry: conveniently visible and with no deep water in proximity to disappear into, thus sparing me the unfathomable puzzle of how to extract putative fish from black, bottomless depths. But these fish are far from easy and although I have no concept of it at the time, the lessons learned in effecting their capture will stay with me throughout my angling life.

Cycle dismounted and abandoned behind a hedge, I have crested the floodbank and descended into the balsam where, crouched amongst thistle and sheep turd, I watch. They are there sure enough, patrolling beneath the green canopy in an orderly line, melting periodically into the mess of overhanging willow branches upstream before reappearing like dark ghosts, nailed to the far bank in water which looks but inches deep. Their route is defined and repetitive, covering a distance of approximately five yards above and below my position. I could set my watch by them - the whole circuit takes just under two minutes, with a good quarter of that spent out of sight beneath the willow. Good fish - two pounders, maybe an odd one over three. I tiger-crawl up the bank and then, crouching, scuttle off downstream until sufficiently out of range, where I set up my rod and reel, thread the line through the rings, tie on a big hook.....and begin my search for slugs. OK, I've got my stinky cheese, but that's for emergencies. Slugs are what I need and luckily the damp conditions make it pretty easy to collar half a dozen big black ones within the space of a minute or two (the leg of my Wranglers is stiff with their slime, accumulated from wiped fingers on dozens of such occasions).

Back on station and with an impaled slug apparently trying to turn itself inside out upon the point of my Kamasan, I make a last mental run through my strategy, check my net is to hand and then lay my trap. The pod of fish has emerged from under the willow and is drifting in single file downstream, barely perceptible shadows amidst shadows, an occasional puff of silt or white of gulping mouth betraying their presence from time to time. With a flick of the rod tip, I lob the unfortunate gastropod into the shade of the willow branches, the spot just vacated, and rest the rod into the crook of a thick offshoot of cow parsley, tip protruding just far enough from the bank to keep the line from fouling amidst the vegetation. Then wait........the display on my casio telling me that 30 seconds has passed......one minute......a few more seconds.......here they come; the regiment returns, nosing into the darkness. My hand hovers over the rod butt, trembling; mouth dry; balsam pods exploding above my head..........

This moment of anticipation is what, more than 20 years later has made me return time and again to the waterside. Lily pond to windswept reservoir; mucky ditch to mighty salmon river; it's all the same to me. Stitched into the essence of my being is that desire to know the unknown, to experience the throb of life through the line and wonder every single time if the fish which has just taken hold, just might be the stuff of dreams; and at a more fundamental level, to experience the fleeting excitement of success followed by satisfied reflection upon a plan well executed . It didn't seem right to me at the time that once the bright orange tip of my little quiver rod had bucked round and I had snatched the rod from the ground to feel the weight of a stubborn chub ploughing a determined furrow for the submerged tree roots; it didn't seem right that the actual landing of the fish felt anti climactic. This magnificent lump of untamed bronze, with scales the size of my thumb nails, was treasure indeed; a nugget of precious metal from such a depressing little dyke. Yet it was the moment I craved, not so much the treasure. The electricity-charged moment of hope, expectation, anticipation.

I feel it still in the slow drift of the dry fly towards the steadily rising fish, in the wake of the bob fly on a wild upland stillwater, and in the travel of my sunken nymphs through the river's turbulent currents. In angling, anything is possible because so much is unknown. Maybe it's a sign that I'm no longer a young man, but where once I wanted to know all and everything, these days I'd rather remain at least partially ignorant.....as if in some subconscious fear that one day the sudden manifestation of life at the end of the line will finally cease to surprise, and its magic be lost as a result.

Step by step: Oliver Edwards heptagenid nymph variant - part 2 of 2

2011-10-22T16:16:00.003Z

If you've followed this sequence through part one, you may well be forming the opinion that this pattern is a bit of a pain in the arse to tie. To be honest, it's not too bad when you've got used to the proportions and so on; but still, there's no denying it's a bit long-winded and I always curse when I lose one in a tree. So why bother?

Actually, that's a good question and I'll start at the beginning. Anyone who has ever lifted a stone from the bed of a trout stream and had a look at what's living underneath, will probably have encountered a heptagenid or stoneclinger nymph. They are widespread and common in our UK rivers and although they are said to be very intolerant of pollution, most of our streams contain decent populations. The heptageniidae account for several different species of upwing aquatic flies in this country, of the genera heptagenia, rithrogena and ecdyonurus. Species familiar to anglers include the March Brown, Yellow May Dun, Olive Upright and Large Brook Dun. Many of these hatch by crawling out of the river margins onto part submerged reeds or stones, but some do hatch in open water at the surface (the Yellow May is an oddball owing to, it would appear, more than one emergence pattern - see brief discussion here).
Whatever their mode of emergence, there is little doubt that these stoneclinger nymphs do form an important part of the trout and graylings' menu - something not lost on expert entomologist Edwards, who set about solving the problem of how to represent the unusual profile of these invertebrates. The resulting pattern has become famous and rightly so - it's profile is accurate and the general impression of realism which the use of accurate tail and leg configurations creates, makes it an attractive looking pattern to both anglers and fish. Oliver has utmost confidence in it and would have no hesitation in recommending it to any fisher of freestone trout rivers.

My experiences have proved equally convincing. Used singly, or as part of a two or three fly team, it is deadly when fished classic upstream nymph style into pocket water and riffles. I have even used it in slower water to fool sighted fish, apparently not actively feeding. Here, the realistic profile of the fly excels - few other patterns would work so well in similar situations.

But the big question is this: is it so effective that the time and effort taken in its tying is justified by its increased effectiveness over other, simpler patterns? Well I've given this a lot of consideration over the last 6 or 7 years, and I have to say that for me, the answer is no. Well not insofar as I would abandon my general purpose bead headed nymphs in favour solely of more realistic patterns. I went through a spell of only tying and using close copy imitative nymphs for a year or two. I caught and caught well as you might expect. However, as time at the vice became harder to come by and I became increasingly reliant on quick, easy patterns to get a few flies in the box before a session, I began to realise that small bead heads of the PTN formula and such-like, not only matched the realistic patterns, but quite often outfished them. There are reasons for this which I won't bore you with here; but suffice to say that the Edwards patterns remained in my fly box, albeit used a good deal less frequently than before.

What I will say is that whilst not necessarily the fly fisher's panacea I once thought them to be, these patterns are very worthwhile and I would never be without at least half a dozen of them tucked away somewhere. On the river in early summer when the Uprights and Yellow Mays are around, in pocket water (maybe teamed up with a weightier pattern on a dropper above), or in low, clear conditions when the fish are nervous; in all the above situations, the OE heptagenid is indispensable to the spate river fisher of nymphs. And there is something undeniably satisfying about the catching of fish on an imitation which represents a close copy of their natural foodsource. A couple of hours spent knocking a few of these together will be time well spent indeed.

Back to business!

12. We need to make the wingbuds now. Take a spoon-shaped marginal covert feather from the wing of a grouse and saturate it in head cement. Now start to smooth the feather between thumb and forefinger until it adopts a more elongated shape and the cement begins to dry. the result should look like this:

13. When dry, turn it upside down and tie in to the top of the body approximately halfway along.

14. Now apply your dubbing to the thread and dub on the body from tail to the root of the wingbuds. Follow behind with the ribbing material.

15. The next step requires care. Continue with the dubbing, covering the remaining body and thorax area of the fly completely. Try to avoid excessive buildup of the dubbing, but do ensure that the full width of the thorax is formed to suit the crossbar and thin skin strip. Periodic application of cement and squeezing down with tweezers helps maintain the all important wide, flat profile.

16. Time for the legs. Take three short lengths of spanflex and tie them in to the top of the thorax, perpendicular to the hook shank as you would pairs of spent spinner wings.

17. Now bring the grouse feather wingbud forward over the top of the legs and tie down. Try to make sure the legs are still evenly spaced and not bunched too much together by the wingbud.

18. Trim off the waste end of the feather and then bring the thin skin thorax cover back in the opposite direction, tying off at the same point.

19. After trimming off the waste end of thin skin and whip finishing, we are nearly complete. This last bit is probably the trickiest step of the whole fly - heat kinking the spanflex legs. First, release the tension on the vice jaws and rotate the fly so that it is hanging more or less vertically down wards, like this.

20. It's worth noting here that the following job is made easier if the batteries in the hot tip are halfway flat. It the hot tip glows orange quickly after switching on, then it is probably too hot and will melt the legs far too quickly making it almost impossible to kink them without burning them off altogether. We may have needed a full power hot tip to heat-ball the nylon crossbar earlier, but now is the time to take a battery out and put a nearly dead one in. Have a go on a waste piece of spanflex first - you should be able to hold the hot tip against the rubber for a couple of seconds until it begins to soften and kinks over. Obviously the spanflex will droop in the direction of gravity ie downwards, which is why we point the fly down in the vice - so the legs kink 'forwards'.
Once kinked, trim the forelegs to length. Don't worry if you've burnt one or two off - it may be frustrating to balls things up so late on in the tying, but it won't compromise the effectiveness of the finished fly. My box is full of heptagenids with missing limbs, I can assure you!
On this occasion I was lucky......although as mentioned earlier, the example below is rib-less as the spanflex broke late on in the tying.

The final act is to give the thorax cover and wingbuds a couple of liberal coats of 'hard as nails' vanish which toughens everything up and gives a nice translucent look to the fly. And that's about it really. As a tying exercise, it is almost all about proportion and the best way to get that right is to have a go at tying a few until you get the feel for it. I'm quite pleased with my effort today; usually after a long tying layoff, the main thing which suffers is my sense of proportion and it takes me a few false starts with deformed looking comedy flies to get back in the swing of things. Fortunately, I reckon I've got it about right here - not perfect by any means, but good enough to fool a few fish. I hope you found it as useful as I did enjoyable.

Right, time to find the deer hair. I owe a very patient man in Scotland a dozen balloon caddis.................

Step by step: Oliver Edwards heptagenid nymph variant - Part 1 of 2

2011-10-22T13:48:00.007Z

I made a promise earlier in the season that I would post step by step tying instructions for the stoneclinger nymph that I use. It is basically a variant of Oliver Edwards' much lauded heptagenid pattern; maybe a bit easier to tie in some ways, but I have found it to be equally effective. Make no mistake though, this is not a five minute job. It's quite a tricky tie and although I'm not the fastest tyer I admit, one of these typically takes me around half an hour to forty minutes......including a few false starts, plenty of cursing, maybe a cup of coffee to keep me awake.

Of course, I knew all the above before embarking upon this exercise today; but still, it's that long since I did any tying that I had forgotten just how much practice counts when it comes to tying speed, neatness and proportion. I found this a bit of a challenge after months away from the vice and I apologise if my rustiness shows in both tying the pattern and taking decent photos of the stages. So what follows definitely ain't pretty, but hopefully it will illustrate the method well enough.

Owing to the interminable length of the process, I'll split it into two separate posts and punctuate with a brief discussion on the merits of the nymph, and when and where it works best. Hope you find something of use!

Materials List.

My materials differ slightly from Oliver's original version. This is partly due to simplification, partly a reflection of what I had to hand when I first tied this fly, and partly because I prefer one or two of the substitutions aesthetically. Of course, you are free to use whatever you wish to achieve the colouration and appearance you desire. This pattern is all about profile, or general impression of size and shape (GISS), and the slightly unusual construction method allows us to achieve the wide-headed, flat-bodied profile of the heptagenid nymph like no other pattern I am aware of.

Hook: Partridge K14ST in sizes 14 and 16

Thread: Griffiths' sheer, dark brown

Thorax cover: mottled oak Thin Skin

Thorax 'crossbar': short length of 20lb maxima nylon

Tails: pheasant tail dyed picric

Ballast: fine copper wire

Rib and legs: Spanflex - medium ginger

Dubbing: Masterclass - blend of shades #6 and #11

Wingbuds: grouse marginal covert

You will also need a hot tip cauteriser, plenty of thin, flexible head cement (I use floo gloo), some fine pliers or tweezers, and a thicker head cement such as 'hard as nails'.

1. Sitting comfortably? Right, brace yourself. Vice the hook and run on your thread. Catch in three pheasant tail fibres on top of the shank and tie tie them down to the start of the hook bend. You want to be aiming to get the tails about the same length as the body - quite long in other words.

*Remember that all the images below can be enlarged if you click on them, to get a closer view of what's going on*

2. Using the thread, split the tails equally so that they are nicely splayed, and drop a tiny dab of cement at their roots to help keep them there and strengthen the weak points slightly (Edwards uses badger hair which is far more robust, bot not quite prominent enough in my view. Tied in this way, the pheasant tail is durable enough, I've found).

3. OE uses raffene for the thorax cover, but I like the mottled, shiny finish of the thin skin. Cut off a strip of width to suit the hook size. This is a #14 hook and the strip is approx 4-5mm wide. Now you need to cut it to a taper so that it can be tied in easily and doesn't crease or distort when it is folded back over the head later on. A bit of practice makes judging the proportions a bit easier.

4. Tie this in facing forward over the eye of the hook. Take tare to secure it so it doesn't want to spin around the shank, and make sure it is tied down right up to the back of the eye so that when it is pulled back later on, there isn't any unwanted hook shank showing.

5. Now take a short length of strong nylon line - about 20lb BS is ok - and tie it down figure of eight style to the top of the hook shank a short distance behind the eye. This is the 'crossbar' around which the wide, flattened head of the nymph will be formed. Don't tie it down too tight just yet, as it may need a tweak to centre it after the next step.

6. Now we need to 'heat ball' the ends of the nylon. Cut away both ends until just a mm or so longer than required, and then offer up either your hot tip or a cigarette lighter (I find the former gives better control, although you need fresh batteries in for it to be hot enough), and hold close enough to the end of the nylon to melt and form a blob. Repeat at the other end until the crossbar width looks correct, then centre on the shank using tweezers, before tying down firmly with additional thread wraps.

7. Tie in your rib material. OE uses a combination of ostrich herl and spanflex twisted together to form the abdomen - it gives a 'feathery' appearance which is intended to mimic the natural nymph's lateral abdominal gills . I have never been a fan of this method and prefer to use a more conventional dubbing and rib arrangement, or occasionally just a narrow strip of clear flexibody. I'm using spanflex here; you can use what the hell you like. This step is rendered slightly irrelevant by the fact that later on, the bloody thing breaks anyway!

8. I now build up a nice taper to the full length of the fly, using the tying thread.

9. Catch in some fine copper wire. The above tapering of the thread acts as a base upon which to wind the wire. I think in recent years, OE has used flat lead to form the ballast of the fly, although I recall in the earlier edition of 'Flytyer's Masterclass', he advocated the use of copper wire. Either way, one of the important properties of both the lead and the copper is that they are malleable so that when wound on, they can subsequently be flattened quite easily with pliers. We wouldn't be able to do this if we just used the thread.

10. I find it easiest to just wind the copper on direct from the spool. Try to keep a neat taper, although don't worry too much if it looks a dog's breakfast (as does mine): careful dubbing later on will hide a multitude of sins! What we are trying to do here is build up a carrot-shaped taper from head to tail, which also needs to be regularly flattened out as the build-up progresses. Wind some on, flatten with tweezers/pliers and then carry on until it looks about the right profile. Now give it an all over covering of head cement.

11. In profile. Note the flattening.

Right, that's enough for now. Go and get yourself a brew and we'll reconvene in part 2.

Secret Stream

2011-10-11T18:38:00.007Z

Everybody has a secret stream don't they? Well it always seems that way to me when discussions with angling friends inevitably turn to the matter of mysterious virgin waters and rods barely longer than your leg. There exists a strong spirit of exploration in fly fishing circles; a spirit which drives many of us on in search of some overgrown nirvana like schoolchildren exploring the woods in the summer holidays. I guess we all like the idea of stumbling upon something hidden, of finding trout in the unlikeliest of places. Casting a line in places most people wouldn't even bother to look, the master of your own piscatorial Lilliput.

Except that I have never really been captivated by all that fishing small streams business; the 2 weight rods, reels the size of a chocolate penny, giving a sporting chance to fish which would fit into a sunglasses case. I accept it is popular with many anglers, but it's just not my scene. When I stumble upon a John Beer article in Trout & Salmon, I invariably flick past it, admiring the lovely photos of tiny 'wild as the wind' brownies on the way. And when I delve deep for the reason, I am forced to admit that I am drawn to the unknown aspect of fishing fully grown rivers - the possibility that the next fish I cover might be three, four or even five pounds.......and not that little sprot I can see holding station in the middle of the biggest 'pool' for miles. I'm not solely a big trout hunter by any means and the delight of catching a trout of any size will never diminish as long as I can cast a line. It's just that all that farting about under trees and amongst the undergrowth to catch the 12 inch alpha male of the pool seems like a bit of a fool's errand to me when there are 'proper' fish to be had elsewhere. I feel a bit guilty about this I admit.

Shortly before the end of the season, something happened which went some way to changing my opinion on the matter. It wasn't a Road to Damascus moment by any means, but my visit to an almost unfished tributary stream proved unexpectedly absorbing and reflecting upon the experience a few days later, I was forced to admit that somehow, that tiny Beck had got under my skin a little.
I fished it more out of idle boredom than anything else. Actually, that's not entirely true because I didn't really fish it at all, not properly. I had followed the field boundary down to the edge of a meadow of completely ungrazed scrub land, and squeezing through an ancient wooden gate, entered into a barely passable jungle of chest-high nettles knitted fast together by impenetrable tangles of gosling's crotch. Just how long this copse had remained untouched by man was unclear; the skeletons of long abandoned and ancient farm machinery suggesting quite a long time indeed. Consulting my map, I found that even the mature trees hereabouts were named.

I remember once hiking to the far end of Cow Green reservoir, to fish the inlet of the infant River Tees. Anyone who has made that lonely excursion up into the sub alpine pastures of the high Pennines will testify that it is about as close to proper wilderness as is left in this country. Strangely enough, as I entered this untended tangle, I felt a similar level of isolation, despite being only a few hundred yards away from civilisation. It was strange, but in a good way and I hacked on through the undergrowth to catch a first glimpse of the secret stream.

What I found was delightful - a fully formed river in miniature, with deep, reed-fringed pools (deep enough not to see the bottom), undercut banks, overhanging trees, and cobbly glides of marl and silt. It looked very trouty indeed; and what's more, it looked like it could conceivably be home to one or two serious fish. My interest was piqued and I set about finding somewhere I could actually get within casting distance of the water.

It would be nice to say I found a few fish rising and then fooled them with a suitably scaled down outfit and a tiny dry fly. What actually happened was that I found a pair of trout rising in a tight spot beneath some alder branches and using my normal 8'6" 4-weight outfit and a size 18 Griffiths Gnat, managed to poke a horribly unorthodox cast into the shadows, only to prick the larger of the two fish and send the other one bolting for cover. I did however, manage to successfully fool the smaller fish after it resumed feeding half an hour later. It was barely eight inches long and was one of the bonniest little trout I have ever caught.

And with that, it had happened: I had sub-consciously slipped into the world of the small stream fly fisher. I had devoted far too much time and thought into catching a fish which would be too small to make a breakfast. I had marvelled at its pale, iridescent beauty, and was moved to take a photo which I include below, but which should really be accompanied by the title 'wild as the wind' or 'small but perfectly formed' or something.

As I sweatily thrutched my way back to the car, through the nettles and midges, I was forced to admit that there might be something to this small stream fishing after all. And sitting here now, wondering what the place will be like in early spring, and how big its residents grow in that fertile water, and whether I should invest in a rod that is shorter than I am; somehow, by osmosis, that little beck has embedded itself in my consciousness.

Now where's that John Beer article?

A final flurry

2011-09-30T13:23:00.011Z

I fished a couple of times this week. With the weather set fair and the embers of the trout season about to be extinguished, I took the opportunity to step out into glorious autumn sunshine for one final hurrah before it all ends again for another year. I was hoping to sign off with a memorable fish or two, but although I thoroughly enjoyed myself, things didn't quite work out as planned.

Tuesday saw Rob Denson and I afloat once more on the enigmatic Malham Tarn. It's been a queer old season up there this time and the demographic of the resident trout population seems to have shifted significantly in a direction we never foresaw. Perhaps we have been lucky enough to witness a 'golden age' of sorts over the last three or four seasons where the fishing has been typically challenging, but the rewards occasionally too spectacular for words. For a long time I couldn't believe what I was seeing and to be frank, I kept shtum about the number and size of the fish we were catching in the possibly mistaken belief that the place might receive excessive angling pressure. But this year has seen an apparent backing off of the quality of sport, and an increased number of small fish which until recently were all but unheard of.

Not that this is necessarily a bad thing and I know I have touched upon this sort of thing before when discussing the impressive numbers of large River Eden trout versus dearth of younger brethren. I do find the whole subject fascinating; but this is not the place to speculate as to what is happening on the Tarn, what has caused it, whether it is positive and what we can expect in the coming years. The place has always been something of an enigma, a fishery which fails to conform to accepted norms in every sense. A handful of dedicated anglers know this and will continue to accept its challenges over the coming years, attempting to unravel some more of its many secrets.

Rob and I will certainly be amongst them, although Tuesday's outing did little to dispel the feeling that this has been a tough season. It was a nice day to be in a boat, but that's about it. We caught half a dozen fish between us, four of them skerrits. The sun beat down upon an almost flat calm in the morning rendering the exercise all but pointless. And later in the day, when a steady breeze got going, we were able to fish with more purpose......although we both agreed that it was with little hope. Sometimes, it just doesn't feel right. Whether it's the quality of light, the atmosphere, or some other intangible variable, sometimes that's how it is. As we humped our gear back up the hill from the boathouse, we both agreed that next May would be early enough to return to this special place.

I did have a booked boat for Thursday, the penultimate day of the season. But on Wednesday morning I phoned the Field Centre and cancelled, my mind turning once more to running water and a last shot at the wild trout of the Eden valley. It was a set of circumstances I hadn't expected to arise. So busy have I been at work that when I last cast a line on the river, it was still August and I had all but abandoned the hope of fishing another warm, still evening until sometime in 2012. But with the weather proving ridiculously warm for the time of year, and the Eden running relatively low and clear for the first time in ages, I couldn't believe my luck as I set out for a full day mooching about my favourite bits of river.

There was a time a few years ago when I would, with a full day at my disposal, have spent the whole time intensively fishing every inch of available water until such a time that I either ran out of daylight, or ran out of steam altogether and had to resort to a hit of lucozade and jaffa cakes to summon enough energy to peel my waders off. But I reckon I must be getting old and knackered (or maybe old and sensible), because yesterday, with the sun beating down and lifting the temperature into the mid twenties, I didn't feel particularly disposed to do anything much at all. For most of the day I ambled around contentedly and without anything even resembling a plan, excepting that come the lengthening shadows around 5pm, I knew exactly where I wanted to be.
In the meantime I took some invertebrate samples, sat under a tree for a while, flicked a team of nymphs here and there occasionally, and tried to take some interesting landscape photos (a task which ultimately proved beyond me). I even contemplated retiring to the Shepherd's Inn at Langwathby for a lunchtime pint and read of the paper. In the end, I settled on a cup of coffee and a twenty minute snooze in the car. I can't pinpoint the exact time in my life when I became satisfied with such small pleasures.

Later on and with a dry fly leader attached to my 4 weight, I set about catching a last trout of the season. Things were set up nicely for an evening rise: warm air which promised to remain so into darkness, a sparkling amber river, long shafts of fading sunlight through the branches of bankside beech and alder, a good number of late season stoneflies in the air, and trapped in the water's surface, thousands of tiny reed smut and beetles. I felt sure that once the light was off the water, a few fish would show interest. So I tied on a size 20 Griffiths Gnat and waited.
As it turned out, only a handful of fish chose to feast upon this soup of terrestrial minutae . Perhaps unsurprisingly they were grayling for the most part and I enjoyed some nice sport with fish ranging from half pound schoolies, up to a couple of brutes the bigger of which weight 2 1/4lb. Interestingly enough, they completely refused my initial offerings based on the maxim 'small and black' and after going through maybe a dozen patterns, I finally struck gold with a size 18 cdc dun tied using a pearlescent material for the abdomen called MOP rootbeer. With nothing on the surface big enough to be easily seen by the naked eye, and certainly no small olive duns around, it was an odd choice; but they wanted it and that was good enough for me.

What then, of my end of season trout? Well for long periods it seemed like I would have to wait until March for my next encounter with an Eden spotty; until at last knockings I finally found one rising on the crease of a back eddy. It took a good few attempts to get the drift line right, but when I did, the fish took confidently and then steamed off across and upstream so deliberately, I was powerless to stop it. With line emptying from my reel, I began to wonder if this was the fish of the season, until when I finally regained some semblance of control a good five minutes later, the fish at last surfaced and I was able to guide it towards the net. Unfortunately instead of the snout of a 5lb brownie, I was greeted by the lazily waving tail of an exhausted pounder - hooked in the bloody jacket! The hook must have slipped as the fish turned down with the fly, lodging firmly, just above the anal fin.

And that, as far as my trout fishing season is concerned, is pretty much that. Maybe in the coming weeks I'll come over all reflective and write a post of the season's highlights and learnings. In the meantime, I'll sign off with a few images of these last two outings.

At the helm of the good ship Hope; yours truly on the tiller

Tarn Sky

Wheatstraw bales in the Eden valley

A nice Eden grayling

The successful fly pattern - a small cdc dun

Finally, the trout that had me shaking like a flat-pack wardrobe!

I hope you all had a great season!
All the best,
Matt

Flying Solo

2011-09-17T15:45:00.004Z

Things didn't turn out how I had planned. It had all looked so promising a couple of days earlier when the weather man predicted that a temporary break in the recent stormy weather was on its way, scoring a direct hit on the day I had put aside to go afloat in search of wild brown trout. What I hadn't bargained for was that this break in the weather would turn out to be so extreme that I would be faced with acres of flat-as-glass water, stubbornly sulking beneath a glaring, brassy sun.

Not that I was completely surprised. When I went to load the car that morning, I had opened the front door onto a day of complete misty stillness; and later on, driving up the valley, I looked anxiously to the treetops for signs of a breeze but was greeted instead as I passed through the villages, by steeply rising chimney smoke from the year's first woodfires.

This wasn't what I wanted. I wanted a warm wind to push the boat along briskly, to tease the wavetops into spits of foam, bringing the trout up into the surface layers where my wet flies would be, darting and glooping about in the oxygenated confusion. I wanted to ride the swell, dance the dance of the loch style flyfisher.

None of that was going to be possible of course, not today. The best I could hope for would be an occasional slight wiffle across the surface. Variable in direction and short lived; not enough to grip the boat and push it along in anything like an organised manner. Yes, a day of frustration surely awaited. I had seen it all before - suffered the ignominy of chasing wary shadows upon the stagnant horse latitudes of a flat calm lake. I had no appetite for it, so I loaded my kit into the boat, then left it behind and headed off up the hill instead.

I spent the next couple of hours sitting in the warm fellgrass, my back propped against the summit cairn and soaking up the quiet atmosphere of the moorland, silent for miles around and stretching far into the distance to all four points of the compass. It might not have been what I'd planned, but it wasn't a bad circumstance all told. This summer has been abysmal around these parts. Not particularly wet, admittedly; but cold and windy for long periods, with an almost complete dearth of the long, warm summer days which we spend most of our winter dreaming about. But here on the top of Great Close, was the opportunity at last to recline with the sun in my face and only wheatears and meadow pipits for company. I took my time and absorbed every long minute with relish.

Around lunchtime, I decided that some fishing might be in order. The surface was now slightly disturbed by the gentlest of easterly breezes and although I knew the boat would fail to find purchase, would lazily yaw about untethered, I decided to give it best and set forth onto the still expanses. I had noticed an odd rising fish here and there. They would be nearly impossible to approach and likely melt away into the depths long before getting within casting distance. No matter, I like a challenge. I resolved to spend the afternoon mooching about quietly on the electric motor and make it my business to fool just one of those sporadic risers.

It turned out - not unexpectedly - to be the fishing equivalent of plaiting sawdust. With the motor running at quarter power, I odged along, flying my stealth bomber solo, one hand on the tiller, ten footer in the other. Whenever a fish popped up within range, I quickly shot the #16 crippled midge out into the slick, the motor still running - a kind of drive-by dry fly. And it worked...sort of. Four fish succumbed to this tactic, although none were large. They were all - to use a friend's terminology - skerrits; trout too small to know better. Their older brethren stayed well out of the way.

It was hardly satisfactory and I will be looking to return at least once before the season is done. With appropriate conditions there are few more invigorating pursuits than fishing from a drifting boat and I'd like to think that the end of September could yet throw up one or two last memorable moments before thoughts must turn to grayling and warm clothing. But I had enjoyed myself in a way. Upon reflection I think that after several weeks of working all hours and juggling various commitments, it was enough purely to be away from everything; and if that short lived dead zone in the weather had been the vortex which sucked me away from life's extraneous bullshit for a few hours, then it might have been poor from a fishing point of view, but it had served its purpose right enough.

Weird Quartet

2011-08-29T16:19:00.002Z

This month's edition of Trout & Salmon magazine described some of the writing in this blog as, ahem, 'purple', which last time I looked was not a particularly good thing. So I'll be brief:

I fished the Ribble for a couple of hours yesterday, in uncomfortably windy conditions. In truth I didn't expect a great deal and only decided to head up-valley at the last minute when I unexpectedly found myself at a loose end late in the afternoon. Which is just as well, because most of the brief session passed off entirely without interest, the cold westerly wind taking all pleasure from proceedings, and the river's trout population (in keeping with my experiences of the last two seasons) seemingly very sparse indeed.

This apparent dearth of Ribble trout concerns me to be honest. I accept that I'm not best qualified to judge, having only fished the river maybe eight times in the last two seasons, but it would be a pretty impressive run of 'wrong place, wrong time' scenarios all the same. My returns have been limited to a handful of trout and grayling with a proportion of the former having been escapee stock fish from the syndicate water downstream. I have heard reports of better returns from some of our members, so hopefully it's a case of either my incompetence, or just bad timing. Our monthly invertebrate monitoring does seem to indicate a river in good health, so fingers crossed. But with so many clubs on the river insisting on artificial stocking policies, our beat - home to some of the finest game fish habitat on the entire river - should be one of the few to give a truer perspective of the Ribble's native population; and from what I've seen, it isn't a pleasing picture - especially when compared to some of the other river systems here in the north of England.

Yesterday's brief foray further added to my worries. Despite the difficult wind, the Ribble was in perfect ply following a slight overnight rise, and I fished a good mile of it on a brace of small weighted nymphs. Every cast into every crease and pocket had me expecting a fish at any moment, but by the time I had reached the bottom of the woods I had two salmon parr to my name, a miserable return. Finally I met with success in the confused water at the head of a favourite pool, although it was success of a weird kind and as such went some way to reinforcing rather than easing my concerns. In the space of a few casts I returned a nice cock grayling of towards 2lb in weight, followed immediately after by a fine sea trout, followed by - of all things - a small chub, and finally one of those nuisance stockies I mentioned earlier. Although their capture was pleasing (well the first three anyway), the statistics tell a sorry tale: four fish, and not one of them a native brown trout.

As I mentioned earlier, I haven't fished the Ribble much recently and am well aware that my poor returns are most likely down to my own failings, or just bad luck. I would love to hear from anyone who has a more positive tale to tell, either through the comments section here or the email address below.

matteastham@hotmail.co.uk

Excuses.

2011-08-20T21:51:00.004Z

I am a keen fly fisher. Therefore I am, like most other keen fly fishers, very good at making excuses for failure. I ruminated upon this fact whilst driving home from the river last night following a few hours of decidedly underwhelming sport. The river had under-performed, no mistake. I had my excuses at the ready - reasons why the sport was so damned slow. But then if I am honest enough to admit it, I had under-performed too; and although it was definitely not a night for easy pickings, I was forced to concede that I had been presented with a chance late on to bring proceedings to a satisfactory conclusion and quite frankly I had made a balls of it.

I seem to have spent much of my last few outings complaining about the state of the river. Too many times this summer I have found myself looking forlornly at high and coloured water and wishing I had made the journey 24 hours later. Other times I have found the river starting to rise midway through the session, effectively killing sport dead. Give me a clear and settled stream, I thought, and I will resume the capture of the big wild browns which populate these parts.
Well after a dry week, it looked very much as though I would get my wish last night. Sure enough when I caught my first glimpse of the river I was greeted by a beautiful sight - at just a couple of inches above summer level, the flow was bright and amber tinged, foamy and frothy and looking as trouty as it is possible to look. The atmosphere was warm and humid and a promise of great things was in the air. Over the tail of the nearest pool, an absolutely huge cloud of athripsodes caddis swarmed above the surface. I set to work immediately.

If my initial scout of the water fails to reveal rising fish, my usual default modus operandi is to kick off with a brace of nymphs pitched upstream into likely looking seams and riffles until I receive signs from the residents that a change is required. So it was last night and the tactic produced a couple of 8 inch grayling, a couple of dropped fish, a very good trout which leapt clear and threw the hook, and a nice brownie of around the pound. I have to say though, that given the water I covered I had expected more. No, they weren't really having it and I consoled myself that the evening rise could start at any moment............

Except - and here comes the excuse part - just as things should have begun to hot up, a horrible, cold wind suddenly blew up out of the south west, bringing blue grey clouds and spots of rain and a drop in temperature of some 6C to single figures on the thermometer (when I examined the charts this morning, they showed that a small low pressure front had crossed the north of England and that winds had increased to around 20mph at nearby Kirkby Stephen). The clouds of spinners I had seen above the bushes earlier sought cover in the vegetation, the swarms of longhorns disappeared and the surface of the river became ruffled by the unwelcome draught. Bugger.

And then, in the half light, came my shot at glory. In spite of the conditions, a large trout was feeding in one of several tongues of current which issue from a rocky pool head. Close examination of the surface revealed that a handful of b-wo duns had chosen to brave the weather and ride the fractured current downstream. My target was responding to them in clusters of three or four rises in quick succession followed by apparent inactivity for a minute or two. By anticipating this pattern, I felt sure that the fish would be mine.

Except I hadn't appreciated how difficult achieving the correct presentation would be. My first few casts (deliberately short of the fish) dragged horribly, so confused where the micro currents either side of the trout's position. Normally, a slack line cast would sort this problem out, but when I took a bit of turnover off the delivery, the wind - blowing across and slightly into me - gripped the fly and blew it out of the narrow corridor of accuracy I needed to elicit a response. Try as I might, a decent presentation proved beyond me; it was time for a re-think. Time to head upstream.

A couple of minutes later, I had crept down to within ten yards of the fish. Fishing the dry fly downstream tends to be a 'one hit wonder' method which either proves immediately successful......or puts the target down. Lengthening line carefully and well to one side of the fish, I adjusted my angles, overshot the delivery, pulled back and dumped the fly a couple of yards above the 'danger zone', rod tip held high, the minimum of line on the water . It was pleasing to see the cdc dun drift untouched by drag for a few feet, and even more pleasing to see a huge snout break the surface to intercept it.

I have written here before about how I wanted this year to get back more to river fishing following a couple of summers spent increasingly afloat on stillwater. Enjoyable though the diversion has proved, I felt last season that when I did make it onto running water, my touch had deserted me - that is to say my modest competence levels were even more limited than usual! As in all such disciplines, practice is the key to improvement and I have been determined this year to 'get my eye back in' and outwit fish which would have got the better of me over the last couple of seasons - to become properly tuned in to the task in hand.
I experienced something of this feeling back in May and June when I enjoyed a purple patch with some large trout in sometimes difficult lies; and as my little dun disappeared into the impressive maw of this latest target, I have to admit to feeling just a tiny bit pleased with myself.

And then at the exact point I was about to lift the rod and set the hook, a gust of wind lifted my leader, billowing off the water and I struck into thin air. Perhaps surprisingly, the trout continued to rise.....until my next cast drifted through the lie untouched and the leader trailing behind spooked the fish altogether.

So a pretty poor performance, I admit; and viewed alongside my failure a couple of weeks ago when I made a hash of things with that huge grayling, I have to wonder if a confidence-restoring session down the local stock pond might be in order. But then again, surely on this occasion Billy Wind should shoulder some of the responsibility also. After all, what is a fisherman without his excuses?

2011-08-06T20:47:00.006Z

What a difference a week makes! I hadn't really noticed before, but returning to these shores after after a week abroad, the countryside looked decidedly tired to me - a sign that summer is past its prime. I recalled a passage from the diaries of Laurence Catlow:

"3 August
I am perhaps prone to run ahead of the season, but I felt today that it was already late summer. I felt it from the rank and yellow and seed-laden grasses, from the pastures made spiky by sprouting thistles, from roadside banks tufted with untidy ragwort, from verges tall and pink with swaying willow herb and white with twining convolvulus. And the song of a wren rang through the heavy air like a defiant anachronism."

Summer must inevitably pass and I have to confess to a particular soft spot for the quiet autumn months of chill air and turning leaves. I was saddened though, driving home from the airport, to see that the light has gone by half nine and those seemingly endless summer nights spent wandering the banks of the river, are all but ended for another year.

Melancholy stalked me still the following evening when I drove up to Brougham to carry out the month's invertebrate monitoring. I rushed through the 5 sampling sites, eager to put the rod up and get fishing before darkness fell, and although I did manage a couple of hours amongst tentatively rising trout and grayling, it was a strangely joyless activity; I never felt comfortable or in control of my actions and a good half of the fish I cast to treated my advances with utter scorn. In half darkness I came upon a rising grayling in the midst of a long glide on the lower Eamont. I got a good look at her as she nudged through the surface film every minute or two and judging by the distance between her dainty dorsal fin and the tip of her sharply forked tail, this was no ordinary grayling but a really big old girl of 3lb plus. So here was a chance to redeem myself for a poor showing earlier on. The lie looked straightforward enough, the food source appeared to be of a sedgey description. I set to work with a low lying caddis pattern on the end of a 16 foot leader (deep lying grayling require a substantial 'lead in' of the dry fly; the longer leader is a must to prevent the tip of the fly line coming into the window of vision), and was confident of success.

First drift past....nothing; second drift.....she rose to a natural after my imitation had sailed past; third time lucky? Well no actually. The fish inhaled my fly, I lifted crisply and felt a microsecond of resistance before the grayling of a lifetime disappeared in an angry boil of water not to be seen again. I've had my share of big fish this season I admit, but this failure really stuck in my craw - a truly palm-sweatingly big grayling the likes of which I shan't see again for some time.
I never was much use with the ladies.

Challenging Times

2011-07-23T10:26:00.006Z

July, the meadowsweet month, and the once urgent heartbeat of the trout fishing season has decelerated into the lazy, semi-conscious murmur of the dog days. For the bulk of daylight hours, the river resembles an empty house, lived in but currently unoccupied, the residents out for the day; and the wise angler concentrates his fishing effort upon the last couple of hours of daylight when the fish move out from their hiding places amongst boulder and tree root and take station on the feed lanes, the opportunity presenting itself to cast to some of the most challenging fish of the year.

This is unpredicatable fishing - real boom or bust stuff. Sometimes it happens, sometimes for whatever reason, it just doesn't. Quite often, an initially quiet evening continues to rumble on with no sign of activity as the shadows begin to lengthen in earnest, and the angler's resolve is tested to the limit - a kind of Mexican standoff requiring patience and conviction, especially where a long drive home eventually awaits. For sure it can be tempting to leave when, with maybe less than an hour of light remaining, there are still no signs of a rise.....but it can be worthwhile to stick it out until the death as quite often a hatch of blue-winged olive duns, or a fall of spinners, or a hatch of caddis, can flick the 'trout on' switch, and suddenly it seems that every fish in the river is up and on the fin.

I was reminded of this last night. Whilst the rise was short lived and patchy, it's interesting to note that things only got going at about 9:45pm and for once this mad keen fly fisher - who under normal circumstances will wring every last minute from a visit to the river - was at one point close to throwing in the towel and going for a pint. The air was cool, the river was up and coloured and I feared the worst. A few hours chucking nymphs and streamers around had yielded fish sure enough, but as the sun dipped below the horizon and the temperature fell right away, it felt like time to pack in.

At that point I had returned maybe half a dozen grayling and a couple of trout. It had been hard going and I needed to work quite intensively to find an odd fish in pockets and on the current seams. None were large, a grayling of around the pound being the best of the bunch, but it had kept me occupied; although after so much of the season spent engaged in the presenting of dry flies, it felt a bit strange - and maybe a little unsatisfactory - to be spending more than a few minutes chucking nymphs around. Which in turn got me thinking about a piece I wrote last November extolling the virtues of the sunk fly. Isn't it strange how things work out sometimes?

Still, the challenge of catching fish in less than ideal conditions is a worthy one. With about 8 inches of peat-red floodwater still tailing off I might have been 24 hours too early for comfort, but I find that in these situations, the bold silhouette of a black nymph works a treat (in fact a black nymph works in all conditions, although most anglers prefer to stick with more natural olive and brown shades). The pattern below is one I have used for years and have absolute confidence in. It isn't actually solid black - the seal's fur used in the thorax is a shade of darkest brown ('ant black', dyed by a friend of mine*); and the abdomen is formed by wrapping krystal flash around the shank, which gives off a black-brown 'oil slick' look to the fly. Sometimes, if I can be bothered, I add a pair of jungle cock splits behind the head, but to be honest, I think it is the profile and dark, translucent tones of this fly which makes it so effective. I rate it as at least equal to the PTN and in coloured water, some way better.

Anyway, I digress. So the situation at 9:30pm was fairly grim. At such times, a single rising fish can give a point of focus. And it always serves to remain mindful that a single fish - particularly a big one - can in the blink of an eye transform a mediocre session into a memorable one. With this in mind, I delayed my premature capitulation and sat down amidst the long grasses at the tail of a favourite pool, taking time to change to a tapered leader, degrease tippet etc.............and eventually after chewing my way through a few grass stalks and taking some close up photos of a goat's beard clock; eventually a few b-wo and small dark olive duns began to emerge, followed - reluctantly almost - by a handful of rising fish. My window of opportunity was small and I set to immediately. An appropriately sized cdc dun worked well enough and in the coloured water, I was able to pick off each of the feeding fish in turn without spooking their friends. Most of them turned out to be schoolie grayling, but I did land a much better one of about a pound and a half and finally, a nice trout of a similar size. By 10:30pm it was all over - less than an hour of a job; and to refer to the analogy I used earlier in this post, neither boom nor bust, but something in between. Something neither unsatisfactory, nor entirely satisfactory. Such is the enigmatic nature of the river in July.

* So far as I am aware, 'ant black' seal's fur is not commercially available. If you want to try this pattern, black claret works well too.....or a blend of solid black and darkest brown, which is what I used before the ant black.

Back to the beginning......

2011-07-17T18:44:00.004Z

I can't remember exactly what I had in mind when I started this blog in the summer of 2006. My son George had recently been born and great changes were afoot in the Eastham household. Where previously I had been able to fish nearly every Saturday while my wife was at work, suddenly the weight of adulthood and responsibility came to bear heavily on my shoulders. No longer would I be able to (nor want to) tear around the British countryside in search of new and exciting fly fishing opportunities. I'd had my time of freedom and greater, more rewarding, more challenging times awaited. That's not to say that I gave up on angling - far from it; the need to escape the pressures of modern life became, if anything, greater than ever before. It was just that every window of fishing opportunity now had to be carefully considered and planned. An embarrassment of temporal riches had collapsed beneath the weight of paternal responsibility and my piscatorial emphasis required a shift from quantity to quality.*

I can't be completely sure, but I think that may have been one of the reasons I started this blog. As a substitute for fishing itself? A means of wringing as much as possible from each snatched session? A result of the new-found introspection that comes with fatherhood? Possibly. At the time, it was ostensibly just a migration of the fishing diaries I'd kept for years, from paper to laptop. Looking back now, I think there may have been a bit more to it than that.

There was another significant factor which influenced the decision to commit my thoughts to cyberspace. Inspiration at the time was pretty thin on the ground, but there was one site which stood out. It was notable then as being one of the few fly fishing blogs around at the time, and it is notable to this day as a shining beacon upon what has become an ocean of mediocrity. Alistair Stewart's The Urban Fly Fisher blog (originally Urban Fly Fishing on the Kelvin), was the first of its kind in this country. It has deservedly received awards, plaudits and media recognition, and there are few fly fishing bloggers out there today who do not owe a debt of gratitude to Alistair for providing them with the inspiration to have a go themselves; I certainly do. And the fact that we were able to meet up this week made my normally solitary evening session all the more memorable.

For once, the river was quite kind to us. A warm sunny day gradually gave way to one of those summer evenings which we anglers dream about - all long shadows, warm air and delicately rising fish. The sport may have been compressed into a couple of short hours before darkness forced us home, but when it arrived it was steady enough and we were both able to return some nice fish. Insect activity was low key with only a few longhorn caddis seen all evening, plus an odd dun of the yellow may and pale watery. When the fish did start to rise, it was to tiny stuff trapped in the surface film. Exactly what, I didn't bother taking the time to find out.......and the exercise proved unnecessary in any case as emergers in the #16 size class were all that was required to elicit the desired response. It was leisurely going - taking turns to target feeding fish as the light faded; and Alistair was duly rewarded for his excellent casting and presentation when a cracking brownie of 2lb 5oz (shown at the top of this post) sipped down his cdc pattern, followed shortly after by a fish only slightly smaller. Meanwhile I seemed to be attracting the grayling with two successive fish around the 2lb mark surrendering slightly tamely to the net. In between were a number of smaller trout for both of us - in all a pleasant evening's action.

The highlight for me though, was getting to finally meet the chap whose superb writing I have followed for so long. Strangely, by the end of the evening I felt like I had known him for years. But then, such is the personal nature of the fly fishing blog that in a way, I sort of had. Alistair made an observation that the process of blogging has allowed him to fish with so many different people over the years who he probably wouldn't have otherwise met, forming some strong friendships on the way. I know exactly what he means. Fishing may be a largely solitary undertaking, but this branch of our sport also has a habit of throwing up thoughtful, generous people with whom it is a pure pleasure to spend a few hours in the joint pursuit of angling fulfillment and I count myself lucky to have met a few. Yes, Alistair was spot on and I owe him much for leading by example and unknowingly encouraging me to start this humble project. Because whatever my intention was in the first place; or for whatever reasons I continue to plough on churning out the same old, same old; I can rest easy in the knowledge that my fishing life is all the richer for the people I have met.......and that, for the time being at least, feels like ample justification.

*don't get me wrong here, I accept - and am very grateful - that I still get out plenty........it's relative - I used to get out a lot!

2011-06-20T22:39:00.025Z

The preceding days had been spent thinking about it, looking forward to it, making plans, more plans and backup plans about it. I had spent a number of sessions scrambling amidst the mossy boulders of the middle Eden, visualising scenarios and marking fish, trying to answer objectively the question of how appealing this tumbling, lingy spate stream might look to unaffected eyes. I worried and fretted about it, grew even more obsessed with weather and pressure charts than usual, and in snatched spells late at night, frantically and ham-fistedly tied up some flies which I desperately hoped wouldn't look too laughable in the cold light of day. I monitored gauge station outputs, scrutinised webcams, crossed my fingers and contemplated the fact that I was about to share my little piece of paradise - and therefore, it felt, the inner workings of my soul - with two people I had barely met before. I confess that I felt a little nervous.

And then the day arrived and I drove northward to at last meet up with Dave Smith of the Monnow Rivers Association and author of the excellent 'A Flyfisherlady's Life', Polly Putnam. Dave's commendable work with the MRA was the common thread that brought us together and we had made plans to meet up this year as long ago as last December. I was confident we would get on famously, but dearly hoped that from an angling point of view their long trip would be worthwhile.

Such is the constant concern of the spate river fisher; with wild trout as our currency and myriad weather, water and creepy crawly related variables to contend with, our success is far from guaranteed. We quickly forget the slow days and grueling sessions in favour of the memorable moments when everything comes together.......and from such thread are our memories woven so that we come to believe our bit of fishing to be the best in the world. Which is why we always seem surprised when our river fails to deliver sufficiently in the presence of our guests.
With hindsight, I needn't have worried. Dave and Polly, like all wild trout fishers, were well aware of the aforementioned pitfalls and although the Eden didn't give of its best on this occasion (and the weather was a bit grim - a Chinese water torture species of light rain), they were either just very polite, or did genuinely enjoy themselves.

An evening session on the upper river was followed the next morning by a few hours on the Eamont, before a return to the Eden late on, and whilst my recent trips out have been all about the solitude and peaceful beauty of the valley and the fine fish of its parent river, this visit was for me all about the top class company and the delight of watching two good anglers at work. Dave is most at home on his beloved River Monnow; Polly, a girl of chalk stream breeding; both quite different environments to this sometimes ill mannered northern stream. And yet it was totally absorbing to watch them both at work - both employing similar methods, but subtly different execution to my own; both catching fish of some quality.
It's true that the fishing was generally slow in as much as there was little insect activity and subsequently few fish rising with any conviction. However my guests managed to find interest quite steadily all day, with Dave having a notable couple of hours on the Eamont when he laid siege to a pod of fish rising on the flats of a slow, deep pool. These picky trout required a long, square cast to reach and it is to Dave's great credit that he managed to winkle out half a dozen of them topped by a cracking 16" fish. He continued to attract offers later on the Eden by employing the duo method through the foam lanes; an angler clearly settled into a comfortable rhythm, a real pleasure to watch.

Flyfisherlady meanwhile went upstream in search of an Eden beast and was duly rewarded after a long, considered approach to a solitary rising fish in a favourite spot of mine. A change of fly did the trick this time and a cracking cock grayling of 2lb 2oz soon graced the net - just reward for patient, intelligent fishing.

For me though, it was all about the company. I did very little fishing, couldn't have cared less about doing any fishing to be honest. Dave made the valid point that our fly fishing lives become defined by certain specific memories that for some reason linger more vividly than others. Two such moments will stay with me for a long time:

Towards the end of the evening, with the river beginning to colour up and rise, I heard a shout from Dave, about 50 yards downstream. Rod low, applying sidestrain, he was obviously into a good fish and as I gathered the camera and began wading through the fast water towards him, the trout jumped clear, yellow flanks saturate in the fading light. By the time I had reached him, the dogged fight was all but over and the majestic beast at the top of this post was brought into the net to the obvious delight of my guest. It was a proper Eden fish - all black spots and spade-like fins. It was the fish Dave had come for and the smile on his face was the highlight of the day.

The previous evening, I had watched as Polly tackled an equally impressive trout in conditions about as far from her comfort zone as you could imagine. Shallow, fractured water, boulder-pocked and roily, with a casual - lazy almost - dorsal fin cutting the surface periodically 5 yards ahead. The sort of situation which would expose the limitations of some anglers.......but then on reflection, running water is running water; line control is line control; and wild trout remain wild wherever they live. I didn't even see the rise. Polly lifted gently into the fish with a grace so effortless it was spellbinding. I was downstream. She couldn't have seen me. I was doing a jig of delight. My favourite bit of river - my pride and joy - may not have disclosed its full potential, but my two guests were going home happy. And that was about as much as I could have asked for.

Egg on Face.......

2011-06-16T09:46:00.002Z

Ain't it always the way. After waxing lyrical about the good Lady Eden and her bounteous rewards over recent weeks, I took my old man up with me last night to show him what exceptional wild trout fishing looks like. Conditions were ostensibly ideal as the low overcast and muggy temperatures accompanied a river which was fining down nicely after a slight lift at the weekend. I confidently predicted a bonanza.......

Three hours and two 8 inch fish later I was forced to drastically reassess. For some reason the old girl went all shy on me and steadfastly refused to reveal even a smidgeon of her potential. Dearth of rising fish? No problem - on with the nymphs flipped into foamy, beer coloured water.....except the residents were seemingly in no mood to play ball and this for once over-confident angler was sent packing with a raft of apologies and frustrated utterances along the lines of "It's not usually like this, honest".

And therein lies one of the great beauties of our sport I suppose: two weeks ago I had a field day in advese conditions, and yesterday, a nightmare when the prognosis looked spectacular. There must be reasons. I have theories. I won't bore you with them here. I've shown my Dad several nice bits of river fishing over the years now and without fail they have done the dirty on me, made a liar out of me, left me with a good dollop of albumen on the old visage. Curse of the guest? Maybe, but then again a timely reminder that if this fly fishing lark was always predictable and straightforward, there just wouldn't be any problems left to solve and we might as well all take up golf.

Happy birthday to me!

2011-06-11T16:06:00.000Z

NCA is 5 years old today, so I'd like to take the opportunity to thank you all for your support and encouragement which has spurred me on to continue my little online journal over the years. I know there are only a few regular visitors here, but you are all very much appreciated.

Thanks again,
Matt

A single cast.

2011-06-07T10:07:00.005Z

I only made a single cast last night, but it was worth it! My main focus for the evening was to carry out the latest round of invertebrate monitoring which our club has been conducting on the Eamont and Eden and arriving at Brougham at 6pm after a long drive up from work left a lot to do before nightfall. The sampling passed off without any comment, abundance of the various invert groups being broadly in line with expectations and indicating reasonable levels of health. All the anticipated groups were recorded with caseless caddis, baetids and seratellas (bwo) being particularly well represented, and even a handful of mayfly nymphs turning up in the Eden samples. I have heard several reports of impressive hatches of the latter this season and although this is not something I have witnessed, I have certainly seen more of them this time around than the usual ones and twos. Apparently the trout have shown no interest whatsoever in the big duns.

With the sampling kit stowed and darkness rapidly approaching, I put up my 4 weight and took a quick look at a spot where I put down a big trout last Friday. The fish had been feeding right on the tail of a glassy, accelerating lie the size of a pool table. It looked like drag city and so it had proved - a single clumsy cast and instantly skating tippet, sent the beast packing. And that was that; trout of such a size tend to be contemptuous of crap presentation.

I was better prepared this time around. Crawling into position slightly more square on, I could see the fish was back on station and feeding confidently, so I delivered my best slack line cast (it has a name, this cast - the 'Matt Eastham high stop, bit of a wiggle, let the leader fall in an untidy heap cast'). Happily my target hadn't studied the text books and despite the agricultural manner of my execution, the couple of seconds of unfettered drift afforded to my olive emerger was enough to elicit the slightest of dimpling rises.....and a few minutes later 3lb 10oz of wild Eden trout lay in the folds of my landing net.

I wouldn't choose for my fishing sessions to consist of only one cast, but when the result is sweaty palms and 21 inches of angry trout exploding out of my hands in a burst of spray, then I suppose I can live with it!

Summer evening fishing: of rhythm and balance.

2011-06-04T10:58:00.012Z

What a difference a few days makes. Last Friday I was standing in frigid, coloured floodwater, under blue-black clouds, wishing I had worn a couple of extra layers. This week I visited the same stretch of river, found it had dropped right back down to summer level and enjoyed a few hours of summer evening bliss beneath a warm cloudless sky, amidst hatching caddis and lazily swarming spinners. The contrast could not have been more marked and although this week's session was similarly productive in terms of fish caught, even the nature of the fishing was subtly different.

With daytime temperatures peaking at 26C and not a cloud to be seen in the sky, I knew that the going early on would likely be slow and although I picked up fish reasonably steadily, that pretty much proved to be the case. A few yellow may duns, pale wateries and even an odd mayfly were in evidence although their duration on the surface as newly emerged duns was understandably brief and the fish paid little mind. I did however get a rare opportunity to watch yellow may nymphs actually swimming up to the surface to hatch. The broad headed heptagenid nymphs could be occasionally seen scooting up to the surface from the river bed immediately in front of me. If I caught them in my net, they would continue emergence from there, taking flight within seconds of being introduced to fresh air.

Interestingly, my observations last night are completely at odds with Oliver Edwards' claims that the YMD emerges from its nymphal shuck on the bed of the river, rising to the surface as an embryonic dun. What I witnessed was definitely a standard 'nymph swims to the surface and dun emerges through the meniscus' regime. The photo below shows one which I scooped up, clearly in mid emergence from its nymphal shuck (click on photo to enlarge).....

....... and the imitation I used to fool a couple of fish:

Anyway, less of the entomological anorakism; what about the fishing? Well the evening progressed in text book fashion - what I have come to think of as the 'rhythm' of a summer's evening river fishing. Sport gradually picked up as the evening cooled and light levels began to slowly wane. Trickles of blue-winged olives began to appear and although the fish refused to embark upon a concentrated feeding frenzy as they had the previous week, every pool seemed to hold a taking fish or two. Then, as dusk approached, the adult spinners returned to bring fish up on the pool tails, and hatching caddis swarmed around me, crawling over my neck and arms. The gradual crescendo of summer evening fishing is a joy to behold and where I once resented the sense of being rushed, the falling of darkness and reluctant return to the car, these days I am more inclined to sit back and admire the procession, absorb the sensation in the knowledge that there is always tomorrow, always another summer.

My best sport seemed to come in shallow, fractured pocket water. The sort of water where you won't spot a feeding fish unless you get in there, creeping about amongst the boulders, often on hands and knees. There, in swirling water only inches deep, you might spot a dorsal fin momentarily cut the surface, followed by the tip of a lazily waving tail fin; a subtle boil, a slight flattening of the water's confused surface. It takes a good deal of concentration to mark feeding fish in these circumstances, especially when faced with a hundred yards or more of boulder-broken water most of which looks too thin to hold even small trout. But the big fish are there and every time I venture into this territory, the results reinforce that fact emphatically.
Last night I crept up behind a fish which was feeding in a roily slot of fast water little more than a foot deep. The rise forms were barely perceptible and had I not become tuned in to small detail over the previous couple of hours, I would probably have passed him by. A very short cast from a kneeling position 5 yards to the rear, resulted in a confident take and a very big cock brown trout exploding angrily from the water in a flurry of spray. The next few minutes saw total mayhem as the fish careened about in the shallow water, diving for tree roots, line pinging off the many large boulders scattered through the pool. But my luck was in and my mouth dry as I slipped the net under exactly 3lb of wild Eden trout. For me, the fly fishing experience doesn't get much better than that.

Fish of this sort of size seem to be fairly commonplace on the Eden system these days. True enough, they are not easily caught, but they are there....and the first rule of catching large river trout is to fish somewhere that holds them. Indeed, over the last three seasons it seems to me that the average stamp of fish has increased in size - markedly, and to the extent where the regulation 10-12" Eden brownie seems to have dropped off the radar somewhat. Of the 13 fish I returned last night all but three were over the pound with six being over 1lb 8oz. On the face of it this might seem like great news for the fly fisher, but I have my doubts as to whether it is an indicator of a truly healthy river system. A dearth of small fish would suggest a demographic imbalance and I wonder if predation from sawbill ducks is causing artificial thinning out of the immature fish populous? The growth rate of the resident fish appears to be phenomenal - the 3lb 11oz trout which I encountered in March this year was, upon close examination of photographs, the same fish I returned in April 2010, weighing 2lb 11oz. A weight gain of 1lb in just under a year is incredible and suggests low competition for food in the Eden's biomass rich waters. I am not a fisheries scientist so I can only suppose, but whilst I am very much inclined to make hay while the sun shines, I can't help but worry that all is not quite as it should be.

Pessimism aside, it was impossible not to be buoyed last night by the the beauty of it all - the gentle whisper of the fly line though the air; the scent of bankside yarrow and oxeye daisy, ripening barley and freshly cut meadow hay; the dance of olive spinners like tiny flames in the sky. The solstice approaches; at no other time of year do I feel as alive as now. I have a few days out with friends planned over the next few weeks. I dearly hope that the river shows its best side for my guests.

Brown water, coinciding variables, and the fine line between success and failure.

2011-05-28T08:27:00.009Z

I was reminded of a few basic fly fishing principles last night, among them 'expect the unexpected' and 'trust your instincts'. The fact that upon arriving at the river, I nearly turned around and went home, seems unthinkable now as I bask in the afterglow of one of the best evening's dry fly fishing I can ever remember.
It was only gut feeling that compelled me to make the after work drive at all; although I'd put the rods in the car just in case, I didn't really have any intention of fishing last night. The usual obsessive fisherman's scrutiny of the weather and gauge data told a pretty uninspiring story - brisk winds backing from north westerly, falling air pressure, temperatures struggling to reach double figures, and a river running higher than would be preferred after a minor spate only 12 hours earlier (and therefore likely to be running a bit of colour).

It was the latter which caused me most concern. The weather might not be pleasant, but I've had good sport on chilly evenings at this time of year before. I knew the river would, at a foot above normal summer level, be fishable, just.......but I was certain I would be 24 hours too early from the point of view of water colour, that the river would not yet have lost its turbidity, would still be in the very early stages of the gradual transition to peat stained, but clearing water. Such margins are fine, I know. I didn't fancy it. I was on my way home.
But another basic fly fishing principle compelled me to follow my instinct and point the car north - the one that states 'little is learned from from fishing only in perfect conditions; much can be learned in the face of adversity'.....or something like that. I had a change of heart and put my foot down.

Nevertheless, when I rolled up to the banks of the Eden an hour later, I was disappointed. The river was very coloured with visibility at less than 12". I was all set to bugger off back home (or at least potter over to Haweswater for a few casts) when I noticed a cluster of blue-winged olives riding the roily currents downstream. A little later, following a few minutes' concentrated scanning of the water, I noticed a fish rise tight in against the far bank - time to get those waders on!

What followed over the next three hours was wonderful and will live long in my memory. Put briefly, there was a heavy and prolonged hatch of b-wo duns (with a few pale wateries). The cold air meant that once emerged, they remained nailed hard to the surface for some time, waiting for their newly unfurled wings to dry. With thousands of olives on the water - and staying there - the trout responded appropriately and during the calmer spells when the wind died back, it seemed like every fish in the river was up and on the fin. I picked off fish, after fish, after fish; all - bar a brace of twelve inchers - pound plus trout. Three weighed over 2lbs, and the biggest, incredibly, around 4lb. It was remarkable stuff and a vivid demonstration of how a river's potential can be displayed when a complex set of variables converge. Conditions were far from perfect....yet they were totally perfect. How powerful a reminder that the angler should 'listen to the river' and not become shackled by preconceptions!

I've posted a few photos below. I don't normally go for more than a couple of meaningless fish pictures, but on this occasion I'm afraid there is nothing else to show. For once, I was too busy to be taking lots of photographs.

Brief Bloggers' Convention

2011-05-22T08:02:00.001Z

I don't generally buy into the theory that catching fish is merely a bonus and that the real pleasure lies in the actual process of fishing and places it takes us. Here in the north of England we are lucky to have access to some beautiful places in which to indulge our pastime, but make no mistake: when I go fishing, my aim is to catch fish. The glory of my surroundings enhances this experience, but cannot on its own be adequate compensation for a miserable skunking.
Friday night was a happy exception. I couldn't have cared less if I caught or not (which is just as well because I didn't). Indeed once in the thick of it, I found I wasn't even that fussed about doing any fishing at all.

I had the great pleasure of accompanying fellow blogger Mike Duddy on his local bit of paradise - a river once so polluted that it was devoid of life completely, but which has slowly returned to life and now presents a very viable challenge to the fly fisher. Mike and his friends are working hard to ensure that the improvement continues and that the excellent fishing remains available to all for years to come. Huge credit is due to all involved here and I felt privileged to be shown the ropes on a piece of water which means so much to this small band of dedicated anglers.

It's always a nice change to fish somewhere new, and this evening was no different. The river was carrying a good deal of colour and prospects were not good. We persisted with nymphs mainly, although the prospected dry fly and duo methods both got a run out. All to no avail - the fish just weren't going to play ball.......not surprising really when you consider that Mike was keen to show me the potential of this river. The curse of the angling guest is ever present on such occasions.

Later on we met up with two more blog writers - Nick and Tom . Still nowt doing on the fish front, but we had a good natter just the same. The setting was picturesque - a place I have driven past hundreds of times before and never knew existed - and the company was first class. On this particular occasion it was almost a pleasure to blank. Thanks a lot for your hospitality lads!

Predictability and instability on the Ribble.

2011-05-18T12:03:00.005Z

It's reassuring to know that from one year to the next, some things stay largely the same. We anglers in particular can look to numerous reference points through our season, the exact timings of which might vary yearly, but which occur right enough, leaving us safe in the knowledge that all is as it should be; the arrival of sandmartins, the first trout of the season, beech springing into leaf, blue-winged olive spinners: these are some of the examples which define my season. You will no doubt have your own.

On the Ribble last night, all was pretty much in order and as I expected to find it, right down to the sandpiper's nest in the above photo. I disturbed the sitting bird whilst creeping along a section of steep banking - in almost exactly the same place as I have found them for the last two years. I wonder if it is the same pair? Otherwise, I had expected to find the river low and slimy and lacking much in the way of fishy activity - and it was. I expected to get pestered by parr - and I did. And I wondered if a few stock fish from downstream might have made their way onto our beat despite the low water conditions - the capture of a couple of ragged finned suicide pilots confirmed that they had indeed.

So nothing new then. In truth I couldn't expect much from this brief evening session. So starved of water are our rain fed northern rivers that in the upper reaches of some, they are barely worth fishing. Don't get me wrong, I've never been the sort of angler who sits it out at home until that brief moment when following a spate, the river drops to precisely 8.75 inches on the gauge and clears to the exact shade of amber of Black Sheep bitter. No, I don't mind a bit of low water odging at all........but this has become something else altogether and quite frankly I'm fed up with it.

If the main river was pretty much as I expected, then my impromptu excursion up the beck which adjoins partway up our beat provided quite a shock. As tiny feeder streams go, this one seems to push a lot of gravel around during winter, meandering across a wide cobble strewn bed, eroding sand banks on the outside of bends and causing large scale land slips as it goes. But just how much it had changed since last time I visited, was difficult to comprehend. As I walked upstream with my new seven footer, I had in mind a handful of pools I had fished in the past where a resident half pounder could almost be guaranteed. It came as a big surprise to find that for the most part, those pools simply didn't exist anymore. In one case what had last season been a nice deep pool against a classically undercut bank, was now just a mucky stagnant pool with the beck's main flow occupying a new channel some thirty yards away! A similar story prevailed further upstream, and in some places the stream's flow was so diminished, and spread across so wide a bed of cobbles, that it looked to have all but disappeared. I studied the dynamics of river geomorphology at university and am well versed in the processes and timescales involved when a highly active drainage system is at work within its channel. Still, the magnitude of this instability surprised me.

This mucky hole was a fish holding pool last season.

A bit of rain required!

To determine exactly why this little feeder beck should exert such a marked influence would require further research. No doubt modern land drainage and agricultural practices will be contributory factors. No matter; with my fly fisher's cap firmly on, my immediate priority was to see if I could catch a few fish from this denuded brook......a task which on the night proved beyond me.

Back to the main river then for a last few casts and a large emergence of an extremely small (smaller than usual even), species of caenis brought a handful of fish up to the surface. One of them was the most strikingly marked, aggressive looking little brownie I have seen in a long time. My photo of him is terrible, but I include below to give you some idea - most unlike the majority of Ribble fish I have caught.

Reet blowy on't Ure

2011-05-18T11:58:00.003Z

Yes it was windy again at the weekend; too windy to present a dry fly correctly, and difficult even to pitch a pair of nymphs upstream into likely lies. It came out of the northwest at a steady 15-20mph for most of the day and took most of the enjoyment out of the gentle act of fly fishing. With cool blowy conditions prevailing for the last two weeks now, and before that a period of dog day like hot weather, I can confidently say that this has been one of the toughest starts to a river season I can remember. Sure, we have caught fish - some good 'uns too on both running and still water, but the process has been more workmanlike than enjoyable and I long for a quiet evening of relaxing contemplation and fish rising in every pool.......

The Ure at Masham is a delightful river, but we didn't see it in the best light on this occasion - the chill wind kept would be risers down and the odd fish which poked their snouts out to sip down drowned terrestrials, did so in an unpredictable and sporadic manner. Nevertheless, I fully expected to find fish in the foam lanes and pocket water on the nymphs, but pickings were surprisingly slim and between us we caught only a handful of fish, including the bonny example below which Bob managed to skillfully extract from beneath a nasty overhanging branch.

Some parts of the North West have seen a little rain this week and as I write the Ribble is fining down after a much needed lift of a couple of feet, although further north, the Eden basin appears to have been largely unaffected. Next week, I intend to commence evening fishing operations in earnest and the bloody weather had better comply, or there's going to be trouble............

The troutiest month.....

2011-05-04T20:05:00.001Z

All hail the month of May - the troutiest month of our angling year....and consequently the shortest. Oh how I wish it could be May all year round!

Season blown off course

2011-05-01T19:18:00.002Z

Bloody weather. In keeping with the trend of the last three or four years, this spring is turning out to be exceptionally dry around these parts. Up until recently, the only saving grace was that the now customary high pressure block and resultant easterly air streams had ceded to hazy skies and nice humid south westerlies. However, that situation changed a couple of days ago and we are now lumbered with bright sunshine and strong winds off the North Sea. Crap for fishing basically.
I write having just been blown off Malham Tarn following a difficult morning which wasn't completely disastrous, but was certainly a battle against the elements. Winds strengthening to over 20mph resulted in quickly discharged batteries and some frantic rowing to keep the boat off the battered windward shore. Success is relative I suppose...and on this occasion it could be gauged by the fact we actually managed to get back into the boathouse unscathed.

Yesterday was a more civilised affair. Bob and I headed north to conduct our Eden system invertebrate monitoring for April. Three sites on the Eamont and two on the parent river were sampled and invert abundance was found to be at an acceptable level and broadly consistent across all sites. The above photo shows Bob having a go with the kick sampling kit, and the two below show a couple of the more striking inhabitants we found.

Stoneclinger nymph (ecdyonurus sp.)

Large stonefly nymph (perla sp.)

With the sampling complete, we did get a few casts in later on. Conditions are far from ideal at the moment; as well as the aforementioned weather, the river is extremely low and crystal clear and fish must be approached with utmost caution. The strong downstream wind was likely to make fly fishing impossible in all but a couple of the most sheltered spots and it was to these we headed in the knowledge that at this time of year, there is always a corner in even the most challenging conditions, where a fish or two can be found rising. And sure enough we found them. Bob and I each had a particular spot in mind where past experience has told us that in these circumstances, we might find feeding fish on station. It was reassuring to both be proved correct. A large number of hawthorn flies were in evidence in the lee of the blossoming bushes and plenty of these were being blown onto the water; in text book fashion a handful of fish were feasting on the awkward black flies and if we could approach close enough to present a dry fly with something like accuracy into - or more likely across (the best bet seem to be to cast from fairly square to the fish) - the downstream wind, then the chances of a take would be good.

We had mixed results. In the slower, most sheltered water, a mere false cast and the dimpling fish melted away. However, a shallow lie in a slightly more exposed spot offered more leeway as my hands and knees approach was partly obscured by the ruffled water's surface. A trout feeding in little more than 18" of water took the dry first time past and exploded into action, giving me the run around for a few minutes before being netted and returned - a fine Eden wildie of 2lb 4oz.

Soon after, a similarly sized, but out of season grayling (1lb 15oz) succumbed after a fairly prolonged effort on my part. If I'd known it was a grayling, I would have left well alone obviously; nevertheless, I was pleased to have fooled a couple of nice fish in pretty tough conditions....and on a low-riding hawthorn pattern which I devised a couple of years ago but up until now, hadn't had the chance to test.

And that was pretty much that - a snatched couple of hours at the end of a day spent kicking cobbles around and sifting through invertebrate samples like a pair of school kids - in all, a cracking day out in the Eden Valley.

Bob crawls into position to target a fish feeding in shallow water.

The Great Grannom Experiment

2011-04-25T21:50:00.018Z

It's grannom time on our local rivers and we were treated to intense hatches on the Eden last week. Over the last few seasons I haven't had much to do with this innocuous little brown job as daytime fishing in spring is something I see very little of. Late April evening sessions might see a few ovipositing females knocking about, but there is always the regret that the real action will have occurred much earlier in the day - in fact I can honestly say that I have never really fished a proper grannom hatch; I always seem to have been too late.........
I was hoping to rectify that this time around as an unusually late Easter afforded me the opportunity to spend a full day on the river, albeit in less than favourable conditions resulting from weeks of warm, dry weather and - on the day - a painfully bright sun and strengthening downstream breeze.

Bob and I rolled up to our chosen middle Eden beat at around 9:30am to find scores of the sedges swarming over the water. The hatch was impressive and we got to work immediately. However, soon after entering the water, it became apparent that although the air was thick with grannom, the bit we are interested in - the actual emergence - seemed to have recently ended. The back eddies were carpeted with empty shucks and despite the swarms over the surface, I saw only a handful of flies actually emerge. The fish certainly were not impressed - whether or not they had recently gorged themselves on pupae. The first pool I fished (a spot I fully expected to catch from), appeared devoid of fish with nothing seen rising and not a touch to report to nymphs fished both shallow and then deeper. Bob, who was searching with an appropriate surface pattern, reported similar lack of interest when I caught up with him later. Just how early in the morning do these little blighters emerge?

As we moved upstream, the wind strengthened and although this did blow a few adult grannom onto the surface, inducing a couple of fish to rise in one particular run, the fact that it was blowing square downstream made a dry fly presentation from below nigh on impossible....and the low, clear water and resultant finicky nature of the fish made drifting the fly down from above a similarly unpalatable option. Frustrating stuff indeed.

In the end, my action for the day was compressed into a brief spell when a quickfire sequence of four fish in a handful of casts from one particular pool, found a small weighted nymph to their liking. I have to confess to making a bit of a hash of things though: the first fish - a pan sized fish of around 10" - was landed with no problems. Trout #2 was a very large fish which powered off downstream in a hiss of spray, taking up the slack fly line through the rod rings in a flash. Things might have gone a bit better from then on if I hadn't got a loose coil of line stuck around the back of my reel. Needless to say we regrettably parted company.
Trout #3 was successfully landed - a nice cock fish of around the pound, maybe a few ounces over. But not before he made a last gasp lunge behind me and then back through my legs, the dropper fly catching in my waders on the way and causing some frantic gymnastics whilst the fish knocked around between my submerged knees.
The final trout of the quartet was again, a good fish. The exchanges appeared to passing off with little drama until I turned what looked to be heading towards 2lb of wild brownie toward the net, only for the hook to pull.
Shortly after, I tripped over a boulder and took a full dunking. Later on after my clothes had finally dried, I did the same again. It had been, on the whole, a pretty poor performance.

Later on at home, I reflected on the grannom emergence timing thing and formulated a plan. The following morning, I would leave the house early and arrive at the river around dawn. It would be a good opportunity to take some photos and generally revel in the early morning stillness which is such a special feature of our British summers........and of course, should it turn out that our friend b. subnubilis decided to emerge en masse from the depths, then I would be ready with the rod and a score to settle........

Of course, it would be lovely to tell you that this worked out well. I was there in the mist, by the river at 5:30am and I was still there 3 hours later when the sun finally burned through and opened the window onto another unseasonably warm April day. But I didn't see any grannom - not a single one - and my little experiment, however flawed and unscientifically grounded it may have been, fell flat on its face in the waters of the middle Eden. Much like I had done the day before.

There was a saving grace of sorts however. A fall of tiny green aphids brought a few trout up to the top and although I didn't have a remotely appropriate pattern in my fly box, they were forgiving enough of a small olive klinkhamer, and a number of nice fish up to about 1lb in weight were returned; this time with no daft antics from yours truly, thus providing welcome reassurance that I am at least not completely incapable with fly rod in hand.

Quantity but not quality.

2011-04-16T15:26:00.001Z

An interesting couple of hours on the Ribble last night, if lacking in anything particularly noteworthy. It was 5pm before I got to the river and I wasn't expecting much sport, although at this time of year the brief grannom (b. subnubilis) flight period can bring premature evening sport as egg bearing females crawl down part submerged rocks and branches to lay sub surface. In these circumstances it can reap dividends to fish a team of spiders through the riffles and runs, imitating the stricken unfortunates which lose their tenuous grip and become entrained in the current.
Sure enough, a few of the little brown caddis put in an appearance late on and I was treated to that final confirmation that spring has well and truly arrived - grannom females congregating in the folds of my wader legs.
The spiders worked as expected with fish coming regularly, as they had done for most of the earlier part of the evening when a predictable lack of surface activity dictated that a pair of nymphs would be the way to go. By the time the light was almost gone I had lost count of the number of fish I had returned, although every single one of them was small - a good sign for the future. Had my visit been earlier in the day and coincided with the hatch, then I'm sure I would have contacted a few better fish....such is the way at this time of year. I will have the opportunity to benefit soon when one of the coming Easter weekend days will see me out looking for trouble on a river somewhere in the north.

Barnsfold Reservoir: artificial stocking revisited.

2011-04-09T19:43:00.105Z

Stocking trout into rivers is one thing, but putting them into a stillwater to provide sport as a day ticket fishery, is another thing altogether. The vast majority of our nation's fly fishers find their sport at such venues, whether they be 'small stillwaters' typified by easy fishing and unnaturally large fish, or larger, more challenging reservoirs and lakes. Whichever way you slice it, we are by and large a society of convenience seekers; and by paying our money to fish a heavily stocked water, with well appointed facilities and plenty of casting space, we display our consumerist traits in angling as in life.

That's not to say I disapprove of such fisheries, far from it.....although I do prefer the larger waters which more closely resemble wild waters in the challenges they offer and the manner in which they fish. But I have to say that the small stillwater thing just isn't for me personally. I used to fish one on a regular basis but walked away disillusioned when it became the norm amongst regulars to fish their flies beneath a float, occupy one spot (often sitting in a chair or on a seat box) for hours on end, and even bring a radio along to listen to the match. Not my scene at all.

I do enjoy an occasional outing to Barnsfold Waters though. You would class it as a small water fishery - a 22 acre reservoir divided into two by a central causeway. But its slightly elevated position on the edge of the Bowland Fells lends a certain wildness of atmosphere, whilst the stocking policy steers admirably away from the fashion of speed rearing rainbow trout to excess of 10lbs weight. The fishing can be tricky and the stock seem to turn to natural food sources pretty quickly so that imitative techniques usually outscore lure pulling. If I'm going to fish from the bank for rainbow trout, then this is the sort of place I'd rather go. And every spring I enjoy a few sessions there trying to outwit the buzzer feeding trout whilst waiting for evening fishing on the rivers to pick up.

Tonight was the season's first such visit and it was a pleasure to be there. The going was steady if unspectacular and although a few fish showed interest in a modest midge hatch late on, the bright sunlight and still conditions were not really conducive to hectic sport. A team of shaggy nymphs on a fast intermediate cast into the ripple from the windward bank accounted for a couple of fish before the surface fell calm and the game of nip and tuck commenced. Usually in these situations, we find that our little suspender buzzer pattern works admirably; on this occasion however, the presentation proved touchy and I was just about to scale down to a single fly, tapered leader and 0.12mm tippet, when I had a change of mind (or was just too bloody lazy), and switched to a PTN booby on the point and 'washing lined' two #16 buzzers on short droppers a couple of inches below the surface (stop laughing Alan!). This worked a treat and 5 more fish took the flies confidently before the light failed and the temperature dropped. Not exactly fast and furious, but nice to get a bend in the rod again after a long winter of inactivity.
I might venture onto the Ribble in the coming days: week three of April beckons and the grannom should soon be making an appearance.......

Discord at Bolton Abbey.

2011-04-03T22:50:00.001Z

Some of you might find it curious that a keen flyfisher who lives within 40 miles of Wharfedale has never once fished that verdant valley's parent river. But it is true; I have rarely even set foot upon the banks of the lovely River Wharfe and to date haven't come remotely close to casting a line on this most famous of northern trout streams. A family visit to Bolton Abbey Estate today reminded me of this fact and set me thinking as to why this should be the case. One reason was laid clear to me during our little walk up to Cavendish Pavilion and back (more of which later). The other is a matter of which I have been conscious for some time as an issue not just at Bolton, but along the bulk of this river's upper reaches. In both cases, it seemed to me that the legendary Wharfe's purity is tainted by discord.

I refer of course, to the propensity of several angling clubs in the district to artificially stock the Wharfe with farm reared brown trout. Bolton Abbey Estates put fish in to the river, as does the next party upstream, the Burnsall club. Further upstream still, the historic Kilnsey AC throw numbers of incongruously large trout into the Wharfe every year for the benefit of their members who pay quite a hefty subscription for the privilege of removing half tame farm fish from the infant river. Why this is the case, I've no idea. Possibly the aforementioned fees are a factor - if you are paying several hundreds of pounds to fish just a few miles of river, you at least expect the fishing to be correspondingly rich, no? Or maybe the river receives such fishing pressure that stocking is necessary to maintain biomass - a theory I could believe given the urban populations of Lancashire, Greater Manchester and Yorkshire so close at hand.
Now I do believe that stocking has merit on occasion, say to kick start a piece of water decimated by a pollution event, or the careful introduction of juvenile fish from native broodstock. But to tip in mature trout of instantly takeable size, right up to fish larger than the system would normally support? Well. I think it is a great shame that any river be spoiled by the introduction of non-native fish purely as a means to give fly fishers an easy fix.

I am happy to be member of a club which doesn't believe in such nonsense. However, that's not to say we don't occasionally encounter stock fish from elsewhere. Odd Appleby AA fish make their way on to our upper Eden beats from time to time and I remember one spring fishing a pool on the Ribble which was stuffed with 14" stockies which had moved up from the syndicate water below. I am definitely not an angling snob, but equally, don't try telling me that the capture of such a fish should bring as much pleasure as that of a wild (or at least 'naturalised') trout. It doesn't. It never will.

Therein lies I think, the main reason I have never sought to break my Wharfedale virginity; and as I walked the banks today, looking for signs of rising fish and admiring the alluring lingy currents, I couldn't help but feel that it should be different - that I should straight away book a rod next week and have a trip over to spend the day nymphing those fishy looking pots and swirls. But somehow I can't bring myself to do it.

Stockies or no stockies, I certainly couldn't have wielded a rod in anger today. The place was heaving! Maybe it's different during the week, I don't know....but how can any angler find enjoyment fishing in such an environment? I didn't see anyone in the water today, so maybe the regulars know the score - but the river from Bolton Abbey up to the pavilion was alive with a thousand chavs and by the time we got back to the car I was sick of the sight of other people - such a dissonant sight in such a beautiful spot.
I made a mental note as we walked along the west bank of the river (literally one long car park), of some of the things which I don't believe should ever be mentioned in the same breath as 'picture perfect trout stream'........

wellies with flower patterns
plastic garden chairs
folding camper tables
a gazebo
kettle barbeque
seemingly infinite footballs
dangerous looking dogs unleashed
dangerous looking dog leashed to spoke of alloy wheel
Burberry cap
bangra beat music played at 125db
orchestral arrangement of Queen's 'Don't Stop me Now' issuing from Citroen Berlingo
bumper box of Budweiser
bottle of Courvoisier
3 bongs (what are they Daddy?)

£375 for your season ticket Sir? You've got to be bloody joking!

A big early season sitting duck

2011-03-28T20:11:00.004Z

It would be reasonable to assume that fly fishing - like nearly everything else in life - rewards those who put in most effort. I have certainly found this to be the case on numerous enough occasions when tough venues or situations have required a degree of diligence and persistence in order to 'crack the code' and begin to reap fishy dividends. Today however, I was presented with a gift - one of those early season trout which have, in the pursuit of post winter nourishment, dropped their guard sufficiently to allow an out-of-practice angler in with a chance of fooling a memorable fish.
In truth, very little angling was done today. Bob and I spent all morning conducting the first of our season's invertebrate sampling sessions for the Eamont and upper Eden. The four sites at Honeypot (x2), Langwathby and Appleby yielded healthy returns broadly in line with expectations for the time of year. Olive nymphs of the baetis species and stoneclinger nymphs (rithrogena, ecdyonurus and heptagenia) dominated; but it was also pleasing to see decent numbers of large stonefly nymphs in the samples - the spring creeper which was once a commonly used bait around these parts - the fishing of which, by way of a nod to traditional values, our club still notionally permits.
Blue-winged olive nymphs (seratella) were entirely absent from all samples - which is no great surprise when we consider that this larva has one of the shortest growing seasons: whilst we will expect to see large numbers - and correspondingly copius hatches of the duns - in a couple of month's time, at present they are still too tiny to pick up easily with the naked eye.

So whilst the focus of our trip up the M6 was very much to re-commence sampling operations, you will of course appreciate that we had to bring the rods along too - just on the off-chance. And sure enough, we managed to squeeze in a couple of hours after lunch - a couple of hours dusting off the casting arm cobwebs in the warm light of an unforgiving early spring sun, and with large dark olive duns steadily emerging from a river bed scoured bright and clean by the rigours of winter.
After a slow, watchful walk upstream, our focus fell upon a glide of glassy, fractured water in which at least a couple of fish could be seen porpoising after emergers in very shallow water close to the bank. Bob was first in with the nearest of these - a bonny fish of around the pound quickly bought to hand. Then it was my turn with what looked a good fish quartering the eddy immediately upstream.

This was sweaty palms stuff: first outing of the season after nigh on 6 months of inactivity, a new rod in the hand, and a broad-shouldered wild brown hoovering up emergers in a swirly little lie a few yards ahead. I wasn't hopeful of success. Or rather, I found it easy to visualise failure..........
Strangely enough, a mis-placed preliminary cast which put my olive parachute outside the target fish and into a tongue of current, brought a blind rise from a fish which wasn't landed, but appeared to be on the upper side of 2lbs when it leapt clear soon after being hooked.
Fortunately, I managed to connect with the correct fish a couple of casts later when it obligingly rose once I had managed to put the fly over its head. It was dry fly at its most basic, and for this decidedly ring rusty angler, a gift horse in the truest sense - a slightly lean wild Eden trout of 3lb 11oz. Not likely to end up the hardest earned fish of my season, but already, probably the most memorable.

In the net......

......and about to go back.

In all honesty, I hadn't planned to return to my blog this side of May; but then again, maybe I underestimated the effect a spring day on a trout stream can have in rejuvenating one's enthusiasm for the sport and life in general..........

Unexpected success

2011-02-01T19:55:00.004Z

I got a shock yesterday. Remember that fly tying comp where in order to get to the 'final' a top ten finish was necessary at the public vote stage? Well despite being convinced I'd failed to make the cut, when the final count up was made I'd somehow snuck through........and bugger me if, after the scrutiny of half a dozen respected fly tying judges, I've only gone and won it! To say I'm pleased is an understatement; even though the whole thing was just a bit of fun - and open to tyers of all standards - it was a nice feeling to receive the nod from such luminaries as George Barron and Dave Wiltshire.

For those of you not familiar with the comp, the brief was to produce a nymph - any design, any size, shape, colour etc. This broad church resulted in patterns being submitted from as diverse fields as stillwater cruncher, buzzer and shrimp styles to semi realistic woven river bugs. I went for a middle ground of sorts and created the 'GPO' - general purpose olive: broadly a river pattern, but with a couple of features which might more commonly be found on long-leader stillwater nymphs. The end result is not without its faults I admit, although I must have done something right in the eyes of the judges. I suppose I'd better get a few fish caught on them though....at the end of the day, a fly is useless if the fish don't like it!

The GPO

Hook: Varivas 2200 #12,14
Thread: Spiderweb
Tails: woodchuck
Underbody: olive Hends body quill (Flytying Boutique)
Abdomen: strip of clear flexibody
Thorax dubbing: blend of sow bug and SLF
Thorax cover: strip of packaging foam tinted with olive perm marker
Cheeks: jungle cock splits
Head: three coats of 'hard as nails' varnish over thorax cover and cheeks

Above photos by kind permission of Rob Denson

The Ribble in winter

2011-01-23T19:22:00.003Z

I met our keeper on the Ribble today, to deliver a few bits of timber which will hopefully enable him to reinstate the two gauge staffs which were washed away in the recent floods. It would have been a nice day for a spot of fishing if only I had had the time: the river has dropped to a nice height (approx +150mm) and is running clear over freshly scoured gravel. It all looked very inviting, and with a faintest touch of mild spring air on the breeze, I could imagine that the middle of the afternoon might have seen a trickle of large dark olives venturing from the stones......and maybe a few grayling following them up.

But a kiddies party beckoned and it was not to be. Half an hour was all I had to spare and I spent it messing about with my new camera. The ability to process images in RAW format is proving a revelation to me and whilst I am still getting to grips with the superior capabilities of the thing (at least compared to my compact), the results straight away are pleasing. Given little interesting subject matter and indifferent light this morning, I spent a few minutes taking a series of bracketed exposures which were later merged using PC software to form fledgling High Dynamic Range (HDR) images. Many photographers argue that HDR processing is tantamount to cheating and that the results - particularly where 'over-processed' images are concerned - are unearthly and not representative of the true scene as witnessed by the human eye. I tend to agree. That said, for a man who has been saddled with JPEGs from his compact for so many years now, the ability to fart about with the raw camera data in such imaginative ways has come as a breath of fresh air......so please bear with me while I get this out of my system and eventually revert to 'proper' photography.

A pinking in the west

2011-01-21T22:38:00.002Z

Absolutely nothing to report on the fishing front at the moment. My competition entry fly appears to be bombing badly and although I haven't counted my votes up, suspect that I may not have done enough to even make the top ten.
No matter. A day in the western lake district fells today proved a welcome change from the usual routine. A toddle up the Crummock Water guardian Mellbreak, in absolute stillness and bright sunshine, was a delight; and followed by a pint of Loweswater's finest in the wonderful Kirkstile Inn, made for a much needed restorative.

Despite the clear conditions, the middle to distant views were hazy and photographs proved disappointing. We were however, treated to a corking sunset back home on the Lancashire plain. The thin, low lying mist which prevails during such prolonged periods of high pressure contributes to some truly spectacular colours.......

On the way home quarter of an hour earlier, the colours were totally different and the low lying mist over this field near Garstang made for quite an eerie atmosphere.

The Doldrums

2011-01-15T13:46:00.003Z

January and February truly are my own personal dead zone, two months of the year with so little to offer that I often think if they could be omitted from the calendar altogether (and my life be consequently shortened by some 10 years), then it wouldn't be too bad a thing. True there might be some opportunity for winter walking, a spot of fly tying, maybe a few hours' grayling fishing; but these are poor substitutes indeed for a glorious spring day on the river, an overcast, muggy day afloat, or a still summer's evening amongst falling olive spinners.

Even the fly tying is a struggle at the moment. Spare time is short and what little I have had recently, has been spent attempting to come up with a pattern for the Fly Fishing Forum's nymph competition in which 50 or so members have contributed an appropriate fly which will next week be voted upon by the public. The top ten will then be assessed by a panel of four experts to arrive at a winner. Whether or not my humble effort ends up in the running remains to be seen, but the competition is strong and I'm doubtful. Whatever happens, I'll post the offending article here when it's all over and done with.

In the meantime, I sat down today with the intention of knocking a few flies out, but found inspiration to be lacking. I could of course have concentrated on replenishing stocks of established favourites for the coming season, but I just didn't have my 'production line' head on. When I buckled down to create a few early season river midge patterns, I just couldn't seem to get going and the exercise quickly became a chore - the season just seems so bloody far off!

Green Midge

Hook: Varivas 2200 #18

Thread: 14/0 sheer

Rib: olive Pearsalls silk

Dubbing: fine olive

Wingpost: TMC aerodry

Hackle: olive grizzle

There is much to look forward to though, and I would rather it were mid January than mid November. My river fishing was a little neglected last season as I spent an increasing amount of time messing about on boats. I noticed it on some of the occasions I fished dry......and found my technique sadly lacking. Fishing is like anything else - it requires practice to attain competence. River fishing in particular requires the angler to 'keep the eye in'. The range of techniques which a successful river fisher might deploy over the season - or even during the course of one particular day - is such that it is easy to become rusty if any of the various disciplines are allowed to slip to the back of one's mind. Dry fly (both upstream and down), wet fly(ditto), upstream nymph, short line nymph, duo, trio, streamer. These are all techniques in which a river angler seeks to become proficient to help maximise the chances of a consistent success.

This is I think, what I love most about the challenge of running water. Every session presents a little puzzle which must be solved if optimum sport is to be enjoyed. Some anglers decide what method they will fish before they even reach the water's edge. But the better ones look for clues given by the conditions, weather and - most importantly - the fish, before even stringing the rod up; maybe after a good half hour's walk along the bank. Even during the course of the session, it will likely be necessary to change tack at least a couple of times as dictated by the stage of the hatch, the type of water being fished and so on. One minute you could be casting a tiny dry fly on a long leader to a finicky rising grayling; the next could find you, heart-in-mouth, as a 2lb trout comes charging out from behind a boulder to attack the streamer you had the temerity to tweak through its territory.

The river fisher's world is dynamic and varied and great satisfaction can be derived from approaching something like competency in the different skills required. This can only be achieved through time and effort, as I was painfully reminded on a few occasions last year. I intend to rectify that over the coming season.

Fresh air at last.

2011-01-03T17:04:00.000Z

After what has seemed like an eternity cooped indoors, we finally got out and about today with a walk up Walla Crag......and a chance to try out my new toy, albeit with inappropriate not-very-wide-angle lens and little in the way of exciting light to play with.

A happy new year to you all!

Matt

Looking forward.

2010-12-22T20:53:00.001Z

That's it, the solstice has passed and now we are once again heading back toward the light. It may feel like a world away, but I've been daydreaming about summer evenings and rising fish....and consoling myself with the knowledge that in as little as 12 weeks from now, I may well be casting a dry fly towards a big old brownie gorging itself on large dark olive duns.
This is a time of year for looking forward, but also a time for reflection. I may have been daydreaming about the future, but in doing so, the images I have summoned up all belong in the past. It was a moderate season, all things considered. But it did have a few highlights: the brown trout is a wonderful fish which I never tire of catching. Here are a few of the season's bonnier fish.........

Of Eels.

2010-12-16T21:22:00.003Z

I read the other day that the European eel population has declined by some 70%. I was surprised; when I was a lad (and that's not all that many years ago), they were ten-a-penny. Any old ditch or farm pond could be relied upon to throw up a few 'snigs', which for a young boy with next to zero fishing skills, was just as well. The roach might prove elusive, or the shoal perch might distainfully ignore my 10lb nylon and size 8 hook presentation......but you could always rely on the eel to provide a confidence boosting pull.

I didn't realise it at the time, but looking back I can see that this was the fish which turned me into an angler, the fish which sparked the flame of my obsession. Some other kids I knew had the luxury of a pond full of stunted rudd close at hand. For me, it was the dark and forbidding pit at the end of our lane, or nothing. Black water thick with pondweed and half submerged branches was surrounded by old alders on all sides but one - a field edge which slipped muckily into the water in a mire of gloopy cow-trodden holes. It was from this bank which operations must be conducted....and a twenty yard cast over solid weed into the only clear patch available (about the size of two snooker tables) was the one option available.

It's difficut to see now what enjoyment I derived from fishing this horrible little pond. A seven foot glass spinning rod, fly reel loaded with heavy nylon, a big hook and a massive lobworm were the items available to me and I deployed them as best I could, stripping birdsnesting coils of line off the reel before lobbing the untidy lot into the hole in the weed. And of course given time, the rod tip would kick and I would reel in a huge clump of weed, savouring the vague throb of distant life through the rod handle, and lift the whole lot out, dumping it in the wet grass behind, a brown-olive eel writhing somewhere in the midst. As coarse fishing goes, it was pretty, well, coarse.

I've never ceased to wonder at the mystery of this creature's life cycle. Intelliegence has it that the adults migrate to the Sargasso Sea to breed, as if there could be a more intriguing location from which to spawn such a peculiar fish: a weedy, current-less sea of startling clarity - the Bermuda Triangle, the Horse Latitudes. I find it difficult to reconcile this distantly exotic, almost mythical location, with the clay-brown muddy hole in the fields to the rear of my parents' house. Yet the two are inexorably linked by our elongate friend and his well documented aquatic and terrestrial travels. Tell me, how did the eel know that pond was there? How long has he lived there, amongst the leaf litter and sludge? And what will drive him eventually to leave that insignificant pool for dead waters of salt and sargassum? Sometimes the complexity and wonder of nature is too great to comprehend.

It is years since I last caught an eel. The likelihood is that I cursed as I tried to extract the hook from a clamped-shut mouth, as the sinuous body coiled up my forearm. But I could never regard the eel with anything other than affection. This in my opinion, is an unsung hero, the noblest of all our freshwater fish.

Stuck shuck baetis

2010-12-05T09:31:00.000Z

Another silly idea. No matter how hard I try, I cannot seem to get going with the fly box re-stocking project this winter. Every time I set up for a couple of hours to concentrate on sheet anchor nymphs and dries, my concentration ends up wandering and I end up producing a handful of experimental and frankly laughable patterns which will probably not even make it as far as my fly box.

The effort below was the result of a decent enough idea, but has been executed poorly. I've had some success in recent seasons with a stuck shuck version of my suspender buzzer where I use a few strands of crinkled zelon and a couple of drops of 'Hard As Nails' to produce a passable semi-extruded shuck. Here the concept has been applied to the early season large dark olive nymph; the pattern is unweighted and I've used a strip of black packing foam as a thorax cover/ wing buds, so hopefully it will hang about in the top few inches and fish much like a ripe ascending/emerging baetis.

Will it catch fish? Probably. Will it be more effective than other patterns? Unlikely. Should I bother trying to develop the idea? No.
But then it has given me something to write about at a time of year when actually going fishing is as likely as Preston North End escaping relegation from the Championship.

Hook: Partridge klinkhamer #20
Thread: spiderweb
Tails: woodchuck dyed olive and tied in short
Underbody: taper of spiderweb coloured olive with marker pen
Body: strip of clear flexibody
Shuck: a few strands of zelon bonded together with H.A.N.
Thorax: masterclass dubbing #1
Thorax cover: strip of black packing foam
Legs: hen partridge neck feather

Welcome recognition for UK bloggers

2010-12-01T22:35:00.002Z

Oooh! Complimentary words from top mail order tackle supplier Fishtec. Although I persevere with this journal more for personal reasons than anything else, it is nice to get a mention alongside some truly top blogs.....and nice to see the efforts of so many hardcore anglers get a welcome boost from the commercial sector.

http://www.fishtec.co.uk/blog/fly-fishing-blogs-to-be-reckoned-with

Slow to get going.

2010-11-26T16:51:00.000Z

My winter fly tying is taking a while to get going. Not too long ago I was considering a tentative move into small scale commercial tying. With hindsight it was a wise decision to put this on hold; recent weeks have been busy and spare time in which to do anything other than work, home improvements and toddler taming, has been very much at a premium. Couple that with the fact that I am a hideously slow tyer of all but the simplest patterns and it doesn't take a genius to deduce that it would be prudent to avoid more than a fleeting acquaintance with tying for pocket money.

That aside, there is the small matter of replenishing my own fly boxes and my recent nose arounf the BFFI at Stoke provided me with the opportunity to pick up some odds and sods - not least relieving Flytek's Pat Stevens of the small tungsten beads upon which I base so much of my nymph fishing these days. About 80 of these in black and copper (2-2.8mm dia) have been painstakingly threaded on to a corresponding number of Dohiku 644 hooks (thanks to Phil Holding at Flytying Boutique) and boxed up ready for a winter nymph-fest.......getting round to applying the rest of the dressing is another matter however.

I did make a start one night this week. The bulk of the patterns will be pheasant tail and hare's ear nymphs of various descriptions. However, I do have a soft spot for a tinsel bodied job with a bit of shaggy seals fur at thorax and it was these that I began with - an assortment of colours based largely on some interesting colours of holograpic tinsel I have accrued over the last six months. The offering above was one of these. Nowt special - just a variation on a well worn theme. There will be many more to follow........

Hook: Dohiku 644 #14 with 2.8mm black tungsten bead

Tails: Chinese cock hackle fibres dyed claret

Body: wine UTC tinsel

Rib: black UTC (sm)

Thorax: mix of various shades of black and claret seals furs (staple length quartered)

What lies beneath......

2010-11-14T09:47:00.003Z

I stand midstream in thigh deep water which glows peat amber from recent rains. Twenty yards ahead, the river dances down a steep gravel race into the head of the pool I now fish; and thirty yards behind, it slips silently like liquid glass over a sill of shelving sandstone and into the rapids at the head of the pool downstream. The water in front of me is flecked with foam and decelerating, its myriad surface flow patterns smoothing into the steady, slow flowing stuff which forms the main body of the pool. This is the point I have chosen to start - the lively, seamy 'transition' water which in the absence of rising fish, demands to be nymphed.
With a pair of small bead headed bugs, I work briskly upstream, pitching the flies on a couple of rod lengths of line into the lingy currents ahead, searching every square yard of water, eyes on the fly line tip, tracking its downstream progress as line hand gathers and rod is simultaneously raised. This is the sort of water where a fish could come at any second and I'm primed, concentrating hard, making small alterations to the angle and length of each cast so that the nymphs have the opportunity to fish right through the water column, both dead drifted and subtly led on a tighter line to afford a slight upward, accelerating movement.
For a few minutes the flies remain untouched, until a cast into the lee of a submerged boulder and the line tip stabs forward and the rod is lifted. I fully expect to feel the kick of a surprised fish, but my cast must have been slightly too long as the point fly comes back to me shrouded in moss.
A few casts later, another line twitch - somehow too aggressive to be a good fish - results in an immature trout tumbling through the currents, which thankfully escapes without the need for me to unhook. I'm approaching the head of the pool now, and my casts begin to follow the crease at the edge of the main current, the line shortened and the flies very much led. Just as it seems I might be running out of water, the line takes a slight drag to the right: slight, but to an angler who has spent the previous ten minutes tuned in to the unfettered movements of the red thread-whipped tip loop, obvious enough to warrant investigation. This time, I am not disappointed as the leader fizzes downstream past me and with the few yards of loosely coiled line stripped from my left hand, nearly 18 inches of angry wild trout leaps clear of the water before charging across the strong current towards submerged tree roots on the far bank. This is what I came for - the sort of experience which makes fly fishing for wild trout and grayling on our spate rivers so rewarding......and in that instant I am absorbed, oblivious to the world at large and held captive in a moment which is all too brief, but that I wish could extend indefinitely.

Am I a bit odd? Maybe it's because I'm from the uncultured north. Or maybe because, being born and raised on the lowland, agricultural Fylde plains, I served my childhood angling apprenticeship pursuing mainly coarse fish.
Ask any fly fisher what they consider to be the pinnacle of fly fishing delight and I'll put my mortgage on them coming over all emotional and waxing lyrical about the joys of the dry fly. It's a fact that the majority of fishers place the dry fly at the top of the fishing ladder, both aesthetically and technically. And if that dry fly is perfectly presented to a sighted, feeding fish, then so much the better - the very apex of the sport we love so much. So why do I find myself constantly drawn to the sub surface methods of catching fish? It's not that I don't enjoy fishing dry - quite the opposite. To arrive at the river to see the spreading rings of surface feeding fish in a favourite pool is a special thing and I will string up my rod and tie on my tapered leader with trembling hands just the same. But so many anglers, in the absence of rising fish (and lets face it, that scenario is an increasingly common one in this day and age), turn to the spiders or nymphs very much as a last resort and do so with an air of regret and disappointment which suggests they would rather be fishing than otherwise.....but only just.

Yes, it's nice to fish the dry fly. In some ways it's easier; the problem of fish location is instantly solved and the question of what the trout are feeding on can often be clearly ascertained. But there is nothing particularly complicated about the upstream nymph and as a general searching method it's hard to beat. I think I am drawn to the anticipation of the unknown - the fact that the take could come at any moment and that when it does, the result could be a small fish or parr......or it could be the trout or grayling of a lifetime. There is also a certain satisfaction to be derived when as sometimes happens, one becomes well and truly tuned in to the subtler aspects of the method and suddenly minute, barely perceptible irregularities of the fly line tip's downstream progress are correctly read and the angler is able to lift the rod with absolute certainty that the kick of a hooked fish will be felt.
The reading of the water and river bed and the ability to assess where fish will likely be found in certain water heights, are skills best learned through sub surface methods; and the yearning to understand what happens below the surface - how my flies behave and how the fish react to them - means that this is one angler who will never be too disappointed to arrive at the river and find not a rising fish in sight.

So I guess I won't be receiving any invites to fish the chalkstreams anytime soon!

In praise of synthetic materials

2010-10-23T16:28:00.002Z

While I was meddling around this afternoon, trying to come up with some more small terrestrial surface patterns for autumn grayling, it occured to me that very few of my patterns are made up completely of synthetic materials. Send me into any fly tying shop and I'll mostly head straight past the ranks of flashy fritz, chenille and foam products and make towards the drab looking corner of the shop where all the really good stuff hides. I love the subtle markings and colour shades of natural and dyed fur and feather: hare, seal, squirrel, mallard, hen and rooster are what get my creative juices flowing. And I'm not alone - a glance around the clientele of the BFFI this coming weekend will reveal dozens of like minded anglers lovingly frottering Nigel Thompson's dyed grizzle hen necks and stroking Steve Cooper's coastal deer hair; bending capes and examining barb density and stiffness; holding dyed saddles aloft to get a feel for the light-transmitted colours.

Man made materials do have their uses of course (where would tyers of klinks and emergers be without the ubiquitous TMC aero-dry wing for example?). It's just that I tend to apply them sparingly to my flies to add a touch of flash or sparkle to an otherwise drab pattern. The beetles I tied today are an exception. In keeping with my recent spurt of autumn grayling-oriented tyings, I dug out some interesting bits and bats to see if I could come up with a small irridescent number. The resulting pattern below consists of three synthetic materials: microbrite chenille underbody, loco foam back and a tiny pinch of prismatic SLF at the thorax. The loco foam in particular is a nice product - thin sheet foam with a metallic finish applied to one surface. Of course the fish won't see much of this nice shiny back when the beetle is sitting in the surface film, but as far as the angler is concerned, it looks pretty cool.....and sometimes, that's enough to justify the tying!

Green Beetle
Hook: Partridge SLD #18,20
Thread: 14/0 green
Underbody: rusty brown microbrite (extra fine)
Back: Metz loco foam in tiger beetle green
Thorax: a few strands of prismatic SLF in peacock

Leaf litter, aphids and misty mornings.

2010-10-16T11:54:00.003Z

I love this time of year, but it also inevitably heralds a period of frustration. With evening fishing long gone and the year's holiday allocation all but spent, my opportunities to spend time on the riverbank are limited to say the least. Which is a shame, as quiet autumn days spent in the company of delicately sipping grayling, are surely amongst the fly fisherman's greatest pleasures.
It's true that autumn can throw some pretty nasty weather into the mix at times - a bitter foretaste of the long winter months to come - but the days I dream about are the gentle, misty ones where the leaves fall spiralling into the water, separated from the branches seemingly by gravity alone. Thistle heads hang heavy by the waterside and the air is filled with an oppressive stillness, nearby chimney smoke from the season's first woodfires rising almost vertically, a gentle curve against the white sky.
And down on the long flats, the shoal grayling will be rising in the pool tails; tiny rings betraying their presence as they delicately rise to the myriad tiny insects trapped in the surface film.

A glance at the water's surface will reveal very little and closer examination is required in order to establish what is on the menu. Even waist deep in the water, it might not be immediately apparent.....but hold a small, white bug net just sub surface and you will see them: tiny beetles, weevils, aphids both green and grey-black, spiders and centipedes; a conveyor belt of minute creepy crawlies carried along on the foam lanes. They got there when they inadvertently hitched a ride on a falling leaf....and if you wander upstream and examine the undersides of some bankside sycamore leaves, you will likely see just why there is such a profusion of insect on the water.

This is the time for some really small imitations. Hook sizes 20 down to 24 come into their own when the grayling are feeding on back end terrestrials. I find a black paradun works well, or a tiny grey duster. And when aphids are at large, I reach for something like this:

Hook: micro dry #22
Thread: spiderweb
Abdomen: gliss 'n glow, caddis green
Thorax dubbing: fine green
Wing: a few strands of light dun zelon
Hackle: grizzle cock, clipped flush underneath

All of which is academic of course. I am no more likely to get to the river over the coming weeks than I am to participate in a lunar landing, which is disappointing but - as previous years have taught me - very much par for the course.
Never mind, there's always the fly fair to look forward to. A fortnight today, the BFFI rolls into Trentham Gardens and with it the opportunity to watch top class tyers at work, hobnob with fishing buddies and throw a silly amount of cash at all sorts of fly tying goodies. I'll be there. If you see a thirtysomething bloke at the Cookshill stand, stroking feathers with a worryingly manic look in his eyes, that will probably be me.

Introducing....the people who made my season.

2010-10-01T23:36:00.001Z

The trout season is over and it's time for customary reflection upon the season's highs and lows. It's been a satisfactory effort for me this time around; nothing special in terms of fish caught - a few notable moments in a sea of pleasing mediocrity.
But this Tuesday, as I split my sides laughing with Rob at some daft private joke, the realisation dawned on me that my fishing over recent seasons has become more about the people I've fished with and the moments we've shared, than the mere act of catching fish. I could discuss at length the relative merits of fishing with friends compared to those increasingly precious moments of solitude, but there can be no denying that my fly fishing life is so much the richer for the experiences I've shared with a small band of like minded buddies.

I've been fortunate enough to catch a few decent fish this year and I'll remember them for a long time. This however, is my tribute to the people who really made my season memorable.

Steven Dawson

Wrinkles is a real country gent and we've had a good few days on the Eden together over the years. He's the biggest tackle tart I know; owner of a formidable array of expensive rods, very few of which I've ever seen actually in use. One of the politest men I've ever met, a day with Steven is always a delight and his style epitomises the upper Eden which he loves so much - dry fly to the core, none of this chucking lead about business! He's pictured here wearing what came to be known as the 'cap of destiny': Rob Denson's knackered old 'lucky' baseball cap which he left in my car early season......and subsequently did the rounds amongst fellow anglers.

Mike Brown

I shared a boat with Mike on a cracking day on Stocks Reservoir in May. He's a Bristolian with a glint in his eye and a few celebrity stories to tell from his stage rigging days. We were part of a group of 8 lads who have got together for the last couple of years for a few days fishing and banter and although I'd never fished with Mike before, I quickly felt like I'd known him for years. A top bloke and living proof that the drugs do work!

Bob Milne

A couple of years ago I was lucky enough to join a famous and historic fly fishing club and quickly set about exploring the miles of prime north country river fishing on offer. I certainly don't mind fathoming things out for myself, but after more than two seasons of rarely even seeing another member, I am indebted to Bob for his company on several occasions this time around and for his generous sharing of knowledge of the waters he has come to know so well. I can't speak highly enough of our club, and the conservation and habitat improvement orientated attitude of its members.

Jimmy Millar

Wee Jimmy is one of four Edinburgh lads who joined us on our big get-together in May. I missed the chance to fish with him last year when a slip on the way down to the boathouse resulted in knackered knee ligaments and a day in the local A&E department. Happily we made up for it this year and I thoroughly enjoyed my day out with the genial Scotsman. Jimmy knocked about on the international scene a few years back and his knowledge was obvious..... and dispensed in such a laid back and understated manner that I only realised afterwards how much I'd learnt from him about the subtleties of loch style fishing. Including how to attract large, but unwelcome perch.

Colin Riach

When I first met him last year, Colin struck me as a quiet man with a dry sense of humour and when we motored out together this year, I honestly didn't know what to expect. I was right about the sense of humour (as anyone who witnessed May 2009's infamous 'moth joke' will testify), but quiet? You've got to be joking - the man hardly drew breath all day and proved to be one of the most entertaining and engaging anglers I've ever had the pleasure to share a boat with. A true font of knowledge on a variety of subjects from angling (of course), to malt whisky, to photography. Col has a particular talent for the latter - his fly fishing photography is simply stunning and rightly earns a regular place within the pages of Trout & Salmon magazine.

Paul Sumner

The cap of destiny is back again, this time modelled by the quiet man of angling, Mr Paul Sumner. Have you ever met someone with an enviably natural aptitude for something? Paul is the man who picked a fly rod up for the first time only a couple of seasons ago and yet now stalks the river like a seasoned old hand....only probably better. Rivalling Steven in the politeness stakes, this man is always good company and his ability to winkle fish out from anywhere still amazes me.

Patrick Arnold

Every season we make manifold and expansive plans and yet due to a variety of factors, we rarely get the chance to fish together. We did manage a day out this year and a grand day out it was too. As an angling guide, Patrick spends more time on the water than anyone I know, but not as much time as he would like actually fishing....so it was nice to take the engine last month and motor him around for a change.
He's been a valued friend of mine for a few years now - maybe next season we'll get a chance to try a few of those plans out eh?

Rob Denson

Do I owe this man a debt of thanks for cajoling me towards the delights of stillwater boat fishing, or should he be confined to the dungeon for steering me closer than I've ever been to the dark world of competition fishing, sinking lines and - saints preseve me - lures! Rob's just about the nearest thing I've got to a proper angling buddy and I'm grateful to him for the places and techniques he's showed me and for the fly tying inspiration I've gained from his own spectacular prowess with wet flies.......and any man who can hook two perch with a combined weight of over 5lb simultaneously, unhook the one on the middle dropper, inadvetantly leave his forceps locked onto the fly, and then go on to land the 3lb plus beast on the point, deserves some sort of respect in my view.

NCA Senior

Last but not least, the old man, pater, daddy. We don't get out as much as we should - he likes to save his energy for 6 weeks of salmon fishing in autumn - but I look forward to days with dad most of all. Earlier today I was thinking about my boy and what age I should start him with a fishing rod, and it brought back memories of my first trips out with dad, breadpaste and bucket in hand and a farm pit full of stunted roach and reminded me of the fact that we all have someone to thank for getting us started. If I get my lad off to half as decent a start in life as my old man did for me, I'll consider it a job well done.

Stocks Pairs Final

2010-09-20T18:54:00.004Z

I have come to love fishing from a drifting boat to the extent that it now vies on a more or less equal footing with spate stream fishing for the majority of my angling time. This I owe to two friends in particular, Patrick Arnold and Rob Denson, who between them have over recent years persuaded me out onto the region's larger stillwaters on numerous enough occasions to inject a bit of the loch styling bug into this otherwise hardened river fisher.
I was out with the latter yesterday when we fished the final of the Stocks Reservoir pairs competition which you may recall we qualified for earlier in the summer. Not that I contributed much that day - a couple in the boat early on preceded a number of missed offers and dropped fish, as I grew increasingly frustrated and ended up fishing like a fool. Luckily the expertise of my boat partner pulled us through that day. I was hoping I could make amends in the final.

It's an interesting fact that put two anglers in a boat, fishing more or less the same method, and more often than not one angler will outcatch the other. Sometimes through superior ability, sometimes as a result of some intangible variable, sometimes apparently through pure luck. Rob and I had a happy exception to this in the same competition last year when we both contributed 5 fish to the bag and finished in the prizes. Conversely I can recall a day on Malham Tarn with Dad earlier this season when I fished all day without so much as a tweak, whilst the old bugger had eight offers and landed four fine fish. We were fishing identical lines and he was using a leader which I had tied. The flies were all my own tyings and although there were slight variations in the individual patterns to start with, by the halfway point of the session, I had tied on an identical team to the one I had given Dad. Answers on a post card please!
It's true that although we might use the lazy man's excuse that Lady Luck played a large part one way or t'other, the reality is likely to lie in some small, barely perceptible detail which forms a part of the puzzle we attempt to unravel each and every time we go fishing; the angle of the flies being retrieved in relation to sunlight direction maybe.....or the positions of the anglers at stern and bow and their relationships with the crabbing action of the boat across the wind. Who knows.

All of this proved somewhat academic yesterday. A preceding night of persistent heavy rain had put the Hodder away in spate and with the wet stuff continuing unabated for the entire day, the reservoir rose in level by some 24 inches over the course of the match. With a surface area of over 300 acres, that's a hell of a lot of water! The day was the wettest and most miserable I have ever endured - a wholly distressing 8 hours afloat in a boat which needed constant bailing, with a wet back and arse and a packet of rain sodden sandwiches in my boat bag which I delayed eating until hunger would permit me to wait no longer. We knew that the fish would be found tight in the margins, grubbing around for food off the freshly submerged ground.....but full effort resulted in only 3 trout to the boat. Two of them were mine, so I suppose at least I had pulled my weight this time. Unfortunately it was nowhere near sufficient to put us amongst the prizes. Mike Laycock and John Calvert managed the full 10 fish with 20 minutes to spare - a fantastic effort from two consistent competition anglers, coming out on top of a strong field which included England loch style team captain Paul Davison.

I'd like to say I enjoyed the day, but frankly it was about as rewarding as a bad case of piles. Which is about all I'm likely to end up with after a day sitting in my leaking and festering waders. All the same, a big thanks is due to the boy Denson for having me along for another year and battling awful conditions to display charactaristically superlative oarsmanship in an attempt to get us onto fish. He deserved better than having to watch me flail away at the opposite end of the boat.

Eden caddis emerger

2010-09-11T10:37:00.000Z

I've been test driving this caddis emerger variant for a while now and can happily report that it works a treat. It came about when I tried to create an emerger pattern which would work on the Eden when my normal 'go-to' pattern the balloon caddis was refused (something which rarely happens on other rivers, I've found).
I aimed for 'busy but sparse' when viewed from below as I was concerned that the relatively heavy, winged profile of the Moser pattern might be a touch too bold on some occasions. But I still needed the pattern to be reliably buoyant and easily visible in near darkness This fly seems to fit the bill....and early signs are very encouraging indeed.

The Eden Caddis Emerger

Hook: B100 #14,16
Thread: mallard brown sheer
Rib: twisted flat gold
Dubbing: natural hare or fox squirrel
Hackle: dun grizzle
Wing post: yellow or white foam doubled forward and tied down like a thorax cover.

Encounter with a cannibal

2010-09-11T10:28:00.001Z

Not too much to report from last night's trip to the Eden. The river was colouring up and rising slowly and I failed to make the most of the few opportunities which came my way. A couple of trout and a few grayling which were sipping down crippled gnats on the flats late on, were all I had to show for the brief session. One incident however, does bear recounting.....

Nymphing my way up a nice pool, I hooked what felt like the umpteenth parr of the evening until a split second later the line went a good deal heavier and I realised I must have been mistaken, I had hooked a good 'un after all. The fish came straight toward me as sometimes happens and showed just under the surface. Imagine my surprise when I realised that I had in fact hooked a parr.....but hanging on to it was a huge brownie which I'd put my mortgage on being 4lb plus. The trout had four inches of little salmon crossways in its jaws like a pike - amazing! Obviously it let go as soon as it saw me, but it left me with my knees trembling and trying to remember what I did with those big sculpin patterns!
I know where you live buster, and I'm coming to get you next season!

Thought I'd post the photo below. The 'troutiest hundred yards' photo of last Friday's post, was taken about 15 miles downstream at Lazonby and the river up here is considerably smaller. Still, it's interesting to see the parallels. This piece of water is similarly chock full of fish (although not quite to the same degree), including some biggies. It rarely gets fished - seemingly many UK fly fishers have a dislike of broken pocket water.

Damson Gin

2010-09-06T19:04:00.001Z

The wild damson harvest is in and following the purchase of two 5L demi-johns (one is being saved for sloes later on), approx 1lb of the little fellows are currently steeping away with a bottle of Gordon's finest. Well, I suppose winter has to give us something to look forward to.

Remind me to post my recipe for hot buttered rum sometime.....

Lazonby Estates: Dad's 60th - search for a salmon - low water and hot sun - the troutiest hundred yards in the north - entomological observations.

2010-09-05T11:13:00.007Z

If I was a man of money, I might have opted for Alaska or Vancouver Island. But I'm not, so a more modest venue would have to be selected if I wasn't to subject my wife and children to 10 years of living off Aldi beans in a cockroach infested bedsit......

When my Dad turned 60 back in January, I thought that seeing as he is a keen salmon angler, but owing to the type of water he fishes, rarely gets the opportunity to dust down the fly rod, it might be nice to treat him to a day's salmon fly fishing with angling guide friend Patrick Arnold. I had a word with Sis about chipping in and following lengthy discussions with Patrick, the date was set. Of course, it is impossible to predict the weather or conditions from the distance of a frigid January evening, but it seemed that Friday 3rd September looked a decent bet - late enough for there to be some fish about (certainly if recent wet summers are anything to go by), but no so late that the river would be full of leaves and gravid spawners. A good idea on paper, but as we all know, the British weather rarely plays ball and when the day finally arrived, we were faced with a shrunken, clear river and a day of hazy, but unforgivingly hot sunshine.

The venue was Lazonby Estates upper beat on the middle Eden - a venue I have fished before and Patrick knows like the back of his hand. From a salmon fisher's perspective, it was to be a day of odging about with small flies and light leaders, more in vague hope of a fish than expectation. There were definitely a few fish in the beat as we saw an odd one show in almost every major pool, so there was always going to be a chance - however slim - of nobbling a grilse if the session was fished out until dusk and every bit of likely water was given a good covering.
Dad set up his #8 single hander and small silver stoat on 8lb tippet, and went to work under the respectful guidance of Patrick whose knowledge of the beat meant that every likely lie was going to be adequately covered whether there was a taking fish in residence or not.

Meanwhile, I buggered off downstream with my trout rod to fish what has over the years become one of my favourite stretches of river anywhere. Between the tail end of Meadows pool and the head of Top Hole Corner, the Eden tumbles down a steeply graded race of boulders, slippery rocks and ankle breaking pots. It looks too thin to hold many fish. It's horrible to wade. The vast majority of anglers never give it a second look. Yet here is a hundred yards of water, maybe a bit less, which holds as dense a population of trout as I have ever encountered. A staggering number of fish, many of them large, hold station in the scoops and hollows formed by the clustered boulders. When the river is at summer level - as it was on Friday - the majority of the wading is knee deep, with an occasional step into an unexpected pot bringing twice that depth. If you try fishing this run with 6-12" of extra water running off, be warned - it's borderline dangerous.

My first pass through on this occasion wasn't as productive as in the past, but a brace of nymphs offered upstream on a very short line still brought plenty of offers. Only half a dozen fish were successfully brought to hand however - in such shallow, fast flowing water, the trout tend to go completely bonkers, throwing themselves all over the place, and it is inevitable that a few fish will be dropped...and if you hook a big 'un (there are 2lb+ fish here), then your work is cut out to get them in the net before they get downstream of you and with the strong flow, exert massive pressure on the hook hold.
Nevertheless, a few nice fish were landed with the best spell bringing in successive casts, a 12" fish, then a fish around the pound dropped at the net, then a fish of 1lb 4oz successfully landed - all from an apparently insignificant run between two large boulders. I've been at this river trouting lark for a few years now and it never fails to amaze me where sizeable fish will lie.

After that I ambled off downstream, festering in the Indian summer sun. An odd fish rose, but rarely with any pattern or regularity, so I concentrated my efforts on nymphing the fast pocket water whilst hoping for an evening rise and the chance to fish dry late on. Sport proved slow on the whole with only a handful of fish falling in the shadier sections of the beat, although bucking this trend, a fine grayling did succumb to a dry caddis.

Later on, I caught up with Patrick and the old man and discovered that predictably, no salmon had been caught. Dad had fished diligently and thoroughly through the likely spots but to no avail. So it goes; we paid our money and took our chance and with the British climate having thrown up every anomoly in the book over the last 12 months, it would be foolish to complain too much about the weather on the day. At least it was a pleasant day to be out....and I think Dad enjoyed himself which is the important thing.

Finally, a few interesting entomolgical observations (well interesting to a saddo like me anyway):

Although there were plenty of caddis and a few needle flies in evidence above the water, precious few upwings hatched. I saw a handful of pale wateries, an odd yellow May dun, a single blue-winged olive and a couple of the second genera late season large dark olives. Nothing much to interest the fish (indeed a spell spent watching the water's surface closely revealed that little was on the surface other than a few tiny terrestrials - smut, aphids and the like).
However, one particularly handsome specimen caught my eye - the autumn dun (e. dispar) photographed below. I've never seen them hatch in sufficient numbers to excite the trout, but it's a few years since I last saw one so it was pleasing all the same.

A little while later, I found something that had me stumped initially; several mossy boulders at the edge of Hut Stream pool were dotted with the shucks of some recently emerged insect. I couldn't for the life of me work out what they were at first, but after a discussion with Patrick, we both came to the conclusion that the culprits were likely to be the small stoneflies I had seen about. Don't ask me for the species, as I could write my knowledge of plecoptera on the back of a postage stamp, but I'll hazard a guess that they are likely to be one of the leuctra. The size of the shucks certainly matched the body length of the adult seen below - about 8mm. Either way, that is something I'd never seen before - it just goes to show that if you keep your eyes peeled, there's always something interesting to see on the river, no matter how slow the fishing is.

There was still a bit of excitement left in the day. As dusk approached, we waited and waited for an evening rise which looked like it would never materialise. However, shortly before 9pm and in virtual darkness, I found a pod of fish feeding hard in the glassy, accelerating water at the tail end of Meadows pool. There were definitely no b-wo spinners in the air so I fancied they were on the emerging sedge and put up a small balloon caddis hoping for some last gasp sport. As I crept into position in the broken water immediately below the tail, I couldn't help but notice that a nearby half submerged boulder was crowded with adult caddis. I'm not entirely sure what species; there actually appeared to be more than one. But the majority looked to me like r. dorsalis which would also go some way to explaining why of my brace of nymphs offered earlier, most fish had chosen a green pupa type pattern over the smaller bead headed PTN.

Exactly what they were doing on that rock, I'm not sure - possibly using it to crawl underwater to oviposit? Whichever way I had a number of feeding fish in front of me, so it was down to business while I could still just about see my fly on the water.
Anyone who fishes rivers regularly will appreciate that fish feeding in the tail of a pool offer an unusual challenge. The apparently glassy surface belies the fact that drag free presentation is a nightmare to achieve due to the water speeding up over the lip of the pool into the next riffle. Unless the dry fly is offered from upstream, any fly line on the water between fly and angler will immediately be gripped by accelerating current causing the artificial to drag horrendously. I usually deal with this by a) getting as close to my target fish as possible, thereby keeping as much unnecessary - and ideally all - fly line off the water as possible, or b) the method which I employed on this occasion - offering a pile cast where following the forward delivery, the rod tip is suddenly lowered causing the cast to collapse in a heap of slack line which often affords the fly that critical couple of seconds of unfettered drift. It looks untidy. In fact it looks like you are the crappest caster around...but in near darkness and with a ton of feeding trout before you, who cares?!

It certainly worked for me - another half dozen trout up to around the pound made for a satisfying end to a challenging day's fishing.......although in hindsight, it had been a good deal less challenging for me than it had for my father!

Note:
A big thanks to angling guide Patrick Arnold for having us, and particularly for the unfailing attention he gave to my Dad in his unlikely quest for a low water salmon. Patrick has rods on Lazonby upper beat on Fridays and the lower beat every Wednesday and can be contacted by email here

Cat's Whisker Variant

2010-08-29T11:56:00.001Z

I'm a simple creature when it comes to stillwater rainbow trout lures. Although I would rather fish wets, dries or nymphs, when the time comes to bring on the 'reservoir nasties', I invariably start with something black. If that doesn't work, I go to the opposite end of the spectrum and this little fellow comes out the box - the ubiquitous cat's whisker.
It's not a fly I use all that often (the last time it got a run out, it produced a couple of rudd believe it or not), but I've been re-stocking my mini lure box and thought it might interest you to see how a man who errs towards the traditional side of fly fishing, deals with the occasional need to tie lure patterns - he puts a hen hackle at the front!

Hook: FM comp heavyweight #10
Thread: UTC70 hot orange
Body: UV chartreuse mini straggle
Wing: white marabou with a couple of strands of krystal flash
Hackle: olive grizzle hen
Cheeks: hot orange goose biots

Poem.

2010-08-27T21:58:00.001Z

I may well be about to be roundly ridiculed for this, but what the hell, I guess I've reached an age where I don't really give a monkeys anymore; and besides, it's my blog and I'll wax lyrical if I want to. A matter close to my heart......

Aire Head

We rowed our little boat
Into that mid September day,
The white spume,
The wind burnt blackened sky,
In search of gold.

Where land and water described,
An horizon indistinct,
And everything a leached and ancient grey,
Spray-whipped at every oar strike
Into my hunched shoulders and the bowed and reddened face
Of my father at stern.

What life could these flinty depths conceal
Where such uncompromising sparseness of form,
An aspect of pure austerity,
Washed the windswept moors above?

And yet, into the afternoon
My carefully assembled team of game bird and fowl,
Attracted the attention of some unseen beast
And through the taut line,
Unexpected life transmitted to drizzle-wrinkled fingers,
Like static
As below the hull a trout sought keenly
Its place in the windward depths

Until we saw glints of amber-olive through
The curious translucent perse
A flattening of the foam flecked surface,
Then an angry spitting flare of spray
And he was gone -
The brief connection severed,
The silent ambivalence of
Our surroundings restored.

And seated with my fingertips still tingling,
Pressure charged pulse receding in my ears,
I knew that I had been given over to the place;
Helplessly, willingly,
Absorbed into its porous bones.

Stickle Pike

2010-08-22T18:30:00.000Z

A lovely, fluffy white cloud, sunshine and shade sort of a day this afternoon. Trying to convince ourselves that summer isn't entirely knackered yet, we enjoyed a cracking day out: a quick climb up Dunnerdale's Stickle Pike, followed by lunch and a pint of Bluebird in the Black Bull, Coniston. Happy days!

Perch Fry mini lure

2010-08-21T11:24:00.000Z

The 2010 version of a pattern I've had a lot of success with in the past:

Hook: FM comp heavyweight #10
Thread: UTC70 brown olive
Tail: Globrite floss #5
Rib: UTC hot orange
Dubbing: blend of peacock, dark olive, pearl and caddis ice dubs
Hackle: Olive grizzle hen, palmered
Wing: Dark olive marabou tip
Collar Hackle: Leggy black hen
Cheeks: Hot orange goose biots

A book (and blog) apart.

2010-08-19T20:25:00.001Z

I've read them all you know. Plunkett Greene, Lord Grey, Farson, Gierach etc. There is no doubt that the artistry of fly fishing has inspired some magnificent literature over the decades, but there is an awful lot of mediocrity out there too - the metaphorically overwrought, pretentious bullshit peddled by Ted Leeson is one example which springs readily to mind.....there are plenty more.

So it made a pleasant change recently to pick up a book which has received universally positive reviews, and to find that those reviews were wholly justified. Luke Jennings' splendid Blood Knots deserves a place on every angler's bookshelf. I am not much of a reviewer of books (something upon which Leeson and I are no doubt agreed), so I will not embark upon a lengthy eulogy to Mr Jennings' prose here, save to say - in typical northerner style - that I know what I like and I bloody well liked this!
The book follows a fairly formulaic autobiograpical, angling childhood recollection style, but is none the worse for it. At turns vivid, emotional and heart rending, Blood Knots resonates with the author's love of fishing, his war-hero father, his angling mentor Robert Nairac. Recollections of Ampleforth school days are particularly entertaining:

"While we were eating, a small monkey appeared at the window and sat there looking in at us, its face wrinkled in melancholy. After a minute or so, when I was more or less certain it wasn't a hallucination, I hesitantly mentioned its presence.
'Yes that's the house monkey,' a second year explained. 'If someone does something really appalling and no one owns up, the monkey is beaten.'"

If angling literature is rich and varied in quality, the same can be said of angling blogs. I hugely enjoy the informal, personal styles of many blogs, but there aren't many out there which can honestly be described as superbly written. There is one however, which stands out a country mile for me - for sheer personality and quality, A Flyfisherlady's Life is a blog apart. The link has been lurking on my blogroll for a few weeks now and a visit always brings a smile to my face (and confronts me with the ham-fisted execution of my own workmanlike efforts). We don't see too many female fly fishers it's true, though why that should be the case is a mystery to me. Is it this under-represented viewpoint which contributes to the beguiling nature of Polly's blog? Quite possibly. Certainly for eloquence and lightness of touch, it knocks everything else I have read recently into a cocked hat.

Occasional Gear Review #1: Polaroid Sunglasses

2010-08-16T20:10:00.001Z

By way of a sideline to my usual self-indulgent ramblings, I'm proposing to throw an occasional tackle review into the mix, of gear I've been using and feel able to offer an objective - and hopefully useful - opinion on. So here goes - the first of an occasional series:

Polaroid Hydro 36 polarized sunglasses.

I've always struggled with sunglasses and as a result have relied heavily upon one - very expensive - pair for quite a few years now. My problem is with polarizing you see. I'm not really too bothered what I look like (thus speaks a man who at 34, is technically too young to be wearing a flat cap), so image is not an issue. Ask my Dad about this - a very cheap pair I bought once, with wraparound style and yellow lenses, made me look worryingly like a diminutive version of Ali G. I bought Dad a pair too. He still wears them.

No, I contend that the number one selling point of a pair of fishing shades is the level of polarization they offer - the ability to cut the reflection off the water's surface and allow a clearer view down into the depths. If you like your sight fishing, then a good pair of polarizers are invaluable, opening up every detail of the river/lake bed otherwise completely obscured by glare. This in turn reduces strain on the eyes allowing the angler to fish in comfort and with maximum concentration for long periods of time. Ever tried loch styling from a boat drifting into a bright sun, without a pair of sunglasses on, for a full day? I have and I can confirm that the resulting feeling is not unlike having your brain microwaved on high power for thirty seconds.

As mentioned earlier, I have used one pair exclusively for a few years now - a hideously expensive pair of Maui Jim's with fancy copper bronze glass lenses and a lighweight metal frame as delicate as a china flower. They are excellent glasses but every day that I wear them brings me closer to the inevitable moment when I either drop them in the drink or sit on them when I get into the car......and that worries me some. So I was only too happy to try out an alternative pair - ones with a much more realistic price tag.

The Polaroid Hydros are a bit different to what I'm used to: all plastic construction, slimline sporty profile; they felt a bit weird to say the least - very light and snug with almost no light penetrating from the sides due to the plastic guards fitted to the hinge ends of the legs. For someone accustomed to a good pair of old school aviators they felt, well, a bit claustrophobic. There is a sort of horizontal rubber cushioning strip along the inside top edge of the frame and it soon became apparent that the idea is to snug the shades right into the face. Once I realised this, it was obvious that these are a well thought out pair of glasses. After a few minutes of messing about in the garden I forgot I had them on at all - a feeling enhanced by the light grey lense colour which only marginally darkens the natural ambient light.....and as previously mentioned, the extraneous light penetration from around the frame was negligible.

And so to the acid test: Yorkshire's Malham Tarn at the weekend couldn't have offered a better opportunity to test run my new babies. A planned day of loch style drifting high up on 150 acres of open moorland water, turned decidedly difficult when at midday, the lovely 5mph northerly we had been benefiting from died away completely leaving us stranded on a sea of glass with a bright sun burning from directly overhead. We played a game of chasing shadows with an odd rising fish, sidling into casting range on the electric motor; but it was a futile exercise, with the fish just melting away as if they'd never been there at all. We admitted defeat when at 4pm, there was no sign of the hoped for increase in wind speed and the backs of our necks had begun to burn in the late summer sunshine. It was only then, when motoring back to base that I realised how well the Hydros had performed. Removing them for the first time in hours, I was shocked at how intense the glare off the surface was. Popping them on again, confirmed what I had failed to notice earlier in the day - they are very good polarizers indeed. And most impressive - I'd almost forgotten I was wearing them.

A few checks later on revealed that they perform favourably against the Mauis - no better, but certainly no worse. Style wise they don't really suit me, but I'm not bothered about that. They are very lightweight and comfy to wear and whilst the plastic construction renders them a little more fragile than their metal framed cousins, the build quality certainly compares well to the similar Bolle Boomslangs I waved goodbye to in the swift waters of the Eden a few years ago (and if I remember rightly, they cost me the best part of £100 at the time).

The price: £52.99. Expensive enough to know you are getting a decent bit of kit and not some badly made tat, but cheap enough not to loose too much sleep over when you feel that painful crunching beneath your clumsy size 10s.
Recommended.

http://shop.polaroidsunglasses.co.uk/index.asp?function=DISPLAYPRODUCT&productid=366

Invertebrate monitoring.....and a bonus beast!

2010-08-04T22:48:00.109Z

I visited my four Eden system invertebrate sampling sites on Wednesday night: two on the Eamont below Penrith, one on the main river at Langwathby and one further up towards Appleby. All 8 groups of invert - ephemerella, seratella, baetis, heptagenid, gammarus, stonefly, cased and caseless caddis - were in evidence, although no one sample contained them all. All four sites scored satisfactorarily, although I was surprised to find a marked difference in abundance between the two Eamont sites which are located up and downstream of the Penrith sewage works outfall (see photo at top). Further sampling over the coming months is required before any conclusions can be drawn in respect of this - admittedly worrying - finding.

The photo below shows a solitary mayfly nymph which came from the Eden at Langwathby, amidst an abundance of small cased caddis. It was also positive to note a healthy number of stonefly nymphs in most samples, although curiously, heptagenid nymphs were absent from the Eden Appleby and lower Eamont samples. Gammarus (shrimp), were also absent from both Eamont sites. It will be interesting to see if any significant trends appear as my sampling continues into next season.......

Later, I managed to squeeze in little over an hour on the Upper Eden before dusk. It was a cool, breezy evening with little sign of a hatch or rising fish, so I decided to try the shallow, lumpy pocket water towards the top end of our beat - and for the second time in the evening, was surprised at what I found. I moved an awful lot of fish in that short time with the vast majority coming short or failing to stick. Maybe 12-14 fish registered their interest in my flies through that mostly overlooked piece of water, but of them only two were brought to hand. They were nice fish: 1lb and 2lb 6oz respectively and the fact that I hadn't really expected to wet a line at all, made their capture all the more pleasureable. The larger fish in particular was one of the better looking trout I have caught.

Friday evening saw me back on the Eden with Bob. A week of poor weather ended with a slight improvement as the breeze died off under leaden skies and the temperature actually rose through the day to reach a balmy 18c. We were hopeful of sport but found the going slow. Once again, the insect activity was limited to a few longhorns performing their dance over the marginal shallows and although a few egg bearing BWO spinners appeared at last light, their numbers were relatively small and only an odd fish rose to eat them in the semi-darkness.
As is often the case when fishing with friends, we spent a lot of time walking and chatting and not so much concentrating on catching fish, but it was fairly obvious that the trout weren't really that interested. We did return a couple, and both missed a fish each on the spent spinner late on. Overall though it was a quiet evening's fishing, and typically late summer with the overgrown grass lying damp and heavy in the meadows and the scent of yarrow and meadowsweet hanging in the air as we headed back to the car in darkness. The light has gone at half past nine now and very soon, our evening fishing will be over for another summer. How quickly it goes and how many grand plans will have to remain unfulfilled until next year!

River trout on streamers.

2010-07-31T07:03:00.002Z

The concept of fishing streamers - lures - for river trout is not new. Our cousins Stateside are more than au fait with the method and although in this country more and more anglers are waking up to its potential, the use of attractor and baitfish patterns tends to remain the preserve of stillwater trout fishers. Regular visitors here may recall that a couple of summers ago I had a brief dalliance with the 'dark side' when I spent a few minutes here and there chucking huge 'poodles' around the deeper pools. I caught a few fish - nothing special - but struggled to come to terms with the beefed up tackle that was required; I absolutely refuse to take two rods to the river! So I left well alone for a while. Until last night in fact.

In truth the idea never went away. It just got filed in the back of my mind under the section marked 'methods which require further investigation when there's nowt else doing'. Over the last few weeks it has repeatedly cropped up in conversations with fellow anglers, embedding itself into my consciousness seemingly by osmosis, always lurking in the shadows like an embarrassing secret. I can recall several incidents which have ultimately led me to try the method again: a morning on the Eden where I fished nymphs into pocket water and found fish willing to move some distance to attack a fly pulled across their noses at pace; a friend's endorsement of the clouser minnow as a high water river pattern; a 3 minute kick sample on the Ribble which yielded no fewer than 14 bullheads.

But a discussion with Yorkshire counterpart Fred Bainbridge last week sealed the deal. Fred described how he has had success with a small tadpole/woolly bugger type pattern - one small enough to conform to international comp rules.........and one which I imagined could be comfortably handled by my normal 5 weight river outfit. Immediately I felt more inclined to give the streamer a go, safe in the knowledge that if and when the fish started rising, I would be able to switch techniques without having to hike back to the car for another rod. Nothing ventured, nothing gained right?

I tied up a couple of patterns loosely based on the template Fred described, and with a 5 foot Di3 polytip and 6 foot leader of 0.18mm Stroft attached to my normal #5 floating line setup, I set off up the Ribble with dirty deeds on my mind.

The offending article: purists please look away now....

One of the things which draws me back to fly fishing time and again is the challenge of attempting to solve a puzzle. There are so many variables which affect our sport that we can never be certain of the reasons for our success or failure - more so when trying to get to grips with an unfamiliar method. I asked myself: am I doing this properly? Is the fly choice correct? Should I be be waiting until there is more water in? Is the poor weather and falling barometer going to affect things? How would I fare using more familiar methods?

In truth last night probably wasn't the best of occasions on to which to air the streamer method and I was fully aware before I started that I would be unlikely to draw any solid conclusions come the end of the session. Awful weather was always going to make life uncomfortable and I didn't see sign of feeding fish all night. Factor in my recent lack of success on the Ribble - it really hasn't fished well for me for a while now - and the odds looked stacked against a productive session.

As it turned out, I did find a handful of fish although the going was predictably slow. The first hour passed without a tap. Then I tempted a decent fish from the thin water at the top of a run and later on another couple of nice trout from fractured, rocky pocket water. The most successful ploy seemed to be to cast square across, or up and across, and twitch the flies back rapidly. Relaxing fishing it most cetainly isn't. No gentle rolling of casts and drag-free drifts here - a constant sequence of haul, haul, shoot, strip, twitch, twich, strip, twiddle and so on had me completely knackered by the time I had covered nearly two miles of water. A return of three fish for combined weight of probably little over 2lb seemed like a meagre reward for such concerted effort, but the session as a fact-finding mission was most definitely worthwhile. All the time I was asking myself, would conventional methods be producing the goods? I doubt it honestly. To my mind the streamer worked about as well as I would have expected - it winkled a few fish out in tough conditions, no more or less successfully than any other method would have, in my untalented hands at least.

But the feeling of being struck hard by a trout out of the blue is a hard one to beat and I have to say the method is quite exciting. Bearing in mind that by all accounts it fishes best when the river is fining down from spate, I will cetainly give it another go in more appropriate conditions.
In the meantime though, it would be nice to see a return for a while,to the glorious settled weather of earlier this summer, and the quiet evenings of dry fly sport that came with it. July has turned out quite unsettled and whilst the moisture is welcome and gave the rivers a good flush through a few days ago, it would be a shame to think that summer is done and dusted for another year. With grey skies and the nights drawing in again, it certainly feels like it at the moment,

Bloody anglers eh? Never happy.

Up to date river level information from the E.A.

2010-07-22T15:28:00.004Z

Ever spent a few costly minutes navigating the Environment Agency's 'Rivercall' line in order to find out what sort of ply your bit of river is in? Me too. I have the sequence of keypad numbers memorised so that I can limit the cost of the phone call to under a fiver or whatever it works out at.

Still, no need to bother with that now as the E.A. have kindly provided us with an invaluable website which regularly records current data from a large number of gauging stations up and down the country. They've even included a 'flood hydrograph' of the previous 48 hours of activity so that we can interpret how our catchments are reacting to rainfall, and - if you want to be clever about it - extrapolate the curve to predict when your favourite beat will drop back into fishable state following a flood. It's all rather good. This link is for the north west England section and I've put in a new section to the right which gives readings from some stations which may be of interest to our club members.

For those of us who are prepared to travel a few miles for our fishing, this site will prove invaluable in assisting our choice of venue and hopefully avoiding a wasted and lengthy drive. I could have done with knowing about it last Friday........

Haweswater trout: pick any colour......as long as it's black!

2010-07-16T22:20:00.332Z

It's funny how things turn out sometimes. The last place I expected to find myself this week was Haweswater, but after turning to stillwater when my original plans were scuppered by rain, I ended up enjoying a terrific evening's fishing with wild, hard fighting little brown trout.....and a therapeutic slab of solitude amid the eastern Lake District fells.

All week my intention had been to fish the upper Eden and with some heavy thundery showers freshening things up a bit around these parts, I was confident of a bit of decent sport from a stream newly enlivened. I was soon having to reassess my plans.

My journey northward is marked by the crossing of several spate rivers: the Ribble at Preston is followed soon after by the upper Wyre near Scorton. At Lancaster, the lower reaches of the Lune tend not to reveal too much, but by the time Tebay is reached and the river is again crossed, I usually have a pretty good impression of what is going on in the catchments. Strangely, on this occasion, whilst the Ribble looked in good ply, the Wyre was carrying a lot of brown water....and when I crossed the Lune, it quickly became apparent that Cumbria had seen a lot more rain than Lancashire - the river was big and brown and full of debris!
I wrote off the Eden at that point as it would almost certainly be in a similar state - and I couldn't afford the time to go and take a look.
My last hope was the Eamont which rises more slowly and with less colour (owing to the regulating effect of Ullswater at its head), but no - a quick look as I exited the Penrith junction sliproad revealed a similarly unfavourable situation.

And that is how I ended up on Haweswater. A quick mental check of the kit I had in the boot confirmed that I would be ok. My boat bag contains all the flies and lines that I'd need and my walking boots live in there permanently. The only slight problem would be the rod; I usually favour a 10' #6 for this kind of fishing. On this occasion my general purpose river tool, the 9' #5 XP would have to suffice.....

So after over 2 hours and 100 miles in the car, I rolled up at Mardale Head - always a beautiful place to visit, but on this occasion I was still a bit peeved by my enforced change of plan and not altogether hopeful of any sport. I have fished the Mardale high tarns on a number of occasions, but only dabbled briefly in the reservoir itself. It has always struck me as a rather barren, infertile place and I've never before been sufficiently inspired to give it some proper attention. Sometimes it takes a strange set of circumstances to change such an opinion and as I tackled up I resolved to make the best of a bad job, forget the mental image of 2lb Eden trout sipping down spinners, and concentrate on extracting a few wild as the wind brownies from the windswept waters below.

I had to improvise a bit with the set up. A 15 foot leader of Stroft 0.14mm went onto the 5 weight, along with a #6 slow sink intermediate line which I hoped would anchor the flies just below the surface. A team of three went on - cruncher on the point, black & peacock spider on the middle and bibio hopper on the top - and off I went along the north west shore towards The Rigg, casting my flies into the wind parallel to the bank in front of me on a line no longer than 8-10 yds, moving a few feet every cast.

I do enjoy this type of fishing. Once a nice 'cast and move' rhythm is established it is possible to quickly become totally immersed in the grandeur of the surroundings and leave behind all thoughts of everyday life, concentrating on nothing more than the movement of the flies in the water. It may not be the most challenging way to fish, nor the most rewarding in terms of size and number of fish caught - but it is one of the most cathartic and relaxing, and I quickly began to feel like I had made absolutely the right decision in devoting my evening to wild Haweswater.

Needless to say, the reservoir is very low at the moment. The rains of the previous 24 hours had put the feeder becks away in much needed flood and they gushed down the fellsides in angry white ribbons. I could tell that the water level had risen about 12 inches, but even so, I'd reckon the reservoir was a good 30 foot down on its winter level and there was still plenty of ghostly evidence of the previous landscape around the drowned community of Mardale Green. I fished around old stone walls, long-ruined dwellings, and the exposed roots of felled trees which littered the north shore of The Rigg like huge dead spiders.

I was delighted to find that the XP didn't mind being over-lined one bit - and the #6 SSI was fishing perfectly; a steady figure of eight twiddle brought the flies back to me at a depth of no more than 10 inches before a lift and hold of the top dropper bibio preceded an leisurely roll cast out and repeat. It didn't take too long to attract interest - a couple of quick nips were missed before this handsome little fellow latched on:

I continued to get interest in an enticing looking 'slick' which had conveniently formed close to the bank for a full 400 yds up to the point of The Rigg. Whether fishing for stocked rainbows, or wild brown trout, such a foam lane is a real food trap on any stillwater and demands to be exploited as far as possible. The photo is better viewed (like all the images I post here) by clicking to enlarge:

Later on I worked my way around the point and into Riggindale, home of England's only golden eagle. I didn't see him today, but I did continue to catch lovely little wild trout. They were stunning fish which fought incredibly well in the clear water. The biggest was 12 inches (probably weighed about 11oz), and I was convinced I had a pound plus trout on before it surfaced.

Along the shore towards Speaking Crag, there are a few old stone walls which disappear into the depths. These proved to be dead certs for a pull when the flies were cast alongside or across the sunken structure....

Successful flies were all black. I did tinker a bit from time to time, but by far the most productive pattern was the small b&p spider which I had started with on the middle dropper. I would have been happy fishing a team of three of them. To be honest, I was prepared for this because every other Haweswater angler I've ever spoken to has recommended small black flies as the start point, be it a black gnat, William's fancy or whatever. In these comparatively infertile waters, it is likely the fish look to land bred insects for much of their food, with a few small black midge thrown in for good measure......

I had hoped that if the breeze died sufficiently, a few buzzer feeding fish would come up to play and give the chance of some dry fly sport, but unfortunately if anything it strengthened slightly and the ripple never stayed off even the sheltered spots for long enough to entice would be surface feeders up. Still, I couldn't complain - I'd had a beautifully relaxing evening and as I joined the Riggindale footpath back over to the car park I reflected that although the session had been hastily improvised, on this occasion, maybe it had worked out for the best.

Wild Riggindale......

....and an interesting boulder on the shore.

Ribble: a river under pressure?

2010-07-10T16:37:00.002Z

I'm in a foul mood today. It seems that everywhere I look I see threats to the health of the places I hold so dear.

On Thursday night I had a few hours on my local river and was depressed by what I saw. We had a fish kill last month when effluent from a local works entered the system and, apparently aided by exceptionally low flows and oxygen levels, wiped out approximately 50 trout, grayling and sea trout along our couple of miles of river. This may not represent a large proportion of the total population, but is galling all the same.
Although there have been a few showers over the last week, I knew the level would still be dead low, so I took a rod and had a wander to see how things looked.

The water was up about 6 inches on last time I visited (mid June), but still well below zero on the gauge. The slight increase in flow had dislodged a lot of the scummy weed which had formed, releasing it into the flow and making fishing anything but a surface fly damn near impossible.......

That in itself didn't bother me too much as I would be spending the evening on the dry fly, but I hate to see a game fish river weeded up and stagnant and I felt decidedly fed up as I worked my way through shrunken, feeble pools looking without success for signs of feeding fish.

Sport was entirely non-existent until about 9:30pm when a decent number of egg-bearing blue winged olive spinners returned to the water to lay and the interests of no fewer than two fish were aroused by the spent females laying crippled on the surface. The cranked spinner pattern did the job on them; good fish the pair and neither successfully landed, the hook pulling out well into proceedings in both cases.

So a big, fat midsummer blank for me I'm afraid. But that's not the point of this post really. My mood is soured by the news of the fish kill, by the fact that a cormorant was preparing to roost in the trees at the edge of the wood, by the fact that our keeper had nailed a total of 15 mink tails to the gable of the hut, by the fact that apart from the few spinners mentioned above and a few athripsodes albifrons caddis (see mating pair below), there was precious little fly life - or fish -to be seen. My local river appears to be very much under pressure......

My black mood has been deepened by rumours I hear that one of the north's most precious wild brown trout fisheries may be about to become the subject of unwanted national media coverage which could feasibly lead to significant harm to its fragile stocks. We're all going to hell in a handcart, I tell you.

River Eden: Spinner plague - dawn raid - mist and nymphs

2010-07-03T19:32:00.002Z

Just back from a two week family break near Penrith. The first part of the holiday was spent in the kiddie-friendly environment of the Whinfell Centerparcs complex and the second week nearby in Blencarn; and although fishing was far from my mind when we booked the cottage, with the middle Eden being only minutes away, I packed a rod just in case!
As it happened, I did manage to get out but reserved my getaway for the early hours of a suitable morning so that, by returning for breakfast, my angling antics would have minimal impact upon the rest of the family.

That's how I found myself bleary eyed at 3:30am setting up a rod by torch light next to the open boot of my car in a field full of sleeping cattle. I've always enjoyed being up with the dawn chorus but have to admit that recent years have seen me sneaking off in the early morning less and less. Must be getting old.

Rewind 7 hours and you would have seen me walking the banks of the same river with my daughter. It seems our little holiday had disturbed her sleep patterns to the extent where she was becoming borderline nocturnal; whereas usually she would be tucked up in bed safe and sound by 7pm, frequent daytime naps had rendered her wide awake and looking for trouble at the most inconvenient time! So in balmy evening sunlight I took her for a drive to try to tire her out a bit (unsuccessfully as it turned out: at 8:30pm she was singing and clapping her hands to the slowest Kate Rusby lullaby I could find!)
One thing became apparent as I visited our various beats of the Eden that night - the blue-winged olive spinners were up in huge numbers. Near Eden Lacy, huge clouds of them hung in the lengthening shadows beneath trees and swarms were moving over the water, gradually upstream. Nothing was rising - yet - but I was reminded of Stuart Crofts' words - in an hour or two, that lot'll be on't watter!
More amazing was yet to come. As I drove the lane between Edenhall and Great Salkeld - which runs roughly parallel to, but a couple of hundred yards from the river - massive numbers of the olives were congregating above the road. It was incredible! My windscreen was getting plastered by a plague of seratella and looking into the sun revealed literally hundreds of thousands of them over the adjacent fields, highlighted as tiny specks of fire in the dwindling light.

I'll never know for sure, but I assume the trout had a grand feast that evening and the prospect of attempting the following morning for catch fish which would likely be resting with heavy bellies, almost tempted me to re-schedule for a later date. But opportunities were limited and in any case, I have more than once come to the river at dawn to find fish hoovering up the previous evening's crippled spinners in the back eddies and slacks. So off to the river I went......

It's pure speculation of course, but it seems my theory may have been correct. I didn't see a rising fish between 3:30 and 6:30 the morning after. In truth I wasn't really expecting to - I went to the river armed with a brace of nymphs and had a thoroughly enjoyable time extracting trout from the swifter flowing runs. Nothing bigger than 1lb came to hand but there were plenty of fish willing to have a look at my brace (a #18 PTN in front of a #14 black nymph) and it made for an entertaining few hours all the same. And you just can't beat fishing a river as the sun rises. As the night time mist gradually lifted from the water's surface, the only sounds to accompany me were the chuckling of the water and the noisy 'churr-ing' of bankside sedge warbers.

Incidentally, we still haven't had any significant rainfall. the last six months have been the north of England's driest for 80 years. We really could use a good storm to flush the river systems out. The Eden appears to be holding up quite well, but the Ribble is choked with weed and even the Lune up at Sedbergh is showing algae on the rocks and a green tinge to the normally clear water.

Seratella Ignita
The photos below show a) one of the culprits of Tuesday evening's spinner storm and b) an attempt to illustrate what I was saying about the clouds of insects above the road. The photo doesn't really do justice to the intensity of the hatch, but you get the idea....and if you extrapolate that scene to many hundreds of yards of river you can appreciate just what a spectacle it was (click on the photo to enlarge).

Heads up!

2010-06-21T10:29:00.000Z

A keen angler I know has succumbed to the irresistible urge to blog. Dan Atkinson is passionate about his native River Eamont (a tributary of the Eden) and I know for a fact he is a very knowledgable angler-entomologist who has a way with some impressive fish from his local beats. His blog will be well worth bookmarking for those of us who share an interest in Cumbrian river fishing.

http://eamont-addict.blogspot.com/

A change of scene on the Eden.

2010-06-12T06:07:00.005Z

Tonight I had the pleasure of Bob's company again and spent the evening benefiting from his knowledge of the middle Eden. We had a good old mooch around some stretches I have yet to fish and although the going was on the slow side, it was an interesting session and one I very much enjoyed.

We were a bit further down the river than normal and, swelled by the waters of Ullswater and the Eamont, the Eden is a livelier proposition hereabouts in such times of prolonged drought. One long pool and riffle sequence of some 200 yards occupied us for the bulk of the evening - a delightful piece of river which we fished from bottom to top without ever feeling the need to get out and bypass unappealing sections.

Perhaps unexpectedly, the fishing was a touch slow; in a similar vein to last week, only odd fish were rising and then only sporadically - despite presence over the water of at least 6 different species of upwing flies, a few small yellow sally stoneflies, loads of midge and gnats and plenty of caddis.
Bob set off targeting a few risers with the dry and I opted for a duo set up to search the pool heads. We both pulled a few small fish with mine initially coming to the dry rather than the nymph, from the roily water in the necks. I then had a spell on straight nymph - a size 14 black tungsten headed job to get down a bit - and found greater success with another half dozen coming to hand. None were large - they were all pan sized fish in the 8-12" class - but welcome nonetheless.

Catching up with Bob later revealed that the dry fly had proved difficult owing to a fairly nasty wind once the shelter of the trees had been left and we both ended up seeing the rest of the evening out on nymphs whilst keeping an eager eye out for signs of a rise which in the end, never materialised as temperatures dropped away on nightfall and the gusty north westerly wind prevailed.

The picture of Bob below gives you some idea of conditions - that pool tail should be glassy and flat!

So, an absorbing evening in all. And if there was one thing I learnt, it was that it doesn't seem to matter where you fish on the River Eden - it's all delightful!

Stocks pairs qualifier: a bad day at the office for NCA

2010-06-10T20:53:00.001Z

Rob and I fished our qualifier round for the annual Stocks Reservoir pairs competition and although we successfully made it through to the final, it was very much a one man show with my buddy doing most of the good work and me at the other end of the boat enduring my own private nightmare. I may post a more detailed report in due course....then again, I might choose to relegate the memory to the confines of my deepest subconscious.

And another.....

2010-06-08T19:19:00.001Z

Another midge cripple, this time more in keeping with the original pattern by - I think - Jeremy Clarke and recently given some column inches courtesy of Stan Headley. There is a reason I am tying a few of these. I will explain in due course........

Crippled midge.....

2010-06-07T21:17:00.001Z

.......posted for no other reason than I like the photo - one of those rare ones which seem to have come out just right (to my eyes anyway). Pity it's of a shaggy mess of a fly!

Summer Flies

2010-06-06T14:20:00.002Z

I managed to sneak a couple of hours at the vice this afternoon and spent the time re-stocking with patterns which I traditionally associate with high summer. Some of these were for my own box, but the remainder were for a friend to whom I owe a few flies in return for a kind favour. Hopefully they will come in handy over the next few weeks....

Pale Watery Paradun

Hook: Partridge SLD #18
Thread: Spiderweb
Tails: Two olive microfibbets split using the thread
Abdomen: Olive Pearsalls silk
Thorax: Blend of Masterclass #3 & #5
Wing Post: Single ply of TMC aero dry wing
Hackle: Dun grizzle

Griffith's Gnat

Hook: Partridge SLD #20
Thread: Spiderweb
Body: Single strand of peacock herl, twisted with black grizzle hackle and wrapped from rear to front palmer style.

Hare's Ear F-Fly

Hook: Partridge SLD #18
Thread: Spiderweb
Rib: Rootbeer Gliss 'n Glow
Body: Dubbed hare's ear
Wing: Pair of natural CDC plumes
Head: Light dubbing of CDC fibres

Skinny water and spooky fish

2010-06-05T07:11:00.000Z

Returned to the Eden last night with fellow members Bob and John. The river is still unbelieveably low and clear, and in some areas the stones have started to slime up. Nevertheless, we were hopeful of good sport following recent successes, although bright sunshine meant that the best sport would likely be encountered at last knockings. In the end it turned out to be a tricky and somewhat frustrating session; enjoyable and absorbing all the same, but without the same levels of success we have seen in recent outings.

You might recall that last time out, the low clear water made for challenging sport, but with so many fish on the feed, once I got my finger out there was cracking sport to be had. Tonight there were far fewer risers in evidence and the ones which were on the fin were finicky and nervous and totally unforgiving of less than perfect presentation. We missed more takes than we hooked and began to get the feeling that many of the trout we 'rose' were actually coming a bit short - perhaps put off at the last minute by a glimpse of tippet, or barely perceptible drag.
No matter; we did fool a few fish in the 8-12" size class and when Bob and I caught up with John later on, we discovered that he had landed a corker of 18" which will have likely weighed towards 2 1/2lb. A small grey duster had done the trick on that Eden beauty.

It turned out to be one of those evenings where the temperature falls away at dusk and any hopes of a mad half hour are dashed as the fish just melt away; we were left with a slight feeling of 'what might have been' but still, there is no better way to round off the working week than to spend a Friday evening on the banks of a quiet summer river.

Bob has his eye on a riser.....

Fish on!

Yours truly manages to fool one of the dafter residents

A busy week.....

2010-05-30T14:05:00.004Z

Phew, what a week! Last Saturday saw me at the Environment Agency headquarters in Penrith for a training course on riverfly monitoring. Hosted by the Eden Rivers Trust's Becky Helm and Dan Atkinson from the EA, we were inducted into the Riverfly Partnership's 'Angler's Monitoring Initiative' via a very enjoyable workshop held in the lab and out on nearby Crowdundle Beck.

The scheme encourages anglers - and anyone else who has an interest in aquatic conservation - to take part in a countrywide network of invertebrate monitoring, by recording regular kick sample results from a number of established sampling sites. Our club have raised concerns about the differences in the quality of the water above and below the Penrith town sewerage outflow on the Eamont, which is the main reason I was there. In all likelihood though, we will set up a number of monitoring sites on all the stretches we control, including the Eden, Lune and Ribble. Aquatic invertebrates are one of the best indicators of water quality - our river canaries if you like; so by applying the recording criteria to 8 primary invertebrate groups, we should be able to determine and keep an eye on the water quality on our waters - an help the EA to 'fill in the gaps' in their monitoring schedule to boot.

I reckon this is a worthwhile enterprise all round and would urge all anglers to get involved where possible so that we can build as complete a picture as possible of the invertebrate populations of our beloved waters. This is a good place to start.

The remainder of the week was spent in the company of several fellow Fly Forums members for our now annual get together. I joined fellow Lancastrian Rob Denson, along with Bristolian Mike Brown, Leicester man Alex Ferguson and Edinburgh lads Colin Riach, Jimmy Millar, Dougie Skedd and Stewart Barclay, for a week of crack and fishing on Malham Tarn and Stocks Reservoir.

Needless to say, we had a hell of a time and plenty of fish were caught, particularly on Stocks which absolutely fished its socks off (200+ fish over the two days). I'll post some photos of the trip in the next few days.....

Finally, I got down to some fly tying this weekend; and after a week of pulling wets and mini lures in the size #10 and 12 class, I felt compelled to make a return to the smaller flies I use on our local rivers. With still no significant rain hereabouts, the streams are shrunken and thin and great care and stealth is required to fool the wary residents. With this in mind, I replenished my dwindling stocks of small black stuff today. When the midge and smut are on the water, this is the pattern that I will be using - a simple CDC shuttlecock tied on a #20/22 Varivas 2200 hook:

Then, moving up a few hook sizes, I tied a handful of trusty CDC olive duns. I'm a big believer in getting a pattern's 'footprint' right, without worring too much what the bit above the surface looks like. After all, isn't the trout's eye view most critical to success? I always swivel the fly in the vice as I am tying to check it looks how I want from underneath and this afternoon I had a play about with the camera to see if I could get a few shots of this particular pattern from such a position.
After roughly photoshopping the display clip out on the picture below, we've got what I believe is the fly's outline as it sits on the surface film - as seen by the fish.....although I accept it will be more of a silhouette with a bit of transmitted light coming through depending on overhead light intensity/direction, rather than the glorious technicolour version as seen by us; and distortion created in the meniscus by the pattern's stray fibres will create 'confusion' of the precise outline of the fly.
Whichever way, I reckon the dun below is heading along the right lines - and to the trout, the view shown immediately below is far more important than the conventional 'side on' which I've added at the bottom.

CDC olive dun viewed from beneath

.....and a more conventional view of the same pattern

A fabulous evening with the River Eden's large trout.

2010-05-21T23:08:00.004Z

When I returned home late on Friday night I could have written a novel about the delights that the evening's trouting session on the Eden had given me. But now, a couple of days later I've settled down a bit and am more disposed to give a somewhat more concise account of what had turned out to be a memorable evening of low water dry fly sport.

You know when you just get the feeling that the river is going to be alive with feeding fish? Driving over the moors from Tebay toward Appleby on Friday afternoon, the air temperature was 22c and a muggy overcast was building from the west, taking the edge off what had been a starkly bright day. My car windscreen was peppered with the corpses of a thousand dead insects and there was a palpable feeling that the year's first spell of warm weather had stimulated mother nature into urgent action.
Sure enough, as I wandered off downstream with my #4 SLT rigged up with 13' tapered leader, I quickly registered signs of feeding fish. What was interesting them was unclear: with an abundance of black gnats, midge, hawthorn flies and a few olive uprights in evidence, there was every chance that the fish would not be too selective. I hedged my bets and stuck on a #14 olive klink.

Early efforts were less than successful. I'd love to tell you that I expertly moved from fish to fish, picking each one off with military precision, but the honest truth is that I got a bit excited at the sight of a river so obviously bristling with life and promise and proceeded to fish in a messy and uncontrolled manner, putting my first half dozen targets down amidst a rash of bad casting, poor leader management and abysmally unstealthy wading. The fish may well have been looking for trouble, but a low, clear river is still a low, clear river and it quickly became apparent that I needed to pull myself together if a golden opportunity was not to be unforgivably wasted.

On reflection, some part of my poor initial performance was I think, down to the fact that I was too eager to get into the fish and mindful of the clock ticking down - as always when fishing into the evening - I rushed things and failed to assess the approach and tactics for each individual target fish. Luckily I realised this fairly early on and managed to slow things down and start using the grey matter a bit.......

Rewards were soon forthcoming and to cut a long story short, I finished up with lots of trout in the net and a far greater feeling of satisfaction than the first hour of the session had predicted. What really made the evening special though, was the number of large fish that saw fit to eat my klinkhamer. I tend to view any river trout over a pound in weight (approx 13.5") as being a decent fish, and anything over 2lb goes down in my book as a big 'un; and although I reckon to be a fairly good estimator of weight, I'll tend to get the spring balance out and weigh in the net any fish I suspect of being near the 2lb mark. My largest fish on this particular evening went 1lb 12oz, 1lb 14oz, 2lb, 2lb 10oz and 2lb 12oz; 5 wild Eden trout for combined weight of 11lb - that's good quality river fishing whichever way you slice it.

I could wax lyrical about the joys of a summer evening on the river, the pastoral beauty of the Eden valley etc, but there will hopefully be plenty of opportunity for that over the coming weeks. One event worth mentioning though: I came upon a pair of otters in one pool, cavorting and whistling to each other as if I wasn't there at all. When they finally saw me and departed, I caught two trout from that same pool - they had started - or more likely recommenced - rising minutes after the otters had moved on. Once again I had cause to wonder at the richness and resilience of the Eden as a game fish river.

If you click on the image below to enlarge, the white arrows illustrate where the feeding fish were to be found in this particular pool head. All were large and all were feeding steadily on insects channelled in from the rocky run upstream. I have found this to be a consistently productive spot.

Flat Calm

2010-05-19T19:07:00.000Z

We had a proper flat calm for long spells today. Very nice to be out fishing in, but not much use to an angler looking for a successful days sport. Much time was spent chasing ripple and trout were very hard to come by. That said, I can't really complain as today felt like the first true day of summer......and after seemingly weeks of cold northerly airstreams, the warm sun on my head was a welcome change.

Blue-winged olive spinner cripples

2010-05-15T12:29:00.003Z

Blue-winged olive season is just around the corner and I'm looking forward to those long, warm summer evenings; fishing into darkness with big trout slurping down spent spinners all around. This variation on the Kelly Galloup spinner cripple theme will be my fly of choice when such an opportunity presents itself.

For anyone interested, there is a step-by-step tying sequence for it here.

Riverfly monitoring

2010-05-13T19:29:00.000Z

The fly fishing club of which I am a member recently booked me onto the latest riverfly training workshop up in Penrith on 22nd May. It is run by the Eden River's Trust and promises to provide a valuable insight into invertebrate monitoring on our fragile trout streams.
I was surprised however, to read ERT director Simon Johnson's latest post (see blog link adjacent), where he states that to date only 4 of the 12 available places are taken. For the princely sum of 35 quid, this is a golden opportunity to do your bit for your river and its insect population and I would wholeheartedly recommend giving it a go.

Anyone interested should contact the ERT educatiuon officer Becky Helm at becky@edenriverstrust.org.uk

There is of course an added bonus: you get to spend a day listening to Mr North Country Angler bleating on about his obsession with all things fly fishing!

Chill wind on the Eden - lean and clear - two nice fish

2010-05-07T23:02:00.006Z

Steven had reported some intense grannom action on the Eden this week, so we teamed up on Friday night to see if we could find some top of the water sport. As it happened, a very cold north easterly was fairly galloping up the valley and although this generally favoured an upstream approach on the northward flowing Eden, sport remained decidedly slow as fish showed a reluctance to poke their snouts out into the chilly May air.

In such conditions, I find the best bet is to either look for an odd riser in the most sheltered, tree-lined sections; or concentrate on the sub surface approach using a pair of nymphs. However, the water was just so damned low and clear (there hasn't been any rain worth mentioning around here snce my last visit at Easter), that I eventually plumped for a compromise and put up a duo rig. Steven - ever the dry fly enthusiast - tied on one of his own cdc patterns and we set about searching the foam lanes for signs of life.

Unfortunately, little action was forthcoming. I dropped a fish on the nymph before landing a small grayling.....and then eventually a decent Eden wildie came from nowhere to attack the dry - a fish of about 1.5lb which gave the evening a better feel.

Steven had a trout of almost identical size to mine from a shallow pool head run, but that was about it. As dusk approached, the breeze remained and the temperatures dropped to around the 6c mark, killing off any chance of seeing some sort of grannom activity. Indeed the only insects seen all evening were a handful of upright duns, a few midge and a single hawthorn fly. Hopefully we will soon see a reversion to more typical SW air currents and some milder, wetter weather which I would expect to breathe some life into our river fishing season.

Wet flies: not just for brown trout you know!

2010-04-23T21:10:00.008Z

I wanted to try a new venue this week, and taking the opportunity to to put my WADAA wild trout membership to use, paid an evening visit to High Fairbanks Tarn. I had little idea what to expect of this 11 acre reservoir except that it evidently has a population of native wild browns and is given a supplementary annual stocking of fit rainbow trout. A chat the night before to my friend Patrick - who guides in the South Lakes area - yielded little further information as he has yet to fish the water himself.....but one thing upon which we both seemed to agree was that given a ripple, a team of wet flies might be worth a try.

Wet flies for rainbow trout fishing seemed to go out of fashion a long time ago in favour of marabou and fritz lures and slim profile nymphs such as crunchers, diawl bachs and buzzers. Sure the wild brown trout anglers have tended to remain faithful to their wet flies, but you won't find many palmers, dabblers, bumbles and bibios in the fly box of your average stockie basher; and that is despite the fact that some top competition anglers have long since keyed onto the fact that in the right circumstances, wet flies can be absolutely deadly. Take a look at the magazine articles of George Barron and Stan Headley for instance.....and my mate Rob got to the finals for qualification to the national team last year on the back of his wet fly expertise. Strange then, that a hell of a lot of anglers eschew patterns more traditionally associated with wild brown trout in favour of three inch long fritz 'damsels' and the like when pursuing stocked rainbows.

As it turned out, conditions were perfect last night; high thin cloud kept the brightness off the water and a warm southerly breeze ruffled the water sufficiently to persuade me to put up a team of size 12 dabblers on a slow intermediate line. An occasional fish rose to hatching midge but otherwise, surface activity was fairly minimal. However, casting a short-ish line into the ripple from the windward bank and stroking the flies back up through the surface brought almost instant response and I went on to enjoy a couple of hours of unbelievable action with fish coming to the flies - particularly the dark claret dabbler on the top dropper - almost every cast. They were I imagine, freshly stocked fish and so no great credit can be claimed on my part as the going was in all honesty pretty straightforward. By the time the wind dropped away and the fish began to rise to a good hatch of midge I had returned around 15 rainbows just by searching the north bank, casting and moving, brown trout style. Interestingly, when I briefly offered a couple of mini lures to the fish, the takes dried up temporarily. No it was definitely the dabbler they wanted and the takes as I hung the top dropper in the surface film were heartbreakingly beautiful - text book 'head and tail' rises. I am convinced that on this occasion, the wet fly would have outfished the lure.

Once the breeze died, it was time to turn to the floating line of course and although the fishing got a bit trickier in the flat calm, I found that Shipman's buzzers and Stewart style black spiders presented on light tippet in the surface film still attracted plenty of attention. By fall of darkness I had lost count of the number of fish I had returned - top quality fishing in spectacular surroundings. And as I made my way across the fell back to the car, I was treated to a red orange sunset behind the Pikes and Bowfell at the head of Langdale. I love this time of year!

Note: Although much of the WADAA controlled fishing is available on a day ticket, please be aware that High Fairbanks is one of their 'members only' waters. Applications for membership can be made to manager Neil Birkinshaw via the link adjacent.
Thanks,
Matt

Flavour of the month

2010-04-17T12:47:00.005Z

Not much to report here I'm afraid, following my late session on the Ribble on Friday. Although it's far too early to expect evening sport on the river, I just fancied a nosey to see how our beat looked after the long winter.
I half hoped that if there were a few grannom around, the returning egg-laden females might induce a bit of feeding and some sport to a drowned pattern, but the little brown caddis were nowhere to be seen (their appearance probably delayed slightly like the rest of the spring).

As it was I had a pleasant couple of hours searching around with the nymph and duo and a few trout and grayling did oblige with most taking the sunk fly. Early impressions of the MOP nymphs (above) are very positive and certainly they warrant further trials. I expect them to come into their own in a few weeks when the olive uprights appear; the r. semicolorata nymph is of the broad-headed stoneclinger type and the black tungsten bead does an perfectly good job of recreating this profile in the water.

Watch out, buzzers about!

2010-04-10T15:09:00.003Z

A few hours with Dad last night revealed that although the chironomid (buzzer) hatches on our local Barnsfold Waters are yet to get into full swing, things are definitely looking up after a long, hard winter. A few big black fellows chose to put in an appearance and as usual, Dad did well with my suspender buzzer pattern - although the flat calm nature of the evening made rising fish a little on the testing side.
I opted for the easy way out and worked a pair of crunchers or diawl bachs on a sinking line behind a mini straggle pattern which acted as an attractor. Both techniques worked perfectly well and we returned 24 fish between us for barely 3 hour's effort. The catch included three well conditioned brownies, one of which is shown above.

When the midge hatches really get going any time now, the suspender pattern will really reap rewards. It has proved time and again to be simply deadly and this afternoon I have been behind the vice, replenishing depleted stocks in anticipation of the sport to come. The fly below is a slight variation on the usual theme I use (which is black thread ribbed with white spanflex). A gliss 'n glow tinsel body has been over ribbed with fine black wire here. Thanks are due to my mate Rob D for the nudge on this one!

Hook: Kamasan B100 #14,16
Thread: UTC70 brown olive
Rib: UTC small black
Body: MOP Rootbeer (gliss 'n glow)
Shuck (optional): A few strands of zelon fixed with a dab of 'Hard as Nails' varnish
Thorax: peacock micro bright
Thorax cover: White foam

Spring on the Eden - a prolonged spell of activity - hand tied leaders a success - r. germanica

2010-04-03T17:19:00.277Z

After giving lengthy consideration to where to spend my first river session of the new season, I finally settled on the Cumbrian Eden. The decision was far from straightforward as unpredictable Easter weather meant that a close eye on wind direction and water level was needed if the golden opportunity of A Day's Fishing was to be exploited as fully as possible.
In the end I chose a favourite beat of the Eden which in places affords a good deal of shelter from a keen wind and has been kind to me over recent seasons, both in terms of insect hatches and catch returns. In truth the Eden in general is a fine early season trout river; past experience has taught me that although the going might not always be easy, there is a good chance of picking up one of the river's larger residents during the early stages of the spring. I didn't expect to find many fish on the feed today, but I hoped that if I could find just one fish rising to a trickle of olives, he would be a good 'un.

As it happened, the day didn't turn out to be nearly as bad as the forecasters had predicted. Actually - notwithstanding the fact that temperatures are definitely on the chilly side at the moment - I would go so far as to say that today was an invigorating spring day of great beauty. Most of this beauty lay in the sky; great gatherings of clouds which varied in hue from purest, fluffy white to the darkest blue-grey, and resulted in an atmosphere which alternated between bright and airy, and doom-laden murk. Fortunately, the breeze remained slight throughout and any showers were light and brief. In fact, perfect conditions for a large dark olive hatch!

I had started out quite early. 10am saw me prospecting the runs lower down the beat with a pair of nymphs, which proved unsuccessful. The river was running about a foot above normal (although my marker stick showed it to be dropping back), and carrying a touch more colour than I would have liked. I didn't feel confident on the nymphs. After so long away from the river, I wanted to see a fish rising, a definite target to aim for. Nymphing in cold early season water felt not all that different to midwinter grayling fishing, a practice at which I have always proved less than competent.

So I decided to take a long, leisurely stroll upstream and spend some time watching the river for signs. I met up with a fellow member for a chat on the way and by the time I had arrived at a steady glide of some 100yds long - a favourite spot of mine - the time was just after midday.........and tight under the far bank grasses, a single fish was rising steadily. When I crossed over at the tail of the pool, the reason why became apparent immediately; a steady procession of olives was sailing past. In fact when I looked upstream, the whole pool's glassy surface was specked with pairs of dark dun wings.

I failed with that first fish. He took third time past but I pricked him and put him down - a shame as he was large. There was no need to worry though, because although the pool wasn't exactly alive with rising fish, there were clearly one or two more fish on the feed upstream of me. I don't mind admitting I was a bit nervous. After such a long winter, and the rear end of last season spent fishing stillwaters, I felt decidedly out of practice with the dry fly on running water. I was desperate to get off the mark and given the size of that first feeding fish, my hands had been shaking as I threaded one of my home made tapered leaders through the rings (more on that later).

Fortunately, the next fish stuck and after a long and dour fight, I had the net under the season's first river fish....and what a beauty - 2lb 11oz of Eden gold!

An olive paradun had done the job, although to be honest I think any appropriately size artificial would have been successful as the few fish that were feeding were doing so steadily. Such was the number of fly on the water that the biggest challenge was to put the dry right on the fishes' feeding lane; even a foot to one side and it was simply refused in favour of the next natural on the conveyor belt.

This intense hatch lasted from midday until just before 3pm and was restricted apparently, to this one long pool. About halfway through I had a quick peep up and downstream only to confirm that the spell of activity, whilst being prolonged, was fairly localised. I tried my best to capitalise on this by focusing all my attention on extracting as high a proportion of the visibly feeding trout as possible. In the flat, steady water, this wasn't always easy, but in the end I was fairly happy with my efforts. I had cast to a total of 9 trout, putting one down with a clumsy cast, pricking two others and landing the rest: 6 early season trout which - the aforementioned 2lber apart - ranged in weight from 1lb to 1lb 9oz. Far better fishing than I had honestly expected.
The last two fish had proved most satisfying. As the hatch began to fail, these two were left in very calm water, rising sporadically every few minutes. The hand tied 10' leader I had been using up until now had proved more than adequate (I had harboured reservations about the number of knots in the leader and whether they would create unwanted spray on lifting off; fears which in practice had proved unfounded). However, these fish treated my offering with contempt and it was clear a bit more finesse was required. I changed leader to a 12' 'fine and far off' formula with 0.10mm tippet and put up a no-hackle snowshoe hare pattern......and was delighted to find that this worked a treat with both trout taking first pass apparently without hesitation. This got me wondering how often in the past I have been unknowingly handicapped by my shop bought tapered leaders. Have I missed a few opportunities which specialised hand tied leaders might have converted? Time will tell, but my curiosity has been aroused.

Another event bears recounting, which for an entomolgical nerd like me was almost as pleasing as the fishing itself. From about 1pm, I noticed a trickle of large, mottled brown duns begin to emerge. At this time of year on our northern rivers, these are almost inevitably going to be large brook duns, but I always net a couple just to check. On this occasion I got a pleasant surprise. I thought they looked somehow different in attitude on the water to the brook duns and sure enough when I caught one and examined it, it was immediately apparent that these were in fact true March Browns (r. germanica), easily identifiable by the presence of a dark blotch on the femur of each leg which is only present in the rithrogena species (r. semicolorata, the olive upright, has them too).
I had heard of the presence of the March Brown on the Eden system before, but never actually found one. It was nice to see them today; I counted maybe two dozen over a period of an hour or so which along with the heavy olive hatch, left me feeling that the Eden must be a fairly healthy river still.

It was great to be back on the river after so long and nice to discover that I haven't completely forgotten how to tackle running water. I have a feeling that a few wintry turns are in the pipeline for us yet, before we can finally say that spring has a full grip on proceedings.....but this enjoyable afternoon will go a long way to tiding me over until the weather warms up and the cream of the season's trouting arrives.

A miserable return to action.

2010-03-28T18:40:00.002Z

After three fishing-less months I finally got out today, although to be honest, I wish I hadn't bothered. A fiercely chilly westerly wind accompanied bright sunshine this afternoon and promised a difficult few hours on my local put and take fishery and so it proved - I fished steadfastly for three hours with numb fingers, working my way through the line densities, on nymphs and lures, with my back to the wind, facing square into it and all points of the compass in between........for one pull and one fish, a rather ropy looking rainbow of about 2lb which found a horrific blob/viva/booby hybrid to its liking. Frankly, I'm embarrassed!

Next week brings the Easter bank holiday and my first outing on running water of the new season. As I write, the midweek forecast is for heavy snow with temperatures struggling to reach 4 degrees by Thursday. Oh happy days.

Dreaming of a drifting boat........

2010-03-20T16:04:00.006Z

I've been doing more daydreaming lately than would generally be considered healthy for a man. With milder spring weather prevailing and some encouraging reports from one or two of my fishing mates, I'm absolutely itching to get on the water, be it river, stillwater or just a full bucket! This year has seen one of my longest periods of enforced fishing inactivity I can ever remember and it may well be right at the end of this month before I yet feel a bend in the rod again (I'm afraid this blog has more or less become a catalogue of my work at the tying vice recently. Not very interesting I know, but hopefully I'll be able to rectify that soon).

My daydreaming this week took me onto a favourite wild lake and fishing from a drifting boat on the back of a mild, moist south westerly for the most beautiful brown trout in the country. It was no surprise then, that when I settled down behind the vice today, I finally left the spiders and river nymphs behind in favour of some stillwater wet flies. The results are shown below...and you have my word that my next post will involve some actual fishing, promise!

Bibio

Hook: Kamasan B170 #14
Thread: UTC 70 black
Rib: medium mirage tinsel
Body: black, then red-claret, then black seals fur
Hackle: black cock
Head Hackle: black hen

Bibio Hopper

Dressing as above except body hackle is omitted and knotted black PT legs are added.

Perch/Bullhead Muddler

Hook: Fulling Mill comp heavyweight #10
Thread: UTC 120 olive
Tail: Glo-bright floss #5
Rib: UTC hot orange wire
Body: blend of olive seals furs with a couple of strands of pearl ice wing
Hackle: dark furnace hen
Wing: dyed olive roe deer hair

Green Glister Muddler

Hook: Fulling Mill comp heavyweight #10
Thread: UTC 120 olive
Rib: UTC gold wire
Body: mix of peacock and light olive glister
Hackle: grizzle hen dyed golden olive
Head: roe deer hair

Amber Caddis Muddler

Hook: Fulling Mill comp heavyweight #10
Thread: UTC 120 olive
Rib: UTC hot yellow wire
Body: blend of sunburst/orange/peach seals furs
Hackle: badger cock
Head: roe deer hair with a few strands of MOP rootbeer

Malham Green Dabbler

Hook: Kamasan B175 #12
Thread: UTC 70 brown olive
Tail: pheasant tail dyed picric
Rib: UTC gold wire
Body: blend of olive seals furs with a pinch of insect green
Hackle: dark furnace hen
Wing: cloaked bronze mallard with jungle cock splits optional.

Claret Dabbler

Hook: Kamasan B175 #12
Thread: UTC 70 rusty brown
Tails: natural pheasant tail over a few strands of red mirror flash
Rib: UTC red/wine wire
Body: blend of claret seals furs
Hackle: dark furnace hen
Wing: cloaked bronze mallard with jungle cock splits optional

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