Getting lost, salmon and the company of good friends. Join Pete Tyjas and friends on a road trip
“Don’t step the in the dog shi….” It was too late, the deeply ridged sole of my training shoe landed squarely in the centre of it.
Instead of slipping in to my waders I did what I can only described as an accurate impression of someone on a skateboard trying to build up some speed. The only issue was I, of course, had no skateboard.
Jim and Duncan tried, not very hard, to conceal their sniggers. I got as much of it off as I could but it was the start of the day and I wanted to fish. So did the guys.
There were just a few days left for salmon fishing on the river we were fishing. We’d got up relatively early and made the trip fueled by coffee and doughnuts to the beat we were due to fish.
We were lucky with the added attraction of grayling in the river but salmon were high on all of our lists.
I sat and watched as Duncan led us down the beat to take a look. Neither Jim or I can keep up with him when he is excited about going fishing. This is most of the time. We talked as we lagged farther behind.
In normal salmon fishing circles you start at the top of the beat and fish your way down but we were now at the bottom of the beat looking at a sweet looking pool.
It had two man-made groynes that funneled the water across and towards the far bank where it then swung back out towards the middle of the pool at the tail. The pool was 50 yards long and there were a series of wooden planks that were attached to concrete filled tractor tyres that formed a casting area that would make easy fishing for the tail of the pool. These didn’t really seem anywhere near the main flow though and gave us a good clue as to how low the water was.
We watched Duncan’s line travel out over the water and swing round in an enticing arc. Jim and I had brought our grayling gear too and walked just a short distance upstream to try our luck.
I left the nymphing rod back in the truck, it was mild, the sun was shining and there were plenty of stoneflies around. I wanted to try and catch a grayling on a dry but hung a nymph below it just in case.
The grayling all took the nymph despite my bests efforts and lack of rises.
Duncan was fishing a pool where he’d seen salmon move. He was halfway down the pool when Jim followed him. This pool had a narrow, fast neck that ran down the far bank. There was a big, deep back eddy that you had to cross to properly fish the run. Duncan shouted out that we needed to watch out for the metal spikes that poked out from the remnants of another set of casting platforms. So, we had to run the assault course too.
We ate some crisps talked a little and I left the guys to fish the riffle above where Duncan had been fishing. Jim had succumbed and strung up his rod for grayling too.
The riffle was only ankle deep but it held fish. I caught a grayling and a couple of out of season trout too. When I caught up with Jim a little later he’d caught a couple of grayling and lost a couple.
Duncan had stuck with the double handed rod, had fished each pool methodically and at one stage thought he might have had a pull.
Reinvigorated, Jim and Duncan headed to the top salmon pool where I joined them a couple of grayling later. Again, I walked just a short distance upstream where I’d seen a tiny brook empty into the main river that had a couple of rising fish in them. The rises had a tell-tale bubble in them, they had to be grayling. I missed a fish but my attention had been caught by what looked like a silver salmon leaping 200 yards or so upstream of where I was fishing. The sun had clouded over and the birds were singing.
To me, this is a sign the air pressure might be ticking up a little and the fish might come on. I left the pool to find my salmon rod realising that Jim had locked it in his car for safe keeping as I hadn’t been using it. I walked to my truck side stepping any remnants of dog turd and pulled out my other double handed rod.
I put it together and walked downstream to the pool Duncan had fished an hour or two earlier. I passed him and he told me he’d stepped on a rock that moved and he’d taken a dunking. The water was cold but things like this don’t bother Duncan, he fishes through anything.
I let him get on with the fishing and said that it felt “right” for salmon now and I was going to give it a go.
I went the long way round to the very head of the pool. It meant I didn’t have to dodge any metal spikes or deep back eddies.
I played the line out and made a roll cast so that my line was ready for the next cast. The neck of the run wasn’t wide so I just made a static roll cast across the pool. As it reached the edge of where the fast water met the slower water on my side of the run I felt a gentle tug and then a firm pull from a fish. I lifted and it was on.
The fish stayed deep but headed a short way down stream. I was a little nervous of following it at this stage and felt a little relieved that it headed back to me before running into the faster water again. It felt as though it was well hooked. I didn’t have a net and didn’t want to try and coax the fish through the deep water in front of me. I looked upstream but couldn’t see the boys but gave a call just in case.
I’ve been lucky enough to catch plenty of salmon but was more worried about impaling myself or worse still the salmon wrapping the leader around the metal spikes Duncan had told us about earlier.
Thankfully, Duncan appeared and his face had broken into a broad grin when he’d seen my rod bucking under the weight of the salmon. To be honest, I was a little embarrassed. I’d watched him fish the pools beautifully without success and then I pick up my rod make two casts and have a fish on.
It wasn’t an epic battle, the fish gave up, Duncan christened his new weigh net, we took some photos and sent it on its way. 8 3/4lb.
I ushered him into the pool just in case there was another biting fish. Often, when there is one, there is another.
The moment passed quickly, we commented on how the temperature dropped the clouds built and the rain came.
Jim arrived and followed Duncan down the pool just in case and we packed up for the day.
The journey to the B&B was a surreal one. We went via a curry house that was excellent although very busy and had only one incredibly flustered waiter who looked as though he wouldn’t last another night like the one has was experiencing this evening.
On the last leg of our drive we had to take a long narrow country lane, the car in front of us was clearly a little nervous that the pick-up truck following him was going to either force him off the road or find out where he lived tie him up and ransack his house. He pulled over and let me past perhaps so that I couldn’t follow him home. The problem was that we’d been driving down the lane for what seemed quite some time and the directions said we’d only need to be on the lane for 1/2 mile or so. My biggest worry was how and where to turn round and if I managed it (I did after a rather deft 52 point turn) that we’d be heading straight for the guy fearing for his life.
This was the strange bit. He’d disappeared. I couldn’t tell you where.
It took three phone calls to try and get some directions to the B&B. “Turn right by the large oak” doesn’t really work at 9.45pm and so the owner very kindly jumped in his car and found us. It turned out he didn’t have to go far as we were actually parked beside the tree in question.
The B&B was excellent and the breakfast filled us for the fishing that was to come.
The morning was wet and overcast. There had been a lot of rain and the lane where the B&B was perched on the brow of a hill was running fast and dirty.
We’d booked a different beat for today. It was a short distance upstream and had three salmon pools. As we walked through the gate we saw the middle of the three pools in front of us. A large, long V of broken water that ran into the centre of the rest of the pool that maintained a nice speed and depth to it for a good 30 yards or so.
We set up and Jim and I were to fish the pool as Duncan fancied scouting upstream. We both fished the pool shouting advice and encouragement as we did so. I fished it down as far as I thought was worthwhile, wound in and walked up to where we’d left an assortment of gear.
Duncan was there now, he’d lit the stove and had coffee on. He seemed much quieter than normal.
“You’ve had one haven’t you?” I asked. He nodded and smiled. For just a moment I was a little sad. I really would have liked to have been there to help celebrate the moment but sometimes it is good to savour the moment alone. That having been said, Duncan is a good person to be around when a fish is caught.
Jim came up and he told him it was a 4lb grilse. After handshakes, hugs and listening to the story we drank good coffee and Jim and I headed upstream to the pool Duncan had fished. He said he had seen another fish move in there.
It was a longer walk than we expected. We walk more slowly than Duncan but saw the pool he’d described.
It was short drop into a run than was no more than 40 feet or so wide at its very widest. It ran against the far bank and so we negotiated the slippery rocks to fish it.
Jim fished it first. I say fished it. After just three casts he lifted into a fish. The fish pulled hard, really hard but Jim applied side strain when he needed to and let the salmon run when it wanted to. I slipped the net under the fish, a hen.
We admired it as it lay before us. It had a little less colour than both we had caught so far and looked 13lb or so.
There is something special about the release of a salmon, the connection you have had that, although brief, burns deep into the angler’s memory for many years if not the rest of their life. I could sense this moment when Jim let the fish slide from his hands.
Jim offered me the pool and despite the line being pulled that was it.
As I was about to wind in I noticed Duncan appear. It would be easy to shout that Jim had caught a fish but it was his news and was only right he tell Duncan.
As Jim fished down the pool again he lifted into a smaller fish this time. It looked like a grilse that after splashing near the surface came off.
I watched as Duncan stripped line from his reel and started to follow Jim down the pool. They both worked down and apart from a good trout that Jim caught that was it. The overnight rain was starting to have an impact. The river was starting to rise, slowly at first but was becoming a little more noticeable. It seemed that if these were resident fish that they had noticed the change in water height and were getting restless ready to run or perhaps they had already started to run and were resting in the pool before continuing upstream.
As it was a smallish pool and we’d hit it hard with swung flies I thought I would try a different approach. I had my single hand rod and intermediate line and felt that if the fish were a little bitey that I might provoke an aggressive response by fishing a square, fast fly.
After a couple of casts I had a sharp pull that I cursed at missing but just a couple of casts later I had an almighty take. The fish headed downstream and leapt. It was a nice one and the guys had seen it too. I applied as much side strain as I dared and held on as it first went downstream before changing direction towards the head of the pool where I’d first hooked it. Jim was ready to fish the pool and as the fish headed downstream again it was clear for him to try.
Duncan was next to me now with the net he’d grabbed from Jim. It looked as though each time the fish came close it would get another surge of energy and run back out into the flow again sometimes just sitting on the bottom of the pool before taking off once again.
It looked as I was getting the upper hand and the fish was close in again. It wasn’t high enough in the water for Duncan to slide the net under but this time it really ran. It took all of the fly line off of the reel and headed towards a rock that was poking above the water’s surface. It is funny how you think about the fight as it happens and the longer this one went on the more I thought I would lose the fish. At this stage I try my best to come to terms with the loss if it happens.
The line stopped moving and then moved again. I let myself breathe but stopped again as I pulled on the line a little. It looked like it was trapped around the rock. Duncan saw what had happened and waded out into the flow and somehow freed the line. The fish was still on and I had decided enough was enough. I wanted to get the fish in and back as quickly as possible and so gave as much pressure as I dared. It proved too much for the salmon and it gave up the fight and was in the net.
The cock fish had a magnificent kype that gave it a prehistoric look. I felt the cold water on my fingers as I cradled the fish. It didn’t take any reviving before it swam away.
I snipped off my flies and sat down as the guys tried to eek the last out of the pool that they could before the colour and height made it too much to handle.
We made more coffee, ate 2 day old sandwiches that we freshened up on the stove before packing up and heading home again.
I don’t think fishing trips get as good as this. Not just for the fish we caught but the company and everything that went with it.
There was a downside though, my training shoe stank for the duration of the drive home. Perhaps it was my accident that had brought us good luck, and restored some balance to the Universe.