Daz,
You did. Go home ;D
Seriously though, IME singles and a weed guard reduce the frustration a bit, but not much.
Cracking fish mate.
Not living next to the prime rivers I reckon I get just a bit more sewin fishing in a year than Daz gets in a week
. lucky bar.....
A couple of highlights;
August 1st 2007, Afon WnionThis was my fourth night fishing session of my holiday week - and my fourth of the year!. Since my little campaign had started the previous friday night the river had been running high and clear with very few anglers out after dark. I'd managed a few fish up to 5 lbs by targetting travelling fish and fishing the runs, necks and very tip of the tails of the pools.
The few anglers that I did bump into were all moaning about the lack of fish in the main holding pools. This shouldn't really have been a surprise to anyone as:
i) the pools in question are all
low water holding pools on the tidal section, or just above it, and ii) the river had been running at a good travelling height for most of the season.
However, the ability of groups of unsuccessful sea trout anglers to talk themselves into a state of collective despondency knows no bounds. It is one of the reasons why I generally try to avoid car parks, bridges and the other kinds of places were sea trout fishers meet. The conversation is invariably about how bad the runs are, how it ain't like the good old days, etc,etc. Or worse, the integrity of those anglers who have been successful becomes the target for wild speculation and gossip, from 'he puts something on his worms, you know', to 'you don't need sinking lines like that, unless you're snatching'. It may well be true that the runs are down, and no doubt some "anglers" are a bit iffy, but I prefer to limit my exposure to pessimism and cynicism if only to keep the confidence insulated from nagging doubts. Protecting your confidence and optimism is important when the fishing is hard.
If I could give a single piece of advice to someone taking up sewin fishing it would be stay away from such places.
Anyway, back to the fishing.
On this particular night the river was fining down a bit and running just on 'the mark'. Family responsibilities meant that I couldn't really get out early enough to start on one of the runs at dusk, as I would have liked to. So instead of rushing about I decided to make the most of the situation, mellow out a bit, take it easy and settle in on a pool tail which I expected to hold a few fish. Under Plan A I would wait there for it to get properly dark before fishing. It was an overcast, but warm, evening with a slight drizzle on the upstream westerly breeze. Perfect conditions. Plenty of fish were moving in the pool tail , but just as I got out from under the bush and clambered into my 'starting position' a very nice fish moved well upstream of me.
I don't remember thinking about what to do next. But Plan A went out of the window.
Now, those of you who have ever tried to combine a family holiday and a sea trout campaign, will know that after a few days and nights of seriously 'burning the candle at both ends' the old grey matter functions very slowly, if at all. Thinking about what to do tactically can take a long, long time. But not on this occassion. I don't even remember thinking at all. As soon as the big fish moved I stopped dead in my tracks, clambered backwards up the bank, picked up my net, bag and other rod, and, staying well back from the river, walked 300 yards or so upstream. That got me to the point where I could ford the river and then move downstream to a position from which I could cover the big fish.
When I finally got into position on the shingle I sat down and had a quick smoke, hoping that the big fish would oblige by showing itself again, and revealing the whereabouts of it's lie. It did, cutting through the surface and turning as if smashing into a school of bait fish. The fish was exactly where I'd expected him to be. It is a lie that I've known about for some years, and from which I've caght a few fish. It is at the point where the narrow neck of water running into the pool starts to open out and the depth drops away.
It is not an easy spot to fish. This is a very tight corner, under brushes with a problematic back eddy between the angler and the fish. To cover the fish properly, you have to wade well out into the eddy, in order to reduce the amount of line being pulled the 'wrong' way. Getting out this far onto the shingle runs the risk of spooking fish lying on the crease at the edge of the back eddy. A difficult conundrum. I was shown how to fish this spot several years ago by Alan Duinsmore a very capable sewin angler. You start by trying for the fish on the crease with a long line and working the fly back along the edge of the back eddy, rather than wading in and spooking them. Then, when you're in position for the main lie, the trick is to cast at 45%, and then throw a very big downstream mend (upstream in the eddy), wait six seconds, for the fly to to get under the surface, and for everything to straighten out, and then start to work the fly with a quick FOE. Fish normally take very early in the retreive, though sometimes they folow the fly right round into the eddy and take almost on the lift off.
Following this drill I found myself connected to a very lively fish of three and a half pounds on the second cast. Like fresh fish of this size sometimes do, it went beserk, throwing itself all over the pool, but thankfully I managed to beach him quite quickly . Normally, after so much disturbance, I would rest a little intimate pool like the one in question, but, on this occasion, I decided to go straight back in. Nothing else from the crease, but first cast covering the main lie resulted in a lovely smooth but solid take, just like a salmon on the greased line.
After a determined tussle I finally netted this magnicent cock sewin:
The fish took a two inch variant of the blue and silver tube shown in Daz's post above. The only difference being that Daz's flies are things of beauty, while mine aren't. I also tie mine with a wee bit more green in the shape of flashy material and blue, black and green barred squirrell tail. It was fished on a slow sinking sink tip with # 6 American Express (which took the three pounder) on the dropper .
Two nice fish before 11.30 and back to base for some much needed sleep.
17/18th August 2007, Afon Teifi Unlike the Wnion, which I'm starting to understand a little, having fished it for a good number of years, the Teifi is a completely new river to me. I'm lucky in that I was introduced to the river by my good friend Mark, who is a very talented angler, and who knows the Teifi well.
We get to the river about an hour before dark with a light drizzle coming down. It is still running high after a spate earlier in the week, and holding a bit of colour, with maybe 3 feet visibility. Most of the visiting anglers out on the association water have been fishing during the day, believing the river to be too high and visibility too poor for the fly at night. They are packing up despondent: 'no fish about, worst year I've ever had' etc etc. Just then a young and successful night fly fisher from the village turns up for a quick look into the water. He sees us tackling up for a night fly session. "You out tonight?" he asks, but he already knows the answer. He recognizes Mark, so opens up a bit: 'lost a very big fish last night, some doubles about' . "You out tonight?'' we ask, "oh aye" he says, adding with a wink "give them something big, surface lure, snake".
This was more than enough encouragement, and fitted in perfectly with our theories. I think the three of us were the only anglers out that night.
Mark walked me down the beat which was the first time I'd seen the river close up, giving me a 100 mph briefing on every last fly fishing lie and worming hole, it seemed like too much information to digest at the time, but I did my best to take it in. Arriving at our chosen section for the night, I left Mark to kick off on his favourite hotspot, while I went down river to what looked like a promising pool tail. I lost a schoolie in that tail, and then made my way back upriver to see how Mark was doing. He told me that a pod of big fish had come into the pool at dusk. He was getting takes all the time, but couldn't get any of them to stick. Mark was using a wet 2 equivalent and heavy two inch waddingtons, fishing 'down' in Tweed terminology, and moving the fly very slowly. When it came my to my turn I decided to ring the changes by using a faster sinking line, a 4 inch plus snake fly and fishing it around a lot quicker. "Give them something big" was lodged in my brain.
A fish took pretty quickly. I could tell it was a big brute, but after some violent head shaking we parted company. Soon after that the takes started to dry up. The drizzle that had greeted us had long since turned to heavy persistent rain, and it was clear the level was rising. Was it also colouring up? Surface activity had ceased.
Mark announced that he was going back to the van for some kip and that I should join him. Being stupid I ignored his advice and fished on through a fruitless night. As dawn broke, it became clear to me that the river had indeed coloured up. I managed to hook and lose another schoolie at day break and trudged back to the van to wake up Mark. While we were having our breakfast of bacon and bean butties cooked on a roofer's burner, washed down by a much needed cuppa, the river was visibly colouring. It was turning from the colour of dark beer towards that of milky tea.
"Come on, lets have an hour with the worm" said Mark. I followed him down the riverside path in a state of advanced zombification. Mark started off in his chosen spot and left me to wander off downstream. I finally got to the area which seemed to me to provide the next stopping place above the pool where I'd lost the big fish a few hours earlier. I fished this for about ten minutes or so, but without any response, I then moved down to the pool itself. After about half an hour or so of going through the motions and barely keeping my eyes open, Mark appeared to tell me that he'd just seen a big fish move in the spot I was worming earlier. I went back to the spot with him and sat on the bank drinking coffee, eating chocolate and smoking. I was trying to wake myself up, as I knew that sooner, rather than later, the river would become unfishable. Mark set to work on the fish. Twice Isaw the tell tale thump, thump, on his rod tip and slow draw on the line, and twice he struck at exactly the same time I would have done, yet twice he found himself connected to nothing. "It's your turn" he said after the second lot of dropped worms.
I got lucky. It didn't drop my worms and after a short but sprited fight in which the ancient John Wilson Avon quiver was bent much further than it is supposed to, I landed my first Teifi sewin. 10.2 oz of brilliantly marked cock fish.
I would like to think that this fish was a reward for perserverance. I was still fishing because of Mark's encouragement, the application of ridiculous amounts of caffeine and chocolate, and my own stubborn desire not to turn in a blank when I knew there were big 'taking' fish in the river, and after having already lost a very big fish on the fly.
However, persistence isn't enough. The crucial and decisive thing was that having had the benefit of watching Mark at work, I was able to fathom out just where to run the worm to cover the hotspot.
So the point that links these two experiences together is the need to understand exactly how to cover the 'taking places'. Oh, and to ignore what you hear in car parks, or on bridges, unless you know you are talking to a successful, 'no bullshit' sewin angler.