I’d like, just for once, to have an easy Monday morning. After spending a fantastic weekend up in Bala, North Wales with GAIA (report and photos to follow) I wasn’t particularly in the mood to be greeted lovingly at 07:30 by almost 2,000 spam email notifications, blatantly pointing out that there was a mail server issue. 30 minutes of diagnostics, resolution implementation and several server reboots later, I could finally sit back and relax a little: Issue #1 resolved…

…8.5 hours later I was standing in a very low River Usk and casting a #24 biot paradun on 7X tippet at a ridiculously spooky brown trout, the trials of the day easily pushed to the back of my mind.

A special evening.

04:10 – The magic begins…

Plagued by hot weather and a lack of rain for nearly four months our rivers are low and sparklingly clear. The days have seen bright, cloudless skies easily putting down any self-respecting trout and any semblance of ‘action’ has been kept firmly confined to the hours just after sunrise and those just prior to sunset.

There are rules and there are exceptions to rules; no one should have to be up at 4am on a Saturday morning but the exception here, of course, is that I’m on my way to the River Usk, bleary eyed but intent on beating the sun and those high mid-day temperatures.

Rivers are magical things, more so when enjoyed during the early mornings before even the birds have began to sing; I find its chattering riffles and sparkling lights enchanting, and the cool morning air helps to rid the last cobwebs of sleep.

At 5am I find myself standing on the banks of The Red River tying on one of the favoured size #22 Blue Winged Olive paraduns and, surprisingly, without so much of a hint of tiredness about me; I smile inwardly as I watch a trout methodically sip emerging midge and the remainder of last night’s blue wing spinners from the surface film.

She lies in a far-bank food lane, as they always seem to; a reach cast is made to a point just a few feet above the spotted feeding she-fish. She inspects and is, surprisingly, quickly satisfied; the angler lifts gently and is graciously permitted to dance with one of nature’s most beautifully evolved creations. Several jumps, runs, skipped heartbeats and, after a five minute fight, she is gently held in the recuperating and cooling flows of this wonderful river. A metaphorical bow and the two entities part company, the she-fish swimming strongly and confidently back to her cover, no doubt to sulk for an hour or two.

As the sun rises the heat mounts, and as the heat mounts the surface feeding declines to that of a trickle. It is now mid-day, and a host of formidably sized wild trout have been deceived by fur and feather.

The day began magically in the early half-light and ended blissfully in the warmth of a summer’s mid-day.

Until next time…

04:15 – Heavenly waters at first light.

That magical she-fish…

…and safely returned.

Early morning lights and pastel shades.

Stocked trout, I think not. Perfection with fins.

Summer foliage and without a bare branch in sight.

Fly fishing tackle, evolved.

A healthy sign, the River Usk boasts a healthy amount of minnows.

Deceived by fur and feather: the two-pounder who tried to eat a #20 Copper John.

The river narrows…

…and Mostyn makes an undercover cast.

Spotted like a leopard…

…before her safe release.

A suumer poppy, Papaver rhoeas.

The past five days began gently last Saturday morning with a nice relaxed visit to my local mountain stream. It was from this point, however, that I began noticing my levels of ‘busy’ increasing rapidly.

Thankfully, Saturday was a relaxed affair full of trout, Ephemeroptera and wild upland freestone streams and with so much casting theory going on lately it’s always nice to put it all into practice. Six months ago I would have thought it a little strange to employ spey techniques within the tight confines of a small stream environment, however now, I wouldn’t be without them.

Sunday saw the meeting of a mentoring group which I’m part of and where discussions and demonstrations flew from casting dynamics to spey techniques all in preparation for the weekly Casting Clinics due to begin this evening and run by the Gwent Angling Society. As this will be be my first time coaching fly casting I’m, as you would imagine, a little nervous but preparation has seen me stood in various fields throughout the past week, casting a piece of wool over a tape measure and at brightly coloured cones; passers-by tend to look on with a mixture of curiosity and distrust and comments such as “You’ll never catch anything there!” or “Water’s a bit low mate!” are mockingly shouted from the field’s main path. Very funny. I laughed hard.

With constant casting practice and study going on around my day job (before and after work, during lunch breaks, while I’m in the car…) I saw fit to take a break Thursday and, in order to continue with the ‘theory and practice’ theme of my week, I visited one of my home club’s Usk fisheries after work and where a lot of the more technical casts can be practiced on the water as opposed to grass.

Friday and it was time for a true relax with a couple of days away in West Wales but with the faithful GAIA Syllabus and the 28 exercises which I’ll eventually be assessed on quietly sitting in my pocket for the times when I’d need to look over my scribblings relating to rod actions, definitions of high modulus and high strength carbon, AFTMA line ratings, casting stances and grips, how tailing loops are formed, etc.

Sunday, home from West Wales and a great meal for Father’s Day over, it was back to standing in a field, waving more sticks and working through more GAIA assessment exercises. After talking out loud to myself all evening in mock response to any possible questions at the Casting Clinics or the GAIA Assessment later this year, you tend to go to sleep continuing these conversations. In my state of half-asleep-mode, with constant fly casting explanations/discussions running around in my head (fingers sore with fresh blisters from gripping rod handles a little too tightly after my arms became a little tired), casting tends to meld into one thing. Acceleration, loop formation and energy transfer.

After a few more thoughts of straight-line-rod-tip-paths and rod-tip control firmly shouting out to me I must have, at some point, successfully dropped off as it now appears to be Monday afternoon, and all the hard work will be tested this evening…let the games begin…

A few busy images from the last week…

Saturday – Wild upland streams…

…wild upland trout…

…and wild upland flowers.

Overhanging canopies…

…the view from beneath…

…and the results of a tricky cast under the ceiling of green.

The valley-sides bloom.

A rare shot of yours-truly, making a gentle cast to a far-bank food lane.

Thursday evening and Mostyn makes a cast on the Usk

The smile says it all; after a frantic four-minute fight, a beautiful Usk two-pounder is landed and safely returned.

Dusk beauty…

Back to it, and more casting practice…

What a backdrop…

Pre-birthday celebrations on Monday saw me standing in the slowly warming waters of the river Usk and on a truly glorious summers day and with the fantastic company of my dad and Mostyn.

I’ve not fished the Usk in nearly a season and, after focusing predominantly on the smaller streams since the trout season began back in early March, it’s nice to be able to open your shoulders a little and not worry too much about snagging your flies as you attempt an awkward cast to a rising trout sitting beneath heavy foliage.

The morning consisted of fairly heavy downstream winds, making sure that any attempt to cast upstream would result in a mess of leader and flies. Between gusts, however, the trout would take to their cue and begin rising again, and it was these brief windows which allowed for the best fishing to take place.

Throughout the day hatches of Yellow Mays, sedges and Large Brook Duns were evident and in pretty high numbers too, but Monday was all about the trusty old midge. Huge balls of mating chironomids could be seen throughout the entire day and the trout seemed to be completely locked on to their emerging stage; with sip after sip after sip, they’d stay on station taking every midge that drifted by, attempting to break free of the water’s surface.

My successful method for the day was a duo rig of two dry flies, one buoyant and highly visible fly with a smaller (#18-24) midge pattern trailed 2’ behind it, and boy did it work.

Thanks to you both for a fantastic day, and my first trout of the day made for one hell of a cool early birthday present.

Thanks to a mixture of rain and snow over the last month, and also my right foot deciding it was going to try and tear all of its ligaments last month, fishing has been a strange and distant memory. On every occasion since Christmas where I’ve felt a fishing trip may be possible, the heavens have remind me just who’s boss, or I’ll attempt to put too much weight on my foot and end up on the floor, wincing in pain like a little sissy girl. Needless to say, January 2010 has been hopeless.

I was determined to fish over this past weekend, and I didn’t care if I had to endure more rain than Noah, it was happening. So screw you foot, and screw you bad weather!

The mighty Bill had arranged a small shindig on the upper river Wye, and at one of my favourite spots on the river. The river Wye at this upland location sees it’s freestone waters tumble between truly huge boulders, over slab stone, and below gigantic sheer cliff faces. This is the upper Wye, and the environment here offers the angler quite a harsh terrain, but it’s worth the hard work. Images of a hobbling, limping old man came to mind the night before as I began to contemplate navigating the harsher-than-normal banks/riverbed with a still-bruised foot.

On opening the door on Saturday morning, however, I was presented with a Christmas postcard scene, white, snowy, and very cold. Great. The previous night’s ‘sneaky’ snowfall and frost meant that a lot of the roads had closed, and as such, Bill, Mostyn, and the English visitors Bill had arranged to meet up with were all unable to make it. Word from the Merthyr Contingent sounded like they were going to wait and head up when it got a little warmer…looked like I was just going to brave it alone for a while.

After purchasing a ticket, I headed a little further north and to the usual parking spot (which was covered in snow on this occasion) and walked to the river to see what the conditions were like before tackling up. As any other visitor to this section of river will tell you, it’s a beautiful and hidden gem.

An hour later and I’d been fishing hard, and without any fish, but it was more a case of finding a shoal than it being a day of catching grayling after grayling. Conditions were perfect, and an image of what a winters day fishing for grayling should be; blue skies, snow covered banks, leaves crunching underfoot, icey cold waters, and annoyingly, frozen rod rings.

Nymphing was the method of the day, but due to the (generally) low and very clear water conditions, fishing at distance was required, and specifically, in the high sticking format.

At around 11:00am I was greeted by the fantastic sight of nearly 20 canoes paddling downstream. Even though the Wye & Usk Foundation’s sign just upstream at the first launch spot clearly stated “You may not canoe at any time when the water level at Rhadyr is below the red line”…yes, you’ve guessed it, the water was levels were below said line, approximately 1′ below the red line in fact. Sure, during the Welsh Assembly’s ‘Inquiry into access to inland waters’ Evidence Sessions there has been so-called ‘scientific evidence’ submitted that ‘factually’ stated that fish are not disturbed by canoes; strange then, from my years on the water, how an angler/walker/CANOEIST can screw the fishing in a huge section of river. My rant’s over now, but they shouldn’t have been there.

Anyway, back to the fishing.

Eventually, I did hit into a fish, albeit a trout (a rather beautiful 16″s of out-of-season trout), but a trout nonetheless; and not a grayling.

Moving consistently up stream, I eventually bumped into Phil and Mark who had, true to their word, made it to the Wye as the conditions had warmed up, and the roads had re-opened. We fished and chatted together for the next hour and a bit, until deciding to pack it in for the day.

Back at the car, and after having shared a coffee with Phil and Mark, I realised how much I’d missed the fishing during January…and how many flies I’d tied during my forced abstinence. The one fish I’d caught during the day, and the sites seen, however, more than made up for it (well, nearly). But there will be more fishing to come…eventually. We just have to hope that the snow-which-has-now-turned-rain clears soon.

See you all soon.

A few more images from the day…