Friday morning, the spaniels, hikers and wetsuit-river-orienteers would be out in force. The car park appeared to be full but I squeezed into the last gap. I had never fished the beat, people and dogs do not mix with fishing. Taking a rod on my walk to identify river restoration sites seemed sensible.

I walked slowly along the rocky footpath among mature beech trees, unnoticed by the walkers and labradors. One old lady hurled abuse at her three out of control dogs. She was only a few yards away but failed to see me.

I found several pools without paw marks in the sand and flicked a nymph upstream gradually extending the line until the fly reached the white water.

Further up the beat the walkers and dogs petered out and I could concentrate on the small, rocky pools. I paddled in the margins as far as the hole in my right wellie would allow. Leaping from a boulder back to the path was a mistake and I crashed backwards into the water. My pockets were all sealed and nothing was lost. The ripstock cotton jacket and trousers would dry out before I got back to the car.

A huge beech tree had fallen across the path and I had to climb up the rocks out of the valley, my wet clothes were a constant reminder not to take any more risks.

I found a long glide below a gentle riffle and crept down to water level. The overhanging hazel bushes grabbed my fly a few times on the back cast but after a short rest, normal service was resumed and I caught a small trout from the head of the pool. That trout was a milestone, my first Devon trout this season and my first from the beat.

I was happy to walk further upstream, continuing to take note of places where gravel could be enhanced and riffles could be built. A young lady with a bright red jacket and two black spaniels was hurling sticks into the best pool and I decided to return to the car. Why do people wear bright red jackets when out walking ?

It had been a successful morning, an evening meal and a glass of wine at the pub finished off a lovely day.

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