The last trip of the season is always a time for reflection, and October 18th upheld this tradition perfectly. It was a day to rediscover the magic of the season's adventures, on familiar water with trusted tackle and approach. I heard a John Gierach interview recently where he said something along the lines of, "as fly fisherman, we believe our sport is deeply meaningful. Until that is, we try to describe why it is deeply meaningful, and then it simply becomes fly fishing again..." These sentiments resonate with me.
The day started on the upper reaches of the R. Bush, a mere 3 or 4 miles from home. I know this water well, where the trout are and how to seduce them. I am never in a rush with so much natural beauty surrounding me and it was good to take the time to absorb the early morning scene, as the sun rose, with the half moon still looming in the morning sky.
First off, I sat and watched as a pod of trout, maybe a dozen or so strong I guess, sipped at the surface below a low hanging branch, in smooth, steady water. I love this pool because it demands higher standards of presentation from me than the faster, broken water elsewhere. With a DT2F, 9' leader and #20 black/pink klinkhammer fishing form a low stoop at the tip of the gravel bar, I was able to take four trout between 9" and 12" by working from the edge of the feeding zone to just below the low hanging branch. Keeping the rod low and applying firm side pressure, it is possible to hustle your catch away without breaking the surface.
These trout are amazing. The peaty water, and over grown bankside vegetation has dulled their colouration, such that as they are released, their black backs seem to evaporate in to the water, very different to the golden, buttery trout of the more open pools downstream.
With trout still rising freely, I moved upstream to darker, more overgrown water that holds an almost eery quality. This is an old river, much diminished in size since the building on the Altnahinch dam during the 1960's. Even in high water, the bones of this once large river are exposed and it's now stream status adds to a sense of history.
It was time to change tactics, to move in closer and get in among the trout. Uplining to a DT3F and 7' leader gives more control at short range. As the trees close in around you, the value of garish, but highly effective florescent wing posts is proven. With little surface activity, I stood thigh deep in cold, dark water and considered my next move. Along the far bank, and less then 20' away, the current slicked past more low hanging trees. Releasing line to carry the fly downstream enabled me to roll cast on target and as the fly, another #20 black/pink klinkhammer landed, a darkened 10" trout immediately struck. I have never experienced this before, a first cast in to a pool resulting in a fish, and it was thrilling.
For over an hour, the sport was thick and fast. On two occasions, having lost sight of the fly, I raised the rod to find a trout had taken my fly. Fishing in such tight quarters is never easy, and I estimate I lost maybe six of my neatest, prettiest tiny flies in the process. But hey, I have an entire closed season ahead of me to refill the box.
Again moving upstream, this was the scene as I emerged from the darkness in to the warmth of an early Autumn morning.
Just beyond the right-hand bend above is this wonderful, pacy pool. For the first time this season, I fished a tiny biot-bodied nymph and enjoyed three hook-ups, none of which I netted. In lower water, this is a wonderful dry fly pool as the current bounces over the shallows and trout can be taken in little more then 6" of depth on tiny parachutes, ants and beetles.
The morning ended about a mile from where it started, with more missed strikes and maybe half a dozen more trout up to just over 12". It was possible to get close-in, maybe 12' below the sun-bathed tree (below), and pick off trout as the current pulled and turned.
I returned home to fresh eggs for breakfast and an appreciation that the season was nearly over. At 17:15 I realised I had maybe 90 minutes of sensible daylight left and suggested to Nic that this really was my last chance to get on the water. Her raised eyebrow suggested Nic never had any intention of denying me...
At 18:20 I stood knee-deep in Roy's tiny burn, the scene of so much pure magic throughout the season. At 18:20 something substantial lunged at my #22 all-black dry but was never hooked. Moving steadily upstream through these familiar pools brought numerous, lightning fast strikes and maybe half a dozen hook-ups. The closest I got to catching a trout was in the last pool of the season, as a 6" golden trout skimmed across my palm before disappearing forever.
High water on the burn after heavy rain during the previous week, at normal levels this is a series of beautiful pools and runs, gliding between the rocks and weed growth and a mere 8 - 12' wide. The trout are still there, but they have lessons to teach me this evening.
At 19:40, in failing light the season ended for me. There was a strange poetry in the failure to catch during this last short, session. During the preceding months I had enjoyed good, regular sport, and returning home my respect for these wild, small stream trout was crystallised. And so was the sense that this style of fly fishing, short rods, ultra-light lines and tiny flies is about as good as it gets. It is something so deeply meaningful to me that I will not diminish it by trying to explain why this is so....
Thanks again to the guardian, Roy Christie and the dude-in-the-stream, Marc Fauvet for the magic times this season.
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