Moving On.

Well, after neglecting this little blog for a couple of years (shame, shame, I know) I've gotten the urge to write again. However, I felt a new start was in order, so rather than plodding on here, I've decided to start a new blog >>here<<. If you've read anything on here and found it to be of some interest, I'd be grateful if you could take a peek over at the new blog. New posts coming soon!... Probably!

Wind.

A blustery opening day scene - the photo really doesn't do justice to the way the wind was howling.

Yup, wind. That pretty much sums up opening day on Ullswater last Saturday.

I arrived at the lake later than I had planned due to some irritating bus-based issues - not the glittering start to the season I'd been hoping for, standing around in the middle of Penrith waiting for a bus that it seemed was never coming, looking quite the gormless twat in my chest waders.

When I did arrive at Pooley Bridge, conditions seemed reasonable - not the glorious sunshine and mild temperatures we had been experiencing for the preceding week, but not freezing and only a slight breeze. You'd imagine, then, that I was shocked to be almost bowled over by the wind as I trudging up the lake shore not 10 minutes later? Not in the slightest.

I learned quickly last year that Ullswater has its own micro climate. Whatever the wind is like five minutes from the lake shore, rest assured that something five times that speed is howling through the valley to blow your hat off. Mercifully there was no rain, but I found myself casting directly into an eye-watering gale (thankfully with a ledgered worm - being made to fly fish in those conditions is a fate I wouldn't wish upon even a Lancastrian) struggling to keep in contact with my gear. My rod rest was rendered useless as any attempt I made to set the rod down at any angle led to it being blown over in a matter of seconds, so I found myself holding the rod with the tip low, feeling on the line for any signs of life.

Much to my surprise it was only a matter of minutes before there was a stab at the line and I connected with something that put a decent hoop in my rod. I bustled the fish to the surface as quickly as I could so as not to fall foul of the many snags on the marginal shelf, and soon it was thrashing through the shallows towards me - a pretty Ullswater brownie of 13 inches or so - typical of the lake with its dark spots and buttery flanks, and noticeably plumper than its counterparts had been this time last year, presumably due to the mild winter.

A wild Ullswater brown trout to kick off the 2014 season (this one was kept for the pot).

That was to be the only fish of my first foray of the season, and I won't deny that I spend more of the next couple of hours sheltering from the wind behind old stumps and chain-smoking than seriously fishing, but it didn't really matter. I'd opened the season with a fish. Here's hoping it'll be the first of many this year, and not my last from moody Ullswater. I must find some perch, too. A two pounder would do...

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.

Floodwater Grayling.

I doubt many UK anglers would have cause to disagree with me saying that the weather so far this winter has been shit, even by the standards of our drizzle-blighted little island.

It's as if winter hasn't even arrived yet. Temperatures remain warm at around 5-7 degrees most days, and with the unseasonal mildness has come endless rain and a howling, bone-rattling wind. The rivers rise and fall at an alarming rate and always seem to be carrying colour, and the lack of any lengthy periods of cold weather and frost has left the grayling dispersed far wider than is normal for the time of year.

The weather patterns have been particularly frustrating for me as, having not wet a line since September, I was rather hoping to spend as much time chasing the 'ladies' of the Wharfe as possible in the short window I had back home. Well, it appears that was not to be! Every time in the last week or two I've so much as picked up a float and looked at it, all the rivers in the area have burst their banks simultaneously. I would've probably seen the funny side of it normally, but in the back of my mind lurked the awful thought that I might not fish until April should I miss this window - not an easy pill to swallow for a fish-head. So, driven to near panic by that prospect I was determined to hit the river on Saturday come hell or high water, or suffer a mental breakdown (something I could really do without in my final Uni year).

Boils and swirls in a normally calm pool.

I'd like to give some epic rendition of how I battled the elements like Captain Ahab, roaring defiantly at the heavens as I battered every inch of water to oblivion in search of my prize... but in all honesty it really wasn't that bad. In fact is was absolutely fine. There was of course a nasty wind and constant drizzle, interspersed by the odd bit of 'proper rain' - nothing a good pair of waterproofs couldn't handle. The real issue was the extra foot or two of water the river was carrying. Still, trotting with worms has landed me fish in worse conditions, so I rigged up my centrepin setup (with a loafer float capable of carrying plenty of shot to get the bait down to the bottom) still fairly confident of at least tempting a fish.

Float rod sporting the centrepin reel... I should really put a little more effort into my photographs.

The current was pushing hard in a number of normally sedate 'banker' swims, which made life awkward as I struggled to find creases and back eddies where the grayling could be sheltering. Nevertheless, I managed to search out a welcome fish in the first twenty minutes. It had been sitting tight to the bank where a young willow trunk bowed abruptly outwards, creating a narrow channel of slack water, and accepted my worm gladly once I managed a successful trot downstream without being pulled into the main flow. Predictably, that's exactly where the unsuspecting fish decided to bolt, and I was subjected to the agonising process of having to gradually ease it upstream against the weight of the current before it could be steered into the net. Anyone who has fished for grayling will know just how much pressure they can put on a hook hold, using their huge dorsals to catch the current. Multiple hook pulls are par for the course, but in this case I was lucky, and after summarily admiring the fish's pewter flanks and stately sail-like fin it was slipped back to relocate its refuge.

Relief: first contact for almost four months.

Celebratory tea and fag time! Pressure off, blank avoided. I carried on fishing the run for another half hour with no further interest before moving on. I searched a number of other swims for the next couple of hours with no reward other than snags, lost gear and one fine branch - not the best of the year, but not far off (well, if you're going to come into contact with river-junk now and then you might as well make a game of it). Stumped for ideas I headed back to the original spot and fed a handful of chopped worms before trying again. After a few trots down the float dipped again and I hooked into another fish which held its own, stubbornly hugging the bottom for a while before yielding - a better grayling around the pound mark. Not a monster by any standards but a worthy catch, and good enough for me.

A respectable example of Thymallus thymallus.

This success was followed by a series of missed bobs,dips and stolen baits - odd considering the river's seething hoards of minnows tend to vanish through the colder months, and shoals of small coarse fish such as dace and roach are notable in the upper Wharfe by their absence. I changed to a smaller piece of worm and was immediately rewarded with what turned out to be a tiny grayling skittering along the surface towards me. Another slightly larger one around six inches was swung to hand within a couple of casts. Perhaps this wasn't the stamp of fish I was looking for, but it's certainly an encouraging sign for the future of the river that the juveniles are present.

It would seem there were quite a few of these tiny fellas present. Embarrassing to catch, encouraging to see.

The nabbing, pecking bites ceased as abruptly as they had started, leading me to think something was afoot. Sure enough, ten minutes later the next disappearance of the float was followed by an eruption of spray as an out of season brownie launched itself all over the swim in its manic attempts to shake the hook. Not a bad fish at around a pound and in excellent condition for the time of year, it was slipped back with the minimum of fuss so as to cause minimum disruption to its off-season relaxation. Whilst it would have been a very welcome fish in September, trout are a downright nuisance to the winter grayling angler. Once they sniff out loose bait or detect feeding activity they can move in quickly and often muscle out the more reserved grayling. Add to this their no-holds-barred maniacal efforts to escape once hooked, and they can soon clear a pool of any fish with an ounce of common sense if not swiftly subdued. Having contemplated on this, after a few more token casts I decided to quit while I was ahead. After all, it hadn't been a bad few hours sport. Enough to cure the cabin fever at least.

I'm still faced with the fact that I probably won't be able to wet a line now until springtime, but a few hours chasing ladies was a perfect antidote to the stress of the last few months. Hopefully the memory will be enough to drag me through the even worse months to come!

Minor revamp, plus a spot of rainbow chasing.

Well it's been a long while since I've posted on here, and not for the first time. I've been rather busy with the combined burdens of Uni work and a new job, so I've barely been fishing at all, let alone had the time or motivation to write on here. But here I am now, and as you might have noticed if you're a regular on my blog I've made a couple of minor cosmetic tweaks. I've also changed the title - 'Yorkshire Fly Novice' always sounded a tad clunky to me... 'Yorkshire Fly Fisher' is much slicker, don't you think?

Housekeeping aside, I did manage to sneak in a couple of evening sessions on a small stillwater recently. The weather's been bright and hot, making the sport fairly tough going. Dry flies have brought me fairly consistent sport, though - anything small and black really seems to be okay at the moment, picking off fish head-and-tailing after emerging midges. When that hasn't worked, bullying a response out of them with a G&H sedge has rarely failed. Here's a couple of nice blues from last Tuesday:

It's been kind of nice to fish stillwaters for a change. I suppose it's kind of like setting aside your copy of the Telegraph and picking up a tabloid... you don't take it seriously, but it can be good fun now and then. I should be back on flowing water for the first time in an age tomorrow though. My piking pal Tom's been having some good results on the Aire recently, so I must go scope it out. I can have a stab at the grayling now, too! Watch this space for further developments... there will be further developments this time, I promise!

Tight lines,
Eric.

Another Aire Trip (and video).

Well, I had another quick trip to the Aire yesterday morning. The fish there are definitely more active than they are on the Wharfe at the moment, but bumping nymphs along the bottom with frozen hands it still felt more like a November Grayling session than spring trout fishing. Things seem to be on the up though, although we're still lagging a few weeks behind normal spring conditions. A couple of fish came to the net - two brownies around the 3/4lb mark - it's a wonderful feeling to get my string pulled again!
I got enough headcam footage to cobble together a small video - hope you like it. My casting/general technique is a touch rusty after a long off season as you can probably tell... please be gentle!

Tight lines,
Eric.

At last!

Well, here it is! My first trout of the Yorkshire season, taken on a heavy copperhead nymph from a deep, fast run in the River Aire. Unbelievably relieving to finally get some points on the board as I was beginning to question the small amount of ability I possess. The fish came after a plump out of season grayling - much more solid and stocky looking than its counterparts in the Wharfe. I'm certainly looking forward to fishing for them when they come into season. My pal Tom managed his first trout on the fly too, so smiles all round!

It's easy to wax lyrical about any fish when you've grafted so much to catch it, but this brownie really did put on a pretty spectacular show. I was fishing my nymph below an indicator, watching for any stops and stutters in its run, but on this occasion the line fully slammed tight and the fish launched itself from the water, proceeding to do so five or so more times during the course of the scrap. Heart stopping stuff, and I wish I'd caught it on my headcam but unfortunately it was sitting in my fly vest pocket at the time! Stupid boy... I might sneak in an hour or two tomorrow morning though, so I'll be sure not to make the same mistake then!

Anyway, the pressure's off now, and I can get back to enjoying my fishing fully! If you want a look at the nymph, it's one sold by Stuart Minnikin of Yorkshire Dales Fly Fishing in his online fly shop. Looks a simple tie but bloody deadly, so if you want you can see it plus a bunch of other cracking patterns here.

Tight lines for now,
Eric.

Burning the Midnight Oil...

It's rather late on a Saturday evening, and really I ought to be out drinking, trying to cop off with random unsuspecting lasses, having punch ups over god knows what or throwing up into a drain, same as pretty much every other lad my age. Admittedly that can be the case rather too often on a weekend when I'm up at University, but I'm at home and tomorrow I'm going fishing - the thought alone of tying up leaders with a hangover is enough to make me feel ill. So, rather than kicking seven colours of shite out of my liver, I've been burning the midnight oil tying up a number of variations on a tungsten head PTN in sizes 14 and 16. As you can see above, pretty rough work and I definitely need more practice, but hopefully the trout will get the general idea and humour me. The Wharfe left me watterlicked for a fourth session in a row on Thursday by the way - lots of LDOs, not a single rising fish! Outrageous in such lovely weather. Hopefully the Aire will be more generous... five blanks on the bounce could see me nipping to Homebase for a length of stout rope!

Still struggling..

Well, I'm still struggling to get off the mark for the season. It's getting rather worrying actually! Yes, I've had two fish on that chilly opening day session at Ullswater, but I don't really feel settled until I've had a fish from a river. Three sessions so far, three blanks. One in a blizzard on the Cumbrian Eamont, one on the Wharfe last Friday (lots of hatching LDOs, no rising fish) and then Tuesday on the Aire, although that trip was almost a success. Tuesday was a catch up session with my good pike fishing pal Tom, just throwing a few spinners whilst I assessed the stretch of river (a regular spot for Tom) for bug-wafting potential. One major positive was there were a number of areas of great looking trout water, as well as some slower, more typical coarse fishing swims. Another positive was that at around 3 p.m. a number of fish, including some weighty looking fellas, began to rise to a good hatch of midges although there were no olives to be seen. Heartening to see real signs of life for the first time this year, but at the same time it would have been far better had there been a griffiths gnat on the end of my line rather than a 3/4 inch floating rapala! Happily I did connect with a fish in some deep, steady water - a fit little brownie of around 3/4 lb to the pound mark I think, then again, I didn't get him close enough to find out before he shook himself free... yeah, so like I said, all in all the session was almost a success...

I've been dicking about some more with my headcam on my recent outings, and I'm fairly pleased with the it. Good image quality at 1080p for the price you pay, and the sound quality seems better than that of the more expensive 'GoPro' cameras. Hopefully the next fish I film on it will make it to the net.

Hopefully I'll be out on the Wharfe again today, and then the Aire on Sunday with Tom (with proper gear this time!), so keep an eye out and expect a post or two if things pan out well.

Eric.

Time to start tying my own...

The current extent of my fly tying gear: a crap vice, substandard tools, thread, a handful of beads and  some scraps of pheasant tail. A few purchases in order then...

Over the last few months I've been finding it harder and harder to justify to myself why I don't tie my own flies. It really doesn't make any sense, and I suppose I've finally come to accept it's down to laziness and/or a lack of willing to learn - not traits I want to transfer into the rest of my fishing, that's for sure!

The advantages of tying your own are undeniable once you get the hang of it. You can create flies for any situation whenever you need them, you can make tweaks to the style/weight etc. of patterns rather than being stuck with the 'get what you're given' approach of big fly dealers (some professional fly dressers are excellent though), and most importantly from my perspective, you can create more flies for less cash.

One of my rare, hamfisted attempts at a nymph. Some practice needed!

So, no more excuses. Time to start learning. I've purchased a few bits and bats to bulk out my currently rather sorry looking tying armoury, and hopefully they'll be with me later in the week. I figured I'd start off with some pheasant tail nymphs and other weighted patterns since they come across as the most straightforward river flies to knock up, plus a large amount of my fishing at the moment involves shortline nymphing and duo techniques, so the more choices I put in my box the better. Once I've got the hang of that, I'll start tinkering with the more fiddly wets and dries.

I'll keep you all posted with how things go!

Eric.

Reverb: Fly Fishing and Punk Collide (a film review, inexplicably masquerading as musings about music, emotions and growing up...)

Outside of the world of fly fishing I suppose that I'm something of a - and I really hate to use the expression - 'music fan'. Ugh, just the sight of the phrase on the screen in front of me makes me feel bilious for a plethora of reasons far too petty and off-topic to grumble about here, but nevertheless it's the simplest way of putting it. Let's just summarise the potential book's worth of drivel (I really could babble for hours, but this is hardly the place or the audience) by saying I likes me a bit o' music. My sphere of interest encompasses anything from classical to ska, metal to celtic and, in some extreme cases, dubstep. From a fairly young age though I've been particularly taken with punk music - something about the whole 'young, stupid and pissed off about... well, we're not too sure' vibe always appealed to me on a level that other genres never quite managed. It can be angry, aggressive, erratic, but at the same time retains a carefree, youthful energy which is perhaps lacking in my staple diet of death and thrash metal. Punk never gets too serious, and when you're a kid (hark the wisdom of the man of nineteen summers) what is there to be serious about? Nothing. To be honest, if, as I nose my way out of the nursery stream into the raging torrent of adult life, I ever start to take things too seriously, if I lose that feeling of inner punk, It'll feel like I've gone very wrong somewhere down the line.
"Yeah yeah, you're a punk fan, we get it. Now stop being such a tooth-aching sycophant and get to the point."
Apologies, reader, but it's a genuinely emotive subject for me! You'll sooner see me getting dewy eyed listening to a favourite album rediscovered in a forgotten attic box than over the predictable 'reunited against all the odds' scene you see at the end of every film ever. My girlfriend has pointed out to me on a number of occasions that I can be an insensitive git to be with in the cinema, as it happens. But yes, sorry, my point...

Pegboy, formed in Chicago in the early 90s, have grown to become a favourite band of mine since I stumbled across them on one of my regular trawls through the darkest recesses of Youtube a year or two ago. I've also been a follower for some time of a chap called Robert Thompson, who runs the site Third Year Fly Fisher. He used to put up monthly blog-type videos of his fishing exploits interspersed with nice compilations of footage. In the last couple of years though he's started making longer films, good ones at that. So, imagine my surprise when the trailer below popped up!

"Reverb" fly fishing trailer - Youtube
(sorry I couldn't embed the vid to make it easier - Blogger decided I could have anything, just not this)

Yep, it would appear Pegboy (or at least half of Pegboy plus their pal Herb from Rights Of The Accused) are fly fishers. Fate? Well I don't believe in that crap, but a happy coincidence at least. I emailed Robert and asked about getting hold of a copy. I was given a price, and it was in the post the next day. It arrived surprisingly quickly actually - only a week, which from the States isn't bad.

So, how was it? Well, for me? Fantastic, but that could be the 'music fan' (again... just no) in me talking. It's really a documentary about the band tied together by fly fishing, but there's plenty there to please the angling eye, with wonderful shots of small stream brown and brook trout fishing. Reverb is actually only an extra on the DVD of Robert's film 'Heart of The Driftless' which takes a more full on, and again excellent look at the same streams in the Driftless area in the upper American Midwest, and even if the whole punk thing doesn't float your boat, HOTD is worth the price all on its own.

What really struck a chord with me in Reverb, though, more than the fishing, more than the music, was actually seeing Larry and Joe now as forty-somethings looking back on their career. Quite a shock at first when you're used to the angry young guys from the music videos. The fact was though, as much as time had passed and they'd changed as people, the spark was still there. As soon as they jump up on stage the youth bursts back out, and so it does when they're together chasing trout. This brings me full circle, back to my thoughts at the start of this post - a post which has turned out to be a hell of a lot longer than I was expecting, might I add! Punk spirit. Never take anything too seriously, never lose your playful side. In a little over a month I turn twenty. I can hear your laughter, but shit, twenty! Somehow for the first time it just feels like a proper number, no more messing about. Double that and you're forty. Presuming I make it to forty, where will I be? Life gets more serious the older you get. The miserable bastards on the trains at rush hour are testament to that. Will my inner punk be squashed out of me by taxes, bills and bairns? So long as I keep a fly rod close at hand and a good river nearby, I think it'll survive. As I've said, it's all about not taking things too seriously, and as much as you can concentrate hard with fishing - apply all your wit to it, hone your skills - you can never start to take it too seriously. Where would the fun in that be? No matter what happens, even if I have to sell all my CDs to pay the rent, I'll always be able to keep the inner punk hidden away in there somewhere, and let him loose to swear at tangled leaders and curse fly-snatching branches.

Play me out, guys!

Staying Positive.

Ullswater can be a stunning place, as this February snap shows...

The Cumbrian trout season opened last Friday, and true to form when I arrived on the banks of Ullswater (sort of my local when I'm up here) at around 7 a.m. I was met with a mixture of sleet, rain and a howling wind... yeah. Not ideal. But March is an unpredictable time of year and you simply have to make the best of the conditions you're faced with. At least that's the way I rationalised it in my head as I rigged up my rod, gritting my teeth in the icy spring air. A legered worm was the method for the day - the fly seemed pointless given the conditions, and really I only planned to fish a couple of hours to appease the gods of the water. I punched my bait out hard to reach deeper water, set the rod down and began my long, chilly vigil.

Come opening day, conditions weren't so pleasant - I took this shot during a rare break in the wind and sleet.

The depressing thing about fishing a long ribbon lake like Ullswater in bad weather is that you can see the next squall or snow flurry coming from upwind about 5 minutes before it hits you. It's useful in the sense that it gives you time to wrap up and prepare, but it taints even the sunniest spell with a sense of futility as all too soon you see the next wall of black cloud bearing down on you. In normal circumstances this just adds to the drama of the place, but on a cold, biteless March morning it saps one's morale at a rate that cannot be stemmed even by the liberal application of tea, whisky and cigarettes. Today was certainly one of those days, and it wasn't long before I grew weary of the site of my stubbornly static rod tip. I couldn't believe when I checked the time that it was barely past 8 a.m.. A bus was due shortly and I was sorely tempted to catch it, but I talked myself around - a couple more hours, make the trip worth it at least. Stay positive. Rebait, recast, keep hoping. Stay positive. Turn your back to the wind (and was that hail now?). Pull down the hat. Turn up the collar. And for God's sake, stay positive.

Still time dragged on in this manner as I refused to accept the likelihood of an opening day blank. Surely there had to be something out there looking for a spot of breakfast? I was sure the wind had eased off, and perhaps the temperature had risen a couple of degrees, but maybe that was the contents of my now empty hip flask talking. Still, I could have sworn that I had a rattle on my rod tip just as this change  in conditions was coming about... hmm, perhaps not. I tightened the line and waited. A few minutes passed, then all at once the tip sprang abruptly straight and I struck into a definite solid resistance. Not a leviathan, but after the dismal start to the day, the pulsing of the rod as the trout finned determinedly out in the deeps felt positively miraculous. Soon it was on the bank - a stunning opening day brownie, slim from the winter but wonderfully marked and fin-perfect.

Against the odds: the first of the season.

After performing the necessary (I do like to keep the odd fish, and the first takeable fish of the year tends to find its way to my pan) and stowing the prize safely in my bag I checked my watch - half past nine. Time for another fish before my next bus, maybe? I hooked up a new worm and sent another prospecting cast over the ledge. This time the bait had barely settled before I had another thumping bite, and soon another sprightly, golden trout lay on the bank. Funny what can happen when you force yourself to be positive...

The fruits of a positive mental attitude: a brace of opening day Ullswater trout.

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

Finding the Silver Lining: Blown out rivers and new friends.

Plumping for Pike: With the rivers out of action, the coarse fishing gear has been brought out.

Aquatically speaking, the last few months of 2012 have been very predictable indeed, if only in a somewhat roundabout and convoluted sense of the word. If it's not been raining (I think the rainy season in both Yorkshire and Cumbria started around the year 1500 and has just trundled on since) it's either been snowing, freezing or blowing a gale - often a combination of the three. Many of the Cumbrian lakes have spent days entombed in ice, and if there was a period of settled conditions, you could bet your house, children, and the contents of your vintage caviar cellar that the day you planned to string up your rod the rivers would rise two feet and hold nothing but the prospect of dead sheep and sanitary towels. On the few occasions I've been able to walk the banks of my beloved Wharfe and assess the state of affairs, it has been like meeting an old friend after many years apart and realising you no longer have anything in common. Long, sedate pools which come alive in the balmy summer evenings with the oily head-and-tail rises of glorious, uncatchable leviathans now boil and surge with an alien malice. The gently poppling, sun-dappled riffles of my memory now snarl, tearing away at the vulnerable banks, whilst on a bad day, bouldered rapids can now take on the guise of the middle reaches of the Zambezi. When the waters finally drop (hopefully some time before March - I have plans, you know) and the old friend and I once more find some common ground, there's a good chance that they'll have undergone a serious facelift. Whether a happy improvement or otherwise is impossible to predict, but either way it'll take some getting used to.

Nevertheless, whilst in my angling life I increasingly find myself attempting to navigate a small boat up a river of excrement with no means of propulsion, it's not all bad, is it? Those four blokes on horseback didn't pop round to engineer the destruction of our entire civilisation, I've not bickered with my girlfriend any more than usual, there are still a couple of pubs where I can get a pint of decent ale for under three quid, and the price of Lambert & Butler hasn't rocketed too dramatically. Besides, all this water has washed me away towards places I've rarely fished with any conviction since my early teens, and landed me fortuitously on the bank beside and equally mad keen worm drowner of a similar age to myself - Tom, master pike catcher.

I found Tom, or rather he found me, through my video based messing around on Youtube (here's a link incase you're interested). He too dabbles in video making, and after realising we lived about ten minutes apart, he got in touch with me about having a session together and the possibility of shooting a few videos. I liked the idea and we got chatting. The conversation was easy, and we agreed to have a session the next time I was home.
So, around came Christmas once again, and I returned to Bradford with a head full of lecture notes it didn't want to process and the prospect of January exams looming over me as they still do now - writing your blog seems so much more exciting when there's something else you should be doing, doesn't it? But now, for the first time since early November, fishing was on the cards. I spoke to Tom and we both agreed the rivers were 'nae use to man nor beast', to use the Northern lingo, and that given the current weather patterns our best bet was to target some pike in the local canal, where Tom and a few other anglers had been braving the weather and had banked a number of double figure fish, including a chunky fifteen pounder for Tom himself.
"Sounds good" I said, "Let's do it". And so last Sunday, in a wind that could have toppled statues, I found myself hunkered down on the canal towpath before first light, pitching a dead roach as close to the moored boats as I dared. Tom seemed confident we would hit a few fish before long as he baited two rods with sprats, fiddled with his bite alarms, then went about the business of attempting to catch some of the smaller locals to sacrifice in the name of Esox. When his pal Dave arrived in his van a while after us, however, he seemed rather more sceptical. In fact, as the wind began to howl harder and harder, I distinctly remember his reaction being along the lines of 'why the bloody hell would you bother fishing on a day like this?'. Somewhere in the back of my head I felt he had a point. Nevertheless, I took heart in Tom's buoyant optimism and went to aid him in his livebait quest. He'd been struggling up to this point with a lot of missed bites, so I suggested the operation perhaps needed a fly fisher's more delicate touch. Sure enough, Tom handed me the rod and first cast, after a deft flick tight to the flaking bow of an old barge, I successfully shepherded a small, flashing roach to hand. I offered it to Tom who immediately swapped one of his ledgered sprats for the little fish, whose day was going from bad to worse, recast and waited in poised expectancy. Five minutes passed before the alarm let out a single bleep followed by a gentle wiggling of the rod tip. I was about to suggest it might just be the livebait working rather than a more sinister presence when the rod hooped round and Tom locked into the first fish of the day. It stayed deep at first, shaking its head furiously and doing its best to dive into the sanctuary of the boats, but soon enough it broke surface in a shower of spray and was drawn reluctantly over the waiting net; a solid fish of around six pounds. Not a monster, but as Tom unhooked it (it was mercifully benign on the bank) I had to pause for a moment to take in its perfect torpedo-like form - pike of all sizes have a certain gravitas about them which other fish do not with their crocodilian features and huge fins. They are pure predatory perfection. We slipped him back and he paused briefly to collect himself before rocketing back to his lair.

Tom, getting into the festive spirit, displays the first of the day: a solid six pounder.

After the excitement, with the rods reset with deadbaits for the time being, we settled down for a quick cup of tea, and I took the chance to muse briefly on my surroundings. It was very surreal, after spending the last few seasons mainly on Yorkshire's pretty trout streams, never too far from the public but always with a degree of peace and quiet, surrounded by nature, to find myself casting a line in such an urban setting. Even on the stretches of canal I usually fish, a short walk will find you in relatively rural surroundings, but here I felt boxed in and almost on show, with the concrete towpath backing straight onto a housing block, a hotel and flats looming on the opposite bank, and a road bridge rumbling on my left. Yet somehow, perhaps due to the rare social aspect on the day (fishing is almost always a solitary pastime for me) along with the obvious pikey potential of the area,  I felt rather comfortable perched on my stool, watching my bright float riding on the ripples, smoking and chatting about the prospects for the coming hours.

The Pike float rides tantalisingly on the ripples...

My pleasant reverie was broken abruptly by a shout from down the bank, and I turned to see Dave's rod buckled in two as he tussled with an evidently substantial fish. We reached him in time to see the fish boil on the surface before surging away strongly again. A few tense minutes followed before a semblance of control was gained and Tom was able to bundle the fish into the net. On the mat it looked impressive - heavy set and very deep indeed. We were all rather surprised when it only weighed 11lb 8oz. Still, a good fish for a canal, and its tiger-like fins and marbled flanks were a sight to behold.

The business end of the 11 pounder as Dave does the honours with the hooks.

So, two fish on the bank, and I was the only one left sitting on a blank - no matter! Plenty of time yet. I went back to my spot, switched to a fresh bait, then went back to the serious business of hunting livebaits. Soon both myself and Tom had livebaits fishing by the barges - a roach for me and a little skimmer bream for him. We were now both fishing running ledger rigs, as although the aesthetic quality of watching a pike float suddenly spring to life and plunge beneath the surface is undeniable, given the unrelenting gale, a tethered bait was evidently the more practical choice on the day. Predictably though it was Tom's bait which was snapped up almost instantly, and I was soon helping him hoist ashore a small feisty jack pike around the three to four pound mark, which he soon followed with another of similar stamp. With the light fading, I was beginning to wonder if I would be returning home with the shame of a blank hanging over me. Spurred on my the urge to avoid this, I moved my bait along to a small gap between two boats, a perfect ambush spot. I set everything up, tightened down and waited. What seemed like an age went by, and I was pondering the idea of a recast when a faint twitch gradually developed into an all-out run. I lurched upon the rod and lifted into a bucking, solid resistance. It came to the surface quickly and was evidently not large, but the hook hold looked tenuous, so I ushered it as quickly and carefully as possible into the net, and lifted out a glorious, beautiful, miraculous blank saving fish
.

One of a pair of smaller fish for Tom.

A brilliant, blank saving four pounder for me!

After that relief, we decided to head for home, but agreed to meet up again after Christmas. On boxing day we did just that, this time adopting a more roving approach with float fished livebaits. We had a good day, with four fish for me and three for tom. The only issue was that none of the fish weighed over three pounds! Still, better than no fish at all, and it's all good fun. We've agreed to meet up again after the new year. Hopefully we'll winkle out a couple of the big girls!
Here's some video I shot on out first day. Rough stuff as usual but hopefully you enjoy it!

So you see, though the weather continues to be about as welcome as a bag of grapeshot to the nads, I've discovered a silver lining behind the endless clouds, finding a new ally in my addiction, and getting a chance to play with the predators for the first time in rather too long. Best of all, Tom's keen to learn more of the art of the fly, so that should lead to a few forays in the spring... if the rivers ever decide to stop their quest to turn the entire Humber basin into an inland sea, that is.

Happy New Year, folks! And tight lines for 2013!
Eric.

Late Autumn Update..

Late autumn, early winter... whichever way you look at it, it's been a long old stretch since I posted here, and even longer since I posted anything truly fly fishing related.
Well, sorry to disappoint you readers (if any of you are still there!) but you'll just have to wait a bit longer. I haven't wielded a fly rod in anger since the start of September when a friend and I went on a wee jaunt to Angle Tarn in Patterdale before starting a new university year. It was an achingly beautiful place but the weather was horrid - a total blowout with gales ripping down the length of the tarn. Casting was nigh on impossible, and although I did get a few snatching takes from little wildies, I failed to get anything to stick.
After that, university work, an inability to get home and fish the Wharfe and some shit Cumbrian weather conspired against me, so the trout season of 2012 - something of a mixed bag - ended without another chuck.

Cracking view over Angle Tarn, Patterdale. Shame about the fishing..

Battered and blown away in the fells - not a great day to be camping! 

 Since then I didn't fish at all until earlier this month when I managed to find the time to dust off the trotting gear and snatch a couple of quick sessions back on the Wharfe. It was a mixed bag really, with a lot of lost fish including some very nice grayling - very frustrating, but that often seems to be the case when trotting in fast water, especially when ladies are the quarry. Increased pressure from the force of water when trying to tease fish upstream often leads to a lot of hook pulls.
Nevertheless, I did manage to close the net over a few unwitting victims. Some were the ever present and unavoidable out of season trout, eternally eager to snaffle maggots. A few more delicate fellows were fooled though - beautiful grayling, including one male specimen in particularly fine fettle, his blood red dorsal and silvery flanks iridescent in the steely November light.

A couple of autumn grayling from the Wharfe.

Along with these I also tempted a belting chub from a deep pool under the shade of a willow as the light faded. The bite was tentative - an inscrutable dip of the float as it idled past a tangle of roots. I lifted gently, expecting the frantic head-bumping tussle of a small grayling or trout, but instead there immediately appeared a substantial boil on the surface and my rod buckled under a strong, ponderous pulling. Instinctively I loosened off my drag as the fish charged deeper before beginning to sulk, slowly circling on the bottom. Due to my light tackle there was no way I could bully the fish, so instead I patiently applied steady pressure, and after a few minutes the fish seemed to begin to see my side of the argument, slowly emerging for the depths and allowing me a glimpse of its brassy flank before diving, sending my clutch into squeals once more. Despite this continued vigour I knew I was in the end game, and soon he was sliding over my net. I laid the fish down in the net and breathed a little sigh of relief as I realised just how tenuous the hook hold had been, with just the tiniest of nicks in the chub's rubbery top lip. I held him up to the late sun and admired him - around 3 and a half pounds. Not a monster, but a lovely fish to end a day.

An unexpected, splendid chub.

I shot some video of my second session of the weekend (including the chub) so there's a wee linky to that below!

So, what's the plan for the coming weeks? Well, I just mail ordered a nice big sack of worms and some groundbait in the hope of getting out for a spot of perching on Ullswater before the weather becomes too bitter - depending on how that goes, expect a post or two on here. As to when I'll be hitting some Yorkshire waters again, best estimates would suggest some time around Christmas when I get some time off from my studies. Ideally I'll be able to hit a few grayling on the bugs, but depending on the weather it might have to be some more trotting, or perhaps a spot of deadbaiting after a big canal pike.
Also, I'm in the process of looking for a headcam set up, ideally by next trout season at least so I can get some nice first-person shots of my various piscatorial farces.
Whatever happens, I'll be sure to chuck a post or two about it on here when time allows.

Until then, tight lines!
Eric.

Heresy..

A quick video of my recent worming antics!

Wet, wet, wet: rain induced ramblings on fly tying, noisy music and the worm.

A typical view out of my window this summer...

As usual throughout this summer, the rain is pounding against my window as I write this update. Will it never end? The Wharfe, and most other Dales rivers with it, have been up and down like yo-yos all through August, and particularly for the last couple of weeks, fly fishing opportunities have been very scarce indeed.

Perhaps if I were to be more philosophical about the whole business I would find a few beneficial aspects of the wet weather. For one, the trout should be clean of Argulus (river lice), making for a healthier fish population. Last season with all the low water it brought, I caught many fish which were plastered in these unpleasant little parasites, whilst this year I've only spotted one on a fish. Also another good point (and for me this is a big one) is that the rocks on the river bed are not as heavily coated in the cursed green slime which made wading last year akin to negotiating a field of bowling balls slathered in Vaseline. Finally, and perhaps most excitingly, all the extra water will have been allowing migratory fish to run the Ouse system far more easily this year. The Ure has been recording good salmon numbers all season, and hopefully this will have translated itself into a better run on the Wharfe too this year. Certainly the back end could be interesting. Hush hush though, we don't want them getting dragged out and knocked on the head. Now, where's my box of tube flies...
Anyway, despite all these concessions, to the close minded brownie basher - and yes, as much as I hate to say it I suppose that's what I am these days - floods are a royal pain in the arse. Many anglers would settle down to tie some flies in preparation for the next weather window, but despite seeing how that's a good way to keep your mind occupied, it just doesn't do it for me. I'm bad at fly tying, and I only dabble when I'm seriously low on nymphs and streamers. I find that for many experienced tiers, the act of dressing a hook becomes more of a means to itself than an endeavour to catch more fish. To those that enjoy it, fair enough, and I respect the skill and finesse it requires, for it is a trait I can appreciate but will never possess... not with these sausage fingers. Personally though, I'd much rather pay someone else to do a far better job than I would, save myself some time, and get on with the infinitely more important business of showing those pesky trout and grayling who's boss (it's them of course, but sometimes I like to kid myself otherwise when I catch one by fluke). I should probably try harder to be enthusiastic about the tying though, then I wouldn't be at such a loss for what to do at times like this!

Simple streamers - pretty much my only fly tying venture.

So, how have I been occupying myself? Well, in the same way I always do when there's no fishing on offer. Stupid amounts of press ups, unhealthy amounts of smoking, and scouring the internet for new music to damage my eardrums with. In the process of this, something caught my eye (well, ears) which I wouldn't normally touch with a bargepole, that being the work of a fairly low-key German dubstep producer going by the name of Nilow. Usually, bar a couple of exceptions, I despise this kind of thing which in general brings to mind images of a fax machine being roughly taken from behind by a bull elephant in Musth. Nilow's remixes though give off a much more chilled vibe which clicks with me. The track below in particular pleased me, and is a strong candidate to get slotted into one of my Youtube videos in future I think.

Other than that, it's mainly been the usual mixture of hemorrhage inducing hardcore and death metal. Whitechapel's new album in particular has been getting a lot of airtime. If you don't know who they are, the track below explains their whole sound in a nutshell rather eloquently.

If at this point you're still reading and haven't quite switched off, wahey! Time for fishing talk! As I said at the start, with all the water, fly fishing's been a non starter for the majority of this month. The sessions that I have squeezed in I've already blogged about on here. However, I have managed to have a couple of evening sessions on a rather swollen River Wharfe with the worm last week. I've probably been over my thoughts about this often controversial (amongst the snootier members of the fly fishing community at least) method on this blog before, so I don't intend to go into the ins and outs of it today. In short, it's a method I enjoy fishing now and then and the conditions suit, and the rate of deep hookings I find is no different to that when using the fly. As with my fly fishing, the majority of what I catch goes back unharmed.
Morality/tradition/any other bollocks aside, fishing has been tricky even with the worm, as the river has been so high on occasions that it's been hard to find any sheltered areas to fish. Most of the trout I've winkled out have come from deep back eddies under my own bank in the last hour before dark. Rather exciting it's been too, feeling the lead bump around on the bottom, waiting for bites which could be anything from a gentle pluck on the line to an arm wrenching tug on the rod tip. The best fish I've managed came on Thursday night as I worked my way through some calm water beneath a old fallen tree. I flicked the length of line required out into midstream, then carefully guided the bait round until it settled directly under the bank about 10 yards below me. I waited a couple of minutes... nothing. Confident of a take though, I placed my rod in a rest and awaited a result. It didn't take long, as after around five minutes the rod tip jagged round and I found myself connected to a hard fighting brownie which I had to work hard to stop diving into a jungle of snags on a number of occasions. Eventually I managed to coax it thrashing to the surface and over the net - a pristine, solid wild brownie of around a pound and a half. Not a bad fish in anyone's book.

A pristine Wharfe Brown Trout on the worm in fading light.

Beyond this, what do the next few weeks hold? I'll be returning to Penrith soon, but until then I'll be attempting to make the most of the rest of my available days on the Wharfe, maybe pulling a few streamers in search of a big predatory brown to round off the season. Then, once up in Cumbria there's a hiking trip with a spot of hill tarn fishing on the cards. Whatever happens, expect a blog update about it soon!

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.