… Pretty much sums up the current topic of conversation between fellow fishing friends.
So in order to remedy this epidemic I planned a return to a stretch of river I’d not fished in over 3 seasons, and, If my ailing memory served me correct it was a good place, a fishy place.
So, is this the recipe for success?:
Previous visits were always fruitful (I think!)…
The sky is white with hint of misery…
The landscape is dull and grey…
There is snow melt, much of which if prevailing from nearby roads is full of salt and stuff…
The temperature is bitterly cold…
There’s a gusting wind that bites to the core…
Oh yes, the waters high, running like the proverbial and is the colour of chocolate…
What more from a perfect day could one ask for?
Having optimistically journeyed through some treacherous countryside, interrupted only to watch some of these so called high performance cars entertain us with a four wheeled version of Torville & Deans ‘Bolero’… Warren and I eventually reached our destination.
Wrapping up with more layers than an onion… we eventually slip and slide our way across the terrain to the river near by.
Yep! that’s pretty much spot on as per the recipe.
Thankfully there are in parts high banks either side to offer respite from the wind. A low, more side arm approach to casts very much in mind to avoid a gusty crosswind onslaught.
I knew I’d missed something off the Christmas list. Getting more fingerless with each day.
You have to fish this water from within, bank fishing is just not an option. Today it was but one long glide, almost featureless to the eyes we struggled… a few hours had passed and we’d seen nor felt nothing by way of activity.
We nymphed, klinked, klink nymphed, ninked and klymphed but alas to no avail. We even got out of the water to warm the pinkies and cogitate over flies and rig set ups in a caring & sharing type way. Really it was to agree and admit defeat, I only doing so once Warren had said it and him only when I had said the same… blokes are like that.
One last resurgence however before returning to Warrens kitchen for some much needy sustenance sees us both land a fish. I couldn’t believe it, a @#!’@$ brown trout… all be it a beauty I was absolutely gutted. Warren however nailed a nice grayling further downstream, was our luck about to change?
Somewhat buoyed by the fact that there’d been something at least to tension our lines, twas to the kitchen we returned for some big man soup stuff.
How can you have a small tin of BIG soup… mmm?
Never the less it was as good as it could possible get on such a day. Sorry ‘Fi’ your lovely chilli has been relegated to the side lines (Warren said that not me).
Fully sustinated I’d like to regale tales of a recovery for the remainder of the afternoon and how we pestered fish after fish. Sadly tis rather more tales of woe. Back to type unfortunately, not a morsel was to be had for either of us. We soon realised we were just going through the motions and had been for some time, the enthusiasm had waned and focus lost.
Sod it, let’s have a cup of tea and call it a day ~ so we did… what more can I say, it’s an experience and one to be forgotten and replaced with a better one at the same location when conditions are a wee bit more favourable.
Next time however I do decide to use this same recipe, I’ll think better of it… perhaps… but then again… a bad days fishing is better than… and so on.
3 more weeks to the off and the Canadian Challenge… the countdown is on