It had been dry and very cold for a few days, the Tamar at Greystone Bridge had dropped to 0.41m and the grayling would be hungry. I left the cottage at lunchtime and had to scrape the ice off the car. The bright blue cloudless sky and still air made it feel like Spring. Halfway there I realised that I had left my waders in the garage. Not a problem, I don’t like wading.

The water level, speed and colour were all perfect. I walked to the first croy, decided that the icy ‘Ladder of Death’ looked a bit too risky and walked further upstream to the other holding pool. I stood in shallow water, facing the sun, and flicked the Red Tag into the slack water beside the croy. The air was still and the line rolled out nicely. I searched the slack water on my side of the main flow and the bubble line downstream for about twenty yards.

I expected a grayling to take at any moment but for an hour, the only bend in the rod was the weight of the river. I had a break and watched the water. No flies hatched, no fish rose, nothing. Grayling gather in pods and won’t move far in cold turbulent water. When I find fish, takes come in rapid succession.

I persevered for another thirty minutes before wandering back to the first croy. I peered over the edge of the riverbank hoping that the near vertical ladder would look safe. It did not. A buzzard mewed once, it was a warning. I walked back across the field, through the sheep, warm in the sun and content that I hadn’t caught an out of season trout.