Hi Peeps,

Welcome too the fishing edition.

When I took on the position in Erbil, I thought I would have bags of time to Blog to my hearts content. Sharing my thoughts and entertaining the masses with my homely wit.  Something like that anyway.  It did seem like a good way of passing the time, stuck in Iraq with not much else to do of an evening.

It hasn’t worked out like that.  Not as much free time as I expected and what free time I have, I struggle for motivation to do anything other than stagnate in front of the idiot box.  It’s all rather depressing really.  Hence, I find myself, 7 weeks into this trip and having written very little.

You lot may think this a good thing. Personally,  I am disappointed in myself and shall endeavour to try harder. Whether you lot like it or not.

So, with another very welcome trip back home looming, must be time to complete the saga of the last trip.  Daring tales of battling the elements, facing adversity and not catching salmon in the River Spey; something I do very well. Not catching salmon, that is. I am obviously a good teacher as Wifey and Small daughter are now as good as me at not catching salmon. I feel very proud.

The Fishing Fraternity

I got into fishing late in life.  Never showed much interest until we moved to N Wales .  There, in our local pub in Llanelidan, I met the Fantastic Fords.  David, Kelly and Lyndon.

 

David ran the local pub with his wonderful wife Kelly and son Lyndon. Kelly also ran a dog training school at the pub. Actually, it was more than just a training school, Kelly being something of a star in the animal behaviour world. I never really understood what she did, but know it was jolly impressive.  At the time, I was far more concerned with the excellent beers David kept than with doggy psychology or Davids varied  fishing tales.

It was whilst enjoying a couple of pints of the Reverend James, David would show me his flies and tackle. Fishing flies and tackle that is.  An amazing collection of brightly coloured fleas and an extensive collection of rods and reels.  All very interesting, but I wasn’t convinced.

Lyndon was, if anything, even more enthusiastic than his dad and eventually, the pair of them wore me down and I agreed to join their fishing fraternity and go fishing that weekend with them.

Llandegla

So it was, one fine Saturday morning, the chaps collected me and we drove to the Llandegla fishing pond.  I don’t recall much about it other than it was a beautiful day. Llandegla had several ponds and seemed quite busy. Lots of keen anglers flogging away at the waters for the various  rainbow, tiger and occasional brown trout. I do recall it was harder than I expected.  David, or possibly Lyndon got me all rigged up, gave me a few tips on casting and let me get on with it.  Inevitably, I had a few arguments with nearby trees/bushes/trouser legs and reeds in the pond, spending a lot of time trying to get my fly un-stuck.  But it was kind of fun.  And then it happened.  A large rainbow trout grabbed my fly and there then followed a tense few minutes as I did my best to reel him in.  With Lyndon holding the net and David shouting encouragement, we finally netted the slippery little sucker.  And that was that. It wasn’t only the rainbow that was hooked. So was I.

That very afternoon, I drove to St Asaph to visit Foxons Tackle Emporium and proceeded to buy half of it.   I spent a fortune. And so began my acquaintance with assorted knots, flies, 100’s of miles of different line types,  nylon leaders, priests, anglers glue and, of course, hopeless optimism followed by crushing disappointment.

 

 

River Adventures

Over the years, I have progressed from fishing around stocked trout ponds to river fishing. There’s a reason why its called fishing and not catching.  I am not the most prolific of  anglers. In fairness, being abroad a lot, I haven’t spent as much time as I would like on the river honing my casting.  But when you do hook into a fish, whether its a 1lb Grayling on the Welsh Dee, a feisty Brownie in the Don or a silver bar in the Spey, its a great feeling.

I used to love the Welsh Dee, just down from Llangollen, nymph fishing on a frosty morning for Grayling.   Or further down towards St Asaph, night fishing for Sea Trout.  I used to have a regular spot on the Scottish Dee where I caught my first Salmon. Now that was something else.  It wasn’t a huge fish, a summer grilse, no more than 9lbs, but it’s one I will always remember.

Family Affair

At one point or another, all of the kids have all tried fishing, except possibly no. 2 Son. I think he managed to escape after only one or two attempts and instead, spent his time doing something more sensible. But there is still time to hook him.

No. 1 Son used to have quite a good cast.  No. 1 daughter was surprisingly efficient at thinning out the rainbow populations at various ponds and was far less squeamish at dispatching her catch than the boys. I don’t think they have fished for many a long year, but at least that eased the pressure on me. They always seemed to catch more than me.

 

These days, living in Craigellachie, we fish the Spey.  I say we, as Wifey is, in fact, far more enthusiastic than I.  Whats a real pleasure is that small daughter is also very enthusiastic, so it’s become something of a family thing. Small is very keen and I suspect will also end up out fishing me. Still I can claim credit for teaching her.

First day on the River

It was with great excitement that once the season opened on the Spey, we were invited to fish on the Upper Arndilly beat. Wifey and I were to share a rod but alas, small daughter was reduced to spectator until her new waders and life jacket arrived.  Life jackets are a good idea on rivers like the Spey, especially for kids.  The water is very cold, the current fierce and there are a lot of big rocks. Fortunately its not common, but people have drowned in the river. Even those considered strong swimmers.  The cold water makes you panic. You try to reach the nearest bank but the current won’t let you swim directly. You bang your head on a rock and its goodnight Vienna.   Top tip, should it ever happen to you, try to lie on your back making a star shape with your feet facing down stream. Let the current carry you until you come close to the bank or the shallows. Best advice though, don’t wade out  beyond where you feel confident. The current really is vicious and the footing treacherous. Everyone goes for an involuntary bath at some point. If you only slip and land on your backside, it may be embarrassing and possibly uncomfortably cold, but safer than slipping and being swept away.  Of course, it goes without saying, we wouldn’t let small daughter anywhere near the water without one of us being with her. Regardless off age, it’s good to have someone with you. Just in case.

It was a very pleasant sunny morning when we gathered at the fishing hut.  Not cold, not too warm. River at a good height.  It all looked very promising.  As Wifey and I were sharing a rod, I magnanimously volunteered to let her go first. I would entertain small daughter.

On the River

The two Ghillie’s on the beat are really nice guys and hugely experienced.  I had a good chat with them both and asked if they would spend some time with wifey, helping her out with the benefit of their vast experience as this was her first time Speycasting. They were delighted to do so.  In no time at all she was casting like an expert.  I have to say she looked the part. We had bought her some new waders, she borrowed a hat from me and despite small daughters opinion that “You Look like a boy mummy”  she had a grin from ear to ear.

Whilst mummy fished, Small and I chatted and enjoyed the beautiful surroundings.   I have to say I was a bit taken aback when the first catch of the day went to Small. Not a salmon, but a rather large frog.  This was February.  I wasn’t expecting to see these amphibians  hopping about this early in the year.  Still she spotted it and proceeded to catch it, name it and carry it around for the next few hours, dunking it in the river occasionally to keep it moist.  It came home with us at lunch time and was briefly resident in our pond.  It didn’t stay however.  We looked for it that evening and it was long gone.  I like to think it hopped back home and choose to ignore the assorted herons/rooks/cats lurking in the garden.  Do rooks eat toads?  They seem to eat everything else.

Meanwhile back at the river, Wifey was having great fun. No salmon seemed to be getting caught however. Well as I said, I taught her everything I know, but despite the lack of fish, she was grinning like a loon.  In fact, it took some effort to get her off the river and grab some food. Eventually and grudgingly, she joined us in the rather well appointed fishing hut for a spot of lunch.

The Institution that is the Fishing Hut

For me, the fishing hut is one of the hidden pleasures of fishing. Early in the season, it’s a refuge from the freezing

conditions. Come to think of it, even during the Scottish summer, it’s a bolt hole for a warming cup of tea.  You start the day in there, with a bacon roll and a cuppa, expectant and full of hope. You take lunch in there, comparing notes, congratulating early successes and at the end of the day, you congregate to commiserate the ones that got away.

Most of the beats along the Spey have at least one hut. The quality of the huts can vary considerably, but all offer a focal point for the beat and provide opportunities for the rods to sit, relax, share a dram and talk utter  bollocks.  I think I enjoy my time in the hut almost as much as I do my time on the river. Certainly on the Kinermony beat, one of my regular stretches, I have enjoyed many happy hours in there. Soaking up the wisdom of Dave the Ghillie and my fellow rods, listening to their tall tales and offering a few of my own.   Who needs salmon.

On this occasion, with the ghillies, there were around a dozen of us enjoying the food, the conversation and the wonderful log fire in the hut.  Most had brought sandwiches, ensuring there was enough for themselves and some spare just in case. Soup, pies, cheeses, cold cuts, cakes, biscuits it was a veritable feast and far less alcoholic than I am used to. (Did I mention that?  The hut is often a great bar as well. I have had to abandon the car and scrounge a lift on many occasions after working through a selection of wines/beers/whisky on offer, supplied by the rods.)

Back to the Fray

Post lunch, it was my turn to tackle up and take on the river. Only, Wifey was having so much fun, I didn’t have the heart to.  So, I stayed with Small and let Wifey finish the day off.  It seemed the right thing to do and just think of the browny points I earned. No fish were caught on the day, but as I said earlier, it’s called fishing not catching for a reason.

I didn’t mind missing my turn as we had several more days later in the week.  So it was a few days later I finally took to the river. It was freezing.  And it rained a lot. As Small was in school, Wifey was able to get in the water too.  She was using my 15ft Guideline rod and I had borrowed a 16ft Sage rod from the ghillie. My rig is quite a fast, light weight affair and is a delight to cast. The one I borrowed was a lot heavier, stiffer and had a fast sinking line on.  The beat we were on was fairly shallow and at first,  I struggled to cast. I kept leaving the line out too long and it was snagging on the many rocks as the line sank to the bottom. This gets quite tedious after a while resulting in much under breath muttering of expletives.  Wifey was in the water with the Ghillie providing some coaching, some 20m -30m behind me. So I was very conscious they could see every snag and mistake I made .

I was caught on a submerged rock for about the millionth time when I decided I was in need of a cuppa. I  had failed to release the fly by pulling and pinging it, so I was  stripping line out to see if that helped.  At this point, something started to bother me. Something wasn’t right. At the same time, I heard the Ghillie yell down to me, “You’ve got a fish on”. I had also arrived at this  conclusion, based on the sight of  my line coming back towards me and the fact that rocks rarely swim upstream. Bugger!  I frantically tried to reel the line back in – you should always keep in contact with your fish. Maybe I could land this sucker, but nope. It had gone. Bugger again. Not one of my finer moments, but made Wifey chuckle. The Ghillie less so.

This was the way the rest of the week went.  A few tugs but nothing landed. Despite this, it was fun. Getting out in the fresh air, enjoying the scenery and the wonderful optimism of maybe, just maybe this time,  as you cast for the billionth time.

Hope Springs Eternal

Small is all kitted out now. She has the waders, the life jacket,  the new rod and a plentiful selection of flies. Wifey has her new rod and reel and I have a new back support. In other words, we are all set for more fishing adventures when I next get home.  It’s sad to see that the fish numbers are apparently down again. Thats not me getting my excuses in early.  It seems each year,  fewer and fewer salmon are returning to the river.  This is very sad and bad news for the people who rely on the river for their livelihood. All kinds of reasons are being put forward to account for this. Over fishing by people like me is not one of them.  For one thing, I don’t catch that many despite my best efforts. Moreover, any fish I do catch, I release to go on their merry way.  No, I think we can instead blame the cordon of seals at the river mouth, dolphins,  commercial fishing and the salmon farms that are a source of disease and fish lice.  Just to be fashionable, I suppose I should add climate change too, I mean its blamed for everything else.

We have a few stretches of water we can try this year. Some seem more prolific than others, but I am going to do my utmost to help Small catch her first salmon. Or Brownie.  She has caught pond rainbow trout and she is desperate to catch something, anything from the river. She is bristling with confidence and has already mastered the anglers art of exaggeration.  Did you know last time she fished on the river she nearly caught a shark?  Possibly.  Whatever it was, it was huge. Probably. I love it.  We’ll see how we get on,  but don’t worry, I’ll be sure to keep you informed.  In the summer, Lyndon is coming up to join us for our  Kinermony week. He caught his first ever salmon there last year. One of the very few caught in the week.   His enthusiasm certainly kept me going and re-inspired me.  He and Small are great chums and he will doubtless prove a better teacher at this Fishing lark than me.  I’ll still claim the credit. It’s what dads do.

And on that note,  Cheerio and Tight Lines until next time.