I awoke to the rain as it remorselessly battered my sky-light at 6am (15 minutes before my alarm was set to wake me up I may add). It was still dark out, and a tired peak through the window told me the weather was miserable, cold, and very wet…and it looked to be getting worse. My bed was warmer, so it wouldn’t hurt to spend 15 more minutes there; the fifteen minutes that I had left until I my alarm was set to go crazy.

With the fifteen minutes feeling like fifteen seconds, I was showered and packing on my thermals and boots. I started making coffee – one lot for the flask, another for a mug to wake me up for the oncoming day’s trout fishing. The excitement was setting in.

The Taff would be washed out today, the ‘Atlantic Storms’ we’d seen the past day and a bit had seen to that. She was being battered. But then Spate Rivers recover rather quickly, so I would have a chance of fishing with her soon.

It was 7:15am, I had collected Eldon and Sam, and we were off to the Brecon Beacons for a day’s pursuit of wild brown trout.

You know when you’ve arrived at Talybont. After journeying up and then down a (very) steep winding road, after crossing a small brook, you at last enter a valley rich in forest greens, and, following the path of a mischievous feeder stream (river-like in it’s self), you arrive.

The first time this reservoir’s view opened up to me I was shocked by it’s beauty. It is a true jewel hidden at high altitude, and surrounded in deep green coniferous trees. However, like many jewels, it takes a lot of hard work in order to reap its rewards. It has plenty of secrets, but it doesn’t give them up easily.

The drive to the watery expanse was a joyful one. Three friends with plans of hunting the wary brown trout filled the car with past tales.

Rods were put together and waders were donned in a matter of, what seemed, minutes. A gentle walk over farm land and through the feeder stream and we were in position.

Then the winds came

How long are you able to fish in heavy gales? Well, attempting to cast a 10’ #7 rod as powerfully as you can AT the bank and release on your back cast (only because the high winds are blowing over your right shoulder and because you’re slightly worried about catching a size 10 gold head nymph in the face if you don’t cast this way) was hard work. So much so, my arm was to ache for the next two days.

For two hours we cast weighted nymphs into the wind on sinking lines. We needed the weighted lines to cut through the water in order for the wind factor to be negated. We fished close to the shore line and retrieved our flies at varying depths, speeds, and with varying pulls and jerks. We cast 5-10ft out and retrieved our flies at varying depths, speeds, and with varying pulls and jerks. We cast 10-15ft out and retrieved our flies at varying depths, speeds, and with varying pulls and jerks. We cast 15-20ft out and…you get the idea.

This was the name of the game for almost half the circumference of the reservoir. Results? Nada. Zip. Zero. Zilch. Nowt. Nothing.

Not being able to stand heavy winds, and with feelings of being beaten by a water so beautiful, we retreated to the car for a ‘Tactic Conference’.

It was decided that we should visit another beautiful jewel of the Beacons, the Upper Neuadd. Defeated by one body of water, we were determined not to be beaten by a second.

It was now 10:45am, and on arriving at the next torturous mistress (still kitted out in waders, wading boots and jackets), we noticed the wind had decreased slightly; however, the missing wind was being slowly replaced by precipitation…of the battering kind.

Feeling a little more jovial about the day, we proceeded to fish this next beauty. Higher up than Talybont, and a lot smaller, the fish are still perky fighters, and just as tricky to catch.

It was now raining, grey, and terribly gloomy looking, but within 10 minutes we were all into fish. Sam was first, and also second, then it was my turn, and then Eldon, unfortunately though, his jumped the hook at the last second.

All of the fish were small brown trout, and all taken on gold-head damsels. They fought until they were safely released…a picture of one taken before it got too stressed.

Then the rains came

After our initial catch of fish, Sam was the only one of us to catch another. The rain had firmly put it’s foot down, and it didn’t seem like it would be moving it soon. The gales had returned and it just seemed like there was only so much weather we could take.

Sheltering in a small grouping of trees, the wind was reduced slightly, but the rain drops from the trees were ten times bigger than the rain.

It was 13:30 when we finally gave in and let Mother Nature take her victory. She had won, for now. But not before giving us a few nice trout…

…and an ass-kicking!

…I’m stuck in work. Today my ‘to-do’ list tells me I have to amend .NET config files to allow a piece of software to work correctly. I also have to finalise a batch of software testing which has been an ongoing project since before Christmas. Today I am very impressed.

By saying ‘I am very impressed’ I actually mean ‘I’m not’.

However, tomorrow I will be going fishing.

Google, the all-knowing-all-seeing deity, reported that March 1st was the first day of Spring. On March 30th our clocks will “spring” forward one hour (which is especially nice if you fish) and our piscatorial cravings will be soothed just that little bit more by an extra hour of sunlight…and consequently, an hours extra fishing.

So, with the arrival of spring, we shall soon be seeing an increase in insect hatches, the foliage will soon be returning to our flora, and the wildlife currently in hibernation will be awaking.

It’s a nice feeling knowing that the warm summer days (the ones with a slight cooling breeze, with a sprinkling of cloud in the sky, and a hatch here and there) are just around the corner. This also seems to be the time where I’m never at home, and instead, am obsessively found on the river.

Spring 2007…

…has a forecast of ‘Crap’. Honestly, that’s what the BBC, Metcheck, and Weather.co.uk have forecast.

Okay, so maybe they didn’t use the word ‘crap’, but the mix of heavy showers and heavy rain which they have forecast equates to the same thing.

Passing the Taff on my way to work, I see she’s up again, although not too too high. However, that was at 7.00am…and it’s apparently still raining back home…we’ll see the state she’s in when I pass her on my drive home.

So, this weekend, will see the Taff washed out, again. Although hopefully, we’ll have less Gale Force ‘I can blow a cow off a field’ winds than we saw last weekend.

So it’s away with the river fly box, and out with the stillwater, and, as Talybont is now open for the season, I’m hoping to partake in a spot of wild brownie fishing at the reservoir. One of my favourite stillwaters, and one where you actually have to work for the fish!

Anyway, enough of this weekend…back to today…

Well, the stag party weekend in Poland came, went, and is now a hazy memory (heavily fuelled by cheap ‘Zywiec’ Polish beer!). Some of the group’s initial reaction to the country tarnished somewhat due to the lack of manners and general behaviour…and this was all from the Polish! I thought, as the Stag Party, it was WE that were supposed to be badly behaved! Ah well. Can’t judge a country on a single visit I suppose.

Arriving back in the UK on Monday morning, the rest of the day was written off as a Hangover…I mean Recover Day. I’d also booked Tuesday off work for fishing, but it appeared that the ‘Recovery’ process required a little more time.

So, after a lengthy lie-in on Tuesday, I managed to pop down to the river for an evening session at a leisurely 3:00pm. My excitement, however, was not at the highest of levels due to my disastrous ‘off-season’ results, but still I went, with thoughts of dead horses, flogging, etc…

The river was running a little high, but only by a few inches, and very very clear. On with a tungsten bead hare’s ear and a Snipe & Purple on the dropper, and the first few casts resulted in a fish…then panic!

I mean, what was I suppose to do, but panic? I haven’t caught a damn fish since November! I felt like a beginner again. My mind running through correct ‘Fish Landing Procedures’, “keep the rod high Ga’!”, “Take in the slack Ga’!”. But the fish was landed.

Only a small stocked brownie around the .5lb mark, but still, it felt good to catch a fish after three months of not. To see it grumpily swim away, I think maybe my 3 month blank has ended. Although, I won’t speak too soon.

That was the only fish all evening, but a lovely night it was. King Fishers flitting up and down the river, the local heron spotted, and a the odd sporadic hatch of the tiniest flies noticed. She’s starting to wake up for the new season again, and I can’t wait until she shakes off her slumber properly…that’s when the proper sport starts (and hopefully when my catch ratio improves!).

Fishing (and everything else for that mater) will be on hold starting Thursday evening. At the majestic time of 03:30 Friday morning (by ‘majestic’ I really mean ‘HORRIBLE’) myself and 25 other guys will be flying from Bristol Airport to Poland for a long weekend…a three day Stag-Party.

Now, the fishing in Poland is supposed to be excellent, but unfortunately, my commitment to the ‘party’ won’t allow me to escape the Beer-thon…not even for 10 minutes. Although, I will be able to slip away for a couple of minutes to do a little reconnaissance for a future fishing trip further on in the year.

So unfortunately, I’m going to have to force myself to enjoy a weekend of cheap beer (max of £0.80, or so I’m told), rugby (Grand Slam possibility?), and stag-do shenanigans…life is hard sometimes.

Now…I just have to have find enough will power to leave the rods at home…