The village awoke to the sound of diggers, lorries and shouty workmen. The Government’s fast fibre gigabit target apparently applies to Dartmoor even though the pace of life here is slow. Waking early provided a unique opportunity to fish before the spaniels and bank holiday campers descended upon the moor.

It was cloudy and warm, rain was forecast for early afternoon, perfect conditions for a peaceful walk in the woods. The private, wooded valley ensured that wild swimmers and kids on their summer holiday would not spoil my morning.

The river drops steeply off the moor through a narrow valley with ancient woodland along both banks. The water winds around granite boulders, over coarse sand and through deep pools most of which hold trout. The mature oaks stand among rocks covered in bright green lichen. The tree canopy, overhanging the river, provides shade and shelter. The air is damp and the path through the woods is covered in last autumns leaves. The dim light, humidity and still air are a perfect environment for ferns, moss and fungi. The trees are dressed in ivy and the saturated moss on the rocks makes it difficult to sit down. It’s a mini, temperate rainforest. This pristine woodland has no litter, no graffiti or vandalism. It’s privately owned and in good hands.

My expectations of fish were low. I knew that I would spend the morning walking slowly, watching the river roar along in the dappled sunlight. The riverscape changed every few minutes as clouds passed over. Shafts of sunlight illuminated the white water and made the wet rocks glow. I started in the pool below the bridge, flicking the weighted nymph upstream under the arches. I saw a fish move and persevered. I bounced the nymph off the stone cutwater into the slack and the little trout obliged. I unhooked it in the shallows and watched it dash away none the worse for meeting me.

I stayed close to the water, clambering around rocks and tree trunks, dangling the nymph into riffles, letting it swing round into the slower water beside the bank. By the time I had reached the end of my walk, a couple more trout had grabbed the fly. I’d had three takes, hooked three fish and landed two and a half. One fell off as I reached out to release it. Does that count ? I was content, I had exceeded my expectations.

When I arrived back at the cottage I had to clamber over a heap of freshly excavated tarmac and a plastic barrier blocking the gate. Fruit cake and tea calmed me down.