2021 in Review
Hello, is anybody still there? Can you still hear me? Has
anyone ever been there…?
The air has taken on a distinctly chilly tinge, stabbing
cold inflicts hands foolish enough now to forget cycling gloves on the morning
cycle into the lab and the long darkness has slowed to allow a rhythm of rest. It’s
during these months, addled by nostalgia and better rested, that I’m looking
forward to penning a few tales, living vicariously through my since passed self
until anticipation gives way to next year’s season. Given the paucity of
updates over this year, I thought it fitting to give a (I’ll try to be brief!)
summary of the year’s fishing into which these tales will slot. By no means my
best season, there have at least been some notable days and steps in learning.
So pop on a jumper, grab some autumnal apple crumble and enjoy!
Early season
Gauging myself by returning to a well-known beat, I got onto
a tributary of the Exe in late March for my first trip of the fly season.
Euronymphing in the deep pools returned half a dozen brownies to a fair size in
a couple of hours over a lunchtime session. A few more trips over the next
month returned some consistent sport from a number of rivers, from picturesque
moorland clear waters to urban rivers where residents literally fling turds over
their fence into the canalised waters. By April, some trips were made to the
headwaters of moorland streams to seek eager brownies on rough dry flies. Truly
refreshing fishing, with the most beautiful trout, albeit not the biggest
specimens, throwing themselves at bushy dry flies in the tumbling clear waters.
It became a game to seek out fish from as small a trib as possible, with the
pinnacle being a stream of no more than a foot wide at any point and pools the
size of a soup pot. Flicking dries on the leader, even these ecosystems in
miniature brought delightful trout to over half the length of the river’s
width. I tapped up some words for the Sane and Fable blog on fishing these rivers, you can find it here:
May brought rain, and more rain. When the heavens finally
closed after just shy of forty days and forty nights, it was time to get the
waders back on and dust off the switch rod. 04:30 alarm, cup of coffee and into
the pool at dawn. The water was still high and just getting into position in
the pool was a real challenge in the half light. Big flowy monkey tube, swung
round on a fast sink tip. Step step, strip, set the anchor, send the loop
across, repeat. Boom, no gentle touches but the line was tugged tight in my
left hand. Was it a trolley? Crash, a silver springer lept in anger, it was
certainly not a trolley. Brought to the net, it rushed away at the last minute
and went head first into some reeds at my feet. Like Gollum, I lept desperate
onto it and grabbed it by the tail wrist before cradling it into the net to
recover in the water.
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| Easter day moorland brownie. |
Summer
After the blowout weather of May and a poorly timed patch of
ill health during the mayfly that left me housebound, I was quite keen to get
back into some fish. Some bonus brownies from the Culm at 36 and 39cm, falling
to French nymphing tactics in the absence of rising fish, was a welcome return.
This is an odd river, never prolific in the reaches where I fish, with awful
sedimentation issues arising from erosion from poor land management but still
throwing up the odd nice sized fish for Devon. It was sad to see our modest
club lose access to a beat that we had fished on this river where I spent many happy
evenings last year, with dense ranunculus and more predictable rising fish, all
due to an apparent misunderstanding between a tenant farmer and angler. Such is
life though in a country with land access still lagging behind in the feudal
system.
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| Second flick of the nymphs. |
The end of June saw my old man Neil make an appearance in
the south west and we put a few days to good use. A couple of weeks prior we'd joined the ruling classes and had a day on a nicely overgrown beat of the Wylye. Lots of beautiful little wild trout and grayling, with a relative leviathan falling to a little aphid flicked under branches on the 7' three weight. The crocodile rolls that this fish gave were enough to cause palpitations, aware of my 7x tippet. This time, blown off the Tamar (that pesky
agricultural erosion again!), we headed up to the middle Exe to fish with
Gerald Spiers from the Devon School of Fly fishing. I spent most of the time
worried that I would be soon chased off the beat, not used to such civilised
water, generally reserved for respectable gentry, not hairy students. Having a
play with some of Gerald’s single handed spey setups, I was instantly enamoured
and could see the practical use for these shorter loading lines on what are
often much narrower rivers with tight casts when chasing salmon in this part of
the world. Besides, they’re also just pretty cool to cast! We fished the
evening rise late, tying on bigger and bigger flies until we could no longer
see even the most obvious of rises, and then a few more casts for good measure.
A nice grayling and several fine trout put in an appearance under the crimson
sky. A couple more days of fishing saw us hit some of the most picturesque
streams on Dartmoor and return to old favourites on the upper Exe.
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| The gentlest sip from these gargantuan lips sucked down my cdc aphid before all hell broke loose. |
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| Photo by Gerald Spiers. |
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| Photo by Gerald Spiers. |
Warming waters in July meant that bass were soon in sight. A
trip was hatched with visiting angler Colin Bull, with the purpose of getting
him into his first lure caught bass – which he achieved in style! Rough
fizzed-up conditions with moderate onshore winds over shallow reef, casting the
ever-faithful Patchinko surface lures, gobbled up by a 60cm bass. One mission
successful, I then made a road trip up to North Wales to visit Joe Dawson
(Northern Joe) to collect some PhD materials and look for more bass along the
way. This time round, we were worked by the bass much harder, covering many
miles of ground and limited by stiff wind. The last early morning session
however saw us come good, with several fish each to small surface lures worked
across the glassy calm. A 25 hour day saw me leave North Wales at sunset and
arrive back home in Devon at sunrise, happy exhaustion.
More nights were spent dodging aggressive cattle, even resorting to walking along the trainline, with sea trout frustratingly jumping at but never nailing a small wake fly. Early morning silver chasing, euronymping, some nice trout to 14” in the urban epicentre on the appropriately dirty squirmy. Perfect humid evenings, waiting for it to go off, broken fan belts, some cheeky exploring for evening risers (watch this space on a piece on that one soon…). Some nice days out with company on the bank: snapping my net landing a bright silver leaping salmon attached on the other end to Gerald, taking Archie for his first Brownie up to Dartmoor for some midge-sipping, wet wading, dry fly perfection.
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| Soul fishing. |
The end of July saw more time on the salt, covering the far
corners of the South West in search of predatory fish on light lure tackle. A
day spent sight fishing for wrasse with diminutive paddletails, a multitude of
beautifully varied ballans to a crescendo of a 53cm fish that followed and
followed before plucking the lure just at my feet and heading powerfully to the
depths. Arriving for a couple of days afloat at midday, I encountered Stu and
Tom asleep on the grass, wearied from a morning session and surrounded by empty
cans of lager. Woken by my confusion, they sat up, rubbed their eyes and cracked
open another couple of tinnies before preparing for the next session. Needless
to say with such a start, the weekend was a good giggle with plenty of bassy
action from the shallow reefs, near crashes and fried pasta (a revelation!). Tom
had a blinder of a specimen, taunting Stu mercilessly for the rest of the
weekend. Speed and power.
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| Double hook ups! |
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| One on the topwater. |
August, back to the rivers. A drop of rain, growing tides
and a push of grilse to the lower river saw the salmon getting more excitable,
with a fresh grilse, sea trout and, to round it off, a multi sea winter salmon
smashing the fly at my feet in full sight. Superb fun for a couple of hours
first thing with the single-handed spey setup. Thereafter more heavy rain,
agriculture sediment blowing out all of the lower tributaries.
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| Keep them wet! She swam off strong and, I suspect, a little annoyed at me. I took a good soaking from a tail swish. |
The end of the month saw a trip to Ynys Enlli, the isle of
tides, to visit Mari and Emyr and have some time off. With a variety of marine habitats
and powerful currents encircling the island, the fishing possibilities seemed
ripe for exploration. We fished every morning for a couple of hours, first
light until breakfast, with a couple of extra afternoon excursions. The island
left a lasting impression, feeling like we’d not even scratched the surface in
our short time there. The pollock were plentiful, a fish a cast at times, with
an average size of 3lbs, making you realise how the inshore populations in the
South West have been floored by commercial pressure. Highlights included seeing
Mari and Emyr catching their first island fish from the shore, Charlotte
catching her first bass and I’d be remiss not to mention a 68cm pollock on 25g
rated lure gear and, for my final cast on Enlli, a 67cm bass.
This year also saw a return to targeting bass on a fly,
something that had initially enticed me into fly fishing years ago but had latterly
been neglected. A sunny afternoon in a Cornish tourist destination saw a proper
elbow fight to get through, clad in chest waders and stripping basket. Happily,
trips up to fish with Darren and Richard who have been cracking their stretch of
coastline saw less elbow fighting and more bass biting. Adventure style
fishing, casting into shallow tidal lagoons, waist deep in the salt, until the
line goes taught with a stop and a mass of angry silver and spikes thrashes at
the surface. All the while, look over the shoulder, the tide waits for no man.
Sprint with rod in hand and basket at waist before the kayak gets washed away. This
isn’t a chalkstream, that’s for sure.
Late summer saw a return to the moor, meeting Jon from the
Fly Culture team for 24 hours of bivvying, swapping casts on small streams,
searching for fishy water and exchanging piscatorial tales. Seeing Jon’s car
behind, waders flapping out the window to dry and rod strapped across the
bonnet, there was certainly no losing him between spots. The season ended up
here too, with a coolness in the air and sullenness from the fish that told you
that the year was up regardless of what rules we might make for ourselves.
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| Wild stillwater brownie. |
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| Jon picking casts on the ever-delightful Cherrybrook. |
September, fieldwork had been pushed back frustratingly to
the prime month for fishing. Alas, the PhD comes first. Cramming a last push
before several weeks on the road of electrofishing for trout, another grilse
was encountered with a wee tube in low water at dawn, now starting to show
hints of Autumn colours and a trip was lined up with James from the WRT team to
seek out moorland sea trout under the cover of dark. Happily, at last, one
stuck and the yellow peril brought a fine leaping treasure to the net. Back
with samples in tow, an overnight late September spate called for exhaustion to
be ignored and a hike made up to the moor in search of one last salmon. Much to
my surprise, having enjoyed casting in picturesque surroundings but not
expecting too much, the line stopped. A snag, but no, the snag was running
upstream. Let’s not get too excited, it’s probably just a peal in the current. A
bar of burnished bronze two and a half feet long leapt clear of the tannin
stained foaming moorland spate water. It wasn’t a peal at all and, worst of
all, it was driving hard upstream with a large boulder pinning a fallen tree
between us. This can’t be happening, I can’t lose this fish, still not
believing that I was connected to a moorland salmon. Throwing sensibilities to
the wind, I rushed into the water deeper and deeper downstream, trying to gain
an angle to pull the line clear of an untimely end to this experience. My boots
skipped and slip on unseen boulders underfoot, water seeped over the top of my
waders, but with rod at forty five degrees and held high above my head as I
half waded, half paddled in an eddy of the spate water, the force relented and
came back downstream away from danger. Net slid, a sigh of relief and a hint of
admonishing myself for foolishly rushing into the dangerous river conditions
but all was soon swept away. Look at her! A beautiful bar of Autumn coloured
hen salmon laid in my net, gulping down oxygen rich water in the current.
Seeing her swim off again into the copper water, a prayer of thanks, a fitting
end to the season.
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| One last salmon for the year. |
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| Team trout! Charlie, myself and Jamie (L to R) during our fieldworking in Ireland. |
The end of the salmonid season. Two sea trout, not as many
as I’d have liked for the time committed and sleep sacrificed but more than
made up for by the result of five salmon, only two of which being grilse. The
rivers certainly smiled upon me and it was a comfort to have caught all of the
fish, each a miracle in their extraordinary life history and persistence to run
in the face of horrendous impact by man in every stage of their life, all from
South West rivers, local and known to me. It seems quite credible that these
fantastic animals may not run in these rivers within the next couple of
decades, with even some nutcase anglers blaming in desperation and threatening legal action against the last efforts that are trying to prevent these fish finally falling over the edge of
extinction vortex. A recent paper (Lennnox et al., 2021) in the ICES journal of
marine science reviews the success of Atlantic salmon measures demonstrates
clearly the value in maintaining populations, with restoration once lost far
more costly and difficult – not to mention the unique locally adaptive genetic
variation in each population lost. Pissing around the corners doesn’t seem an
option here, tackling stressors at every level from talking sediments from
agriculture that choke spawning gravels, improving in-river habitat for fry and
parr, removing barriers to the downstream movement of smolts, having a serious
look at the parasite burden driven by open pen salmon farming, increasing the
biomass of marine prey fishes by reducing industrial fisheries that have raped
our seas within an inch of their life, preventing outbreeding depression by not
stocking fish unless absolutely necessary and reducing fisheries pressure
(intentional and bycatch, looking at you gill-netters) on returning adults.
With each salmon released and rushing back to continue running upstream, a
glimmer of hope still shines for our native freshwater systems.
Autumn
Three weights and spey lines exchanged for bass rods, the
cream of the saltwater season was still with us. A mission was hatched with
climbing partner and chub-trotter, Lewis, to make a pilgrimage to West Cornwall
across October’s big springs. Big swell hampered our first efforts, rocking up
to steep granite rock marks under the shroud of night, booming swell sweeping
up the steep ledges that dropped away under our precarious scrambles. Some good
wrasse were a welcome catch against an otherwise dismal result of several small
pollock and only the occasional (albeit rather large) mackerel. Demotivated, we
found some psyche again with steep granite hand-jamming excellence during the
midday lull before making an evening trip to an ever faithful mark. Alas, not
faithful on this occasion, the bass were apparently absent and some nice wrasse
were peppered in amongst otherwise small pollock and then a nocturnal plague of
scad. The final dawn session at a deep rock mark to target pollock oddly yielded
the only bass, at ~52cm but was otherwise quiet. Breakfast beer, freshly ground
coffee from the van and tents packed, we left having had a laugh but certainly
not the bounties that big autumn springs in Cornwall ordinarily promise.
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| Strangely hard to come across for Autumn in Cornwall. |
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| Lewis pulling a good pose. |
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| Who needs tropical species when we have these? |
A trip made to visit my brother, Paddy, in Brighton gave a
good excuse to take up my offer of a trip aboard Brighton Inshore Fishing that
had been kindly gifted by Robin for my article in Hookpoint magazine. Slow
going, it was interesting to see some different ground and fishing techniques
suited to these grounds and the odd lure caught cod from the south coast. One last
session fly fishing for bass, we had a slow session with just two fish between
the three of us. It was perhaps a mistake to wet wade in my swimming shorts now
into November! As the tide flooded hard, a dead stop gave way to aggressive
shaking and an angry run as a bristling winter bass had engulfed the orange
clouser. Sprinting, fly rod in one hand and line tray bouncing at waist, we
just about caught the kayaks before the tide carried them away.
Cephalopods. They’re pretty damn cool and, with some calm weather and clear water, we’ve had the chance to target these autumn migrants. Not the best fighters but they certainly are tasty!
More recently, I’ve been trying to line up some grayling
fishing. This is a fools game in the south west if at all tied to a working schedule,
as I now find myself between lab working and PhD writing, with inevitable rain /
wind / ploughing every Friday night to blow out chances every time hopes peak
of getting back into the river. Perhaps I’ll let my hope grow again, I suspect
I might leave the wonderful Thymallus be until they can be targeted again on an
evening rise in late summer on tiny dries. A more realistic winter sporting
fish on fly tackle, I’ve been swapping out the #22 hackles and fine wire hooks
for CT1 silicone, plenty of flash and some tasteful ostrich herl in tying flies
for pike. Getting the season going from an old favourite spot with a rascal of
a little jack, some trips further afield with the toothy tamer, Danny Parkins,
have happily seen my fingers getting line burns from larger pike making furious
runs. There’s much yet to come with these crocs as the winter temperatures now
plummet and the pike feed up in preparation of spring spawning, I’m looking
forward to seeing where this different species takes us over the winter.
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| Danny enjoying some smaller offerings after having had a 20+lb pike on the fly that morning. |
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| Funky jumpers for funky fish. |
So if you’re still with me, that’s me for the year. By no
means an exclusive account of trips, it will hopefully put in context some more
detailed tales that I hope to tap up over the dark winter months. It’s been a
joy to share casts and the water with good friends and keen anglers this year,
big thanks to my ever patient wife, Charlotte, old man, Neil, Stu Pudwell, Tom
Ridgeon, Joe Dawson, Tom Newton, Tommy Day, Pete and Toby, Gerald Spiers, Sam Baycock, Lewis Flintham, Richard
Eales, Darren Sherwood, James Christoforou, Mari and Emyr, Ellie, Jon Ogborne,
Archie Symes, Robin Howard, Colin Bull, Danny Parkins and George Allen. You’ve kept the fun
in fishing. Here’s hoping to hear everyone else’s tales, preferably over a
pint, as we look forward to another season.
