Arthur Ransome had it right...Opening day

. . "Perhaps the greatest satisfaction on the first day of the season is the knowledge in the evening that the whole of the rest of the season is to come."

The above quote by Arthur Ransome sums it up very nicely .  Even as a boy I can remember the same excitement .  I mean Christmas is just a day that ends all to soon.  Whereas the first day of the season opens the window to a whole new year . with fresh hopes and ambitions , new places to visit or even better visiting those places that have become home to see what changes the winter floods have brought about . Or more simply just to enjoy the fact that summer is starting.  I still have the same sense of excitement that I had as a kid .  Despite the fact that at my age I should know better ,  but actually at my age I should be more excited as now semi retired and free to come and go .  Sons and Daughter grown up and after many years of trial the rivers I fish have matured nicely down to a select group. I have all the rods and reels I need , which is not to say I could always want something new and shiny ,  

So on opening day I have already decided where I will fish.  Its a favourite small stream . One that appears on the blog and I am particularly fond of .  There is something particularly satisfying about familiar surroundings . 

On the subject of Ransome it reminds me that Swallows and Amazons was one of my favourite reads as a child. Books that I suspect have past by modern youngsters and are probably deemed inappropriate as they freely use jolly nicknames like fatty and Skinny and girls are not expected to act like boys . The books did portray a very wholesome worldly innocence that I suspect is pretty unfashionable now ,   

As for books generally I enjoy and  tend to read Angling literature rather more than how too books.  The modern how too books are interesting and they there have been some very good ones published in the last few years.  But I feel however good they are to dip into, they are not what I would call a good read ,  They are inevitably more like text books,  something that I have always been somewhat averse too. Where as the classic authors books are much more readable.  My leavers report of the Boarding school I attended had the heads comment I would have been a admirable student if I had put as much effort into my Scholastic studies as trying to catch the trout in the river leven,  To this day I am very proud of that report.  and particularly of that comment .  

So lets talk about the past year and the future...

 

It really has been a strange sort of a year . A spring so wet it was biblical .  Followed by a summer that never really matured it was either too hot or too cold and things never really seemed to get going ,  Rising fish seem to have been notably absent and judging by other anglers I speak to that seems to have been a pretty common experience.  The chalk stream has been a constant fascination though. As much for the bird and animal life as for the fishing and it must be said the fishing has been hard for most of the season.  Guys who have fished there for many years have struggled which makes me feel better. I had a few days where all was right in the world , fish were rising and everything slotted in to place .  I had a fine couple of days there with a guest who like me enjoys bamboo rods . The favourite rivers have delivered a few cracking days in what generally has been a below par season . 

Early season getting access to the new upland stream was brilliant as an early season option it is superb. . Cheap too so as a Yorkshireman that`s a big plus. here`s a couple of reminders of the place. 

Otherwise this year I am starting to think more and more about the R word , retirement that is. I am Part time now and in the next year total days not working will outnumber those working .  readers may be thinking that retirement will mean that I just fish all the time .  Well in some ways I feel it could be the opposite. All my life fishing has been partly an escape to de stress from work and I believe when I do pack work in other things will also move in to fill the time .  Although I think fishing is in my very bones ,

I recently received the rod I promised myself as a retirement gift .  The Luke Bannister fly rod it was a tad late for the trout season but anxious to put a line on it I had it out with me on a favourite stream after grayling with hope that I may get a grayling on it without resorting to the heavy stuff .  I also took another favourite carbon rod with me as the new rod is not really intended for slinging bead head nymphs about . So I took along a favourite winter rod for small streams a Scott original G series in a 8ft 3 wt and was catching steadily in the deeper runs . It is a perfect  having a bit extra reach .  Anyway the first few fish came to bead head nymphs in the deeper runs .  But I couldn`t catch a grayling on the new rod with the lighter nymphs ,  the rod solved the problem for me as I approached a small pool I was casting and lengthening line and had a take in the thinner water. It was this lovely OOS trout the rod was saying , look I don`t want a grayling I am for casting s dry fly on a summers evening take me home until the spring.. So that is what I am doing...Apologies for the OOS pic. but the event needed recording. The barbless hook fell out and the fish wasn`t handled 

The other thing that has lost its shine for me , not that I was the greatest fan and to some extent why I have the blog is the dreaded Facebook .  I caught myself some months  ago taking a picture of a fish I caught and thinking how best to put it on Facebook and even wondering if I had taken a picture of the same bit of river before and at that point I thought what the bloody hell am I doing . The reality is that moment made me question my motives for taking the camera . This last few months I have had many good days fishing and come the day when I catch a new PB or something really noteworthy I may well bubble over with joy and stick it on FB .  But at the heart of it is the very reason I fish . It is to relax, enjoy nature and hopefully catch a few.  Also for me fly fishing is an intensely personal pleasure , although I have to say that taking someone as a guest and sharing favourite places with them is a special distraction and I guess gave me some of the most enjoyable days of the season.   But sharing on line is a risky business .  I know that a blog is in itself social media and I am aware that others may say I am more than a little hypocritical. But FB is a very two edged thing . great for the odd political joke and keeping in touch with folks .  But Its a pervasive thing that is just a series of soundbites and snapshots without any real thought and message .  The blog is hopefully about how I feel and spread the joy of fly fishing and the places I fish but it will be less from me in terms of the grip and grin type stuff , 

As for retirement , apart from the downside and  the obvious that it means I am getting older .  It also means that I have more time to enjoy the wonderful fishing in the rivers I am fortunate to have access too.  But as  said above it doesn`t mean that I will fish more .  I also have an allotment garden which I enjoy and the old coronet major in the garage will get more use .  For those that don`t know that is a woodworking machine and not some sort of military band leader .  Truth is like the rivers I fish I am changing . I saw a video recently of the actor Michael Hordern talking about that great writer Arthur Ransome he used the phrase "Gardeners and Fishermen make fine old men" I rather liked that and it seems like a reasonable ambition to move forwards with into retirement. I will keep you informed on how I progress.  

One of the few times this year I have had an Audience...

Summer time blues and a whiter shade of pale

Apparently we are in the longest period of hot dry weather for 50 years sadly this means that all the local rivers are struggling and consequently of late fishing has ended up being a late afternoon and evening activity. This was the other evening and as I approached the path up through the woods it struck me how perfect the light was . At the risk of sounding poetic the air had that very heavy quality long hot days bring,  If there had been even the hint of a cloud in the sky I would have anticipated a thunder storm.  The late afternoon sunshine picked out the blue flowers and there was a real glow about the scene ,  I loitered for a minute to try and capture the mood but sadly my photo doesn`t do it justice.  I wasn`t in a rush as I knew that any fish activity was probably an hour away. 

Incidentally I have recently bought another bamboo rod , a nice little 6ft 9inch Jim Becker from the USA . It occurs to me that this year I have fished with Bamboo a lot more often than Carbon. I haven't actually been able to define to myself why I have taken to bamboo as much as I have.  I have a fine selection of high quality carbon fly rods.  They are lighter than cane, more powerful than cane and I guess when you consider all logical and factual ways to measure things then they are superior .  But the bamboo just manages to leave me with a broader smile.  My evening trip out was to put this new rod  through its paces its only its second time out and me and the rod are already blood brothers as the first time out included a puncture wound on my right hand that meant constantly washing blood of the handle was required.  I have to say that the finish on the rod is superb apart from in certain lights there is slight red staining now. 

These were typical of the trout that came in the last hour or so of surface activity,  earlier even nymphs had failed to tempt anything but as the light levels and temperature both dropped the first risers appeared in the faster water,  these both took little f flies.

The previous Sunday I was fortunate to have received an invite from a friend to fish the Driffield West beck Chalk Stream ,  The water is 100% spring fed and this allows for water at a constant temperature and the PH is very beneficial to plant life and aquatic bugs ( fish food) the clarity and the unbroken sunshine on the day meant that the fish were to put it lightly , spooky.  There were also very few rising fish ,  The fish I caught were all caught on nymphs which in itself was fascinating as you cast to fish you can see, and actually watch the fish take the nymph.  Sometimes the fish moved slightly or you saw a flash of white as the mouth was opened or even just a flare of the gills , sight fishing is a different game to the nymph fishing on the rough streams I usually do.  For this fishing the bamboo stayed at home and a light 9ft 6 inch 3 wt managed the water more easily. 

I ended up with four trout , nothing huge and all stock fish there are no photos as after scrapping hard they  would have not appreciated hot hands in near 30 degrees temperature ,  The one fish I did waste time over was this grayling in the picture below ,  my friend who knows the river said the water there was about 6ft deep and the fish was on the bottom.  We both estimated it at 3lb plus I tried tempting it with nymphs of all shapes and sizes and actually managed to drop one on its head at one point.  It was completely indifferent to my feeble attempts at deception.   What did surprise me was when a trout darted in and took the nymph it darted around the pool and splashed on the surface above the grayling and almost colliding with it at one point.  The grayling barely stirred I expected it to disappear . 

When I bought the Jim Becker bamboo I was going through the usual ritual of swapping lines about on to a suitable reel, I seem to have a lot more lines than reels and at times it is a reel pain ( notice the spelling ) .  Also many of the reels I have are large arbour jobs for the Carbon rods.  So have been getting a small collection of reels together to suit the bamboo rods , traditional pattern ones and as I was having a browse on the interweb I came across Marryat reels I have been aware of them for years and always fancied what I considered a very pretty reel anyway as I did a quick search on ebay and the like I came across this one which was been sold by a Classical fishing tackle house "Thomas Turner" it is from the estate of the Late Gary Brooker he of Procol Harum and "Whiter Shade of Pale " fame,  The price wasn`t much more than a reel without any interesting history and it is a nice early made in Japan model and has the Gehrkes plate on the back which only the early ones had and I am afraid I couldn`t resist it .  As a long time fan of Whiter Shades in particular , a song that was released when I was going through an episode of a challenging childhood which meant I was largely away from home for a few years with fishing as a constant comfort . this and a couple of other songs and Artists bring back many memories. So it has a found a good home and it certainly will be fished.  Certainly his collection seemed to be of someone who enjoyed fishing and bought what he liked and it was fished not just displayed.  

From a Whiter Shade of Pale :

We skipped the light fandango

Turned cartwheels 'cross the floor

I was feeling kinda seasick

The crowd called out for more

The room was humming harder

As the ceiling flew away

When we called out for another drink

The waiter brought a tray

I guess not many people know that he actually recorded a song about fishing , apparently he was in the states for a couple of weeks steelhead fishing and managed one on the last day so went back to his accommodation and hit the beer and wrote the song below . A perfectly logical conclusion if you ask me. Anyway his reel will be going fishing with me pretty often now I hope he would have approved of the use I will put it to. he obviously appreciated bamboo rods as there were plenty in his collection. I have left the backing on the reel I certainly wont take it of, so Imagine that me fishing with backing by Gary Brooker....

The search is over, the battle done

The fish is beaten, the angler's won

But simple stories make longer tales

No consolation if he had failed

Through wind and desert, Blackberry Hole

Coyote and rattler had made him old

No it ain't easy, it's on the borderline

Between health and madness, the way he bides his time

Fin to fin in every log-jam

This is where they lie

The Deschutes is hot, the bottom's black

They're eye-to-eye

My oh my what fun to be on your own

Down foaming rapids into the deep black hole

Through thorns and rockslides for to reach his goal

And golden chances, he let them slip away

Or was he waiting for the Judgement Day?

They really nailed 'em on the deadline

This is where they lie

Where the water's fast, the current's strong, their eye-to-eye

My oh my what fun to be on your own

But on the thirteenth morning when the sun was high

He tricked that steelhead and saw the line go tight

Two spirits fighting, two creatures bold

Bad luck and trouble had finally lost their hold

Fin to fin in every log-jam

This is where they lie

The Deschutes is hot, the bottom's black

They're eye-to-eye

I see why he spend his time on his own

Grayling, Meditation and The Old Fellas hat

An interesting effect that Covid has had is that fishing has been mentioned on the news and social media a great deal, with  fly fishing in particular being hailed  for its therapeutic qualities . It perhaps feels strange to some  that such an abstract obsession can have such a positive effect on your psyche, for me it just reinforces what I have always known that it is the closest thing to meditation I have ever indulged in .  My wife also acknowledges the benefit always referring to it as my Prozac.  The effects are very real and the club I help to run has seen a big increase in membership enquiries ,  the waiting list is longer now than I ever remember clearly people are looking for something different . 

  Anyway as i have mentioned on the blog before the blame for the obsession sits firmly on the shoulders of my dear departed Dad . It was seeing him bring a fish home that triggered the obsession and then it fell to him to take me out fishing, not nearly often enough for me as a youngster but I guess like all Dads he had other things to worry about. Indeed I owe my very existence to my Fathers love of fishing . He was fishing around the local lake as a young man and met my mum when she was introduced to him, she was the sister in law of a another fishing friend. My mum even used to fish with him when they were courting.  I have a few photos of them from their early days ,  rivers and countryside feature in many .  

However apart from the love of fishing and the memories What he did leave me was his love of a certain fish and now probably my favourite too. he was a Coarse angler and loved the Roach but the Grayling  Ah the grayling that was his favourite river fish and these days it is mine  ,  I remember fishing the Yorkshire  Derwent with him about half a century ago and he caught one that at the time seemed huge and was probably around the magical 2lb mark I really don`t recall him ever being so excited at the capture of anything else. 

Apart from his rod and reel There was just one other thing passed to me and it came in the box of possessions from his room at the care home and that was his favourite flat cap.  I must admit that the box remained  un touched in my office for a year or more. There is something very sad  about the clothes and most personal possessions from a passed loved one.  But when i eventually felt like sorting the box out I spied the hat and I thought the best thing I could do with it was to take it with me fishing especially for the old fellas favourite fish.  So the hat now lives in my tackle bag I am sure Dad would approve.

So last week I was out on the river fly fishing for Grayling ,  The day was cold , a little breezy but the grayling eventually came out to play for an hour or so. My dads hat was doffed to the best fish of the day pictured above ,  I am sure he would have appreciated the gesture.  I think it brought me luck. It will definitely be on my head again when I pursue the lady of the stream.

My first and best fishing buddy

I lost my Dad yesterday.  He was 91 years old and he had a good life . There was no defining illness at the end. Old age gradually just wore him down . However those simple words do nothing to describe him.  He was an honourable gentle man a good Dad and Grandad that I only felt I really got to know in the last few years of his life .   Truth is he and Mum were totally wrapped up in each other most of their lives. Sadly we lost Mum a few years ago. But since she passed away I have spent a lot more time with Dad and seen a different side of him .  Mum was lovely but  a bit of a prude, I knew Dad had a well hidden wicked rude sense of humour but have seen a lot more of it lately.  I guess what with me sent to boarding school age 11 then after school starting work I missed those teenage years with him . Marrying and kids then meant our lives naturally drifted apart. I think truth is like most people we both have faults but as you get older those faults don`t seem to matter anymore . These last few years has allowed me to connect with him again .  Seeing him every few days has made us closer.

He passed away with incredible dignity three weeks from the first call to get to his bedside.  On that first call our arrival at his bedside prompted a smile from him and a brief conversation and some surprise from his carers at his sudden recovery. There have been several calls to his bedside since and one evening I held his hand with the transparent skin every tendon and bone visible ,  but under my fingers the rock steady pulse told its own story.  One Day I was told there wasnt even time to go home first .  Dad left us just over a day later .He certainly wasn`t going to rush of.

 In life he taught me many lessons , I confess I didnt always listen but at the end of his life  he taught me a final one, that is not to be afraid of death he passed away without a complaint. I spent many hours with him through those last 21 days his only worry was for his family and wanting constant assurance that everyone was ok.  He knew he was dying we talked about it and when my time comes I hope I deal with it as well.  I missed the chance to see my Mum at the end I was half way up the motorway when my wife rang me and told me not to rush .  Sadly at the time when the call came I was hundreds of miles away .  Spending time at the end with Dad has given me a real sense of closure that was missing with Mum

He was my early fishing friend and mentor . Dads take their kids fishing that is how it should be. The sight of him bringing a fish home is my earliest memory and the spark that lit my lifetime passion .  He started me fishing and we went together often but like all kids  not as often as i would have liked.  Dad was a coarse angler and his favourite fish were the Roach and the Grayling.  We fished together often many years ago and it was on a stretch of a local river I watched him catch beautiful fish and teach me the same. He was a fine angler trotting a float with skill and delicacy .   He was also passionate about the well being of the fish and how they should be treated with respect ,  it is a lesson I hope I still remember every time I fish . 

Another lesson i could do with learning from him is that tackle doesn`t make an angler , patience , application and thinking tend to be much more productive .  A lesson that applies to many things .He told me he got his Millwards Featherlight match rod and Rapidex reel in his early twenties that would make them 70 years old , it was the only rod I saw him fish with. When I look at all the rods , reels and other stuff I have I am a little embarressed  the rod and reel are now amongst my most treasured possessions ,  next winter on his birthday I will take that rod and reel and go and catch a Grayling on it , I cant think of a better way to remember him .  Thanks Dad..

Following in Izaacs footsteps

I am by my own admission a bit of a fly fishing book collector.  Anything from before I was born seems to be what attracts me. Evidence perhaps of a bit of a romantic notion about the gentle art.  Certainly, I am a self-confessed fan of dry fly fishing, I will often persevere with the dry when a nymph would do the job more effectively. Don’t get me wrong I do fish the nymph I even indulged in some time with a guide a few years back to improve my skills, the time with him was excellent.  He even suggested that my Casting could benefit from some professional input. I think he wanted to say Crap but respectfulness of who was the paying client stopped him short.  Anyway it did inspire me to have a few hours with a casting instructor and it worked wonders. 

Anyway, I digress.  One book amongst my collection of several hundred is a copy of the Compleat Angler it isn’t a valuable copy, but it does have a special interest for me, namely a previous owner has embellished the copy with various addenda. Such as various  lithographs and a clipping from the Times in 1920 about the refurbishment of Walton’s cottage.  There are also many other additions, notes and references in the text that as, yet I have been unable to decode.  However, I have often considered. That I should myself add to the story.

This year my birthday has fallen on the day before good Friday and had suggested just after Christmas that instead of my dear long suffering wife having to “surprise “me with a non-fishing present that I don’t really need.  That we might disappear of to the Yorkshire dales for a few days at Easter, she could do a bit of shopping and I could visit the swale or the Ure.  So, a suitable hotel booking was made.  Anyway, a couple of weeks after that we received an invite to my Godsons children’s christening which meant a change of plans was in order. The Christening was to be on Easter Sunday near Derby.  So, she was tasked with looking through Booking. Com the Izaac Walton was mentioned, that looks nice what do you think says she?  A quick scan revealed it had fishing rights on the Dove in Dovedale, looks lovely Darling get it booked…

As Easter approached the weather was brass monkey weather, which is a little unusual because living in a tourist town has taught me that the weeks before bank holidays the weather is typically warm and sunny, changing dramatically when the bank holiday arrives.  To the usual English Bank Holiday weather of a bracing north easterly and heavy showers.  However, that lovely Scottish weather lady kept talking of a mini heatwave approaching, something that I had definite misgivings about.  I had been warned by several angling acquaintances about the popularity of Dovedale on Bank Holidays and the impact on my fishing opportunities.  The last thing I wanted was thousands of tourists. 

On Good Friday I had negotiated the continuous traffic jams on the way in to Dovedale and was a little taken aback by the sheer volume of parked cars at the bottom of Dovedale when we threaded our way through the traffic we arrived at the hotel. I was dispatched out of the way by my wife whilst she unpacked.  I was to say the least more than a little dismayed by what greeted me as I walked up Dovedale I appeared to have visited during some sort of huge protest march. Both banks lined by a continuous procession of families indulging in walking, talking, dog walking and swimming accompanied by lots of noise. The temperature was 22 degrees. I was to say the least going to struggle up there.  Now I am not one to give up easily and would not give up the opportunity to fish without a struggle so I decided to investigate the bottom end of the river I had noticed that the hotel fishing extended downstream to the confluence with the River Manifold.  So, the Plan was Easter Saturday morning a visit to Bakewell to do some shopping.  Then I would head of down the river and try and avoid the crowds for a few hours.  I may even catch a few fish.

In Bakewell I thought I would risk a visit to the Bakewell fly fishing shop.  Now to those younger fly anglers who have grown up on a diet of large American owned tackle outlets and to the internet based giants that shop is a delight , small and gloriously unorthodox manned by a gentleman who despite his slight innocent appearance is legendary for spotting that oh so obvious gap in your fly fishing tackle armoury and promptly filling it . A few years ago he spotted that in my case it was the obvious lack of a Tenkara rod . After a short indoctrination session on the busy pavement I left clutching my new rod.  That’s nice said my wife later it’s a pretty colour where does the reel go? You know, I still haven’t fathomed that out.  This year I escaped with just buying another spare line clipper.  Mid purchase some new customers walked in “I’ll just be a few moments this Gentleman is from Yorkshire and completing the sale is a tricky manoeuvre” was his welcoming comment.  I left reflecting that those unwary new customers were much like customers in Arkwright’s corner shop.  About to be educated.  Joking apart his shop is a jewel no visit to Derbyshire would be complete without a visit. 

After returning to the hotel I decided I would risk the river so clad in the full chest waders and chest pack I strode proudly alongside the standing traffic ignoring the stares and the pointing children hanging out of the queuing cars, climbing over the gate into the bottom field heading down to where the Dove discharges into the Manifold.  Standing and looking at the junction I felt sure that Walton himself must have stood looking at the same view. 

At this end of the fishing the river fishing is pretty reminiscent of one of my Yorkshire Streams.  Interesting pools and runs with plenty of deeper holding areas. it looks like fine Grayling water but respect for the Grayling close season stopped me running a heavy bug through some of the more fishy looking areas. I fished a dry black paradun, one of my favourite prospecting flies.  The first fish came with my fourth or fifth cast. A pristine small stream brownie with a tail like a shovel compared to the size of the fish. 

For those readers who are still hoping for a serious fishing story the tackle set up was an 8ft 8” Scott 4wt, with an aging loop reel and WF 4 floating line.  12ft tapered leader leader with a couple of feet of 3lb tippet added. The fly was a size 16.  There was no apparent rise but there was the occasional olive and I was sure I had spotted an early hawthorn as I walked down to the river. I was sure that given the clear water a few fish would be looking up.

 I fished steadily up stream crossing the road by wading under the bridge the narrow stream at that point coming within a whisker of the tops of my waders. I was determined that I was going to remain oblivious to the line of bank holiday traffic standing on the bridge above my head and from the bank, as I moved up stream and despite the buzz of  bank holiday standing traffic being just a few feet away  I was going to concentrate on the river in front of me.  I continued to pick up fish and frightened a few more.  I fished for about three hours until the Dovedale car park just got to close.  The sound of car doors and noisy children became too apparent to ignore.    I finished with six fish great fun on light tackle in the fast water.  all fish came to a little black paradun in the fast water between 18 inches and two feet deep.  Interestingly the best fish came at a point where cars were only a couple of metres away.

 So, I had followed in Walton’s footsteps and the river had demonstrated that given less bright sunshine and fewer tourists the fishing would be even better, I fancy an Autumn rematch to find some Dove Grayling.  

As for the Compleat Angler I will be appending my fishing ticket and perhaps a modern photograph of one of the numerous local landmarks that are still visible and comparable to the book’s lithographs.  A few margin notes to baffle future owners.  Next year a I  am planning another trip to the Derbyshire Dove I fancy a look at that temple.  Its hard work this book research.

Remembrance of a fishing companion

Sorry dear Blog readers I am going to be serious for a moment.  As we are nearly at remembrance day and it is 100 years since the end of the war to end all wars. I will give thoughts to  the family members who fell and particularly my Grandfather on my Mums side . WW1 veteran Born January 1899 joined up at 17 lying about his age  just in time for  the Somme and then at Passchendaele with the Northumberland Fusiliers.  He was the perfect Grandfather.  Always willing to tell me about the war always full of the tales Grandfathers should have.  Although his tale telling was usually when we were out side the house often in the Greenhouse. Grandma didn't approve of him filling my young head with war stories so usually when I visited them after a few minutes it would be "come outside lad there`s stuff in the greenhouse I want you to see" That's when he was in his territory the house was Grandmas .  Big guy in every sense 6ft tall which in them days was unusual.

He was very proud of been a crack shot in the war paid 6d a week extra ( about two and a half pence in today's money)  .  He was a devil with cards and told me loads of time about him fleecing his army mates of their money.  He never gave an inch when playing cards with me either guess he thought I should learn the hard way. I do wish i had been older when I knew him there are questions I would love to have asked him with a more mature head.  He had a elder brother who died at the Somme. Also on my Dads side of the family there were two victims of the war Sydney who is buried in Belgium and won the MM.  Visiting his grave a few years ago was a sobering experience .  There was another brother who until recently I was not aware of he was invalided back to England in the war after been gassed , He died after a couple of months .  What a terrible waste it was.  I bet they would have all had made good grandfathers given the chance .

As can be seen in the picture he was a keen sea angler to .  I remember with immense fondness our trips together as much for his company as for the fishing .  I remember a day we were fishing on the sea front at Scarborough . That rod Lent against the railing and the lead weight about 40 yds out firmly anchored on the bottom .  Along come three Blokes on holiday.  "Doing any good mate "  was said to Grandad , had a few came his cheery response , "Wheres your float Gramps " quickly followed . Now knowing Grandad wouldn't like the term Gramps I wondered what his response was , "That's it out there lads" was his response as he pointed to a Crab pot buoy about 400 yds away .  Giving me a sideways glance and wink.  What happened next was unexpected as Unfortunately the three blokes proceeded to lean on the railings to watch his float for activity.  After about ten minutes I couldn't resist a cheeky "isn't it time you checked your bait Grandad " the result was another glance and a friendly scowl.  Eventually the three lost interest when they had moved away he bust out laughing I thought they were never going to go he said .  Its worth adding we should never complain about modern rods and reels . I still have the rod and reel in the picture . It weighs a ton. and casting a 8 oz lead weight with that gear is I can tell you difficult and is it some risk to your hands and knuckles as that 8 inch Scarborough reel has no brakes.  No doubt our generation has had it easy in lots of ways.  

Savour every day like its your last

There is no doubt that if ever I was given the chance of starting again in life then becoming a fly fisherman is one thing that would not be changed .  I am hard pushed to think of anything other than my family which has given me such pleasure during my life .  It isn't always easy and doesn't always bring you the success that you want but it is always gratifying .  I wrote a piece recently in Fly fishing and Fly tying magazine taking a humorous look at growing old and fly fishing ,  one of the serious points in the writing was how the pleasure gained from fishing has become more holistic as I get older .  The pleasure coming more and more from the whole experience ,  the catch whilst important is not the be all and end all .  

The places that I am privileged to fish are in themselves places of true beauty .  Peace, tranquillity and nature combine to provide me with a place where the everyday stresses are banished .  I know I am fortunate that the corner of the country where I live is a little less congested and a lot less unspoilt than so many parts of the UK .  But for many of us when we are fishing the "place " where we are has little to do with the physical surroundings .  

I visited my Dad the other evening as I do a few times a week.  He is nearly 90 and due to ill health is in a nursing home .  My interest in angling was stirred by him and also encouraged .  Sadly he is increasingly frail and struggling with Alzheimer's. Recently we chatted about fishing and it saddens him that he can not recall so many of the incidents I remind him of from when we fished together .  He said to me "Savour every day like its your last" You will never know when your last days fishing could be and you damn well will want to remember it.  A sobering thought but I guess none of us knows what lurks around the corner. 

Dad was a coarse fisherman , his favoured quarry was the roach and I think he always thought I had betrayed my roots by becoming a "posh" fly fisherman .   I have to say that there is nothing coarse about fishing for Roach its a fish that demands a high level of skill and delicate tackle.  He always loved fishing in rivers , he went to a commercial still water once many years ago that day he caught the biggest roach he had every caught and also the biggest perch but he never wanted to go to one again . There was no wildlife and it was like fishing in a bloody goldfish bowl was his considered opinion.  I showed him the picture above , ( ipads are great for that ) and I was pleased to say that he did say it was a river he could enjoy .   He also asked if the bluebells were out last week and was there plenty of wildlife around the stream.  I guess old Dad understands about the holistic thing as well.  

Four hours fly fishing Three times a week after meals .....

During the last couple of weeks and as a result of the short days and cold temperatures on more than one occasion my mind has drifted back to the summers long warm evenings.  A rising fish, gentle waters and soft birdsong are quite a therapeutic combination.  Such times on the river leave me relaxed and fulfilled. My wife refers to my fly fishing as prozac without prescription.  Its certainly always helped me to keep lifes stresses at bay.  

This last week i have become aware of the latest trendy complaint apparantly its called "Nature deficit disorder" Theres a link to the article here 

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/science-environment-38094186

Now I am puzzled as to why something as simple needs an apparantly scientific explanation. I for one know that not been able to stand in a river fairly regularly brings on a very serious condition. I have always just thought of it as the "Shack nasties" . Symptons vary but moodiness , lack of appetite and  irritability are all possibilities.  There is only one cure of course.  There are partial treatments . For me fly tying is the most effective .  But that seems to have only limited benefit. No when it comes right down to it getting in a river is the only cure.

This last weekend for instance , feeling shit with man flu developing I knew that a couple of hours with a rod in my hand would despite the cold temperatures make me feel better.  Wife wasnt happy about it but with her parting words of ..."you wont get any sympathy of meee..." fading away I set of down my local beck.  This bit of the river is indeed local if I had a mind I could walk it in ten minutes.  Today I took the car to the bottom end of the section and met up with friend and we went looking for Grayling.  Now there are Grayling in the river .  But there isnt many and they often dont want to play ball. Sunday they didnt want to play at all .   A couple of out of season brownies was all I could manage but it did what I wanted it to do.  Fresh air, the feel of cold water. Autumn sunshine and even a barn owl floating along the river bank.  For at least an hour or two I felt human again.  

As I get older I get increasingly frustrated by so called modern discoveries.  The above disorder been typical.  I have always known that for me not enough fishing time is essential to remaining happy and contented. However come the day when a trip to the doctor will result in Ah yes Sir you are suffering from NDD and results in a prescription such as " 4 hours fly fishing three times a week after meals " I will be the first to admit that yes science really is making progress ...

A hotel room prayer

It has been four months since I last wet a line tonight in my hotel room I think it got to me.........

 Our father who art in the met office
Hallowed be thy name
let no more waters come
The floods will be done and no more dredging done
On earth as it is in heaven
Give us this day our chance to wet a line
Forgive us our trespasses with grayling and fly
As we forgive them who practice tenkara
lead us not towards the squirmy worm
But deliver us from evil
For thine is the season
The rise and the take
Catch and release for ever and ever
Amen

Zen , and the art of upstream spiders

I walked along a section of my local beck the other day , its a section I have not fished for a couple of seasons , in fact I think the last time was the first day of the season a couple of years ago.  Its a heavily treed section that suffers badly later in the season from low flows and shade  But it contains a large head of small eager brownies and now as I can see the trout season approaching like a long awaited sunrise after an arctic winter it is  just the ticket for an opening day venue.  Early on in the year its an attractive series of runs and pools . Later in the year the series of falls dry out and there is very little movement.

Here is a photo of the stretch in mid july during the dog days of summer. It always beats me where the fish hide when those months of low water strike.

The first trip will be as usual both a celebration of things getting going again but also a bit of a trip down memory lane. I usually rake out an old Bruce and Walker, a rod that I have had for twenty odd  years and the only rod I have ever worn out, well when I say I wore it out I had to have the handle rebuilt as I had worn holes in the cork. That was not due to poor quality , quite the contrary it was built superbly but I simply wore it out. Back then for very many years I only had one rod.  It was used for small streams , large rivers and even still water fishing . If I was going fly fishing it was the rod I took.   Nymphs , dries and anything else . If it was too long I have been known to just take the two sections apart and cast the top one. If it was to short I held it at arms length.  When I look at all the rods I possess now and there is more than a few I wonder how it happened. How did I manage to convince myself I need such a range of rods when for very many years I managed very well with that one rod? it was so well used it became an extension of me allowing me to not even think about  anything apart from the fly at the business end.  Line choice wasn't an issue as the rod is rated 3 to 5 weight.  In fact if today someone told me I had to just use one rod for the rest of time it would be that one. Even with all the fancy stuff I have in the rack.

Anyway you might say I am just been soft but I like to hang on to something of the past and using that rod and fishing familiar water on the first day of the season provides a certain continuity to things.  Just as the  method I will utilise is a nod to the past. As although I will be hoping for rising fish I am pretty sure a team of spiders fished upstream will probably find me the fish. That old rod is perfect for spiders its full soft action is great for close range fishing. In fact it has all the qualities that new manufacturers seem to be rediscovering for river fishing.  Incidentally I have learnt over the last few seasons that the method of upstream spiders is very effective for small streams , you the reader might be shaking your head at this and muttering didnt he know that well despite fishing a stream thats had fly anglers on it for nigh on 140 years and most of that time they would be fishing spiders its been a new one on me for the last few years, I have learnt it aint easy and it really requires becoming one with things and getting into that  zone .  Fishing with that rod certainly wont harm that. Neither incidentally will getting into the beck about half a mile below where I will be expecting action . It gives me time to work the wrinkles out of an arm that hasn't cast in months and to get into the rhythm that the method requires. I have  learnt that concentration is everything you have to more than just look you have to see the leader in the water checking for movement and at the same time you have to look for a sudden flash of a turning fish or a boil under the surface at first I found it bloody hard. I would say its a bit like learning to drive a car lots to do and a few places to watch all at the same time and until it becomes automatic your no bloody good at it.   Incidentally  I have occasionally wondered if there really is a sort of hunters sixth sense that we still have. Hugh Falkus mentions it in one of his books and other anglers have spoke of it.  I know in my coarse fishing days sometimes you would suddenly  be aware that something was about to happen . Perhaps its just the moment when your senses become truly in tune with your surroundings but at times when fishing my senses would sharpen and I knew a take would follow.  Coincidence ? well perhaps but I am not sure.   Fishing the upstream spider has proven to be a bit like that I have found myself tightening into a fish and thinking I am not really sure why I lifted the rod.  Perhaps a half hidden flash of silver did lodge in my brain but the tired old eyes didn't actually see it.  Perhaps there is more than a hint of zen around all this , Certainly I have always thought meditation and fishing share many things . Perhaps I should take the tenkara rod and sit cross legged on the bank for half an hour of meditation before entering the water.

“The more you look, the more you see.” 

― Robert M. Pirsig, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance

Reflections and thanks.....

The last month has seen my fishing activities grind to a complete halt , so anything truly fishing related  to write about is absent but there has been a sad event that certainly relates to my love of fly fishing.

In the last few months I have learnt of a teacher of mine who has sadly left us. My woodwork and craft teacher from when I was at boarding school at age 11. He was called Brian Guy, Brig to those who knew him,  looking back he was one of the most influential people in my younger days. He was also the first person I ever saw catch a fish on a fly. As a kid we used to bait fish in the river whiske near Thirsk.  One day whilst we were float fishing he was fly fishing. I can still picture him kneeling on the bank and casting to a pod of circling chub I was even trusted with the net to land one .  The fly was a very simple black gnat. The act of deception amazed me then as much as it still does now .  It truly was a inspirational moment in my life.  He was also a real guiding light at a time when things were not going well for me,  I think at the time the escape fishing offered was one of the few things that helped.  Sadly now he has gone and also sadly has the stream .  I have returned once to that river bank in the nearly half century since I watched him there, the clear water and streamer weeds and the shoals of roach and chub have been replaced with a fetid muddy channel that seemed totally bereft of life.  I would have liked to be able to return there and try to emulate that act of deception but sadly like Brig the river of my childhood has sadly departed.

 He was a guy who was capable of really surprising you  he had a great love of fishing and yet 10 or more years after I left school I met him at a reunion I asked him if he still fly fished, I find his answer as surprising now after another 20 or 30 years have passed as I did then , he said he loved to cast a fly and loved to rise a trout but he felt a deep sadness for the fish once he had hooked it . It was a conundrum that deeply troubled him. He was a remarkable man. If you can read this Brig thanks for everything not least for casting that fly and lighting that spark all those years ago.  There was a memorial service for him recently in Hawes in the Yorkshire dales, sadly I could not get there but the day it was on I sat for an hour and tied a few black gnats and one summer evening next year they will rise a trout for Brig.