ESF contributor Johannes Bulfin and his wife Rebecca were passing through Devon and so they hooked up with Pete Tyjas in search of grayling
“Right, you need to be just a little more right.”
I’m in full guide mode, standing in a high spot just above the river, using a bush for cover and the sun is just right, so I can see down into the pool and the fish holding just a foot or so below the surface.
We’re not after any old fish; it is grayling we are trying to catch and I have spotted a nice one for Westcountry standards of about 1 1/2lb.
The man holding the rod is ESF contributor Johannes Bulfin who, along with his wife Rebecca, have embarked on a journey taking them from Ireland to Finland. The thing that makes me shudder is that they are doing it by bike.
An early part of the journey takes them towards my part of the world and I received an email from Johannes to see if I fancied meeting up and if possible doing some fishing.
I was, of course, keen to meet him and suggested that perhaps we did it on a river. It never ceases to amaze me that a bond is immediately struck with someone you have never met but know so well, yet share the love of something in equal measures. Although I have written to Johannes many times we have never spoken but I know much about him from the articles he has written for ESF.
As we mailed some more he told me roughly the route they were planning to take and also that he or Rebecca had never caught a grayling. So that was it. I booked some fishing via the Westcountry Passport scheme on a beat where there were some grayling.
Westcountry grayling do not heavily populate the rivers in Devon - a good day with them can be considered in terms of four or five on some streams but they are always a welcome surprise when hooked.
“Slowly lift your rod about now and lets see if the fish follows” I suggest. Grayling are suckers for an induced fly but this one wasn’t. From my high point I suggested a change of fly but if I got down into the water to put the one on I wanted to try there’d be a good chance I’d spook the pool. Johannes had spent too long getting in to position for me to blow his chances so I called across for him to cut off the fly and then cast the leader up towards the bank where I was standing.
It was probably one of the hardest casts he’d made that day but on the second one the leader was in my hands and I was quickly tying on the replacement while keeping half an eye on the grayling. It was still settled and as I threw the fly down into the water a safe distance downstream. Johannes roll cast it back into a castable position from where he stood under the low hanging branches of an old oak and shot out the line.
I could just about make out the fly and the movement of the fish “SET,” I screamed and the fish was on “you’ve got him” I yelled as I now planned how I was going to get down as quickly as I could as Johannes had no net. There isn’t room for one when you are packing for a long trip on a bike.
I could see the fish writhe, as grayling often do, but it didn’t last much longer. The fish came off.
Johannes is about as mellow as anglers come, shrugged his shoulders and even smiled, just a little bit. Inside he may have been screaming but it really didn’t look like it to me.
I was joined by Rebecca and pal Duncan. They’d been fishing downstream and had just put back a 12 inch trout. Again, a nice trout for these parts.
Duncan fills the much used Trout Bum tag perfectly. He fishes in NZ for the winter months in the UK and then when things start to warm up here he hops into his old Land Rover, packs his rods and tent and goes fishing around the UK.
Him being here right now was a really spooky coincidence. He’d wanted to do some fishing and contacted me and said he couldn’t book the fishing he wanted to as someone had already booked it. I allowed myself a wry smile and told him that it was me but if he fancied coming along he’d be welcome. We could share a rod. It even turned out he was staying at the same campsite as Johannes and Rebecca and when I picked them up, found that they were pitched next to each other and were already talking fishing.
We watched some more and all offered some helpful advice but despite us seeing two more grayling they quickly bolted for cover when a perfectly aimed cast landed on the water.
Duncan and Rebecca had been fishing at a more relaxed pace. Johannes on the other hand had been caught up in my enthusiasm of finding him a grayling, driven primarily by professional pride and doing my duty as a good host.
We worked the water fishing the spots that I felt should hold grayling but none were home.
As the shadows got longer and the time ticked away I had begun to resign myself to the fact that it wasn’t going to happen today. I don’t think Johannes was bothered either way but I really like enjoying the moment with people when a “first” has been achieved.
Rebecca had caught some more fish and as she and Duncan joined us once more towards the very top of the beat we decided that this would be the last pool we’d fish.
It is funny how much the mental game is a part of fishing and we must have relaxed and accepted the fact that Johannes and a grayling were not to meet today. As the dry dipped and he struck I assumed it was to be another of the many beautiful trout he’d caught that day. We all saw the fish was a different colour. It was a grayling.
I unhooked my net and as Johannes steered the fish nearer I let it slide in. I heard the cheers and joined in.
The first thing I needed to do was prepare Johannes on holding grayling. They are tricky at the best of times and will try their best to wriggle free of your grip but this one was a little easier to deal with than most.
After releasing the fish I asked Johannes to smell his hands. Whether you think the smell of grayling is cucumber or thyme the heady aroma of a grayling stays on your hands for a while after the fish has long swam away. A personal reminder of the moment and one that will hopefully stay in the memory for a long time to come during the long hours in the saddle.