Paul Jesney has written us a piece about a memorable day he spent on the river for a number of reasons. Check out the bottom picture, it says it all. Nice one Paul!
After a very short conversation, and an even quicker decision, me and my good buddy Gerald had not only chosen a river but also the beat we were going to hit for our 2015 early season trout trip.
An abundance of hatches are to be found here early season and sometimes, if you're lucky enough, the really big boys and girls come out to play.
At the end of a tiny lane the road opened up and we were confronted with rolling green hills and woodlands as far as we could see.
We parked the car and headed through the gate that lead to the river.
I had already set my rod up the night before so, like a selfish git, I ran off to the first pool and left Gerald to finish faffing about and catch up.
I walked downstream to the bottom of the beat dissecting every pool I walked past. Thinking where the fish might be and memorising any likely spots for when I could finally cast my fly at them.
We got down to the first pool and like the true gent that I am, I let Gerald fish the head of the pool while I started at the tail and worked my way up to the faster water.
A big wide pool with a clear channel running right down the middle of it and huge rocks looming in the darkness of the deeper water. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up as I imagined what fish could be hiding beneath the rippled water.
I started with a French leader I hand tie myself and a heavy 3.5mm tungsten bead fly on the point, followed by a 3mm tungsten bead on the dropper. The water was running at a good pace and with no signs of fly life yet, or fish rising, (typical, as that’s what we were there for) I figured I needed to get my flies down to the fish.
I was stumbling around on the giant boulders right up to the top of my waders casting the flies as far as I could with my road at a full length of 10 ½ feet. It was a struggle to fish the flies where I wanted them to be but I wasn’t going at it half hearted and didn’t care if I went for a swim in the process.
I had now made it up to where Gerald had started. The water now a bit faster and a fair bit shallower and I could see a few up winged flies starting to hatch on the water's surface. It was the magic 11 o’clock which is when it usually kicks off on this river.
I cast my flies up in front of a big boulder, I could see as my flies went past the back end of it and my bi colour mono indicator stopped dead ,the line tightened and I was into a fish.
It felt heavy, not moving much, it was just lazily moving up and down the pool .I didn’t think it was a particularly good fish but more it was holding in the current and doing a good job of making me look pretty silly.
I finally managed to get the fish near the surface and I then caught my first glimpse of it. My legs instantly turned to jelly. Here I am, balancing on a rock with deep water all around me and on the end of my line is by far my biggest brown trout by a country mile. PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE STAY ON!!!
I shouted some incomprehensible babbled words at Gerald and finally tried to net it. No chance, too soon. The damn thing saw the net and woke up with such fury that it made one of the wife’s tantrums seem quite tame in comparison.
Holding on for dear life as it thrashed its head and porpoised and jumped around the pool, it shot off in a series of finger blistering runs. I felt so nervous and the rest of it went by in a blurred, slowed down almost dream like state, but I eventually got it in the net.
I couldn’t talk, not a word, I could hardly draw breath. I stood there with a smile so big you could have seen my crooked teeth from space. I was just staring at this beast of a fish.
3lb 9oz of pristine spotted gold.
I spent some time making sure the fish was strong enough to be returned and it powered away from me, back to the depths behind its giant rock.
I was still in a state of shock and could have just left it there, but as that was my first fish and we had only been there an hour, it just seemed rude not to carry on. Plus there was more of this pool to fish and now I was getting to the good bit.
I cast my flies into the clear run of fast water near the middle of the river, no more than 10 feet upstream of the big rock I had caught the Kraken trout from and on my fifth cast, my line goes tight again. I really didn’t expect any more fish but a cracker of 2 ½ lb came crashing out of the water and again, took off in an amazing display of acrobatics.
Again I was in for a scrap and I took my time not bullying the fish and letting him dictate where he wanted to go to a certain degree. He slid gently into the net and there it was, my second fish and a solid lump at that. I could not believe how good this river was.
We battled on for the rest of the day, pool after amazing pool, trying both nymphs and dries but to no avail. We had had our fun for the day and just enjoyed the absolute beauty of the countryside we were lucky enough to be in.
Its not about how many fish you catch, or how big they are. Its not about catching the most difficult fish to cast to nor spending time with true friends or the sheer beauty of a place.
Its all of that. Every single exquisite drop. That’s what makes it all so interesting, its never the same twice and you could never predict a day on the water if you tried.
Everyone enjoys a different aspect of it to the next guy, and that’s why I love it so much.