The heatwave had ended, it was overcast and still. The river was calling me. I decided to explore the upper reaches of a Beat on the Tavy, a part of the river I had not fished before. It would be good to find new pools and riffles.

I chose the path leading upstream and wandered to the top of the Beat. The deep river valley was alive with the sound of moving water and the air was filled with flying insects, too many species to aid my choice of fly. Huge rocks diverted the current forming back eddies and glides. I should have explored that part of the Beat years ago.

The water was fast and deep, the trout were not rising. I decided to work a nymph around the rocks and down the glides. I immediately had a take and connected but the fish shook itself free. That was a good start, my confidence was high. The short casts unrolled nicely and I constantly mended the line to keep in touch with the fly. Moving downstream, carefully covering all the likely places, I failed to find another fish. The casts became erratic and I snagged a few trees. My confidence dwindled.

I saw a fish rise in the fast water above a deep run. It was the confident rise of a feeding trout. I botched the first cast and sent the parachute Adams skating over the fish. Frustrated, I lifted the line and backcast into an overhanging tree.

Pale watery female dun

I was torn between a dry fly or nymph. My instinct was to persevere with the nymph. I made my way slowly downstream, keeping low, trying not to kick the rocks.

I eventually reached the end of the path and decided to return to the cottage for a glass of wine. I should have fished late into the evening when the fading light would have encouraged the trout to rise. Next time.