This post will be the story of three consecutive days fishing on my home river over the week just gone (Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday). You'll laugh, you'll cry...well at least I did. The first day (Tuesday) was on a stretch of water I hadn't fished before and is considered to be the most easily accessible and most heavily fished (and stocked) section of the river. We'll start with the unpleasantness that was Tuesday first, get it over with as quick as possible, like a band-aid (plaster for you English Folk).

I am not a purist by any means. I love to fly fish for carp (Isaac Walton rolls in his grave). I will nymph with non-toxic non-lead shot on my line. I will use a strike indicator. I will swing a streamer. However, there are some things that do bother me when it comes to other fisherman on the water. To start my day on this new stretch, three blokes summed up what I think a fly-fisherman should not be. A can of Foster carrying, jean wearing, loud mouthed, swearing, ne'er do well's, disturbing not only my peace but that of the birds and the bee's and every other living creature within a 1 mile radius. The cans of Fosters would no doubt end up in the river or on the bank, a sight I found to be farely common in this well fished stretch of river. I did have to smile though when I saw that their tactic included using about 1 foot of mono attatched to their fly line with a very large dry fly at the end. No wild fish for these boys today.  To find some peace and quiet I walked a well trodden trail and after finding a likely run I started setting up my gear only to have a dog get into my bag and try to take off with my lunch. This was not the peace and quiet I was hoping for. After counting to ten and repeating the phrase "serenity now" ten times I started to fish. I won't share much more of this day with you if that's ok. I caught lots of fish but didn't enjoy myself as I normally do on the river.

The next day I went far from the crowds, not too far, as the bus actually drops me off at this particular spot, but far enough that I was unlikely to see anyone fishing today. This spot I am familiar with. VERY familiar with. It was the first beat I fished in England and I've probably fished it 30 times over the last two years. I know some of the fish by name! The water was up and coloured after a night of rain and this made the fishing tough going. After working my way up the river I stopped at a very deep and fast pool. 


I must apologise now for this next bit of text. This was going to be a very well thought out paragraph of how I lost a big fish in this pool and returned the next day only to land a very nice fish in the same pool. There was mist on the water and lots of reflection and introspection. But then work started. These events and most of this text happened a month ago and I have forgotten most of the things I had thought about that day. Also and more importantly, I want to get to the next blog post faster as I've caught my first salmon! So long story short landed a big beautiful wild brown trout. Here is the picture. Read the next blog (posted tomorrow) to see an even bigger beautiful fish.......I will also try and make a better effort at keeping an up to date blog.

Fish of AT LEAST a Thousand Casts

There is a saying that the salmon is the fish of a thousand casts...well......one thousand and one, one thousand and two....

Salmon Fishing in Northumberland

Today I spent a lovely day on a syndicate run beat of the South Tyne, my fifth salmon outing over the past year. Beautiful scenery and good company but still, despite a good spate and ideal water conditions, no salmon. I enjoy spey casting very much and find it powerful yet eloquent at the same time. It is rhythmical, complex and still affords me the same escape that trout fishing offers with a whole host of other challenges. The contrast between the world of salmon fishing and the world of trout fishing or, for that matter, any other species you fish for with a single handed rod is astonishing.  When I go trout fishing I expect to catch a fish. Very few and far between are the days where I blank when Salmo trutta are the target. However, salmon have proved elusive, but that seems the norm in salmon fishing culture. "You should have a good chance of a salmon today". Chance!? At least this is the motto in England. Granted, at the Atlantic Salmon Reserve in Russia you can expect to catch at least 10 salmon a day. But a 7 day trip costs you around $ 25,000. The reasons for this discrepancy is the topic of much discussion but certainly isn't related to absolute numbers but more likely related to the percentage of salmon in the river actually willing to take a fly. One theory, which I think has good weight, but is difficult if not impossible to test, is that because in the past so many salmon from the Englsih rivers were killed after being caught the gene for "taking a fly when in the river" has all but been eliminated in English salmon. In Russia the salmon of years gone have never seen a fly much less been killed by one, thus that "take fly in river" gene is still around.  Estimates are that around two percent of English salmon will actually take a fly. Whether this is based on fact or on the word of disgruntled English salmon fishermen is anyone's guess. 


So, you may ask, what are the rest of the non-fly taking salmon doing? They are no doubt focused on their pre-programmed goal of reaching suitable spawning grounds and passing on their genes to the next generation. Evolution is a powerful force, one so powerful, that in my short experience, not even an expensive (borrowed of course) Sage spey rod and reel combo with an eloquently tied £3Willy Gunn can stop. How arrogant am I to think that a salmon would actually even consider taking one of my relatively poorly swung flies? 


 However, I think, I hope, the relative rarity of catching a salmon is where my salvation lies. You see, when it happens, and it will happen, it will no doubt be a surprise, an adrenaline rush and confirmation that it is actually possible to catch a salmon. But I think it will be something more than that. It will be a moment where I come close to an amazing beast that began its life in the river that I now fish, has beaten the odds and survived the harrowing trip back to the ocean. While in the ocean it has again beaten the odds and survived countless attacks from predators of all sorts, not least of all man. Only to return to where it was born some years later. A truly astonishing feat. Of course I will release it after a quick photo with a big toothy grin, so that it can go on to complete its amazing journey. 

Today I felt like a kid again. One of my favorite things to do is explore a new stretch of a familiar river. It's new, but not too new. You still know what flies will be effective, the likely hatches and this sense of familiarity keeps the experience from being overwhelming. However, finding new pools and holes and not knowing whats around the next corner fills you with a sense of childish excitement. It's also a bad time to forget your camera and rely on your phone to take pictures, however, I will return to this spot many times and pictures I will take!

I won't mention the name of the rivers I fish. This is for several reasons. First, I've seen rivers ruined by too much pressure back in Canada. Whitemans Creek was a wonderful fishery when I was growing up, but poaching and pressure significantly reduced the numbers of fish. Second, finding your own fishing is part of the adventure. It took me a year or so to find this spot on this river that I'm writing about today, but I'm glad I was the one to find it, it makes it more special that way.

Fool Me Once

Exploring this new stretch of river was wild fishing at its best. Hardly any paths along the banks, forging the way myself. A 20 minute walk from parking then another hour up river through valleys and gorges. I had fished the first section of this new stretch the day before with my good friend Phil. Kindred fishing spirits we are. Phil's wife once said the only person she's ever seen more excited about fishing was me! A side note about C&R and conservation here. Phil caught a lovely 13 1/4 inch wild brownie on that day. This day I was fishing the exact same spot and landed a 13 1/4 inch brown. Same tail markings same gill spots. This was the very next day and this fish took my dry with no hesitation. Catch and Release works. Period. I did feel bad hooking that same fish, shame on me. Although, I think it is important that we as fisherman know that when we release a fish it goes on living its life just the same. As a conservationist and naturalist I sometimes have a twinge of guilt about my piscatorial adventures, and this helped to mitigate any such guilt.


Up the river I went. Fishing likely holes and pockets as I went. Taking dozens of small fish to dries and small nymphs all from 6-10 inches. Fishing is part skill, part luck and mostly timing. You can fish the fishiest hole, but if the fish aren't feeding, you won't be catching. The fishing gods gave me a moment on this particular day, one I will remember forever. Timing was everything. I rounded a corner and there was a long slow glide and a few small fish rising.  At the top of this glide there was a large fallen tree, branches intact, that spanned the entire bank, lots of cover. Past the tree there was a good run with broken water that ended at the fallen tree with a 45 degree turn. A deep run with broken water is good holding water for any fish, however, in combination with a fallen tree that provides lots of cover for larger fish makes this water particularly special.  Remember I said timing is everything. Well something happened next that I had only heard of on English chalk streams where either you have to know the Queen to fish, or pay out a small fortune for a day ticket. The mother of all mayfly hatches. I had seen a few over the last week or so on the river but nothing like the numbers I saw today. Hundreds of them. And they were not ignored. Fish were feeding ferociously. Jumping 2 feet into the air for these tasty proteinaceous morsels.

Ephemera Danica: The Proper Mayfly

The next hour was the most incredible wild trout fishing I've ever had. 3 big fish to hand and released between 12-14 inches. This is big for this stretch of the river, and these fish will be old. They looked old, marked and scarred, but beautiful nonetheless.  I've caught bigger trout, but none in this fashion. All on a mayfly imitation larger than my fist. Only the big fish could actually fit it in their mouths. Two fish actually jumped clear out of the water for my fly, making my heart skip a beat. I won't attempt to put into words how I felt over that hour. But I don't feel the need to go fishing today...and that says something.

From Canada to England: How I Found Fly Fishing Again

       This is my first post in a new blog, a new and exciting time indeed. I began fly fishing at the age of ten with my father. We went a whole season without catching a fish, but we persisted nonetheless. Looking back on it, I'm not sure why I didn't just quit. I certainly quit everything else I wasn't good at right away at the time, skateboarding, math and asking girls out, to name a few. Although I did make further attempts at the latter two, embarrassingly unsuccessfully though, I might add. It's a good thing I didn't quit though, for many reasons, probably some still unapparent. 

A Grand River Smallmouth

       Fly fishing has taken me on some amazing journeys. I was part of the junior Team Canada and traveled to Ireland and Wales for world championships. I had my first experience of fly fishing in the UK, met wonderful people and had my first pint of Guiness. Fly fishing also took me away from peer pressure  growing up. While my friends were going to parties and doing other things that may have gotten me into trouble I was fishing. I couldn't get enough of it. Every weekend I would be on the river. I mainly fished Whiteman's Creek and the Grand River for brown and rainbow trout as well as smallmouth bass and carp.  I loved catching fish, but I think what I loved more was the time away from everything. When I fished, I got down to business.  I would forget about everything happening in the world. The math test I was bound to fail the next day, the way my voice cracked the first time I asked a girl out and the size of the pimple dead centre in the middle of my forehead. The only thing that mattered was me, the river, the fly,  and the fish. 


       Then I went to university and all was lost. I started studying and forgot about fishing all together. After four years I  then I moved to England to start studying medicine, fly fishing even further from my mind. I worked hard for three years. All work and no fishing made me a dull boy. Dull and mentally exhausted. On a rare break for a pint I mentioned I used to fish to a good friend of mine. His eyes lit up. He fly fished as well. The rest is history. From there I discovered the incredible fishing opportunities that the North East of England has to offer. From small streams with wild trout and grayling to large rivers and large salmon. I have also met some true friends along the way and have enjoyed some amazing fishing opportunities with them. 

Peace

        Needless to say I have found my passion again, this time it is even more ingrained in who I am. I have started dreaming about fishing again. I have started thinking about it when I get stressed about all the things that people get stressed about. I have recently graduated from medicine and as one does after a major life event have been very reflective over my experience and time in England over the past few years. Fly fishing was an important part of my childhood and I believe has played a role in shaping the person I am today. Now it offers me respite from my own mind and the stresses of the daily grind, but it also offers me something much more than that. What "that" is, is difficult to put into words. It might be the opportunity to get away and recapture some of my youth. It might be the opportunity to feel close to nature, to something that spends its life underwater away from our world, and to be a part of it, if only for a second. Fly fishing is all of these things and many more and I hope this blog helps me to put into words the many more. 

A Grand River Steelhead