The fish hadn't been rising much this year on Steven Dawson's home river, the Eden, but would a chance encounter with a swallow bring him some good luck?
People often tell me how lucky I am to live so close to the Eden but let me tell you right now, luck played no part in it whatsoever. Whenever I have moved it has always been a case of how far is my new house from the river.
My wife calls it selfish. I call it forward thinking.
It has its obvious benefits, I can have my evening meal, load the dishwasher and be on the river within five minutes for an evening rise. The only downside is it can make you lazy.
I sometimes make poor excuses knowing I can just as easily go the next day but the next thing you know and we are in September and the close season is just around the corner.
Just such a day was Monday, September 7th. It really was one of those rare cloudless, sunny days that we see too few of in these parts.
"I'm told how lucky I am that I live so close to the Eden but luck played no part in it whatsoever"
Sitting in the garden at lunchtime, we noticed hundreds of swallows wheeling above the house, it was a fantastic sight, sad in so many ways as it signals their departure to warmer climes and the onset of winter, but still a joy to watch.
" You fishing tonight?" my wife asked, “not sure” I replied, “but it IS a stunning day.”
At that moment one of our beloved feathered friends decided to release the contents of its stomach and deposit it right smack bang on my head.
A warm white stream trickled onto my forehead as she burst into laughter.
“It's a sign of good luck “ she stuttered between giggles, “that must be an omen to go fishing.”
Deposit or not I would have gone anyway, but this just confirmed it.
This season on the river has been a poor one as far as I'm concerned for rising fish. It's not been up to its usual standards at all but talking with local anglers, and indeed other friends who fish the spate rivers of the north, they too had commented on a lack of rising fish.
Nymphing was working and the fish are there, but it's not my chosen method. I'm no purist, I just prefer to cast a dry to a rising fish, I always have.
It's dark here now by 8.30pm so my plan was to arrive on the river around 5.30pm and get three hours in as it's been the only time of day any rising fish have been seen.
I'd decided to stick with the dry only tonight, so I took my Sage Circa #4 , a delightful rod, as long as you don't have a downstream wind in your face, and a rod with a massive amount of feedback with a fish on of any size.
A ten minute drive up the Eden valley can be an unpredictable trip weather wise as there are so many micro climates in these parts. There had been hardly a breath of wind at home and luckily for once it was the same when I stepped out of the car.
I approached the river and started to thread up, there were no rising fish, but it was still early.
I had no sooner stepped into the first pool, than a lady, and I use that term loosely, arrived with two black Labradors. She clearly saw me but decided it would be just the place to throw sticks for them some twenty yards above me.
I wasn't in the mood for a confrontation, which I think she was clearly expecting, so I wound in and slipped away downstream.
I still hadn't seen a fish move by this time but at 6.30pm a fish rose below me, then another, and another.
It's a particularly slow glide and renowned for its good grayling and was the scene of my PB grayling a few years back. Wading is an absolute no-no in here if you don't want to put them down. Behind me were nettles, thistles and balsam that could hide a solider, so roll casting was my only attack.
Luckily the Circa excels at it, even in my hands and within a couple of flicks my #20 was right in the foam lane and dead on target. Even though I was expecting it, it still took me by surprise as a fish slurped my offering and I lifted into what I reckon was a larger than average beastie. The Circa hooped over and I could feel the weight at the end.
After what seemed like a minute, but was probably only ten seconds it was off, and my fly passed my head at supersonic speed, and was now lodged tight in a thistle, I cursed.
On the opposite bank was another decent fish who had been rising steadily throughout all this, close to the far bank in probably two feet of water and was picking off the only insects I could see on the water. They were black gnats.
Several fish were now rising towards the tail of the pool too and I made my way through the jungle towards a nearby fence.
At the very tail of the pool I gingerly stepped into the river, at least now I was below the fish, and if I didn't make an upstream wake, I stood a chance.
The Eden is the devil to wade and I've reached the age where I won't go in without a wading stick however, for once, this particular pool has few hidden boulders in it and a relatively small pebbled bottom.
"Behind me were nettles, thistles and balsam that could hide a soldier. Roll casting was my only option"
A few steps in though and the fish I was aiming for stopped rising. As careful as I was I must have spooked him. Luckily, another showed three yards above. I lengthened my cast rather than stepping any further and risk putting him down. I covered him first cast.
It was instant take and a feisty brownie came to the net. It was smaller than average, but always a welcome sight, a jewel of a fish, and just how an Eden brownie should look.
Quickly returned, I stopped for a moment to drink in the backdrop of the fells with the last of the sun on them. It can stop you in your tracks at times, it’s such a beautiful bit of countryside.
It was 7.30pm now and I knew in an hour's time it would soon be dark.
A couple of pipistrelle bats were scooting about taking sedges, and a movement caught my eye on the bank edge it was a pitch black mink scurrying by; an unwelcome visitor.
The temperature had dropped a few degrees enough for me to slip my fleece on and wait for another fish to move.
One did, a fine grayling about 3/4lb in perfect condition. I hooked and lost another that after a brief fight came off.
The fish I'd been hoping to reach had stopped by now, possibly by the commotion I'd caused earlier.
I waited but after standing for a good thirty minutes motionless in a cold river I needed to stretch my legs.
I scrambled up a steep bank, getting the obligatory nettle stings only to be met by a Jack Russell Terrier thankfully, a friendly one, he was out with his owner for an evening walk.
"Caught owt?” asked the non angler. We chatted and he confirmed that he too had seen far less fish activity on the surface this season. He walked his dog most evenings on this stretch, locals can be handy at times even if they don't fish.
During our chat the fish had started to rise in the same spot.
The light was fading fast now, I slid back down into the river ten yards below the rise.
A quick check of my fly confirmed all was ok, so I made my move. In order not to spook the fish I had to make my cast from where I got in. Thirty feet is far from a long cast and I felt pretty confident.
Finally, I was ready but the fish hadn't risen for a minute or so but time really wasn't on my side. I made the reckless decision to cast anyway, placing the fly a good three feet above where I had last seen it.
It paid off and the fish took first cast. I lifted and could see a decent grayling that I guessed was 1.5lbs tear off up the pool.
I bullied the fish a bit, I had to, I was pretty confident in my tippett though and after two more runs I slid the net under my grayling.
The hook fell out in the net. I took a quick look and she slid away into the now dark water, I rarely take pictures of fish these days, especially a mid river, one iPhone and one camera later, it's proven too expensive. I watched as she slid off.
I've fished many many times into the dark by myself, but of late I find it spooky. I waded straight across the pool to an easy exit, back to the car, a little tired, but very satisfied with my evening.
A white mist was creeping down the fells like a small avalanche of snow and the temperature had really dropped. As I started the engine I switched off the air con that had kept me cool just three hours before and turned the heater up.
For the first time in a while I'd witnessed a good evening rise some good luck or perhaps it was the swallow shit. Whatever caused it I was grateful, it had really lifted my spirits.
Steven makes some excellent furled leaders. More details HERE or contact him via email