Duncan Raynor continues on the path to "troutbumedness" and goes in search of autumnal trout.
I couldn’t resist it, I had a few days off inbetween shifts. The boss (she) was entertained and I could sneak away. The drive up always fills me with excitement, my mind flashed back to the fist trip of the season, way back in early March, (the Welsh rivers open before the West Country ones). There was still snow on the top of the Brecon Beacons then. I lobbed the essentials in the back of the van, mattress, sleeping bag, pillow, stove, kettle, waders , boots, fishing pack/vest, rod bag.
The river was thinning down after some rain, it was very different to the first trip of the year. Leaves had started to fall as opposed to just budding , the first signs of the change of season were evident. The water was a coppery colour; beautiful. A windy day kept the temperature down, but there was always a chance of a hatch, some blue winged olives perhaps. I have found a good tactic is to walk and watch a bit. Slowly walking upstream , observing the water, the likely spots. If you're patient a fish might give itself away. The day passes as they do, without you noticing it, I stopped for a bite to eat next to a favourite pool.
A small foam line under some trees on the far bank caught my attention. The current deflected by some unseen submerged feature, a slack pocket. First one rise then another, confident slurps. I waded into position, waited, watched, it rose again. I cast , the drift seemed perfect, a shaft of light made me lose sight of the fly, the next rise must have been my fly. I lifted confidently, sometimes I guess you just know. Time well spent, luck , my stars aligning , countless casts, instinct, who knows? The journey to "troutbumedness" is a long and windy road.