In part two of his trilogy Kris Kent packs his rods once more in search of fish, good company and excellent nicknames.
In part one I explored my early experiences of fishing abroad. In part two the story continues.
Paul Proctor proved such a great host in Poland that I booked my next trip with him to Bosnia. Another hosted trip with a mixed group. Whilst Slovenia has been a popular destination for British anglers for some years Bosnia is only just starting to make a name for itself although other European anglers have been enjoying its fruits for many years. In fact we met Italians, Germans and Scandinavians during our week. We based ourselves close by the Pliva river but also made forays further afield to enjoy the rivers Sana and Ribnek. We were made very welcome by Pedja who doubled up running the guest house with his role as local police chief and distiller of the finest Plivavica. This is the local version of Slivovica, Bosnian firewater made from the plums that grow everywhere. Pedja was very proud of his product and served the Plivavica at breakfast, lunch and dinner. You don’t say to no to Pedja so thick heads were a feature of the week.
All three rivers we fished ran clear with lush weed growth, vibrant insect life and an abundance of beautiful brown trout and grayling. Whilst they rose freely they weren’t easy. The gin clear waters made a stealthy approach essential. The Pliva is a fabulous river. We crossed it just before arriving at the guest house. From the bridge it looked broad and shallow. The depth is deceiving with such clear water. Whilst you could wade almost all of it at times it was lapping at the top of my waders. We asked Pedja how far we were from the river's source. When he said less than a mile we couldn’t believe it. The breadth of the river surely meant we must be some tens of miles downstream. So the guides said they would take us to see. We parked up by the hotel and tackle shop and made our way on foot to the source of the Pliva. What we found astonished us - The Pliva appears, almost fully formed, straight out of the side of a mountain. The mountains are mainly limestone, which accounts for the water clarity and abundant fly life, and the Pliva forms deep underground before coming to the surface.
That week I learnt that I sometimes know what I’m talking about. I was with Paul Mercer fishing opposite the hotel near the source of the river. I acted as Paul’s bat man come valet on the trip. He asked my advice which I shared with him. I suggested he cast to the edge of the fast run on the far bank and to track the fly with the rod tip as it came back towards him raising the rod tip in the process so he was ready to roll cast the fly out at the end of the drift. He did this and a fish rose and took his fly half way down. Paul couldn’t believe it and neither could I. A few minutes later Paul Proctor wandered down and gave him the same advice, couldn’t have been too far off the mark. I also discovered that the guide isn’t always right. We had two local guides in Bosnia, Mita and Jan. Mita was second in command, quietly spoken and always ready to help.
Jan was in charge. He had a military air about him, a man of few words but authoritative. Jan had a knack of sneaking up on you without you knowing it. Jan was nearly always on the mark when it came to fly choice and technique. The go-to fly in Bosnia was a flying ant, but in very small sizes. I never actually saw any ants on the water but it nearly always caught fish. One day I saw a good brownie rising in a difficult spot in amongst some weed on the far bank. I asked Jan and he suggested an ant pattern before disappearing off up river. I tied on said ant and presented it to the fish, it ignored it. I tried a small olive upright pattern which it too rejected. Several other patterns were duly snubbed. Eventually I tied on a big fat foam beetle with a peacock herl underbody and something sparkly over its back. It landed with a plop two feet short of the fish. The fish hurled itself across the river and engulfed the fly. A few minutes later my best brownie of the trip lay spent in the bottom of my net. Unbeknown to me Jan had snuck back and been watching me land the fish from behind a nearby tree. Having released the fish Jan called me over asking what fly had tricked the beast. I showed him the big garish foam beetle, Jan looked to the skies, shock his head silently in disbelief and walked off without saying a word.
Do you sometimes find yourself so intent on experiencing the far away and the exotic that you forget about what’s on your doorstep? After a number of foreign trips in 2012 I thought I would try something a little closer to home, as it turned out metaphorically rather than physically. A number of friends had sung the praises of the Scourie Hotel in the very north east of Scotland. Whilst Scotland wasn’t technically foreign, depending how the independence referendum goes it might soon be, it was a long way away. So I booked a week in the Highlands for late summer. No one else seemed very interested in going so it was to be another solo effort.
I often forget how far away parts of the UK can be. When I started to plan my journey I realised that it wasn’t going to be practical to get to Scourie in a day so I broke the journey with an overnight stay in Lancaster. This would enable me to hit John Norris in Penrith at opening time, top up with emergency supplies and get up to Scourie for late afternoon. Often I find that the getting to a place can be as exciting as the place itself. The journey north was fabulous - the weather behaved itself and bathed the hills as you head towards Glasgow in a glorious late summer sun. The A9 from Perth to Inverness was a joy, winding its way up to the pass at Drumochter and then down to the Moray Firth. Brief glimpses of railways, salmony rivers, red deer and distilleries. Broad fertile plains clothed in wheat and barley, steep stony mountains peppered with purple heather. It’s enough to turn you all Rabbie Burns. After crossing the Kessock Bridge it was on to the back roads. Narrow single track roads past remote farms and windswept lochs, dodging suicidal sheep and cavernous potholes.
Arriving at Scourie was a relief though. Patrick and Judy offered a very warm welcome and a nice cup of tea before showing me to my room and giving me the low down on the fishing. Scourie is one of those now rare examples of a proper fishing hotel. The walls are covered in maps, pictures of lochs, and rivers and fish and fishermen, there are stuffed cased fish everywhere. There are plenty of big soft armchairs and sofas to sink into after a long day on the water. The bar is well stocked and the food excellent. A hearty breakfast to see you on your way and a sumptuous dinner to welcome you back. The Scourie Hotel has more fishing than you can shake a large stick at, very large. It is mostly loch fishing but with a few streams in the mix and some salmon fishing on the Dionard. Fishing is allocated each evening by the Board Master, the most senior member of the fishing fraternity in residence, so ensuring that everyone gets a fair bash at the different waters.
My abiding memory of Scourie is of the generosity of strangers. As a singleton and Scourie virgin I was taken under the wings of various guests for dinner, for drinks and for fishing. Another solo visitor Andy, let me join him in the boat on Loch More. That was a blustery day with big waves and mini tornadoes blowing down the loch. I joined him and Mac the Ghillie for a day on Loch Stack and we explored Loch Duartmore and the River Duart together. Two Scottish Policemen then took me in hand and hiked me up into the hills to fish Loch A'Muirt and the numerous lochans that surround it. We caught plenty of game brown trout as wild as they come but sadly nothing to emulate the cased giants that line the walls of the hotel.
I also learnt never to ignore good advice. They say that in the Highlands “if you don’t like the weather wait an hour.” You often get all four seasons in one day. My last day's fishing was on Loch Na Thull and that day all I got was winter. The cloud came down, the wind and rain set in. It was absolutely miserable. But I was determined to make the best of it. I worked my way round the rocky shore, from the pull in off the A838, and along the narrow channel toward the main body of the Loch and the fine view of Arkle. My team of three traditional Loch style flies furrowed through the waves attractively but sadly untouched. I was wondering what to try next when I remembered one of the old retainers saying that an Orange Muddler was deadly on the Lochs. Did I have an Orange Muddler? I eventually found one lurking in a box I’d forgotten I had packed. I put it on the top dropper and cast it out. Second retrieve a small brownie smashed it. The same on the third and fourth casts. It didn’t account for a fish every cast but I must have had a couple of dozen before the persistent rain became too much for me and I retreated to a local cafe for a bowl of hot Cullen skink and a wee dram.
Having mostly relied upon professionals to organise my trips abroad, occasionally you get to thinking, how hard can it be? And of course, if I did it myself wouldn’t I save a bit? In my experience companies like Fly Odyssey and Go Fly Fishing Worldwide (other travel companies are available) provide an excellent service but of course they have to make a profit and the host has to make a living too. For our last trip abroad we decided we would do it ourselves.
Four of us fancied trying out Norway and I’d seen adverts for drift boat fishing on the River Trysil. So I contacted the guide Espen Andre Eilertsen, at Call of the Wild, and he arranged the fishing and accommodation. We booked a hire car over the internet and each of us booked our own flights. Job done, and all very straightforward.
Whilst I knew all the other members of the party they didn’t all know one another so at the start of the week it took us a while to work out how to get along. Luckily we all rubbed along pretty well and everyone found their niche. I did the driving and cooked breakfast, they each took turns rustling up dinner, laying table and washing up etc. The fishing was challenging, big powerful river, but very rewarding although I think the others would have liked to catch a few more brownies. The Trysil has no run of salmon and a huge head of grayling but relatively few brown trout.
Lessons from that trip included: never trust a Brewer to buy beer. Paul runs a brewery in the Lake District and has won awards for his beers. However on two occasions when stocking up in the supermarket he tried to buy alcohol free beer. A disaster averted by attentive checkout staff. I also learnt that I have more nicknames than anyone else I know. Why is that? In Bosnia Paul Proctor nicknamed me Silverback, an illusion to my similarity with a dominant male Gorilla. In Norway we each collected a new nickname, for some reason preceded by the title Darth, as in Darth Vader. Simon was Darth BBQ in recognition of his hard work cooking up a feast by the riverside. Charles was Darth Wincher for his habit of bringing fish in on the reel rather than hand lining them. Paul was Darth Napper after his habit of falling asleep on the river bank at every possible opportunity. And I was Darth Great Big F*cker. Some years ago I was pulling on my waders and stringing up my rod in readiness for fishing the Derbyshire Wye when another car pulled up and a short fat gentleman got out. He was obviously another fisherman and he spent a few moments eyeing me up before striding across. As he neared me he loudly exclaimed “you’re a great big f*cker”. Now he wasn’t wrong but I’m not sure I would have chosen the same turn of phrase if I was in his shoes. I didn’t warm to the man. But the story spread so hence, Darth Great Big F*cker.
So this has been the story so far. In part three we will see what I can learn in Slovenia on this year’s fishing jaunt.
Biography:
Kris Kent has been fly fishing and trotting for brown trout and grayling for over 20 years in the UK, Europe and Scandinavia. He is PR Officer for the Grayling Society and helps out The Wild Trout Trust with their online communications and events.