Testing myself in the rain…

I’m in two minds about getting out on the river for a few hours. There’s a lull in the rain that’s been falling for days but the sky looks as if it could change that in an instant. The river level has been falling throughout the day though. Decision made, I head out.

I’ve never been a fair weather angler and I’m happy to fish through a shower or something heavier. However, I can’t say I enjoy a torrential downpour and this is what I find when I park at the river. It doesn’t look like easing and I’ve only a couple of hours available.

IMG_3486

As I make my way downstream I disturb what I’m pretty sure is a little egret. It clears the tree tops and cuts across the fields before circling back towards the river, no doubt I interrupted it’s late afternoon snack.

Without doubt, the worst thing about fishing in rain is seeing well enough to tie good knots. In the last few years I’ve had to accept that I need reading glasses to see close up and now when fishing I use a small magnifier that attaches to the brim of my cap and folds away when not needed. It won’t win any fashion awards but I find it excellent. Until that is, it rains and then I could do with windscreen wipers.

The river is coloured and pushing through, but not so much as to make things difficult and wading is still comfortable.

Over the last six weeks, a lot of my fishing has been with a dry fly but conditions today suggest nymphs are the way to go.  I target the faster head waters of the pools and it’s not long before I bump off the first fish and then bring another to hand from the same riffle. A small brownie with exquisite red spots.

IMG_3460

I’ve worked a lot on my nymphing technique and I’m more comfortable now ‘casting’ the flies but I still get the odd tangle. Today I snatch at what I think is a take and end up with a birds nest that’s largely of my own making as I tug at the line out of frustration. More fun tying knots in the rain.

IMG_3495I force myself to slow down and I’m soon into another good fish, again from the faster water at the head of a pool. The water shallows as I pick my way upstream and I manage two more trout targeting the holding areas just out of the main current.

The second fish is the best of the day and puts up a good scrap, made worse for me as I let him get below. In these conditions and fishing nymphs I’m able to use 4lb Maxima for tippet, so I’m able to bully enough to get him to the net reasonably quickly.

IMG_3475

I catch another three from the top of the next pool and just as I’m running out of time, the rain eases to just a light drizzle.

I’ve not seen any surface activity today but as I get close to where I parked up I spot a small rise in a quieter glide, just the other side of a mid-stream island. I glance at my watch and decide I’ve time to swap leader and tie on a dry. After a minute or two I’m wading across to the island trying to stay low. I see the fish rise again.

I squat down and ready myself to cast. As I glance behind to see how much room I have, I lose my balance and topple backwards. I perform the start of an acceptable backwards roll and as my head hits the water, I feel the rush of cold water down the back of my waders. Fortunately, it’s only about a foot and a half deep and I’m back on my feet pretty quickly, with just my pride bruised. Time to call it a day.

It’s quite a while since I fall in properly and it’s a gentle reminder to take more care. At least it’s June and not January.

Back at the car and in the best tradition of a poor workman blaming his tools, I examine my boots and determine that the studs have worn and need replacing!

Mr Notherone

 

Mayfly Mayhem

There are plenty of past seasons when the revered mayfly period has missed me. Perhaps it’s not being able to get out enough at this time of year and perhaps because recently, there are seasons when I see little in the way of any insect life, let alone the mayfly.

Although you will meet many anglers more in tune with the mayfly hatch, I’ve fished long enough to have caught a few on may duns and spinners. I also know from experience that the mayfly hatch can be very unpredictable.

None the less, I’ve seen some spectacular spinner falls, and few as good as the one I see today.

IMG_3224

It’s about 5.30pm when I park up and another thirty minutes before I start to stroll down stream. I stop opposite the pool I want to target and from where I can fish back up, through some varied water, in a few hours.

I have a total of thirteen feet of leader and tippet to which I add a small deer hair emerger, my most successful dry fly this season. Might as well start with a winning formula.

I don’t have to wait long before the first rise and moments later I register my first miss. My fly induces a take, but I’m too slow (or is the fish too fast?). This happens a few more times before I finally bring a lovely small brown trout to hand.

IMG_001

It’s one of those early evenings which has the potential to see some rain. but it holds off and remains overcast. It should be perfect for a hatch and after picking up a few similar trout, the trickle of duns increases.

I fumble my way through my small box of mays, trying several patterns as the hatch increases and I eventually settle on a small danica fly that seems to raise a few fish. Around 8pm the air is thick with spinners of various types and duns are still coming off.

I stand at the edge of a pool that I took my time to approach quietly and now the trout are oblivious to me as the feeding frenzy is all around. The insect cloud is unrelenting and I’m able to pick off fish in all directions, bringing some to the net and bumping a few off. Some of the trout are so close I hold all the fly line off the surface, avoiding any drag. In the fading light as the sun dips behind the trees, it’s a fantastic experience.

As I walk back to the car, I’m sure I have a grin from ear to ear.

This season starts slowly with March a wash off. Now in early June it’s much improved and I’m having more dry fly action than the last few years. Over the next six weeks, I anticipate being able to get out and fish a few more evenings than usual and I feel my grin get even wider.

Mr Notherone

Three Duffers in the Pub…

Over a late lunch pint or three I’m discussing fly fishing with a couple of other self appointed gurus. I’m celebrating catching my best river brown trout at 19″ and arguing about whether that matters. 

Inevitably, we start to discuss the four levels of fly angler development. Do not be tempted to think there are five or three, for we have already agreed there are four.

IMG_15

19″ Monnow Brown Trout

Naturally, we all conclude that we are each at level four, the highest attainable order of angling. It is obvious to us and besides we only have to convince each other, a diminishing task with each round of drinks. This afternoon we are judge and jury.

We conclude that the developmental levels of the fly angler do not necessarily correlate with any acquired skill. Thankfully, the duffer can enjoy the same progression without fear of exclusion.

I do get the sense that none of us is being entirely honest about where we’re at. I for one, suspect I’m increasingly talking bollox.

I hear that at level one, when we start our fishing journey, we are happy just to catch a fish, any fish. More than anything we want to avoid the big B.

We develop anxiety over whether our 8ft rod is good enough and would we catch more with an 8ft 6″. We worry about what our tippet is made from, the optimal length of a dropper and why no one will tell us what green mucilin is for. We are obsessed with the “what” and “how” of doing, so we search the net for tips and advice and keep quiet when we learn that watercraft is not a type of dinghy.

Trying not to look at either of my friends in particular, I conclude that level one can last a longtime (or is that lifetime).

Next, our new found confidence pushes us down the quantity route. At level two, we want to catch a lot of fish, we keep count and get upset when someone else catches more. It’s extraordinary how many anglers at level two think that 5+1 = 8.

We learn to change flies in a nano second and buy “tactical” gear so that no trout can escape our onslaught.

We know our high sticking from our euro nymphing, the subtleties of the Czech and Spanish styles and why they are all happy to use a French leader. Some anglers perfect carrying multiple rods and can cast with either hand to maximise fly time in the water. Klink and dink becomes second nature. We are comfortable using the in-line sighter but know to draw the line at using split-shot – an unsavoury American habit.

Now some of us are ready to progress to level three and evolve to become the specimen hunter. Quantity is now a mugs game, big fish are what we chase. I’ve a friend who is a slave to level three and will no longer go fishing without the chance of a seriously big fish.

We perfect the ability to sit and watch the same square foot of water for hours and stalk our prey for weeks on end. We only carry one dry fly pattern because we know precisely what the specimen will be eating, before it does. Only when enough time has elapsed and the stars have aligned do we deliver the perfect cast, dropping the fly on the nostril of the unsuspecting monster. We are master of the grip and grin.

Finally, we are ready for level four, when apparently we ascend to another level of consciousness where we exist in a state of mindfulness and inner peace – at one with the river. At this stage we are content to simply be there, where casting the fly (or not, if we are too busy observing a beetle) is the destination itself. Catching becomes so ‘last level’…

After levitating across the stream so as not to create a disturbance, we return home in ecstasy having seen no fish at all.

It occurs to me that when I’m sat on the bank, head in hands, the casual observer might think I’m in a level four meditation, when in reality I’m pulling my hair wondering why I can’t catch an ‘effing fish.

I’m happy to confess that I catch my new PB trout whilst having a level one day out!

They say mixing fishing and alcohol is a bad idea and can be dangerous, but I think we’ve proven that as long as you stay in the pub it’s safe.

Next time, the three of us have decided to discuss aquatic entomology in great detail and the finer points of when you should swap a large brown one for a smaller green one.

Mr Notherone

 

Exploring New Water

This is the sort of afternoon when we all want to be on a river. It’s warm, a little overcast and the water looks the perfect height for dry fly.

There is a pleasure in knowing a river well. There is also an excitement exploring somewhere new. The frustration of wasting some time or of having to backtrack is always offset by discovering what is around the next bend.

IMG_3230

I turn onto the small track, unsure if I’m in the right place and as I only have a few hours, I want to make the most of it. I can’t possibly fish the whole beat, so I focus on the first few hundred yards. Access is easy and the only disturbance I make involves a few ewe’s and lambs relocating as I approach.

Initially I don’t see any surface activity, but I’ve only been here a few minutes.

At the bottom of the beat I decide to fish the far bank. It’s the tail of a nice looking pool with a few features to offer fish some protection. Of course, it’s good practice to fish the water you’re about to step into, so I strip some line and with no real sense of purpose I flick the fly a little upstream. I get a take as the fly hits the water and moments later I’m unhooking a greedy little 5″ brownie.

IMG_3234

A lot of juveniles about today

Whenever something like this happens it serves as a good reminder that fish can crop up in the least likely places.

Over the next two hours I make my way upstream, cast to and catch several risers. Today I’m struck by how subtle that rise can be. Barely a dimple on the surface. It’s so easy to miss particularly if I’m tuned into the more obvious rises. There are small olives, spinners and sedges trickling off, with midges abundant too.

As I’m stalking a fish on the far side of the food seam, I catch a glimpse in my peripheral vision of a disturbance much closer to me. Unsure if it’s a fish, I make a short cast across my body and after just a yard or two of the drift the trout takes the elk hair emerger.

My initial reaction is surprise as I’m expecting another small brownie, but this one takes off like a train and I only just stop him from diving under a submerged log. After giving me a run around and a few of those heart stopping moments I slide the net under. He is just over 16″ and a real lump. This season I have caught plenty of smallish trout in fewer outings than I would like, but a half decent fish has eluded me. I’ve got too familiar playing and handling smaller fish. This one, the seasons best so far, is very satisfying.

IMG_3268

Brown Trout, just over 16″

A bit like my first catch of the day, the trout is taken in twelve inches of water just three yards from the bank. Water I’ve already stepped through in pursuit of others.

In a couple of hours I manage eight fish, bump off two more and all on a dry fly.

This beat looks great and the map suggests there could be another half mile to explore next time. I’m looking forward to coming back and seeing around the next bend.

Mr Notherone

Sometimes One is Enough

For a very good reason, today is not the best day. I feel a sadness and sense of relief in equal measure. 

I want to spend a little time by myself and head to the river, not sure if I will fish. It’s a warm late afternoon, the river looks perfect and the first thing I see is a solitary Yellow May Dun fighting the gentle breeze.

IMG_3211

Deer Hair Emerger

Close to where I park the car, I sit on the bank and watch the river. It’s shallow on my side, shelving away to a faster ripple. The middle of a typical pool and sure to hold a trout.

I didn’t come here to catch a fish, but after about ten minutes I see a small rise just upstream and slightly off the food seam. I watch the fish rise again and decide to make a cast. I land the fly upstream of the rise and at the same time I’m telling myself I’m a foot short, the fly disappears in a swirl. I lift and tighten gently.

The brown trout jumps once and pulls strongly to get downstream. I manage to hold him on a fairly light tippet and guide him into the net.

The twelve inch brownie punches above his weight and as I unhook him, I’m aware that I release the first smile of the day. Today, there are only a few things that can lift my mood and this is one of them. I feel no compulsion to look for another fish.

When I start the engine it’s exactly thirty minutes since I parked up. I drive home better prepared and in a better frame of mind. A few days ago I was catching trout and laughing, today the same activity is giving me a different type of energy. This is a wonderful thing that we do.

Mr Notherone

IMG_3205IMG_3208

 

 

Fisherman’s Tales

What do thirty fishermen do when they get together for a Social? Tell tales of course. Not the stereotypical fishermen’s exaggerations about monster fish or the ‘one that got away’ (although everyone does have a ‘one that got away’ story). 

No, they tell true, heart felt, funny, often hilarious stories about real life, fishing, more real life and more fishing. Real life is so much funnier than a joke. After all, don’t the funniest comedians just tell stories we can all relate to?

IMG_3122

The Monnow

I’m reflecting on another Monnow Social. There is the usual chat about the weather, rivers we fish, insects (and the lack of), leaky waders and our prospects of catching over the next few days.

The fishing also proves to be very good with encouraging numbers reported, particularly later in the afternoons when the dry fly sport picks up. I fish with Matt who is providing great company and whose outlook to fly fishing seems similar to mine. We fish two beats of the Monnow new to both of us and enjoy catching in beautiful surroundings. I also spend a few hours on the Honddu where one particular cast I make, whilst almost lying down in the river, results in a lovely little wild fish which will last long in the memory.

Saturday’s auction, once again generates some moments of hilarity and generosity and hopefully raises a pile of money too. Strange that on Sunday morning, whilst looking as if he can’t remember his own name, quick as a flash Patrick is able to tell me the cash I’ve just handed him is a fiver short! A true professional.

This year though it’s the tale telling which emerges whenever a few of us gather, that I’ll particularly remember.

The river angler who puts his life jacket on under his vest and then can’t get his arms around to reach any zips when it auto inflates on the bank. Or the guide who breaks three of his own rods closing his own car door. The image of swinging over the river on a rope swing, only to get stuck in the middle with trousers heading south. I’ll certainly not forget the technique required to “czech nymph a salmon” in a hurry and I doubt I’ll ever accumulate enough fishing wisdom to park a chair by the bank and have the trout come to me!

It’s the banter with people who share a passion for fly fishing that makes the Social so much fun. Great to catch up with some friends and make a few new ones.

At the risk of sounding morbid, there are adverts on the telly telling me (to avoid leaving my family with the ‘burden’) I should start planning for my demise. Although hopefully it will be some time away, I was thinking perhaps a humanist ceremony, with maybe a bit of Radiohead playing in the background. After this weekend, I have another choice and should now consider the real possibility of going out like a viking.

The thought of being floated down river strapped to the nearest log whilst drunken fly anglers try to hit me with a flaming arrow has a growing appeal.

As they say, you probably had to be there…

Mr Notherone

 

It’s definitely a Good Friday

Apparently this will be the hottest day of the year so far. Just a few weeks ago I was walking the river banks looking at a torrent of muddy water, now it’s clear and at a height that is inviting me in. The temperature might get to the mid-twenties today, but the water still feels cold and it’s a reminder that we are only just past the middle of April.

I’m still exploring and around each bend is something new. I realise that I don’t know which river bank I should be on for the coming bit of water and I have to back track several times and cross over. What a fantastic place to be on a learning curve!

IMG_2656

I catch five trout and a grayling, but what marks the day is that I have my first trout of the season on a dry.

In one of the nicest looking pools I see one of only two rises all day. I take off the small klink and micro nymph that has caught me a couple so far and tie on a little F fly. I’ve only seen a handful of flies coming off in two hours on the river. When I don’t know what fish are feeding on, I often find the F fly to be one of the best in my box.

I’m not going to be able to get my preferred 45 degree angle on the fish. It’s going to be more straight across. I am able to get pretty close though so I’m hoping I can hold the line off the faster water that’s between me and glory. My cast is on the money and I can control the drift, but I’m soon past the point where I expect a take. I’m just about to lift off when the fly disappears in a swirl and I’m in.

It’s a jumper! Three times I’m treated to an aerobatic display and then it’s over quickly as he runs straight at the net. A very respectable 15″ brownie.

IMG_2661

I cover one more rise an hour later but I don’t see that fish again.

A nice grayling at around 13″ takes a small hares ear and I mange four juvenile trout to the same fly. I’d trade them all for the one on the dry though.

I twist my knee slightly, slipping off a boulder. Very minor, but it’s the excuse I need to pack it in. I want to get home in time for a drink or two in the garden before the sun disappears over the hill. I don’t celebrate Easter, but I’ll raise my glass to a damn good Friday.

Mr Notherone

 

 

 

Fresh Out Of Ideas…..

Peering over the bridge I confirm what I already know. I’ve seen the river several times from the car and the high, swirling, brown water means no fishing today. I should have turned around earlier but a little ray of hope drives me on, wanting to believe that further upstream the Monnow will be better. It’s not.

Decision time. Head home, walk the dogs, watch the rugby and put off those jobs around the house that are becoming urgent. Problem is, I did that yesterday. So I aim for the Usk to see if casting a fly is possible. It is.

IMG_2518

The Usk above Abergavenny

It looks possible from the road that is, but up close I’m less sure. I exchange a few thoughts with a fellow angler who arrives as I’m tackling up. He’s after salmon and following a few pleasantries I wish him well. I take some comfort from not being the only one in the river today. It’s colder than the forecast suggests and the tops of the trees have a little movement. From experience I know that if the wind picks up, it won’t be until I’m ready to make my first cast.

The water is fairly clear and pushing through strongly. At the better access points, a few meters from the bank I’m already waist deep and side on to stay upright. With this much flow, the usual features are hidden. It’s going to be difficult.

I start with two nymphs, tight line, but as I can’t venture far I resort to laying on the coloured braid to get the flies in the better water. To my surprise I’m soon into a small trout quickly followed by a better one of about 13″.  He fights like an early season fish and looks lean and healthy in the net. Every angler knows the relief of not blanking on a tough day.

IMG_2510

Upstream the river deepens and I can wade even less. I decide to use a bushy elk hair pattern to hold up a nymph, that will get me a bit more distance and I’ll be able to see it. I persevere for an hour or so and then I need a rest. The strain of every muscle flexing against the flow is giving me one hell of a workout.

I wander further up stream and cast to a few likely spots but I’m not confident and my fly is not in the water much.

I take a break and sit and watch the river. It’s warmer now and I see a handful of march browns coming off, not what you’d call a hatch. No rising fish though. None the less, I tie on a dry march brown pattern while I eat an apple – just in case. Although, unless the trout breaks the surface under my feet, I’m not sure I’ll get the fly anywhere near him.

Time for another rethink and it occurs that swinging a few spiders might be worth it. Wading will be easier heading down stream and if I can get the flies out into the deeper water I can cover more. I search the box for a couple of likely candidates, tie on a longer leader, put the spiders on droppers and then add a heavier nymph on the point to get them all down quicker. Again I give it a bash for an hour, getting in and out of the river frequently when it gets too deep or strong.

My confidence gets a boost when I bump a fish and after a few more casts a 12″ brownie grabs the top spider. This is quickly followed by the best fish of the day, at just under 14″.

I very rarely fish spiders and I’m going to have to improve my ‘escalator’ technique if I’m to get my catch rate up with this method.

The Usk is a good size river and when it’s pushing through it can all get a bit intimidating, especially for a cautious wader like me. I’m pleased I decide to give it a go today and I’m very pleased with four trout. I’m also absolutely knackered.

I drive home slowly as if somehow I’m using less energy and it will help me recover. Then I remember I’ve a Sunday roast to look forward to and my aches already start to fade.

Mr Notherone

 

 

Season ends on a small stream high….

Late start….hot dry Summer, very low water levels – maybe a season to forget?  

With work ramping up, a daughter moving up to GCSE’s and a new puppy in the house, September is proving stressful. Fishing takes a back seat, but I’m determined to get out one last time. I’m given a pass and I decide to take it scrambling up the Edw valley. The River Edw is a small left bank tributary of the River Wye, with its source on the fringes of  Radnor Forest. It winds its way over bedrock and loose stone through Aberedw and into the Wye between Builth and Erwood.  

IMG_1733 2

The River Edw

Turning off the main road it takes only a few minutes to feel remote. No phone signal, no people and little bridges over the river that are better suited to a horse and cart. It’s overcast, a little cold and the water level is low.

At no time today am I wading over my knees and frequently I’m kneeling down trying to make that cast under a tree, to the water that looks most fishy. This small stream is not going to hold any monsters but it takes all of my strength and guile to winkle out the wild brownies. I’m carrying a small box of dries and an equally small box of nymphs but I decide to only fish the dry. I’m reducing my chances, but it is the last day and I’m in the mood for a trade off.

DC310EDC-6F08-4747-901C-A4AF41E7A094

Travelling Light

After wasting ten minutes in the pool at the bridge I move upstream and start prospecting the food seams trying to be as quiet as possible. I can see fish scatter ahead of me and it’s almost impossible to move undetected. It’s only in the faster water at the heads of the pools where I can sneak up.  With the river this low I also make use of a few exposed gravel banks to get into position.

The light makes tracking the fly tricky so I tie on an Adams with a hi-viz parachute. In these small streams I find the little trout none to fussy and takes are usually aggressive.

Today I’m using a 7ft 3wt and most casts are little more than a flick of the wrist. At times I have to reduce the leader to just 7ft to get under the overhangs. I land the fly in the slack behind a boulder and the first fish is on. Small they might be, but they don’t half hang on. The fish are lean, strong and beautifully marked – some quite dark, others lighter with bright red spots.

As I work upstream, my fly gets slammed in most of the runs I think there will be fish, but in only one pool do I catch more than one. They bolt for cover instantly and I’m forced upstream to the next likely spot.

I sit on a rock and grab a drink and something to eat. It’s probably eighteen months since I fished the Edw and I wish I’d made more effort. It’s a stunning valley. A kingfisher flashes past at terrific speed. I’ve seen quite a few this season but not managed to get close to one.

I continue up the beat, picking up the little trout that give me a runaround. I’m impressed with my little Streamflex XF2. As one of my least expensive rods, it’s perfect for these conditions, protecting the fine tippet and playing these tiny brownies firmly and gently.

C0AD2166-8A22-458A-9218-CBE2D34CC230

A Real Beauty

The Falls at the top of the beat is another ideal place for a pause. The creeping around, rock climbing and fallen tree scrambling has taken a toll. Recovered, I catch two more from beneath an overhanging branch and I’m feeling smug when the fly makes it through a small gap to land just where it’s needed.

As I trek back down river, I even pick up a couple fishing a downstream dry. It’s just one of those days.

I enjoy catching trout on nymphs, but nothing beats a hook up on a dry. I see only one rise today and it shows that these hungry little’uns are looking in all directions for food. I lose count too, more than 15 but definitely not 20.

I pick my way back through the tiny country lanes, feeling at home in the Land Rover and reflecting on the season. True it was a slow start. Getting out has proved difficult and then I stayed away when the water temperatures hit the mid twenties. I’ve caught fewer trout on the Usk and Monnow than for a good while and some days struggled for just a few fish. There have been moments though – and most came on these smaller rivers.

Today is one of those highlights and a great way to end the season. You may have guessed, but one of the pictures below was not taken on the Edw!

Now, where shall I go for my first post season grayling trip………?

Mr Notherone

 

A Lesson Learned…..

It’s funny how after all these years I can still miss the obvious. I spend a couple of hours on the Usk this afternoon and waste the first ninety minutes fishing where there are no fish. I think ‘fishing where the fish are’ must be one of the golden rules of fishing…. and I break it.

IMG_1589

The Usk is a big river and with no discernible hatch, the trout spread out. I aim for a little stretch, a long bubble line where I have caught on several recent visits and with little thought I set up to prospect with a dry. It’s mid afternoon, overcast and with a good chance of a shower. There are no fish rising. After a while I switch to the duo, with the same spectacular lack of success. I’m happy to be out fishing and continue going through the motions.

I assume that because we’ve had some rain and the temperature has dropped I will find trout in the long tails where I have caught them before.

For an hour and a half I see no fish and get no interest on any fly.

I take a break and sit on the bank. Looking down on the river I realise that I’ve got it all wrong. The water temperature is still high and although we’ve had some rain the river is still relatively low. Trout are going to seek out the oxygenated water or lie deep in the cooler pools. I wander upstream to the first stretch of quicker water. I switch tactics to two nymphs, a Jon Barnes black magic on the point and a pheasant tail with a red tag on the dropper.

IMG_1538

I’ve also switched to the sunray line and I’m targeting the pocket water and food seams as they fan out across the river. Today I only have my Sage SLT with me, a fantastic dry rod but not renowned for tight line nymphing. I make do.

I need to cross the river to get into the best position on the drift and just two casts in, I hook and net my first brownie. In less than twenty minutes I catch three more from the same run. Three are about 12″ with the best at 14″. I should have thought more and started here when I arrived.

The last hook up is the most satisfying, even though the fish throws the fly. I cast over my left shoulder and manage to land the nymphs just to the side of a prominent boulder. As they drift below I lift the flies a little and induce an aggressive take, probably the best fish today, but I can’t control his initial jump and he’s gone.

I head back, as today I can’t stay and fish into the evening and this season most fish have come late in the day.

It’s true that from the start of the year I’ve caught less trout from the Usk per hour fished than any previous season. I’m not the only one to experience this. I also realise that today I’ve had a bit of a lazy session and wasted a lot of time. It’s still fun though. There’s nowhere I’d rather be for two hours on a Saturday afternoon.

Mr Notherone