I realised last week that the trout season in Devon would end in a few days. I needed to fit in several trips to the rivers. The weather was windy, warm and bright, I wanted somewhere with plenty of shade. Deep in the valley, the River Walkham beckoned. The beat is left wild, unspoilt. Moreover, access is behind locked gates, keeping walkers and spaniels away from the river.

I walked down the gently sloping track, stopping occasionally to listen and look around the woodland. The white noise from the wind in the tree tops was pierced by buzzards mewing while looking for lunch.

I wandered further down the track looking for a familiar tree and an easy path through the bracken and fallen trees. I slid down the bank and found the bridge over the leat, high above the river. The river looked perfect, slightly above normal level with only a few leaves spinning in the current.

I sat on a mossy log and threaded the fly line through the rod rings. I flicked the GRHE nymph upstream and worked it through the flat water and around the boulders. I stumbled occasionally, watching the leader while feeling for a secure foothold was tricky. I worked my way upstream until a rock wall blocked my progress. The deep pool beside the cliff probably held trout but they showed no interest in my fly.

I turned downstream and drifted the nymph through the deep water on the outside of several bends. Nothing. A twenty yard long, slow moving pool also failed to produce a fish.

I retraced my steps back to the path and walked to the bottom of the valley. Above the weir and fish pass, the open water was ruffled by a stiff breeze providing good cover. I dropped the nymph over the edge of a rock wall where I had seen a good fish on a previous visit. Nothing. As I walked upstream looking for signs of fish, the wind dropped and the flat calm left me exposed to the spooky fish.

I paced myself as I walked uphill for half mile back to the Defender. Although I hadn’t caught anything, I had enjoyed the scenery. I had a beef stew and a couple of glasses of red wine in the pub to end the day.

I boosted my confidence the next day. I took the old Mk IV and Mitchell 300 to the lake on the moor and caught a beautiful 10lb common carp off the surface.

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