Heavy rain clouds anchored themselves to the granite tors and remained there until the afternoon. The high moor was shrouded in mist until the warm south westerly summoned enough strength to blow it away. The morning rain kept the dog walkers indoors and freshened up the rivers. The bankside trees were showing signs of Autumn and a steady line of leaves floated down the River Walkham, swirling in the pools, turning and flashing like small Trout.
I was spoilt for choice. The middle of Dartmoor would be deserted but I would be soaked to the waist by the wet bracken and furze before I could cast a line. The moor looked beautiful and very photogenic. That might justify a soaking. The deep river valleys would be dark and misty but the steep rocky tracks were difficult to navigate in the wet even in a 4×4. The AA don’t recover vehicles deep in the forest, miles from the nearest tarmac. It was definitely not worth the risk.
By early afternoon the rain had moved away towards Dorset and the sun had broken through the clouds. I’d decided on the River Plym. I smiled as I drove over the narrow stone bridge, pausing in the middle, the river looked exactly as I had imagined, crystal clear water carrying a patchwork of orange and brown leaves. I chose a size 14 nymph made mainly of rabbit fur with a copper rib and nylon fibres for tail filaments. It was a general representation of an Olive nymph or shrimp.
The first pool produced a good take and a small fish soon came to hand. Further upstream I prepared to search another pool when a Sea Trout about 2lbs leapt vertically and crashed back into the tail water. It jumped again a couple of times and I changed the fly to a black and silver spider. For thirty minutes I cast down and across, anticipating a savage take and screaming reel. Nothing happened. A small fish followed the fly but sheered away in the shallows. I found another Trout in a fast run but it came unstuck.
A good Sea Trout revealed itself in the next big pool but I couldn’t get a take. It appeared that the resident brownies were unsettled by the presence of their bigger, ocean going, brethren. Half way up the Beat the heat and humidity got to me and I returned to the car for water. The river had been kind to me once again both in its beauty and the fishing it provided. In two weeks it will be the end of the fishing season in Devon, I must visit the River Plym again during that time.