Late Browns

In the world of day ticket fishing it's always refreshing to find someone doing something a little different. Our native species quite often miss out when it comes to stocking policies, whether it comes to filling lakes with carp or rainbow trout. Hence it was a welcome return to Bratton Water Fishery, near Barnstaple, today where the focus is now firmly on brown trout. Indeed, the river season might be long gone, but you can still have a go for the triploid browns here, which are cracking fish that run from a couple of pounds to the low teens.

In the company of Neil Edgar, who took some snaps and film clip into the bargain, I began with a quick net dip. Brownies might be catchable on lures but at a fishery with such abundant invert life it seemed a shame not to start in more natural fashion. The margins were crammed with corixa (water boatmen, to the layman) and freshwater shrimp, so I began testing the edges with either a small corixa or size 16 Tan Shrimp (my own pattern originally tied for roach and now made by Turrall).

It had been such a cold, foggy morning I was slightly taken aback to feel the first little pluck after just ten minutes or so in. I lifted the rod and a small explosion took place! These browns fight every bit as hard as rainbows. It might have been me, but if anything I found them more willing to come to the surface and thrash.

Brownies do have a few differences to rainbows, and as owner Mike was telling us, they can prove a little more challenging- not always such a bad thing to my mind, because fishing can be dull when it's too easy. These fish were well keyed into natural food and certainly responded well to small natural patterns. Great fun teasing these to life by counting down and employing a "picky" but not overly fast figure of eight retrieve.

Another feature of browns is that they don't cruise in quite the same manner as rainbows. Sure, they will move areas to feed, but they are definitely more territorial. This is why it pays to move spots quite regularly and I found that quite often if I wasn't getting bites, a change of areas quickly led to a response.

Ok, so these browns might not be wild river creatures, but it really shows that these fish are raised on site with TLC here. Powerfully built and beautifully marked, these are beasties to give the brownie addict sport right through the winter. They're more fussy in terms of raising and more expensive to farm due to their slower growth, but £30 for a 5 fish ticket is still pretty good value and I think I actually prefer them to rainbows.

Talking of rainbows, it was perhaps inevitable that we found one or two of them. I had switched to a Black Woolly Bugger, partly out of sheer curiosity, and after two further browns had launched themselves at it I hooked something that went on an absolutely searing run. I have long since avoided gossamer thin tippets for fisheries that hold big trout and on this occasion I was supremely glad to be on six pound fluorocarbon as I held on for dear life. A great way to round things off, this fish was absolutely stunning. Just the one rainbow then, but a fabulously coloured six pounder:


A very enjoyable day at a great little fishery overall; this place comes highly recommended for anyone looking for a good days fly fishing in North Devon. More details here: www.brattonflyfishery.com

In other news, I'm also thrilled to see that "Canal Fishing: A Practical Guide" has made the shortlist for the Angling Times "Angling Book of the Year" award. The winner is decided by a vote, so you know what I'm going to ask you next: please, if you value what I write then be a sport and give me your vote in the following survey:
ANGLING TIMES 2014 AWARDS

I cannot put it any more blatantly than that. Please. Pretty please. I'll buy you a pint and let you fish my favourite swim with illegal bait. Nor do you need to vote on every single thing in the survey, just the bits that you're interested in. Do such accolades matter? Well, it would partly make up for the omission of "Flyfishing for Coarse Fish" in the same awards list of two years ago, left out on the grounds that the title contained the words "fly fishing" presumably.

A cast on the far side

Of all the characters I've met in the angling world, it's perhaps the rebels and convention defiers I treasure the most. Such is Dee Egginton, better known as "Skateboard Dave". Here is a fly angler who hasn't so much ignored the textbook, but crossed out every line before setting it on fire and throwing it into the Mayor's back garden. Not surprisingly, he fly fishes for everything and some of his ideas and exploits are on a different planet. Kind of fitting really that we found the above sofa for one of the more bizarre photo opportunities I've ever come across.


From the off, and a long walk, I knew the day was going to be an adventure as we made our way to a madly overgrown river. There was hardly room to cast, such were the tiny dimensions of a lost midlands stream, but that didn't stop us sneaking around and catapult casting our way to some devilishly exciting close-quarters fishing. It began with a bang, literally, as the first fish was a powerful trout which took a streamer within seconds.

It was to be the first of a cracking brace- although we were actually after coarse fish primarily!

In the limited confines of such a water, long rods were the order of the day, with short casts and tactics not a million miles away from ultra light lure fishing. Perch were abundant too, also giving jig style Tadpole flies a good whack around any form of cover.

Sadly these buggers were common too:

In fact, my pal and invasive species expert Theo Pike would have been proud of us as we dispatched several. I say "we", but I found them tricky- Dee showing me the best method of sneaking behind the buggers before applying the boot. Actually, quite a strangely satisfying thing to do.
Meanwhile though, in the fishing stakes I managed to miss a good early chance or two as fish hit my streamer. Luckily for me, I got my mistimed strikes out of the way early as I managed to react better to an even better hit a few yards further on. A real whack and a hair-raising fight could only mean one thing: trout! The biggest wild brown I've had in several years in fact:

It was to be a fascinating, eye opening day in general, and although there is only limited space in the scribble that is my blog, the adventure continued as we added chub and dace before driving to Mallory Park to turn our attentions to further targets. Carp were first- and while the oft cited tool for landing these hard fighting fish is a stout seven or eight weight, Dee showed his typical disregard for convention by digging out a little three weight solid glass blank:

Basking fish were targeted by both of us without a dog biscuit in sight. I kicked off with dark spiders dressed on forged hooks, while he landed some crackers on tiny bloodworms:

The most instant fishing was had by simply landing slow sinkers gently in front of basking fish. However, it got really interesting with a switch to "blind nymphing" with tiny flies such as bloodworms fished right under the rod tip. I'd never been very confident carp fishing in this fashion, but Dee's tactics were a revelation. The tiniest knocks were followed by surging hooked carp hooked fair and square in the lips, to the point where he was actually disappointed because he wanted to catch more roach and perch than these greedy things!

The odd silver fish did follow before we remembered that human beings need things like food and water. And while there is only limited space in my scribblings here, my mental notebook is still awash with thoughts and musings on the maverick that is Skateboard Dave. The fact that the guy is not a household name in angling, while sponsored planks trot out the same guff every season, is a damning inditement of the current angling scene I would say. But perhaps this is the difference between an angler who fishes to impress others, and someone like Dee who fishes not for endorsements or reputation, but to satisfy an insatiable inner curiosity that sees possibilities where others view only arbitrary boundaries.
The worrying thing for fly fishing in particular, is that the more it follows the familiar (and often expensive) course of tradition, the less it will appeal to the new breed of angler, and the young in particular. Which is why it was excellent to be part of the Fly Dressers Guild part of the CLA Game Fair with the Turrall team. A whole host of youngsters tied their first ever fly, which was excellent fun, while I was bowled over with the skill and enthusiasm of Ben Beckwith, who ties patterns that would be the envy of fly dressers several times his tender thirteen years of age. We did a little swap as he showed me a brilliant sedge pattern and I showed him how to tie a pike fly in return:

The show was a lot of fun as always, and I also had the honour of signing some of the new "Canal Fishing" book with the other authors on the Coch-y-Bonddu Books stand (pictured are Peter Hayes, Theo Pike and Malcolm Greenhalgh).
As per usual, this blog is lagging a little behind current goings on I'm afraid, as I literally dashed home from the Game Fair and headed straight over to Ireland for a crack at both trout and rudd. But I'm knackered and that's another story to tell altogether. So, till next time…

Spring Fly Fishing

Ah, spring. Don't you just love it? The sun has been up. The fish are rising and you can venture out with only a t-shirt on your back and possibly a fly rod. Not that spring fly fishing is always easy. I've had mixed fortunes, but some encouraging results for both coarse species and trout this week.


Aiming wet flies at rudd and roach was today's treat. My usual little spiders and "rudd bugs" came to the fore on the Grand Western Canal, but it was a case of walking and looking hard for the better shoals of fish. Only the really tiny ones seemed willing to touch flies on the surface, but by presenting slow sinking wets I had two net sized rudd in quick succession and even the smaller ones that followed were beautiful.

The roach wanted a fly presented rather deeper, and with the wind sometimes blowing smaller flies off course I opted for slightly heavier patterns to try and get amongst them. A size 16 Tan Shrimp or Roach Grub worked well for these, although the takes were sometimes really cute. The job was made much easier in the sunshine, as I could sight fish. I even had a crack at a surprise tench that wandered through the swim, but failed to get the grub fly directly into its path. Never mind, here's one of several roach that intercepted a falling nymph:

It hasn't been all plain sailing however. A trip to a different canal was more testing, with coloured water and debris making it tough to spot fish and cast to them unimpeded. What should the angler do if they can't easily spot the fly? An small indicator was the answer, to suspend small flies in the top two feet (and I prefer the foam, stick on kind, which you can even snip in half for a really cute little indicator). With fish hard to spot it was usually a case of scanning the water for rise forms and moving fish. They weren't big, but I had three species in order: rudd, roach and bleak.

The trout fishing has also steadily been improving on my travels too, and I had the great pleasure of a day on the River Rea with my publisher, Merlin Unwin. A pretty stream this one, lost somewhere in the Shropshire countryside and full of twists and turns. I was a bit muddy on our arrival and little was rising, so we went for nymphs.

A handful of pretty browns were hard won on the day, but I loved exploring this new river. There were lambs everywhere in the fields. We found otter tracks and there are even the ghostly remains of an old railway platform out here.
And it was great to hear some of Merlin's stories: of fishing with the Mr Crabtree author Bernard Venables, or the summer that Ludlow was flooded with mayflies. And we also celebrated the coming of my new book with a beer. Stocks of "Canal Fishing: A Complete Guide" will be in very soon.

Wild rivers are one thing, but the fish have been bigger in semi-urban locations recently. Not that the water quality is in any way lacking in many of our towns. Is there anything nicer than a shallow, stony river where you can sight fish for wild trout? We have free fishing in several Devon locations- (Theo Pike's book "Trout in Dirty Places" is a great resource).


A quick wander with a four weight was great fun. No dry fly takes on this occasion, and the trick was to get a nymph down to the fish. A hare's ear worked in the slightly deeper bits, or a PTN in some lovely shallow runs where trout were sitting in just a foot or so of water. This was the best of them, at 13" or so but very lean.

Highlands and Lows

Decidedly mixed feelings crowd my head as I sit and type this, slightly cranky from a long drive. Enthralled on the one hand from some beautiful and unexpected fishing in Scotland; gutted on the other with a car repair bill that nearly made me faint. What looked like an affordable holiday quickly got expensive when my car blew a head gasket on the trip up. Just before Stoke, the other half commented that the engine sounded funny- a bit like there were a gang of Chileans under the bonnet playing pan pipes. Five minutes later and I was looking at a horrible mixture of steam and oil. A total mess; it looked someone had massacred Thomas the Tank Engine. I guess we do use and abuse our fishing vehicles.

We might have abandoned our trip there and then, but I thought sod it. Cramming supplies into a rental car, we were on the road again, getting to Fort William decidedly late. The right decision, because when your head isn't in a good place there's nowhere better for the soul than the Highlands. Loch Morar is so beautiful it makes you gasp, even on a return visit.

It was also great to see Loch Superintendent Viv de Fresnes again, who was there with a smile and a cup of coffee, ready to take on Morar. Fishing was challenging at times, but Viv took me to some fabulous looking areas of the lake. Perhaps the biggest surprise is that on two visits I've never seen another fly fisherman on the Loch.

Viv's approach is classic, pulling meaty traditional flies through a rolling wave to stir up aggressive wild brown trout. Well, that was the plan- sometimes the weather was just too still and sunny. I like a guide who gives it to you straight- and Viv is not one of those who'll waste your time and money when conditions are all wrong. Instead, we held fire and returned for better periods when a proper breeze was kicking up.
Even when the fishing was tough, the crack was great. Viv was as keen as I was to raise a monster "troot", and without his relentless optimism and knowledge of Morar I would have been on a hiding to nothing. The tactics were smart and varied too- which I'll detail at greater length in an article, along with more on the fascinating character of this magical place. Each time the line went solid I was enthralled by the savage power of these trout, with even the half pounders throwing severe temper tantrums on a seven weight. (Grab a look at www.lochmorar.org.uk/fishing for more info on great value guided fishing).

The other real bonus in Scotland is the huge variety of hill lochs. I tackle these with a float tube where possible. Lazy fishing it is not. The walk is often like hell, the fishing like heaven. Jo and I battled the hillside carrying supplies to find a good sized upland lake totally new to me. She fished from the shore, while I took the tube.

Puffing the bloody tube with air is pretty character building after a steep hike, but once you're set up it affords you endless freedom to hit areas that simply never see a fly line. I had a dozen splendidly marked fish to around the pound mark. Last year I battered them on the Sedgehog- a fly I've been slightly fixated with ever since my pal from the Shetlands, artist Paul Bloomer sent me a little bundle of them. This time, they seemed to pick of the other flies in the team more often (although I always feel the "wake" of the hog helps draw fish to your other flies). The "Heathen" is my latest experiment. To all extents and purposes it's like a traditional hackled wet fly crossed with (gulp!) a blob. The trout loved it:

When you're in the middle of a wild lake, the wind on your face and hits coming thick and fast, it's impossible not to feel like the world is a better place, hefty vehicle bill or not. I absolutely love it here.
And the fun wasn't quite over on the way back either. We stopped in Glasgow, of all places, to have a cast on the local canal. Beguilingly pretty it was too, and contrary to the cliches, all the locals we met were incredibly friendly. The fishing wasn't easy, but there were some cracking fish showing. In the space of an afternoon session we saw pike, roach and even a carp. It was the roach that really excited me. Some of them looked huge.

I started with the fly rod, but with a combination of heavy tow and a fierce cross wind I found a convincing presentation impossible. Tempting them on bread flake under a waggler didn't seem much easier- some fat roach taking a look but proving totally suspicious in the clear water. I finally managed a cracker of a pound and a quarter, but the rest spooked and with the tow picking up I felt like I'd have been better off with a stick float and centre pin. Plan C was a quiver tip. I kept feeding mashed bread and, relieved to see some seriously large roach still milling about, stuck with a big piece of flake. My set up was rather unusual to say the least- but it worked! In fact I think I may have stumbled upon something really useful, largely by the accident of only having limited tackle at my disposal. More on this at some other juncture- necessity is indeed the mother of invention!


The best of the bag (above) was ridiculously broad. It looked like it had swallowed that Glasgow delicacy, a battered Mars bar. This was a truly giant canal roach, and a bit like my car repair bill, darned near priceless!

Last Minute Winners

I have a theory on current fishing. We can either make the final outcome the entire reason we bother, or we can make the process itself the reason we go fishing. I always believe it's the journey, as much as the goal. If the method you use is enjoyable in its own right, you will always have a good time. This is why techniques like lure and fly fishing are fun. The process itself is inspiring, whether you catch a few or a stack. This is also why spur of the moment trips are brilliant. I just couldn't resist fellow fly angler Charlie Hancock's invitation to jump in a car and take on some underfished pike. Waders help when casting space is tight, but I also had a real eye opener when I saw Charlie set up a 14ft salmon rod. With a spey cast, he was getting a pike fly out a good distance even with trees slap bang behind his position. With the fish appearing to be further out however (possibly because of the recent cold snap), a borrowed boat also came in handy. Bites weren't frequent, this jack being my only taker, but Christ on a bike were we in for a surprise in a deep bay. We'd wondered what exactly was lurking when a couple of smaller pike bore big jaw marks. And then the answer was there with a vengeance, making his reel grind and spit out line like a child's toy in the presence of a monster! The fish went dead on twenty four pounds and he was just a little happy- from the picture you might wonder if he was so thrilled he intended to spawn with her before release! As bites dried up we formed a different plan for late in the day however. Hopping back in the car, we made the journey to Lechlade trout fishery for a final couple of hours in search of a big trout. So much for easy fishing on a stocked lake. The trout were fairly cagey, no doubt due to having seen many anglers aim flies in their direction. I tried teasing a damsel nymph in and I tried drifting a buzzer. Lures were flatly ignored. And so with time slipping away, I made the switch to a smaller, much subtler pheasant tail nymph. What a difference! A couple of little pulls were missed, before the line zipped away neatly. What began as a lazy fight then turned into a real punch up. Who says that big trout don't know how to pull back? For several minutes it was white knuckle stuff. If there's one thing even better than a goal, it's a dramatic late winner. The brown trout of ten and a half pounds in the net was not only weighty, but fantastically coloured- and it was my turn to grin like an idiot. I can't thank Charlie enough for his local knowhow and quality banter. This would have made the trip worthwhile alone. But those two brilliant fish made it perfect- enjoyable methods and cracking catches to boot. Just a final shout before I sign off is to remind all you Westcountry rods to join us at Mill on Exe on Tuesday 26th at 7:30. Barry McConnell, eel fanatic and top man, is our special guest. I also like him because he shares the same name as the Barry McConnell who once played up front for Exeter City FC and famously scored two goals to defeat Chelsea in a pre season match. Uri Geller was also there, but that's another, very odd story.

A Highland Fling

Having never been to Scotland before (shame on me), I was more than a little excited to be heading north of the border last week. Until I saw the weather forecast. Not very typical May conditions, even up in the highlands. But what you find as you break through the tower blocks of Glasgow, regardless of the weather, is a landscape of grand, wind-blasted beauty. Mountain heights and huge valleys; trickling streams and huge lochs. Other than staggering amounts of space and natural wilderness everywhere, the other startling discovery is just how sparsely populated the landscape is, comparable to Scandinavia in fact. Here is one end of Loch Shiel- a site which, if it were in Devon, would be packed with parked cars and tacky gifts: The approach to Loch Morar, our destination, was hardly less beautiful. Not sure I've ever seen whiter sands as by the river mouth here. The loch itself is deep. Spectacularly so in fact, as Britain's deepest lake, with black descents to rival parts of the North Sea. Much as I love to explore, you can't beat a local guide when faced with this kind of expanse of water, so we met with Viv, the local ranger (google "Loch Morar Fishing" and you'll find details easily enough). Twenty years experience seemed a safer bet than twenty hours in this case: It's always fascinating to try a big mysterious water and hear the local lore. Morar has it's own secrets- hulking ferox trout and even its' own monster "Morag". From his cautious smile I got the feeling Viv didn't want to pour cold water on that particular legend. From the sheer size of the place there must be hidden monsters, was his verdict. Maybe not prehistoric beasts though- but huge eels. Our more modest aim was a brown trout, for which the loch is well known. Classic "team of three" tactics were employed in the face of a stout Northerly breeze. I love the sheer variation in fishing tactics you find when travelling and this was no exception. In total contrast to the painfully slow -or non existent- retrieve of the southern softie fishing buzzers, these lochs demand a healthy pull to present bushy flies through a rolling wave. It was cold work, but with Viv's experience we covered some fantastically rocky, fishy looking reefs and bays and after a couple of hit and miss takes, the rod eventually thumped over. An average specimen for Morar, but what a fresh looking and powerful trout: Amidst other days out in the nearby wilderness and the romantically named Isle of Muck, I also really fancied a day or two in the hill lochs. These are destinations not for the casual visitor, with hearty walks, boggy land and an icy breeze to contend with. Worth every step for their high flung grandeur and sense of totally wild seclusion however. A real sucker for punishment, I even dragged my float tube over these rocky, wet climes to search near virgin water. I'd be lying if I said it was easy, comfortable fishing- but what I found will stay with me forever. In a brisk chop, I opted for classic, bushy flies to draw trout from the waves. The initial hits were from small fish- but what amazing colours. Is there a fish as varied, or beautiful, as the brown trout? The real secret weapon proved to be the push and presence of the Sedgehog however. Shetland based artist and angling pal Paul Bloomer sent me a little selection that proved absolutely deadly. There's only one thing better than a really effective method- and that's an effective method high on visual thrills and spills. These bushy flies float like cork, making a wake across the surface which wild trout react to with explosive force. I would almost compare it to popping for pike, such were the savage hits, misses and airborne fireworks of hooked fish. Breathtaking sport: I saved the best for my last little foray however, when blown across the bitter expanse of a larger hill loch in the tube. I'd been buffeted up and down in the wind, then treated to hail. Was this any time to be float tubing? The take on the Sedgehog was brutally hard, before the fly line plunged deep under the waves. The tube span round; I lost my left flipper. I started laughing as the wind stung my face, the float tube travelling in circles and a good fish leaping clear of the water. At around 15" it was a fine wild "troot"- and an outstanding fighter. What a final day it was too, with more trout in the tube. A case of hauling your sorry backside to the far shore of the loch each time, before letting the wind take the tube across acres of rocking water casting as you go. Cold but thrilling work. When you've walked about six miles complete with chest waders and a float tube, you really feel it in your legs and arms. Never have a hot shower and a tin of beer tasted so good. A satisfying end to my Scottish trip then, but the surprises didn't end there. Sitting in the shadow of Ben Nevis, the Caledonian Canal was a welcome stop en route as we headed back to England. The canal anorak inside me was intrigued by "Neptune's Staircase", the crazy series of eight consecutive locks at the Fort William end of this waterway. No time for a cheeky cast, but this looks a fascinating water for another time. A fantastically clear canal with brown trout in it you say? Only in Scotland. In fact, the only expected ingredient missing from the week was a hooked pike. There are none in Morar, but I enjoyed a close encounter with the beauty above in Loch Lomond Aquarium, which also has a whole host of other native species on show including perch, bream, tench and sea fish. The drive back was epic in itself- but I must say, the time passed much quicker amid the highland scenery than it did on England's motorways. The ludicrous petrol costs were about the only pricey bit of our stay too, with a week's permit for Morar just £30.