Less than three weeks...

...until the trout season opens here in Cumbria, which for me means two things:

1. Freezing my gentleman sausage off at the side of Ullswater, swearing like a navvy as my rizzla and backy blow away in the wind.
2. Hopefully landing a few more of these handsome chaps...

While the weather will most likely be brutal in the early part of the season, April and May will hopefully produce a few special mornings, just as they did last year...

Whatever the weather, I intend to make the most of my time on Ullswater this spring. Come June I should have graduated from University, and I'll most likely have to move wherever the Forestry industry will have me, so it could well be the last chance I'll get to wet a line here.

The season back in Yorkshire doesn't kick off for a month yet (March 25th). Opening day on the Wharfe can be a pretty disappointing affair, starting with high hopes which tend to be deflated fast - cold water and sporadic hatches which draw no attention from the semi-comatose brownies are par for the course. If I connect with anything I consider the day a success. The Aire can often be a little better, enjoying warmer water, maybe due to a generally steadier flow (not to mention the many sewage works), but sport is still slow until maybe the second week in April.

Early season snow made things even more trying than usual on the Wharfe last year.

This is all irrelevant this year though, as it's unlikely I'll get on either river until May. Surely I should be relieved... so why do I feel my heart break a little every time I think about it?

At the end of the day, passing my degree is more important. That's what I keep telling myself anyway.

So, now to bury my head in a textbook again for the time being. I'll be back in a few weeks, though, probably with a ripping yarn about blanking and frostbite. I can hardly wait!

Eric.

Winter Grayling Fishing (Early February)

I originally meant to post about this trip last month, but once again a combination of mounting University work, trying to think of a dissertation proposal and general laziness set me back. Nevertheless, here I am now, and here's the lowdown...

At the start of February I popped home for my girlfriend's birthday, and having squirmed my way back into the good books I managed to cadge a lift down to the River Wharfe for a  morning chasing ladies, also providing me with a chance to test out my new Contour Roam 2 headcam. There had been a substantial amount of rain, so I opted for the age old Yorkshire tactic of trotted worm. The weather was dire and I'd been expecting to take a bit of a whipping, but to my surprise and delight I had a day of days with 11 gorgeous Grayling up to around a pound and a half. Not bad for a flying two or three hour session! Below are some photos from the day, plus some video footage I shot with the new headcam, hope you enjoy it!

New gadget: the Contour headcam. Takes a wee while to stop feeling self conscious about having it  strapped to the side of your head!

On target with one of the first ladies of the session...

... But bumping into a few of these chaps was unavoidable.

Posing for the camera...

Not all of them were so cooperative!

A decent fish  to finish.

Tight lines,
Eric

Good Morning, August 14th.

I decided to take another trip down the Wharfe on tuesday morning. River levels were good, it was warm, the wind was low and there was a moderate blanket of cloud cover - not bad conditions then!

I started by working my way downstream with a team of spiders, but to my surprise after an hour I had failed to conjure up so much as a tweak. A few fish were rising in a foam lane, so that encouraged me to take the initiative and change my setup. I tied a length of finer tippet to the end of my leader and to that attached a well ginked Klinkhamer Special. I slowly waded into a better casting position, being careful not to spook my quarry. The first cast provoked an instant response, but predictably I missed it completely. Another rise came on the second cast. This time, brief contact was made before the line went slack... much swearing and gnashing of teeth. I haven't fished the dries so often this season, and when I have my hook up rate has been rather poor, and the more fish I miss, the worse I'm taking it!

With the pool most likely spooked I crept out of the water and sat on the bank. There I lit a cigarette (stop, Eric, for god's sake), watched and waited to see if the fish would continue their feeding. Sure enough, within 15 minutes there was sipping and slurping aplenty once again, so after degreasing my leader I re-entered the fray. A few casts went unnoticed before I got my third rise of the day. No mistake this time, and after a short tussle a very welcome Grayling slid over the net.

First of the day.

After that first success, I moved downstream and picked up another lady to the dry from a difficult patch of slow water which has always been one of my sticky spots - lots of risers but painfully shy and spooky, so I was rather pleased to have tempted a fish from the spot. Another move after this brought a third Grayling along with a decent Trout which led me on a merry dance on my light leader before it finally capitulated.

Another lady...

... and a reasonable Trout!

With my first Brownie of the day slipped safely back, I moved on to some 'busier' riffles and swapped to nymphing tactics. Fishing through every inch of water on a short line, I soon got a confident take from a powerful fish which stayed deep, kicking in the fast current. Eventually a flash on the surface proved it to be yet another Grayling, and a good one at that. When it was finally in the net after a long tussle, I estimated the decidedly chunky specimen to be getting on for a pound and a half - not a fish to be sniffed at in my book! The sport picked up from there, with a number of Trout succumbing to the charms of the nymph. Usually, fast water nymphing on the Ilkley stretch produces fish in the 6 to 8 inch class, but though I had a couple of these, I was pleased to catch a string of better Trout in the 10 to 12 inch bracket, all of which fought admirably and were returned unharmed.

A good Grayling.

Normally the average stamp...

... but the river was being more generous!

I finished with 6 Brownies and 4 Grayling. My best day numbers-wise this season on the Wharfe, my best average size and my most successful day of the season on the dry fly. Suffice to say I went home a happy bunny! Shame the weather's turned again now.

Tight lines,
Eric.

New video now live!

Well, the rain's battering against my window this afternoon and once again summer's skulked off to hide god knows where. The predictable reversion to type on behalf of the weather reminded me that I had a spot of editing of footage left to do from my session on a flooded River Wharfe last week.
So without further ado here is the result - a roughly shot piece as usual, but you get a bit more of an idea of what I was up to. Hoping to sort myself a headcam for the start of next season which should lead to some better 'live action' videos!

Tight lines,
Eric

A Nymph Does The Trick: Morning Session, August 10th.

Fast riffle on the Wharfe. Good nymph water.

Had a short session on the Wharfe at Ilkley again this morning. Last time I went down a couple of nights ago the river had been stuffed to the brim with paddlers and pissheads alike which didn't make for the most relaxing of sessions! My lesson learned from this experience, I caught the first train and was on the river bank before 7. Bright conditions made the fish in the slower glides very spooky indeed, so I opted to concentrate my efforts fishing through the deeper holes and swift riffles with nymphs. Sure enough, this did the trick and I was soon being entertained by a stream of scrappy brownies. Some came off of course, but I ended with 7 fish to hand, most of which were in the 6 to 8 inch bracket (fairly standard for the stretch) along with a couple of a better stamp.

A couple of the pretty brownies that fell to the charms of a Mary Copperhead this morning.

The highlight was a solid fish of around 11 or 12" from a deep, narrow bottleneck at the head of a wider glide. I pitched the fly into the area on a short line and tracked it back towards me. It slowed momentarily as it hit a crease in the current, then the indicator plunged under and I lifted into a fish which dived downstream, using the fast flow against me. Eventually, rod hooped over, I managed to ease him back upstream of me then flip him off balance back down into my waiting net. A beautiful fish and a lovely one to conclude my quick trip. As the sun rose higher in the sky and the temperature soared, sport tailed off, so by 10:00am I was heading home in search of breakfast.

Best of the day!

Oh by the way, somehow I've ended up on Twitter now (God help me) so if you're on that whole shabang then feel free to follow me here.

A Day In The Hills - Applecross Peninsula

Scottish gold: a trout from the hills of the Applecross Peninsula.

The Scottish Highlands have been a place dear to my heart ever since I first visited on a family holiday when aged four. The dramatic scenery, the unique culture and history, hills, heather – pick pretty much any cliché you like, I’m invariably taken in by them all. But nowhere I had visited had ever genuinely left me speechless until I was comprehensively silenced by the Applecross Peninsula this August. In fact, on reflection, the vast majority of my week there was spent gawping in every direction, incapable of forming a coherent sentence.

Overlooking Applecross Bay from a hilltop on a beautiful August day.

It really is an area of outstanding natural beauty. The sheltered bay glitters and dances crystal clear in the sunlight, whilst the mountains which frame the bay tower imperiously overhead, and the shadows of Raasay and Skye thrust jaggedly upwards from the sea. Atop the mountains themselves, you can very easily spend the whole day walking without seeing another human being, or hearing a single sound other than the squelch of your boots as you trudge through the peat, and of course the infernal humming of the seething clouds of midges which engulf you if you stand still for so much as a moment to catch your breath (man up – it’s all part of the experience). But what was of most interest to me was the endless small lochs dotted all across the hillsides. Pristine wild waters, rarely fished by anyone, and full of Trout! Naturally I couldn’t miss the chance to fish in such special place, and so with a little help from an OS map I planned an expedition towards the end of the week with the aim of fishing at least 4 different lochs over the course of a day.

A small loch, with the islands of Skye and Raasay in the distance. Who could resist fishing in this kind of scenery?

I rose early on the day of my trip to find a beautiful morning. The sun was out, it was warm, and only the faintest breath of wind blew across the bay. Fantastic weather to have a good walk and take in some scenery... but from a fishing perspective, pretty dire! No matter, after a quick breakfast I set out towards my intended area, first following Bealach Na Bà (the mountain pass which connects Applecross to Lochcarron, formerly a drover’s track, hence the name which means ‘Pass of the Cattle’ in Gaelic) then cutting off up the hill towards my first intended target, Loch An Fheiòr. It wasn’t the easiest of walks through endless and often disorientating peat bogs in baking heat, but the views alone more than made up for it on such a clear day. As for the lochs, I would have happily walked double the distance to reach them. They were charming pieces of water – not ‘shouty’ and over dramatic in the way which bigger lochs can be... they certainly wouldn’t provide the inspiration for some classical masterpiece, but there is something about the total isolation of these peaty, weed fringed pools which captures the imagination – they feel wild in a very real sense which you rarely come across in a nation so hopelessly overcrowded as ours. I suppose if I was to describe anywhere I’ve ever visited as ‘soul restoring’, this would be it.

Following a small burn into the hills.

Looking across the hillside towards the towering presence of Beinn Bhan in the distance.

Loch An Fheiòr - my first target on the day.

The fishing itself became somewhat secondary to the whole experience – just being there was more than enough – but fish I did, and this is an angling blog after all! So, having reached my starting point, I set up my 8’ 4# rod with a 12’ leader, fishing a Bibio on a dropper with the ever reliable Black Pennell sitting in point position and began covering water, making a few searching casts into likely areas before moving on along the bank.

A small selection of traditional wet flies - standard fare for hill loch fishing.

Now, all the accounts I’d previously heard had suggested that hill loch fishing was often easy sport, and usually involved half suicidal brownies in the ‘three-to-the-pound’ class. However, as it turned out on the day in question this was wrong on both counts. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure that many lochs are indeed full of these willing little trout, but on the day in question with the sun high in the sky and the total lack of wind (along with my casting with more than one fly on the leader looking distinctly questionable) they simply weren’t playing ball! As such, Loch An Fheiòr drew a complete blank, and I was forced to move on to a new target. This next water was much smaller than the previous one, but it was deep, and with a large weed bed at one end looked promising. I changed to a one fly cast so as not to fluff my chances with any silly tangles, and then crept into position.

A small, weedy unnamed loch. Home to some surprisingly large trout.

I watched and waited for a few minutes before making my first cast, and was again struck by the sheer silence all around me. The only sound was that of the frantic wing beats of Dragonflies darting after each other across the water’s surface, which was then joined by the fluid swish of my line through the air as I sent my fly sailing to the edge of the weeds. The moment it landed on the water it produced an instant response, but not the little splash or sharp jag at the hand which I had been expecting – instead there came a slow, relaxed rise as a fish sipped in the fly. I struck, and then again, rather than the short cartwheeling fight of a hand-sized brownie which I was expecting, line was torn from my reel at breakneck speed as an evidently large trout rolled and flashed before boring inexorably towards the middle of the loch! Miraculously, despite crashing directly through the middle of the weed bed, it didn’t become stuck, but continued to put up a ferocious resistance to the very last, as after a long battle I was able to lift him from the water – truly the most magnificent trout I had ever seen, all two and a half pounds of him.

The most magnificent trout I had ever seen, all two and a half pounds of him.

Not even the hordes of midges could dampen my mood!

It was to be the only take of the day, but that didn’t matter – I’d have happily traded a year’s worth of catches for that one fish. The long trudge back through the peat bogs didn’t seem half as bad, and not even the hordes of midges could dampen my mood as I bade farewell to the group of deer flitting away in the other direction across the hills. The only thing which perhaps tainted the experience was the fate of my quarry. I would much rather have seen the fish returned alive, but having given its all in the fight, I could not revive it no matter how I tried, and in the end it was destined to end its days on the dinner table. As much as I relish taking a fish for the pot every now and then, I felt that a wild trout that had managed to attain that size in such a small, isolated loch, deserved to grace the waters of its home for the rest of its days, however long that may have been. Nevertheless, it was one of the most unique and enjoyable day’s fishing of my life, and one I’ll never forget.

Deer on the hills - a fitting end to a memorable day.