A perfect day on the Test – 26 Jan 2003

For once the weather forecast was accurate. It was raining steadily and the drive into Hampshire was a dreary one. Still, I had Hughie’s giant Irish breakfast to look forward to at the fishing hut.

Both proved to be flawed assumptions. By the time I reached the fishery, the rain had stopped and I was greeted by a group of disappointed and hungry anglers. Hughie had not yet arrived and we all became acutely aware of those hunger pangs.

After changing into waders and jacket, there was still no sign of Hughie, so I wandered off to fish a while. Ken had already headed off to try out his new head-mounted camcorder and apart from Cocktail Cabinet and Greg, who were breakfasting on claret, everyone else dispersed along the river beats.

The rain stayed away all day and during the morning a chilly wind gusted more or less upstream.

Ten minutes later, I saw a ewe galloping past me at full pelt on the opposite bank. Turning round to see what had alarmed it, I saw Neil coming towards me. There must be something about Hebridean Islanders that unsettles the sheep.

Neil wanted to borrow some floss to use as a sight indicator and passed on the welcome news that Hughie had arrived and breakfast would be ready in half an hour.

He fished just above me by a mini weir with a yellow czech nymph with a red spot under the thorax. Mine was yellow and silver. In less than 10 minutes he had a grayling on, but struggled to bring it in as it was using the fast current and its huge dorsal fin to good effect. It was a fine looking fish, at least 14” long and was quickly released in the water.

I fished down to the ford and then made my way back past Neil switching to a red czech nymph. I spotted a small shoal on the second pool of the beat, but those fish were very edgy and disappeared immediately. Catching the briar bush on the opposite bank killed off that attempt.

Neil joined me there and pointed out his fly in the tree above. As I looked up, we both noticed a huge black lure in the tree, the size of a dog-nobbler. Must have belonged to a lost stockie-basher.

We headed back to the hut, feeling the need for sustenance. It was a great spread, worth waiting for and kept me going for the rest of the day.

After breakfast, I wanted to explore and followed the beat as far as the road. On the way, a sparrow hawk skimmed low over a field, alighting on a fence post.

Nearer the road, the river deepens and slows as a consequence, gaining perfect clarity. I fished my way back upstream slowly without seeing or moving a single fish, but did put up a common snipe in some rushes. There are some wonderful salmon or sea trout lies here, but the grayling were clearly not impressed.

Half way back and just before 2pm, I reached a bend with a deep pool and fast running water. I cast a greenish-yellow czech nymph upstream and let it arc around the bend past me. About 45º downstream of my position, I thought I noticed the indicator shudder slightly, but did not strike. It was so slight, I did not think it was a genuine take, but when the same thing happened a third time, I struck and hooked into a 10” grayling.

For the next 12 minutes, there was non-stop sport as I had take after take. Some I missed, but in that period I had another four grayling and a good brown trout. I kept the two largest grayling (up to 15”) and released the rest. Ken joined me as I was landing the last one, clearly disappointed, as he wanted to fish the pool too. He and Barry fished it in the morning and took a good grayling there too.

I fished it a while longer, but the takes stopped, so moved on upstream, disturbing a large brown trout at the bridge.  Ken and I have seen that resident there a few times now. It will pose a challenge in the summer as the trees and tall rushes surrounding the pool and the very deep water will test the angler’s ingenuity and casting ability.

Just below the small weir, I tried an exploratory cast downstream towards the opposite bank, allowing the nymph to swing back across the current to the near bank. On the second cast, I felt a take, but the hook pulled out. I tried again and this time hooked a nice 12” grayling. Like Neil earlier, I found it hard work controlling the fish in the raging torrent, but did get it into the bank after a couple of minutes.

A few casts later I took another fish, this time from above the weir and despite it only being 11”, fought a wily battle using the current. Two casts later, I hooked another, but this came off after surfacing and thrashing about on the water.

I could see Ken coming up, stopping to cover the water from time to time, so I moved on to give him a chance.

I thought I’d finish off on the main carrier, fifty metres below the big weir, but stopped to photograph the sunset first. The wind had dropped and it was getting warmer.

I was too slow to strike on the first pluck, but the second strike connected. Fortunately, the strike was fairly gentle. It was a tiny grayling and would have shot past my ear if I had given it some welly. It saved any embarrassment by slipping off the hook just as I was about to lift it out.

I saw Neil fishing the main glide and went over to see how he was doing. He had taken four fish there on the surface with a nondescript brown parachute dun.

Gathered at the hut we swapped stories and watched the beautiful red sunset. Everyone had had a good day. Ken played back the results of his camcording and discovered that the lens was pointing a bit high. Because he was wearing a bush hat, the angle was set to look over the brim, but this meant he missed  much of the action at water level.  You could see his rod bucking, but no sign of the fish. Back to the drawing board and more experimentation required.

As Neil and I chatted, I was struck by the stillness and warmth of the dusk and remarked that it was like a balmy summer’s evening. A little later, a woodcock flitted over us and dropped into cover beyond the river. As the darkness gathered, the sunset filtering through the trees intensified into a deepening red, a fitting end to a perfect day.

On my way home, the radio news announcer mentioned that Scotland had recorded its warmest ever January day at 18.3º Celsius.