The River Walkham
My intuition told me to fish the River Walkham, the river level had dropped and the water was crystal clear. From the garden I’d watched Trout taking Olives in the soft evening light, zooming around over the bedrock and rising to intercept the flies with a little splash. Grey Wagtails were flitting from rock to rock, wagging and picking off the larger insects.
The river at Grenofen looked spectacular, it was reminiscent of a BB water colour. However, I felt out of place amongst the dog walkers, boys on rope swings, inflatable boats, picnickers and swimmers. To my surprise the fish were rising and were obviously used to the commotion. I sat on a flat rock and watched a fish rise a few times at the tail of a small pool. It took the Iron Blue and dashed around in the fast water.
After I had released it a black spaniel launched itself into the pool, that was too much. I considered whacking it with my rod tip but it’s young owner appeared and I decided to leave the river. Trout were rising but I’d had enough. I made a mental note not to fish there until late, preferably when it’s raining.
The River Tavy
I drove to the Lower Beat on the Tavy, there were no spaniels in sight. It was a long steep descent into the river valley. Fish were rising all over the long wide pool beside the towering rock wall. I crouched on a small croy and flicked an Iron Blue into the seam at the edge of the main current. A fish rose but I missed it and that sequence of events continued for an hour as I moved further down the pool.
I walked up the Beat and was content to sit and watch the water as it raced through narrows, scoured the base of the rock outcrops and dashed off towards the old water mill. On the return I heard a nightingale and stopped to listen. The peace of the valley was in stark contrast to the earlier bedlam, it was a relaxing end to a long, hot and exhausting day.