I decided to go fishing by myself on Saturday, but needed my drogue, which Colin still had from the last trip. When I phoned him, he was working, but suggested that if I could wait a couple of hours, he would come with me. He is always good company, so I agreed.

Shortly after leaving his home, the heavens opened and we entered a thunderstorm. Colin did not have any waterproofs and suggested we turn back, but I said no, it was bound to be a short storm. I didn't tell him I had brought my waterproofs. The storm wasn't that short, but by the time we got to Bewl Water, it was sunny again, so we got a boat and headed for the "boil" (oxygenators) as we thought the fish would congregate there for the extra oxygen.

It turned into hard work, flogging the water with nothing to show for it. There was a small competition going on and we noticed after a while that even they were not catching anything. With the temperature well over 30Deg C the fish were staying well down and did not feed.

Soon after, we saw the storm sweep by, about 3.5km from the northern boundary of the reservoir. It was quite spectacular, with mountainous black clouds and forked lightening. Colin looked very uncomfortable about it and wondered what we should do if it came near us. I suggested I should put my waterproofs on and we should head for tree cover. "You w£f^dub!" You kept very quiet about that, no wonder you were unconcerned about getting wet. You're not very considerate of your old mate Colin." I suppose it's true, but then, why break the habit of a lifetime?

Presently, we moved to Dunster's Bay where we sometimes do well, but that was fruitless too. In frustration, Colin exclaimed, "We are supposed to learn something new every time we come out fishing." I replied "We do, we learn to cast a fly again" (It usually takes us two or three hours to get the hang of it each time we go).

He noticed uncharitably that I was back to my usual three changes of leader. I did get into some awful birds-nests, not only with the leader, but my sinking line also tangled dreadfully every few casts. We thrashed the water from 4.30pm to 7pm and were getting pretty despondent. I suggested we headed for the Nose again, as I had caught there last time.

The sun was lowering in the sky and there were only about three boats still out. The lightest of breezes was dying in the evening air and a mantle of tranquility hung over the water. Until we reached the Nose.

Suddenly, trout were leaping out of the water and nose and tailing all around the spit. We anchored up and saw the surface alive with thousands of tiny pin-fry leaping out of the water in panic. I cast out with a Booby fly on a four foot leader and fast-sinking line. I hadn't had time to change to a floater, but almost the first cast and I was into something. It was tiny, but put up a good fight.

We soon realised that not all the surface activity was due to trout. We chanced on a mass slaughter by trout and perch. It did not seem to matter what fly we used, the perch kept fighting for them. Colin had a couple of his perch taken by something much bigger which really bent his rod, but it kept getting off as it wasn't hooked. Eventually I saw it come right up on the surface chasing a hooked perch. It was another perch, but this time around 1.35 kilos (3lbs) in weight. It never appeared again, must have spotted me licking my chops in anticipation.

After a couple of hours, we had caught around 25 perch and decided to try for a trout before it got really dark. I changed to a floating line and longer leader and tied on a Black Pennel. All I got was another couple of perch, so just before it got too dark to see, I switched to a silver mylar-tubing fry pattern. About 9.10pm, I heard some activity behind the boat and tried a cast there. I felt a slight tug; another perch, I thought, but as I got the fish up to the surface, it seemed to get heavier, but still quite docile. I was really puzzled by now.

When it surfaced, it was obvious it was a trout and it suddenly remembered what it's mother told it about fishermen. It fought very hard for about 4 minutes before Colin managed to net it. It was a stockie, but had a full and perfect tail and used it well. It only weighed .59k (1lb 5oz), but was in excellent condition. When I spooned it and a couple of the larger perch, they all had been fry feeding.

It was the most amazing spectacle, with predatory fish, grebes and I think, some duck, all exploiting the feast for over two hours in a manic frenzy. We were in the midst of it all and being ignored by all.

We have caught perch and pike on the fly in Bewl before and I have seen fry bashing there too, but the sheer scale and sustained activity over two hours was extraordinary. It was an experience to wonder at.

We pulled into the jetty around 9.20pm with just a little light to spare.

We celebrated with a couple of pints in the "George and Dragon" at Lamberhurst and headed back, stopping for a curry in Green Street Green. It was 12.30am before we got home, two very satisfied young(ish) men.