Life sometimes has a habit of getting in the way of our plans, or waters we might like to fish. Vince Brandon had to wait a bit before finding a river that ticks all of his fly fishing boxes but he thinks he might have found it.
Like many youngsters brought up within the bounds of Greater London, I learnt about fishing from dangling maggots in the Grand Union Canal and thought that fly fishing was something that country nobs dressed in tweed did on their estates. However, I admired the elegance of fly fishing from a distance as the local fishing was any method and I stayed within my comfort zone using free lined worms whenever I went out. Rolling the clock forward over 20 years, I arrived in Wiltshire, within walking distance of the Avon and my fascination with fly fishing was resurrected as I peered in to the crystal clear waters. I suspect that I must have mentioned my interest a few times as my wife presented me with a gift token for a day's guided tuition and fishing at Middle Woodford for my 40th birthday.
It was in mid September, 10 years ago that I used the gift token and I remember parts of the day very clearly. The morning was spent teaching me to cast, which given that I am left handed possibly presented a challenge; we also covered some entomology and how to approach a fish. Later in the day, I was let loose on my own with a selection of flies. To be honest, it did not go too well as I proceeded to get wrapped around various bits of vegetation and scared lots of fish, eventually losing all the flies that I had been given. Somewhat despondent I returned to the fishing hut. However, I was put straight back in the saddle and sent out with a new supply of flies. As dusk fell, a strange thing happened, I saw a rising fish that I cast to and did not scare. Even odder, it had risen to the fly and missed. I cast again and the same thing happened. I cast a 3rd time but was distracted by coils of line around my feet, when I looked up I could not see the brown speck that had been my fly and I lifted into a solid weight. Initially, I assumed that I had snagged something before the leader rapidly took off upstream. After a battle that had more than a little bit of the Keystone cops about it, I finally landed a lump of a grayling. A cracking fish, it is still possibly one of my biggest grayling and in the pub that evening I replayed the whole scenario over and over again. I suspect I might have mentioned it at home a few times as well because there were a few “yes dear” conversations.
But having got the bug I was a bit stymied, money was tighter in those days and the household budget was not going to stand up to a new chalkstream fly fishing hobby. Additionally, this was when the World Wide Web was in its infancy and information was much harder to come by unless you knew someone, who knew someone. Nevertheless, I plundered Amesbury library for books and wandered the river banks looking for advice until an opportunity arose to take my middle son for a taster day at the nearby Langford Lakes. I must admit that there was a lot of self interest in putting his name down but he had coarse fished many times before and liked being outdoors. He was an extremely proud boy as he landed a fish just as we arrived to collect him, and the fish graced the table a couple of hours later.
I then, via a fishing forum, met Dave Wiltshire who offered to take me out on Wellow Brook. The Wellow is one of those little gems that you only find out about by accident. That afternoon with Dave showed me how much I had to learn. The simple overhead casts that I had been using in my previous fishing career were not going to be precise enough for this small stream, even a careless roll cast would put you in the trees.
However, it was made clear to me that with a stealthy approach and a well presented fly, the beautiful wild brown trout could be caught. What they lacked in size they made up for with their pure speed through the water. If you were not on your mettle they would take you into a snag or throw the barbless hooks in an instant.
Soon after this, I discovered another little stream and was granted access to it and was soon peppering Dave with questions, such as how do you know when your nymph has been taken, how deep is too deep to wade. I have never seen an article on how to wade safely and strongly believe that it should be taught as I very nearly came a cropper through over confidence in my swimming abilities. Despite this continuing bombardment, Dave sponsored me into the Wellow syndicate and I spent every possible minute there that I could, often frustrated and occasionally elated; my returns record that season showed 35 fish caught and released.
I have come to love fishing this water; everything is up close and personal. Due to its steep sides there is nowhere to bank fish and you have to wade. In the clear and low waters of summer, the fish sit in the glides and it is nearly impossible to get near them, as any movement sends a ripple on the glassy surface of the water. Other than fishing at dusk the only way to catch fish is to have a planned approach, a lot of patience and a bit of luck.