Moonlighting

Last Sunday, we arrived here in Wales at one of our preferred locations on the Lleyn peninsula and the weather so far has been wonderfull. It is the same location where, last year, on the last day of the trout season, that I caught my biggest brown trout to date. As you may imagine, since that day I have been longing to return and pitch my skills against the wits of those wiley wild fish once more. So for almost a week I have patrolled the river, fishing and examining every place where I know the trout frequent. Not a fish. All week, the river has been barren of fish life, not the slightest sign did I see, I began to wonder if the fish were still here at all.Then yesterday evening, whilst reading a popular monthly trout fishing publication, I read that early in the season, dawn and dusk could be the most productive times, it being 2050 hours I put the magazine down and went to have a look at a pool close by. Sure enough and to my delight, fish were rising, not masses of them but enough to put the fire into my blood. I returned to the truck, excited, like a little boy and told Pat the good news. "I suppose you will be fishing at dawn then" she said. "If I wake up early, I might have a go" I replied trying to sound nonchalant. Well, I slept like a small child on Christmas eve, full of anticipation, checking my wrist watch every hour. What a long night it was to be. Finally this morning at 0410 hours I got out of bed, guzzled two cups of coffee in quick succession and put on my fishing clothes. As I left the truck, I checked the thermometer, 2 degrees Celsius. It was dark still when I got to the waters edge and I was feeling the cold already. The moon cast its cold bluey light on the water, I looked on, as I rolled a cigarette with shivering hands. A duck clattered across the water, taking flight at my intrusion and shattered the silence. Soon, the dawn chorus began and the sky was getting light in the east. I cast a couple of times and I shuddered as the cold water from the line touched my hands, thirty minutes previous, I was in a nice warm bed. Clumsily, I changed the fly, for one that I had tied myself, it seemed to take forever, I remember thinking that only arctic explorers and dead things felt as cold as my hands now did. This rather insignificant little fly is called a "pheasant tailed nymph" (PTN) and it is one of the first flies that I tied. I had read that the PTN is a very effective fly throughout the year and specially in the early season. For ten minutes I fished, getting distracted by the painful cold in the hands, the line gave a gentle twitch, I lifted the rod slightly to tighten the line and sure enough, I could feel the light, jerky movement of a fish. Carefully, I retrieved the line and brought in my first brown trout of 2010. I was so happy, I held the fish and admired the jewel like spots along it's body and the perfect form. I noticed the coldness of my hands again and wondered how these fish can live in such cold. Shivering, I took a photograph and returned the fish to the water, elated by the whole experience. Small isn't it? But did I care? not one bit. It just felt good to be back with the trout. It was several minutes before I realised that I had caught the fish using a fly which I had tied myself, another first and a satisfying feeling. A further twenty minutes passed before I hooked a second fish, this one was bigger, not much, but enough to notice the difference through the rod handle. I removed the hook as quickly as I could with fingers that had no sensitivity to touch and released it back into the ice cold water. The world was slowly coming back to life, sheep rising from their grassy beds, crows flying off in search of fresh road kill and the warmth of the truck was calling me louder and more persistently. With a very satisfied feeling inside I began to make my way back, "I'll come back later" I thought, "Once the air is warmer".

By mid morning, the sun had done it's work well, the temperature was up in the high teens and there was not a breath of wind. Time for another look. I approached the riverside with the stealth of an old fox and made a couple of casts to the occasionally rising fish. To my right, slight movement attracted my eye, there was a little splashing at the pool tail. "It's a fish, trying to jump from the shallow water" I thought. I watched some more. More splashes; then, when I saw the offender, I could hardly believe my eyes. It was an otter. How lucky was that? For the next twenty minutes or so I looked on, delightfully entertained by this lovely little chap as it darted in and out of the rocks, diving under the water and sending fish in every direction. It seemed to be playing, totally unaware of my presence, rolling on it back and splashing about in the crystal clear water. Slowly it worked it's way along the far bank, ducking under overhanging rock and tree roots, oh why didn't I have my SLR camera. I had forgotten about the fishing, this was better than "Springwatch" Once he had made his way upstream to the bend I was off, back to the truck to tell of this secret display, the like of which I have only ever seen on the TV. Gosh I felt good.

I spent the rest of the warm day, sitting in my shorts, tying flies and fighting the desire to doze in the sun. For lunch, I ate the tastiest hot fresh cheese and bacon quiche, followed by hot apple pie, that Pat had made while I was out of the way. Things really don't get much better than this, but come dusk, I went back to the pool and revelled in the delight of catching a further two adult trout. I got into bed, totally exhausted after such an early start, but what a day. Absolutely breathtaking.