Fly Fish Off at Bellbrook

Competition might not be the reason I usually go fishing, but I must admit I've been enjoying some friendly contests recently. There's a definite excitement to these days out, whether it's the draw itself, or the fun of catching fish against the clock. I'd urge even the less competitive angler to try the odd match in fact. It definitely adds an extra something and far from being cut throat you invariably find a healthy camaraderie at these events.
The recent Tiverton Christmas match was a good day out as usual, although tough going. In fact the measly 420g of roach and a solitary skimmer I caught actually felt like a decent effort from a tricky peg. Hence I was hoping for better when I swapped the long pole for a fly rod at the Bellbrook Christmas Fish Off. Like the Tivvy match, this was well attended, with twenty anglers present. It's a pairs challenge in essence and I roped Ben, my older brother into the bargain to form a duo of Garnetts. At the start you draw a sequence of numbers and change pegs at 45 minute intervals. The aim is to catch a fish from each of the six lakes- or as many as you can.

What a crazy start it was too. On Bodmin Lake, I had a bite second cast. Activity was rife in the first leg, but I managed to lose both the fish I hooked. Damn it! I wasn't the only jinxed angler though, as my neighbour and Ben did the same, hooking and losing fish to draw a blank in the first round.
Still, at least the flies were working. My all time Bellbrook favourite, a sinking rubber-legged daddy longlegs, got them going. Even so, it was well after the start of the second leg that I hooked my next fish, a three pounder that really slammed the rod over. Everything is that bit more exciting in a contest. You pray that bit harder that the fish won't come off. The relief is that bit stronger when it hits the net.
As it turned out, I never looked back after recovering from that iffy start. The fish did get trickier as the day went on- not surprising when you consider that twenty of us were thrashing the water all day. A black mini lure seemed to keep them coming for me. Perhaps I'd got my bad luck out of the way early, because on the final round I had just one bite but it led to a fish in the net, taking my total to five. As for the best of my bag, I had a real battle with a fish of dead on five pounds that needed careful playing not to smash the tippet. A silvery beauty too- and in a match even more of a morale booster:

So how did we do? No angler took the full six fish, although three of us managed five. Ben took three which gave us a total of eight, enough for second place on the day and a bottle of port each, just behind the winning duo on nine fish. Above all though, it was straight up good fun. Friendly banter, good sportsmanship and a very civilised lunch, while fishery boss Chris even came round to dispense hot mince pies and mulled wine. How many matches does that happen?!!
In fact, things have been looking up all round. I even managed to avoid a blank for a change on Exeter Canal this week, with a smallish but exquisitely marked pike.

I'm also feeling mightily relieved to have completed my third book, "Canal Fishing: A Practical Guide", which is currently being designed by Merlin Unwin Books. It has been one of the most intensive slogs I've ever had as a writer but I'm really excited. Canals have always been close to my heart- and bloody hell do we have an amazing variety of cuts in this country. Here's a first look cover draft:

Cheap Seats vs Exclusive Beats

I've never been one for forking out mega bucks for my fishing. It's not any lack of love for stunning private waters, but more lack of funds. You do get the odd perk out of writing about places, but the phrase "there's no such thing as a free lunch" also applies. Just like I'd never want my output to read like a sales pitch for a sponsor, nor should it read like a fishery brochure. And besides, I quite like it when my viewpoint comes from the cheap seats. Where there's muck there's interest. Where there is dirt there is truth. This is why Rimbaud and Baudelaire frequented gutter bars and cemeteries rather than five star restaurants. That, and the fact that they were perpetually wrecked on absinthe. This week has been a tale of two very different river settings. Firstly, you have the free stretch of the Culm. I've never investigated this place properly before, hence it was a bit of an awakening. Sadly as well as butterflies, birds, chub, dace and trout it also has litter and dodgy types; cows and dogs disturbing the water in at regular intervals. Not surprisingly the best fishing came from taking a walk (or should I say a wade) away from the better trodden areas. Like that craggy bit by the M5. You know the one, the place you must have scanned 1000 times from your car and thought "I wonder what's down there?" Well, I gave it a crack: Was the fishing electric? In a word, no. But varied and challenging, yes. I fished a Klinkhamer and hares ear combo to find dace and a couple of sporty trout, as well as losing what I suspect was a half decent chub. The dingy bits were so overgrown I stuggled, but on some of the shallow, sunny runs I got some lovely rises to the dry fly. Beautiful too, are these Culm trout. Sunny gold and vivid. This bit of the Culm might not be Premier League fly fishing then, but hey- it's free. My next outing couldn't have been more different. An invite to spend the day on a quiet -and usually very private- stretch of the Exe through the kindness of a family friend wasn't to be sniffed at. It was a place so beautiful you had to keep reminding yourself that you weren't trespassing. My brother was already frothing at the mouth with the prospect of salmon, but I wanted to make sure I put something in the net first before giving them a cast. Grayling are a particular favourite. They definitely thrive on neglect- and of all the fish I believe they are the most fragile and easily killed by careless anglers. The nice thing about grayling on salmon waters is that you know virtually nobody is fishing for them. I found plenty of lovely, steady paced runs with 2-3 feet of water and rising fish. Most wanted the dry fly: It soon went from good to outstanding, as the rises increased and Ben hooked a salmon further up. The next grayling I hooked was in a different class to the rest, vast in length by comparison. They are one of those fish that really tantalise as they come towards you; I love that moment the dorsal fin is hoisted and for a brief moment the fish is perfectly frozen before you. My brother had the only scales sadly, but it was 17", quite possibly a two pounder. Who cares, figures are for maths teachers and it was exquisite: I've written before about the huge influence confidence, or a lack of it, can have on fishing success- and on this occasion you felt anything was possible. Ben had already caught a salmon too, so there was only one way to try and finish the day. I aimed an orange Pot-Bellied Pig into various tempting, boiling spots along a far bank channel. After about cast fifty, I was still hoping and almost tempting fate asked Ben "so do I strike when I feel something?" The answer to that is generally "NO!" -a better answer would be to grit your teeth, give line and try not to die of shock. The thing I was attached to flew downstream at a scary pace before throwing itself into the air. Pure adrenaline. In fact, the next time someone even suggests fishing is boring I'm going to slap them. "It's going to be a decent one," and "it's well hooked I reckon," were comments that only added to the tension. The fight was manic, but under my brother's expert guiding hand I eventually managed to bring it to the net. A first ever salmon for me, on the fly and one of the most nerve shattering battles I've ever had on a fishing rod I'd say. The fish, a male, made a steady recovery before making his way homewards. As for me, I've only just stopped quaking.

Mullet of Insanity

You know how it is when you discuss fishing with folks who don't do it. "I don't think I could wait about for the bites," they say. "You must be so patient." Actually I'm not that patient. Patience? Too long without a sniff and I'm on the verge of becoming a patient- in the confines of some institution. Which is why I could never do what some dedicated souls do and routinely spend days on end for just one or two bites from monster fish. For every longer, slower session I also need that quicker hit. Roach, gudgeon, mackerel- they all count for me. Mullet have been the latest source of frustration. "The British bonefish" is a trendy phrase in some quarters. If you'll pardon my grudge, this is nonsense; sure they're powerful, but bonefish actually eat living things like crabs and fish, as opposed to just farting about, sifting in the mud for things you can't even bloody see. If mullet were like bonefish, Devon would be full of high end tourists. Dawlish Warren would have state of the art Orvis endorsed, glass-bottomed skiffs. You'd get stopped at Topsham or Seaton by travelling yanks with £1000 fly outfits, straining their eyes. "Gee- there goes a British Bonefish. Say, what's he eating?" Perhaps I'll answer that one for you- either a) Nothing, b) sludge or c) microscopic fragments of human despair. Of course, that never stops you from trying. And so I hit an estuary mark near Totnes, with my older brother and Adam Moxey also living in hope. "British bonefish" (there, I'm doing it now) were everywhere. We tried float, leger and even the fly. "Keep feeding, it'll happen," says older, wiser brother. In the end I tried a feeder and short hook link. I even managed to hook one of the damned things- until it bumped off the hook mid fight. Next time, I'm taking baited spinners- much more reliable. Apart from that lost fish then, the main entertainment came from one or two spectacularly small flounders (sorry, "British Giant Stingray") inadvertently hooked by Mr Moxey. Cute! Funny isn't it though, that the moment we find fish easy or plentiful we just as often dismiss them. Take the mackerel- a beautiful, obliging, athletic fish that is roundly dismissed. Usually I believe this is because we use beach casters and feathers. Take a light lure outfit and it's a different story: I had a cracking, confidence building morning from Hope's Nose, Torbay. Partly to grab some shots for a forthcoming Sea Angler feature- but also just to remind myself that I can, and do sometimes make a reasonable catch of fish! Whether it was a Dexter Wedge or float fished bait cast out, they hit it. So, an excellent catch of mackerel (sorry, "British Barracuda"). Scarcely any of the other anglers present seemed to speak a word of English, so we just grinned at each other and nodded. Thank you mackerel! Otherwise, trout have offered some gratification too. I hooked up with Tyrone Norah for some stream fishing and we were met with some awesome, classic mayflies, in spite of windy, drizzly bursts. A few trout of the modest but cute bracket followed- and Tyrone picked up the rudiments of casting amazingly well and quickly, even though we'd picked the worst conditions possible for his first crack at it. "British Summer" is almost as laughable as "British bonefish" at present; in fact I'm starting to wonder if both terms were invented as some idiot's idea of a joke. Never mind, we cast in hope. And when the weather does get a bit better you could do worse than chase a trout or two from as little as £5 a day on the "Westcountry Angling Passport" scheme. In the meantime, I am under a new kind of pressure. A nice kind of pressure- at least if you like tying flies. As well as preparations for the BFFI (British Fly Fair International) where I'll be signing books and talking about "Flyfishing For Coarse Fish", I've been snowed under by requests for flies for coarse fish. This is mighty encouraging- as are reports of others now eagerly casting flies for rudd, perch, pike and the rest for the first time. Another massive thanks to everyone who has bought the book- and I can only hope your own adventures will be a source of great pleasure. I hope to see some of you at the show in person- here are some current flies that have been picking off roach and rudd: fairly diddy little CDC emergers in black, olive or even red for the less than clear water I'm getting used to.