I’m glad to see that Adrian over at Riffles and Runs is back up and writing again. Always a fantastic read, and a blog which I seriously recommend to you all.

Also, while I’m on the topic of blogs, as of Wednesday, Fly Fishing in South Wales will have been up and running for three years! So happy birthday me!

Lastly, and while we’re still on the subject, if you’re ever bored at work, it’s raining outside, or you just want to escape into the world of warm sunny days, streams, hatches, and a few fish, you might want to check out the links to the right under the Blogroll section. All classics the lot of them, but each one proudly individual and offering it’s own blend of photos, stories, reports, and humour. Please check them all out. If they weren’t great blogs, they wouldn’t be in the list.

Blogs also tend to go crazy at this time of year, and are pretty much windows into their respective author’s mental well being…enough said!

It is mid March and my second day of trout fishing of the new season. My first was a wash off, with snow showers which I was mercilessly unprepared for! But, I’m back, and the conditions couldn’t differ any greater.
I am smiling as I sit on the fallen tree that has lain venerably beside the stream for many a year. The foliage is still bare. Cold browns, exposed and hostile looking branches attempt to afflict my senses as I sit there silently viewing the valley which envelopes me. I sit containing an almost explosive excitement, but with a long, deep exhale, I am home.

It is markedly early as I sit in the cold morning enjoying the chill and the sounds of the stream. The birds are already happily and rowdily chirping out their morning songs, and the sun is already showing its presence and is confidently attaining altitude on the horizon. The 6’6” #3wt rod is to be my companion for the day and is happily resting against the fallen tree next to its owner’s legs as he rummages through the klinkhamer compartment of his fly box. There is currently no surface activity, so I’ll start with a klink with a nymph suspended underneath.

I have missed the sounds of the gently rustling stream currently no more than four feet from my wading boots; I have missed the sight of its majestic white riffles as the water hits an exposed boulder or stone; and I have missed the feel of it’s surrounding wild grass and the sting of it’s wild thorns. The place seems to be more alive than I remember it being when I was here last, and I notice myself grinning unashamedly at this personal piece of paradise.

For the last five months I have been kept away from this wild and secluded paradise in order to allow a certain wild inhabitant to go about its spawning season. I have endured the forced abstinence, but these long and hurtful months have pained me. But the pain is over.

With the correct flies eventually decided upon (a tan klink and a size #16 PTN), both rod and owner begin their long awaited journey into the Brecon Beacons National Park; seemingly hidden away from any trace of civilisation.

Today I am fishing with my good friend Bill, who is fishing 30 yards downstream of me. Today we shall share the stream, but are far enough apart that we sometimes forget we even have company.

A suitable spying location is established behind a tree located adjacent to the stream, I am crouched, and anxiously watching the water for any sign of a trout. There is none, and so I begin searching the water with my team of artificial bugs.

Three casts in and the trusty klinkhamer is sucked under the surface, only to be met with a raised rod and a nice kicking feeling down throughout the rod handle. A few seconds later, and a feisty stocked brown trout is happily cradled in my left hand.

“Thank you” he seems to say as he is caringly released, “and welcome to the new Trout Season” he finishes. Thank you little fish, and off he swims, my heart bursting with renewed love for this wild place.

After this fish, I feel as if there are no problems in the world, and that I am indeed in Heaven. The wait for this one fish felt, at the time, like it would tear me apart, but past pains are instantly forgotten in this one short, and magical moment. I begin to worry that my huge grin and thumping heart beat will scare away every trout in the valley.

The morning is now in full swing, but is drawing out for myself as I am unable to fish on into the afternoon. Kicking myself as I unwillingly say my goodbyes to Bill, I begin the journey back to the car…there is rugby to watch, and it’s the last game of the Six Nations. I lift my spirits fractionally by consoling that it is now Trout Season, and the wait is, therefore, over.

Throughout the morning, I force myself to take in as much of the environs as possible. Hatches of midges are present (like any other months of the year), but are confidently accompanied by hatches of large dark olives and olive uprights. Flora-wise, I notice that even a few Primroses (Primula vulgaris) are attempting to make their early spring arrival known.

I only managed a morning session of around four hours, but managed two fish, the last one a true wild trout. Those four hours and two fish seemed to invigorate the soul more than anything I have ever experienced, and simply filled me with joy.

Welcome to Trout Season 2009.

…I’m looking forward to it already. Work has been stupidly busy lately, and I’m sad to say, that it’s been getting in the way of my fishing something terrible. What makes things worse is that fact that the river is currently in perfect condition, and I’m yet to catch my first trout of 2009.

My working days, although busy, are filled with day dreams of hatching olives, small wild trout, and bent rods.

I’ll be visiting the headwaters this weekend, and I aim to catch a fish or two. Conditions look perfect (to die for in fact) and I’m praying for a hatch or two. She owes me for the battering she gave me when I was last there. Somehow, cowering under a tree from a huge snow storm isn’t my idea of idyllic small stream fishing.

I’m hoping Saturday will resemble this…

Summer 2008

…we shall see.

On another note, The Boss booked me and my day off last Tuesday, so we decided to go on a Recon Mission to scope out the river Usk take a romantic walk, complete with kick ass ice-cream. The river at Brecon looks fantastic, and I think the Mrs actually may have heard me whimpering as we observed an angler pulling out a few feisty Red River trout.

For those who have been unfortunate enough NOT to have fished the treasure trove that is the Monnow catchment, I would like to publicise the MFA’s brand spanking new web site at http://monnow.org/.

The MFA are fantastic in what they do, and the passion and devotion they have for (and I think this is the most important) the conservation of the Monnow catchment’s habitats and waterways is stunningly inspiring. The unending hard work which they put into the Monnow catchment is a pleasure to see and is proudly presented on their new web site.

There are many beats of the Monnow system available via the Wye & Usk Foundation, and are well worth experiencing. There is a glowing jewel in the Welsh Marches that has still yet to be experienced by all, but it’s glow is getting brighter…much brighter.

For more information on the Monnow Fisheries Association, available fishing, accommodation, and other attractions, please click here.

Yes, the heart-braking, inner-turmoil-inducing, and painful six months of no trout action is finally at its end. Tomorrow the upper Taff and her tributaries open for trout action, and plans are made; oh so wickedly cunning plans. More reports on this to follow shortly, but let’s just say I will soon be back to my normal ‘wild man in the hills’ ways (in the enthusiastic-stay-out-fishing-all-day-and-night kind of way, not the incestual-Deliverance-hill-billy kind of way).

So, and before everyone becomes incensed with Trout Fever, I would like to wish you all the very best for the new Season, may your trout be long and weighty! Happy trouting!

Back to the moment, and the lower catchment is sporting hugely positive hatches of olive uprights, LDOs, and a huge array of midges. Sadly, however, the grayling are continuing their disinterest and are happy to hide from my best attempts. Luckily, I have managed to pull out a couple, but these have been few and far between; but I am grateful for the lonesome fish here and there none the less.