I left the farm late in the afternoon, I had an evening appointment with a trout and I didn’t want to arrive too early. The weather was perfect, a warm westerly and cirrus clouds. The gentle breeze was upstream and would help with presentation. Rother fish grow big and I took the #4 Hardy to lever the trout out of the streamer weed. I was confident. The river was dark green and clear, the streamer weed had died back, with the shorter days there was little sunlight for the chlorophyll that sustained it.

I’d had two previous encounters with the trout and on both occasions my hurried casting across the pool had put the fish down. As usual, I had a plan. I carefully tied on my best GRHE nymph making sure not to strangle the 5lb tippet with a dry knot. I crept towards the pool on the damp grass and hid behind the weeds. The trout rose in midstream. I briefly considered changing to a dry fly but stuck to the plan.

The first tentative cast was a bit short and downstream of the rise. I flicked out the nymph gently and immediately the tippet straightened. I was into the fish. I had assumed that it was a small wild fish but when it rolled and splashed on the surface it looked enormous. My plan hadn’t included the landing net which I had left out of reach. The fish burrowed under the brown streamer weeds and I put a bend in the Hardy that a #3 weight or a split cane rod would not have survived. Everything held and I eventually admired the big head, long body and spade like tail, it was about 3lbs and the nymph was lodged in it’s tongue. It had been feeding.

After such a long campaign I felt that I knew the fish and it was good to see my friend swim off strongly back into the weeds. I hadn’t thought about the rest of the evening. After two casts the plan had been executed to perfection, much quicker than I had imagined. I strolled up and down the beat taking a few photos, not giving much thought to fishing and left an hour earlier than I had intended for a roast dinner and a beer at the farm. After a frustrating season on the river it was nice to end on a high.

It was a lovely sunny afternoon and it seemed daft not to go fishing. So I went to the lakes. The southerly wind ruffled the surface and the occasional cloud darkened the surface making it hard to see the leader. No fish were moving. An old strategy wandered into my mind, drift a buzzer across the wind and wait for the line to straighten. Static fishing at it’s best. The fly choice was obvious, a size 12 black neoprene buzzer.

I sat on the bench with the wind behind me and relaxed, the fish would be deep and near to the bank. I kept my shadow off the water and flicked the buzzer out about ten yards. I was distracted by a pair of red kites summersaulting over the tree line but a slight movement of the tippet caught my eye and I lifted into a trout. Second cast, how spooky, just like the fish from the river.

I fished half-heartedly, expecting lots more takes. Not so, two hours later as I was admiring the clouds, the leader moved again and I was late lifting the rod. I briefly hooked the trout, probably just as it was rejecting the fly. It had been a relaxing afternoon, sunny and warm with a nice cup of tea.

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