There had been no rain for a couple of days and the river levels had dropped a bit. The river in the village was the colour of Fuller’s London Pride but clearer. There were no fish on the coarse granite sand in the pool below the bridge. It was hot, bright and humid, no need for a jacket.

Southwell IV had not seen action for a while, it’s length and compound taper would enable me to reach the pools along the far bank of the Tavy. The slow action finished with a kick which gave me a couple of extra yards.

I walked to the top of the Beat and tied on a Red Tag weighted with lead wire, not a bead. Beads are the Devils work. I remembered the trout below the rock that had grabbed my fly on a previous visit but it had moved on. At the end of the pool I sat and watched the water, waiting for a fish to rise. The small fly was lost in the turbulent water and I changed to a Teal Blue and Silver which would fish higher in the water and be more visible.

Visitors to the river blocked my path downstream. The motley group of cows and heifers were chaperoned by a Hereford bull which was clearly agitated by my presence. The cattle standing in the river looked like a pastoral English country scene by John Constable. Minus the hay wain. I waited until the cattle had finished drinking and had wandered back into the middle of the field, before wading to the next pool.

I found a couple of fish rising along the centre channel over a sandy riverbed. They were dashing about taking hatching midges. I clambered around a rock outcrop and flicked out a buzzer. There was no response, my rock climbing had put them down.

The long, wide glide looked like it would hold several trout. An old salmon croy pushed the water into the centre channel which was only a couple of feet deep. The bottom had been washed clean and the fissures in the bedrock provided shelter, a perfect holding place. I changed to a GRHE nymph and cast beyond the last rock in the croy. I was not concentrating and the take surprised me. The line curled away, the rod banged over and the trout was gone. It was a good fish and I felt bad about such a stupid mistake. Hours of fruitless effort had lulled me into zombie mode. I had messed up the only take of the afternoon. I will start with a GRHE and pay more attention next time.