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.

Dotty Weekend

Sea trout fishing has its cliches just like any other branch of the sport. You go at night, with big surface-waking flies right? Not necessarily. My brother has been enjoying some good day time sport around Devon's quieter corners. The Lynher in Cornwall is especially tempting; fairly close to the sea, with plenty of dark, shady holes for these creatures to shelter and it's also a very affordable ten quid a day on the Westcountry Angling Passport scheme.


It was to prove an interesting exchange of ideas. Whilst my previous few seasons have been focussed on coarse fish on the fly, Ben has developed a real obsession with salmon and sea trout. These little rivers are stirring places- and the sea trout can be tempted on small goldhead bugs in daylight hours. Basically it's like using stepped up trout gear and trying to get an aggressive response from sheltering fish. Like salmon they don't feed in freshwater but sometimes react to the flash and movement of a fly. We had to work for it though, with lots of tiny brownies plus a party of canoeists not exactly helping us creep up on these shy fish.

After many yards of careful wading we began to spy tantalising signs of life- the ripple of a phantom fin near the bank; a sudden beam of silver turn in the current. A 12" fish finally took my goldhead bug, giving a fine scrap on light tackle- light, metallic sides soon identified this one as a sea trout. Not a big one, but beautiful.
Sunday's trip was in the less wild setting of the town centre by Mill on Exe. Joining me was Chris Gooding, who spent many happy days as a boy catching fish of all kinds here- and has lost none of his enthusiasm. With balls of steel, he decided to take up some precarious trotting positions right on the edge of the weir! A flashback to mispent youth perhaps- where back in the less health and safety obsessed 80s he once ran across these slippery spots with a rod.

We tried the classic offering of silkweed for roach- which were sadly absent, although plenty of dace and even a small trout fell to maggots. Fellow city slicker Ian Nadin also managed a trout on a small jointed plug and a beautifully marked one too:

After a quick pint at the Mill we pushed on for a spot of wet wading, this time with a fly rod. Chris and I had a great fun hour or so casting at (and usually missing!) schools of flashing, fast biting dace. Proper Sunday afternoon fun and there was also a bonus in store. I'd spotted a reasonable sized chub earlier, prowling under branches near the bank and a a carefully presented goldhead nymph got an instant response from this scrappy city two pounder, whose big mouth truly dwarfed my little nymph:

River carp & flying dace

With the expectation of cooler times just round the corner, August has been a busy month of grabbing a few hours wherever possible on the river. A switch from the canal to the Exe in search of carp was a must, if only to capture the beauty of this mixed rural and urban looking venue in its prime.

No giants came our way on this occasion, but a hard battling common carp took off with my legered tiger nut during an early morning raid. Plenty of other commotion was heard too, albeit not from carp but mainly leaping salmon.


A wholly daintier part of the river system, the little mill stream (above) near the Tally Ho Inn, has been the other story, where I've returned to fish for the many dace and small chub here. A perch was perhaps the least expected surprise on a pheasant tail nymph, besides lots of pretty, fast biting stream fish. Lots of bites also missed- the dace give rapid hits on little dries and wets, a little black f-fly especially good fun for shoals of rising fish. A great way to spend a Sunday morning- and also test the reflexes!

The oppurtunity was also there to gather some little beasties from the stream for pictures. Hard to do whilst wading in a river, so I took a little container with a few critters for some "homework". Disaster nearly struck when my brother drove off with my container still placed on the roof of his car! Oh well- I got them back, a little shaken up perhaps, but the pictures didn't come out too badly. Here's a freshwater shrimp:

Summer Surprises/ New Flies

Summer is rapidly sailing by and whilst fishing should be about relaxation and escape, there's still so much to do before autumn. I'm my own worst enemy in this regard, with more plans and little schemes and daydreams than I can ever fulfil. Hence this last week has been a case of cramming in plenty of miles and little adventures. Night sessions seemed a good idea in the heat, but in spite of hitting beautiful Bossington in North Devon (above) on a promising evening with Seb Nowosiad, we struggled to capture anything except some scenic pictures.
Curiously fired up by this failure, a day of lure and fly fishing was a must for midweek. I made an early start and a long walk with Ian Nadin at Dawlish after bass as we fished hard and tried to pretend we weren't standing half a mile from shelter in a downpour. Although pickings were slim it was great to see Ian take his first ever bass on a lure- not big, but a beautiful little fish.

It was a day of surprises both good and ill: on a stroll in Dawlish we were amazed to see a healthy head of cracking brown trout slap bang in the middle of the town- not that you can fish for them. Less welcome was a nasty crunch as I got too close to the edge of a country road- hard to describe in clean language what happened to the tyre. With a fresh one on though, we had a couple of hours of frustrating fun on the Exe at Countess Weir and I managed a typical tidal mullet on baited spinner. With so many follows and nips arriving, Ian was unlucky not to grab one himself.

Finally it was then time for a well earned pint closer to the City centre and, naturally, a few casts with lures in the company of Rob Darby. We knew it was a day of unexpected twists when he offered to buy a round of drinks- and so it continued on the distinctly urban Exe where amidst the usual tiddly perch Rob tempted an absolute cracker on a spinner, at least a pound and a half, perhaps two at a guestimate. And to quote the classic man himself- "I think I look quite sexy in a sort of balding 1970's way":

Otherwise, I've been working at one of my other vices- the one I tie flies with. And whilst it can be fiddly, I'm enjoying photographing some favourite patterns too. The real secret weapon for bass has been the "Pony Puncher" (!)a sandeel pattern made with holographic fibres and icelandic pony hair. This stuff is superbly mobile and makes a good sillhoette:

A few alternatives don't hurt however, including brighter colours for different conditions. For some strange reason, chartreuse is another good bass colour:

Finally, we have a couple of favourite stillwater patterns: a Bibio, which works well on the moors, plus a Hotspot Spider- in contrast to its bushy neighbour less is definitely more with these beautifully mobile traditionals.


For those who can't be fussed with tying flies, do keep an eye on the site because I'll be expanding the flies soon and can always tie 'em for you!

Camera Tricks

Back on a sunny Tidal Exe (above), I had another meeting with mullet. This time I left the catching in the capable hands of mullet maniac gent Bert Brockington. How unpredictable are these buggers? You just can't account for their antics. Fiddly bites and fine tackle required, and then the next minute one was following Bert's swimfeeder to the bank like a dog on a lead! Most bizarrely of all, Bert once witnessed a group of mullet butting a large carp with their noses to try and bully it away from their patch. Go figure!
Just as I was wondering if we would be back next week to try again, Bert hit a good fish on bread flake. These mullet are real sprinters- astounding power, sleek and streamlined. He followed this up with another thin lip of 3lbs 2oz for good measure too.

Excellent for pictures these fish- quite beautiful in a strange sort of way. Nice work Bert! I learned a lot about these frustrating fish from simply watching rather than fishing. It's also good to see plenty of young fish in the Exe- it's not known for huge specimens, but numbers are up. Bert and the National Mullet Club have long campaigned against netting and perhaps the future now looks brighter for it.