The rain followed me back to Devon. The first dry, warm day lead to a scramble for tackle and a lightweight coat. I was in such a hurry to leave home that I reversed the Defender into the partially open garage door. Again.
The River Walkham was above normal Spring level and the water was clear. I headed for the Plym which is usually peaceful and easy walking. Upstream of the bridge, in the first pool, I could see the deep runs and boulders. There were no signs of trout but my expectations were low, the water was cold and they would not be looking for food.
The warm southerly breeze failed to stir the daffodils and the Grannom had no difficulty fluttering around the sparse woodland. A few Olives drifted into the air and disappeared. I stretched the first few yards of the fly line and chose a heavily weighted GRHE nymph. Fishing the riffle upstream was hard work, the speed of the water made it difficult to keep in contact with the fly.
I walked upstream to the next pool. The wild garlic and bluebell shoots squeaked underfoot, it was impossible to avoid treading on the plants. I fished the pool down and across until I was satisfied that I had covered all the likely fish holding places.
As I moved further upstream I saw a person creeping around next to the river. I hid behind a tree trunk and watched. They looked like a poacher and I decided to confront them. It was a lady with a spaniel. I nodded to her as I walked past. I decided to abandon the rest of the Beat which had been trashed by stick throwing and dog swimming. I would return mid-week, in the rain, when peace and quiet descends on the river bank. It rained all night and for most of the following day.