Our first article since launching the 'Ever wanted to write something' post in issue 3. Many thanks to Rod for taking up the challenge and responding.....
So first the background;
I grew up fishing the banks of the Loch Lomond and the River Leven that flows from it towards the Clyde on a very regular basis. By regular I mean every single spare moment I could get. Thanks to a gamekeeping uncle who introduced me to fly fishing by way of a beautiful 8 foot split cane hex rod with gorgeous whippings and quality ferules. God I wish I still had that rod. I was enthralled from the first moment I threw a rather wobbly line with it and totally abandoned the worm and spinners that had formed the core of my early fishing years. Success was soon mine and a sad indicator of how environment, water levels, salmon nets and any other of the many impact factors on stock levels have effected the waters, is that when I fished up to the age of 18 on the Lomond and Leven I would take more Salmon and Sea Trout in a season on my own, than my uncle now reports are caught by everyone who angles there. I have not returned and wet a line there for more years than I care to remember and I don’t think I ever shall. It would be too sad to see the state that those beautiful waters have fallen into. I would rather hold on to my memories of what they once were.
Having left the “Bonny Banks” to travel and find a life, a career and a family, I would wet a line occasionally over the intervening years, always hearing the echoes of my angling years gone by. These ventures though were never with any serious commitment on my part. Although individual trips were great fun, I was not as immersed in the sport as I once was, as I was still continually moving and travelling the globe, not to mention bringing up a young family.
And so after years of satisfying the wanderlust we settled in the verdant wonder of Shropshire. Here I could see the obvious potential of The Marches and the Welsh Borders but the style of fishing, as well as the target species, were alien to me. A far more delicate approach than 14 footers throwing 9-10 weight lines up to your chest in freezing ice cold glacial waters would be required. I decided research, research, research was the key. Books galore from the library, car boots, magazines and trawling through the internet revealed that on my doorstep I had access to some of the most sought after waters around.
Then Harvey, the ever-faithful mutt, was co-opted into being my research partner and off we would go for hours, walking the banks of likely brooks, streams and rivers. Now here I have to be up front and say that stillwater fishing of the commercial kind never really appealed to me. A throwback I guess to the ruggedness of my formative angling years. Each to their own of course but I prefer the untamed nature of a brook or river and the targeting of an individual wild fish. The manicured banks of a southern chalk stream again hold no attraction. The Masochism of flies caught in trees and nettle stings is a predilection I must look into. During our forays along the courses of some delightful little waters one thing struck me: where was everyone? Why on earth would no-one be fishing these gold, or should that be bronze, mines? More importantly, where was I to find the old sages that we all know hold the vast amounts of local knowledge and experience upon which a price cannot be placed?
There was nothing for it but to jump in, quite literally with both feet. Kit was purchased based around my limited knowledge of small stream requirements and an EA license and LA permit meant I had no excuse but to give it ago. I say no excuse because while I had fished for many years, the intervening period had allowed what knowledge I had possessed to leach out from my brain and the thought of just going for it did make me a little nervous. Would I remember how to cast? Will my knots hold up? Will I remember the playing techniques if I am fortunate enough to stumble across a fish daft enough to take a clumsily presented fly?
I prevaricated and wavered late into the season and finally in June I took the plunge. I kitted up and decided this was it.
The memory of that day will stay with me for as long as any other. Standing in the middle of a small Shropshire stream with a great hatch going on all around me, the sun glinting on the stream’s surface where the shade of the overhanging trees could not quite reach. The smell of cut hay, birds singing and a Buzzard mewing overhead. This would have been enough to remind me why I loved fishing so much all those years ago were it not for the unmistakable sound of a rising fish some 15 feet upstream.
With heart pounding and little care for stealth I managed to a get reasonable cast to land an olive duster about eight feet above the rise. As soon as it landed, flash, splash! And hesitation from me before I remembered to lift and it was on. My heart pounding as I played the fish, or more truthfully the fish played me, into a deeper pool. Remembering some of my old skills of side strain and rod height I landed the fish after a few minutes. The feeling of successfully landing this silver spotted brownie of no more than ¾ of a pound, with my first cast almost brought me to tears. I cannot walk past that same pool now without some of those emotions coming back. Luckily I had the forethought to take a picture before returning him with trembling hands to his home with my sincere best wishes.
I have not looked back since. I have now met many other fishers on the banks, all of whom are willing to share wisdom and some of whom have become fishing partners and friends. I have been invited to join a couple of syndicates and can now fish some of the finest waters in some of the most breathtaking countryside and wildlife anywhere.
As time has gone by I have refined my tackle and gear and learned new techniques, improved my casting, and as a result my presentation, but a few things will stay with me forever: my rediscovered love of fly fishing, the memory of that first fish and the fly on which I caught him - it now adorns my hat.
My advice if you are thinking of giving fly fishing a go – just do it!
