It was my last chance to fish on Dartmoor before the end of the season. The dog walkers were out in force but I climbed over the fence into the privacy of the wood. I’d seen a black shadow in the pool under the bridge and the fish was feeding. I sat on a log covered with soft green lichen and threaded the line through the rod rings. I used a short tippet and a size 14 nymph. The dark shadow shot across the pool, grabbed the fly and raced under the arch of the bridge. It was my biggest Dartmoor brownie, about 8ozs.
Each pool contained a Trout and I either landed it or lost it. I caught about five fish and in some pools I had several takes. I realised that I had to anticipate the take and be ready to tap home the hook. Concentration was required. A couple of the takes, fishing downstream, were just slow draws, easily mistaken for weed or an Autumn leaf.
The sun was warm and bright, it illuminated the Hazel and Oak leaves. Acorns dropped into the pools from the centuries old trees. The foam in the throat of the pools glowed white and the various coloured rocks on the river bed looked like a tartan rug. The landscape looked like Spring except for the bracken which showed rusty brown under the tree canopy.
The trip was a fitting end to my season on Dartmoor. I’d not seen anyone, I’d caught a few beautiful fish and had spent three hours in unspoilt Devon countryside. It doesn’t get any better than that.