The art of stalking

(see also Suburban Knight, Transmat Records, 1996)

It's often said that big trout didn't get that way by being easy to fool with an artificial fly. That's true, but even small trout, say 4-6" have likely kept safe for a couple of years just to reach that size.

Part of the draw to small rivers and tiny streams is the art of stalking. I'm not referring to stalking large, stocked fish in a managed fishery in crystal clear water, but the pursuit of wild trout in their natural habitat.

Before you even first cast a line on to the water, the anticipation and excitement builds. First you have to locate your quarry, or at least identify a likely looking spot. Maybe this is made obvious, a splashy rise or a visible silhouette, but often you have little to work with but for experience and instinct, honed and hopefully sharp.

The approach is key; slow, low and deliberate movements as you approach the waters edge and always downstream of your quarry. Never rush the approach, and take in every sight and smell as you go. These marsh marigolds provided colourful cover, why rush with all this going on around you?


On a still day, the sound of water weaving lightly though the landscape can hypnotize, clearing the mind of day-to-day junk. In my experience, a days fishing in this environment is almost the equivalent of a weeks annual leave doing other stuff... If you can only grab a couple of hours fishing in the evening, think of the cumulative benefit as if you had taken a long weekend.



Take the time to plan your first cast, get it wrong and it may be your last on that section so again, there's no need to hurry.

Tackle up well away from the waters edge, still thinking through every step of your approach.


Fish on... fish off, and chances are, that's your lot for the evening. Fishing tiny streams can be as harsh as that, such is the fragility of small, quiet water and it's wild trout.


Over an hour of careful preparation, approach and total focus, followed by mere seconds of contact before the line relaxes and the fish is lost. There is no disappointment, just the slow ebb of spent adrenalin and the last, luckless cast of the session.

Another magical evening on the burn.