Pete Tyjas packs his rucksack and fishing rod along with the company of some good friends and a few trout too.
The banter had eased off just a little as we were hot, had walked a fair way and were carrying what seemed far too much gear for an overnight stay.
The tree line opened in front of us and we looked down the valley and then across it to where we would be staying for the night.
The sight was breathtaking and the weariness lifted as the end of the hike was near.
As we walked down one side of the valley we crossed a small bridge and caught a glimpse of the river. It was everything I hoped it would be. Small, clear and running over a combination of small stones and larger rocks that made enticing plunge pools.
We would be high country trout fishing where fish are small, mostly five or six inches sometimes 10 and on rare occasions bigger still.
Setting up camp was more organised that I thought it would be. Wood for the fire was cut, tents were pitched and rods were rigged.
It felt good to be walking to the river without the weight of a rucksack. We decided to head downstream and then leapfrog each other as we fished back up again.
I was eager to start, I’d had a really long spell of guiding and just wanted to cast a line and catch some trout. Sometimes I worry I am too eager and I felt a momentary pang of guilt as I watched two of our team sit on a rock and set up their Tenkara rods. It seemed as thought the Zen like qualities of the Tenkara rods had rubbed off on them as they then sat down and watched.
The river had taken a steeper path over a short section in front of us, the boulders were big here and climbing over one of them gave me a view of a pool I felt sure I would catch a fish in. I didn’t.
I heard a curse from the pool above as a fish had been missed by one of us who was as eager as me. I looked up towards the Tenkara guys who still sat there patiently, just waiting.
Two pools later and a small trout took my fly. It only needed me to lift as the take had been so aggressive almost as if the trout's life depended on it. In a way, it did.
The Tenkara guys still sat.
I wiped the sweat from my brow. I felt as though I was in a good groove as I was catching fish and took a swig of water and sat on a stone for a few moments.
The Tenkara guys had moved. I got up and walked a short distance upstream to watch. They looked trance like and focussed. It was no surprise that the first cast resulted in a fish. A nice one for these parts. I smiled. I couldn’t help it. I wondered if there had beeen some form of karma involved but even if there wasn’t it felt as though there should have been.
I have fished Tenkara a fair bit now but always enjoy watching a skilled practitioner first play the fish and then bring it to hand. It seemed as though we were in exactly the right place for this sort of fishing.
We leapfrogged each other as we continued to fish the river. We caught fish and we lost fish. It didn’t matter.
The masters of Zen had caught enough fish and needed refreshment from something other than water. The beer was at camp and that is where they headed. Three of us fished on. The river had got smaller still and we looked for deeper pools to fish in. It is where we found the fish, enough of them that someone suggested we head back and no one disagreed.
We sat in front of a fire eating, drinking and talking mainly about fishing but not always. First the beers were finished then the wine and then the whisky. We kept the fire going as it got cooler but when it got to the stage that it looked unsalvageable we headed to our tents.
The bright sun of the previous day was now gone replaced by mist and rain. We cooked breakfast over a stove rather than a fire. There were some heavy heads and everything in camp moved a little more slowly than the day before. We tidied up in silence.
It rained some more and the mist got a little thicker but out of the darkness we saw a figure appear and head towards us. He was dressed all in black except for a yellow rubber glove on his left hand. At first, we were too polite to ask the young guy why he had a rubber glove on his hand but he was wet and cold and I gave him the coffee I was drinking to try and warm him up a little.
He had been hiking and looked a little lost. We gave him a cup of tea with plenty of sugar and watched as he tried hard to digest the directions he just been given.
We’d decided we would seek sanctuary in a pub and couldn’t leave him to walk on in the worsening conditions and told him the cars were nearer than he’d be walking to and so if he’d like to join us on the walk out we’d drop him off. It was little surprise when he decided he would.
The walk out seemed easier. It didn’t feel as far but it didn’t matter. It was worth it. Every second. Fishing is more than catching fish, much more. We all know that but trips like this reinforce it just to make sure we don’t lose sight of the fact. I worry sometimes people do.
Oh, the rubber glove. The guy had found it in his pocket and was using it to keep warm. We couldn’t work out what he had been doing that needed just one rubber glove but we were just too polite to ask.
Pete Tyjas is a fishing guide based in Devon