I love grayling and I don’t catch so many that I shall ever tire of catching another. For my money there are few better sights in angling than that of a big cock grayling twisting and turning in the current with his great russet flag of a dorsal cutting the surface. A sailfish in miniature and a very worthy quarry.
The first grayling I ever caught came from a flooded River Kennet 30 odd years ago. Caught on a lobworm intended for barbel it weighed at best about 6ozs and I was absolutely enthralled by it. Since then I’ve caught loads more, mostly on bait, but being a passionate fly angler it was really only a matter of time before my thoughts would turn to catching grayling on the fly.
Living on the edge of the Chilterns means any grayling fishing involves a bit of a journey for me and for the chance of a big grayling even more so. Alongside trout and grayling probably my greatest passion is fishing for sea trout. I don’t get to do this anything like as often as I would like but every summer my lifelong fishing pal and very good mate Big Phil and I head off to Wales in pursuit of sewin. We knew there was good grayling fishing to be had too and it was inevitable that a grayling trip would have to be arranged. If you want a truly big grayling then the Welsh Dee probably offers you as good a chance as anywhere in the UK and the Dee is only 30-40 minutes drive from our main sea trout hunting grounds.
“Why don’t you come up one Autumn for the grayling?” says our host and good friend Alex. “There are some cracking beats on the Dee.”
“Why not indeed!”
Time off [from the wives] was duly negotiated and so it was that Friday 8th October saw us heading north towards Alex’s with the car for once full of grayling instead of sea trout gear. 4 and 5 weight rods instead of our usual 7 weights and fly boxes full of tungsten headed bugs and little dry flies instead of sea trout irons. An altogether more subtle approach is required for “The Ladies”.
As well as being a top angler who knows his rivers like the back of his hand Alex is a fantastic host. I defy anyone to find a better place to stay or with a warmer welcome. The food, prepared by the lovely Lorraine [Lozza] is superb and the cellar exceptional. We usually take a bottle of malt with us and rarely does any of it see the following dawn. Alex can also be relied upon to produce “something new” from his malt cupboard for us to try. All in all its just about the perfect place to spend a few days fishing, chatting and relaxing in the company of a good mate and passionate fellow angler. Its easy sometimes to forget why you really came but one look at the magnificent cased sea trout in Alex’s lounge is a great reminder of what the rivers in the area are capable of producing.
A quick check of the Met Office site when we arrived promised a decent day on the Saturday. Perhaps a bit windier than we’d have liked, but a whole lot better than we’d dared hope for earlier in the week. No need for an early start and who in their right mind would want to miss one of Lozza’s superb breakfasts anyway?
Saturday morning saw us on the Upper River Dee a few miles below Lyn Tegid [Lake Bala]. As we pulled into the farm where we park, Alex was surprised to see no other cars there as the salmon season on the Dee runs to mid October. Lovely, the whole beat to ourselves. The fishing involves wading so chesties on [eventually] and off we set down the fields with the river glinting in the valley below. The wind was fresh and gusting strongly from time to time and this was putting a bit of leaf in the river. I was a bit concerned as we got “leafed off” last year but Alex wasn’t fazed at all.
“The fish aren’t bothered by the leaves” he says “so why should you be?”
I have learned the hard way over the years to listen very carefully to what Alex says. The Upper Dee Valley is a truly beautiful part of Wales and Autumn possibly sees it at its very best .The trees were just starting to turn gold and we had over a mile of prime grayling river running between wooded hills and only sheep to share it with.
The grayling on this particular stretch run big, 2 pound fish are fairly common, there is an excellent chance of a 3 pounder and bigger fish than that here too. There are also good numbers of smaller fish which, if you can find them, offer great fun on the dry fly. But where to start? After very little debate Phil decided to wander downstream to one of his favourite spots off “The Island” while I started on the deep pool upstream. Last year, within 10 minutes of starting, this pool had given me my first 2 pound plus grayling so how could I not give it another go?
The river was up a bit and quite pacey, but it still looked very good indeed. Alex was very positive about our chances “A bit high, but still in pretty good nick.” That was more than good enough for me.
View from the Top Stile looking downstream
One of my fatal flaws is that I tend to get very excited when I’m away on one of my Welsh trips. I look forward to them so much I get a bit tense and sometimes, as a consequence, don’t fish as well as I can or should. Certainly that is true of my sea trout fishing where I have done considerably better over the last couple of seasons once I learned to relax a bit more and concentrate on fishing my chosen flies well rather than thrashing the water to foam changing flies every 15 minutes. It’s a confidence thing.
I now have sea trout flies I’ve caught on (and which Alex approves of) and you invariably fish a fly in which you have confidence much better than one which you are not quite convinced about.
So too with grayling. Pick your flies carefully, think about what it is you are trying to do and then concentrate on doing it well. Believe in your ability and that the next cast will produce a fish. Simple really. Several times during the day I was to wish that I’d followed my own advice.
I was in so much of a rush to start I had to rig up three times before I got my set up right and even then Alex had to fine tune it. I was “bugging” to start with. Two heavy tungsten headed “bugs” to get down through the fast water fished under an indicator. You cast upstream and then strip line to keep in touch with the indicator as it “dead drifts” back towards you, lift the rod and follow it round downstream then lift off and start again.
The plan is to think of the pool as a chessboard and the aim is to bump your bugs through every square, starting close in and then gradually working your way out and across the river. Its short line work generally, you don’t have to cast far and its amazing sometimes how close to your feet you can catch. A step or two across and repeat on a different line. If you get it right and the grayling have a mind to feed then the indicator will zip under and the fun begins. That’s the theory anyway.
I started pretty badly. I just could not get the bugs to work properly and my casting was all over the place. No chessboard precision here, it went where it went and it did what it did. I got very cross and Alex, recognising the warning signs, left me too it, but not before we’d both seen a fish rise under the tree on the far side of the main glide.
“That’s a good fish.” said Alex “Don’t forget the dry fly. That can often bring them up even when nothing is hatching.”
An hour later I’d got the bugs working properly, but all I had to show for my efforts was several suicidal salmon parr, half a dozen little brownies and a tiny fingerling of a grayling. Lovely little trout, but not what I’d come to catch. At this point the fish in the shallower glide under the tree showed again. Right, I thought, time for the dry fly.
I waded back and left the pool rather inelegantly by treading on the sunken log in the margins and ending up flat on my face in the Himalayan balsam. Readjusting my dignity I rigged up the dry fly rod with a size 14 grey Klinkhammer and re-entered the pool this time carefully stepping over the sunken log and straight into 3 foot of water!
This almost resulted in me going head first into the river and I did begin to think that my day was not going too well so far. Regaining my composure I moved across what seemed to be a strangely deeper and suddenly very much colder pool. Extending the fly line I flicked the dry fly upstream and it travelled barely a foot before disappearing. Up with the rod tip and I’m in – to another little brownie!
This is not how it is supposed to be, but at least I had risen something. I dried the fly off, applied a little more floatant and flicked it out again. This time it travelled about two feet before disappearing. “Bloody trout!” I thought as I lifted the rod, but this time it wasn’t a trout, it was a grayling . My first “proper” fish of the trip charged about leaping and splashing, boring deep under my feet before finally rolling into my scoop net. Yes! A lovely “lady” which I guessed at about 1½lbs. That will do very nicely thank you.
Funny things grayling. They are very delicate fish that will not tolerate rough handling yet they are the very devils to keep still. They twist and turn and wriggle and generally do nothing to help themselves. Fortunately I popped the hook out without too much trouble and watched her glide away safely. Small grayling tend to be quite silvery with almost dace-bright flanks, but the bigger fish are a wonderful deep pewter grey, almost gunmetal shot through with touches of blue, purple and red. They really are quite beautiful looking fish.
Breaking my grayling duck cheered me up no end so on with a bit more floatant and back out with the Klink. Nothing for 3 or 4 casts then I dropped one right under the tree. It travelled a yard before a big pewter flank rolled over the fly and it disappeared. The big girl had come out to play! Up with the rod and I’m in, this is the fish I came for. Jag, jag, jag, went the 4 weight as “Milady” turned across the current and into the fast glide downstream. Then the rod kicked back and suddenly she was gone.
Dammit ! That was a good fish…well over 2 possibly 2½lbs and probably the fish we’d seen show earlier. To say I was gutted would be putting it mildly. That was my chance and I’d blown it.
I stood there quite numb for a few moments. Time for a rest and a re-think. As I waded dejectedly back across the pool I glanced down and saw that the water seemed to have coloured a little. The flow is strong in this pool anyway, but it was suddenly a bit of a struggle to get out particularly as I could no longer see that sunken log. But get out I did and sat on the bank still distraught over “the one that got away”. Glancing at my watch I was amazed to see that it was now gone 1 o’clock. Time to see how the Big Feller was doing as by now I didn’t fancy going back into what had become a whirling maelstrom of leaf filled water. The river was up 9 inches and rising. What’s going on?
I found Alex and Phil on The Island moaning about the rising water.
“I didn’t imagine it then ?” I said.
“No.” said Alex “They’ve released some water from the reservoir for the kayak course, opened the sluices on Bala and as a result we’ve copped a foot of ice-cold reservoir water and a week’s worth of leaf fall”.
“Miserable *******s.” said Phil “They must have known we were coming!”
The sluices on Lake Bala regulate the water flow down the Dee and because that keeps water heights at reasonably consistent levels all year round actually helps to maintain a very healthy grayling population. It is recognised as being one of the main reasons why the Dee is such a good grayling river and why it also produces such big fish. Many people far more knowledgeable on grayling than I will ever be are convinced the Dee will produce the next record grayling. The Bala Angling Association water below the sluices has already produced some monster fish. Many people feel the next record grayling will come from this stretch. Some believe it may already have!
Back on the river we compared notes. Phil had worked his socks off on the fast run at the tail of the Island where a stream outfall drops into a nice pool and deep glide. Working his bugs through the fast water he had taken two good fish of between 1½ and 1¾lb apiece. Alex, as is his wont, had wandered off to do his own thing and been rewarded with “a few” grayling including a beauty of around 2¾lbs from the very top of the beat. This is not easy water, little pots and gullies among the riffles and only someone like Alex who knows the river well would probably even consider fishing it.
He had also taken a good fish on dry fly from barely 6 inches of water. Deciding to rest the Island for the afternoon we moved off downstream to fish the glide just above the bridge on the lower limit. The Bridge Pool as we call it was kind to us last year, but not this time with the extra water on and the leaves now becoming a bit of a nuisance. Brownies and parr a-plenty, but only the one grayling of about 8 – 10ozs to Phil which he freely admits to fluking out from under his feet as he lifted off his bugs to re-cast. I was getting a bit ragged and despondent by now having lost a full set of bugs on the back cast and re-tied my rig 2-3 times. The sun was now out and though it was a glorious autumn day the wind continued to gust and had a chilly edge to it. Both Phil and I regretted not putting our fleece lined trousers on in the cold water while “Mr Local Knowledge” sat on the bank grinning like a Cheshire cat with thermals on under his neoprene waders. We soon tired of the Bridge Pool parr so I decided to go back up and try The Island with Phil saying he would follow on later.
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| Phil Fishing the Bridge Pool |
Arriving at the Island I didn’t fancy it at all. The water was clearing a little but still seemed horribly quick so I moved below to fish from the gravel spit that runs down the centre of the river for over 200 yds. You can wade straight down the middle of the river here with what is normally a nice glide on the left hand bank, but which today looked very unpromising.
I had done well here last year so I set off “bugging” along the crease and working the faster water under the far bank. It was bloody hard work with the push of water on my legs much stronger than I was used to. It would be “challenging” to wade back up “The Queens Walk”, but I had no option as the bank was too steep to get out anywhere else.
Phil had re-appeared and I could see him fishing the fast run he’d taken two fish from in the morning. Suddenly came the familiar shout “I’m in, mate … good fish too.”
They say there are good anglers and there are lucky anglers. I’m more inclined to think a good angler makes his own luck and there is no doubt Phil is a good angler, but he is also a jam strangling lucky so-and-so of an angler too. As the fish rolled, leapt and splashed there was no doubt this was a lovely grayling. I began the long and tiring trudge back against the flow.
“Look at that dorsal” said Phil as I finally arrived gasping on the point.
Cradled in his hands was a magnificent cock grayling with the most enormous dorsal fin I’ve ever seen. A really magnificent fish of gunmetal gray and violet.
“What do you reckon?” asked Phil and confessed “I’m no good at guessing weights.”
He isn’t either, but I’m pretty good though these Welsh fish are deceiving. The sea trout weigh much heavier than you think as they are so solid and a big Dee grayling is pretty solid too. This was a long fish though without the depth and “hump” of a really big “Lady”.
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| Phil with his big un from The Island. What a poseur! |
“Dunno” I said “2lbs 6ozs, maybe a bit bigger. Its a lovely fish though.”
I insisted on a couple of shots, but they were taken in a hurry as Phil was anxious to get him back in the water. Grayling can very easily go belly up on you and in that sort of flow if this one went belly up it stood no chance. After a bit of gentle nursing and a few anxious headstands he righted himself and with a flick powered off .
“Thank God for that.” said Phil “I’d have been heartbroken if he’d turned over on me.”
“Well done, mate.” I said “Now that was a proper grayling.”
Being a good sort Phil suggested I have a go in the fast run and I was happy to take up his offer. By now the sun was really awkward and you were casting into the glare making the indicator impossible to see for the first few feet of the glide. I couldn’t see how he was managing to fish this at all in such awful conditions.
“I can’t see my bung.” I said “In fact, I can’t see a thing in this light.”
“Keep at it mate.” said Phil “In this water they don’t have time to think about it. If they see it, they’ll have it. Wallop and its gone!”
“I’ll take your word for it” I said as I cast into the glare again, peering to see my indicator against the flashing ripple.
“Ah…there it is.” as the indicator emerged and began its drift downstream towards me…then suddenly – Wallop! It was gone!
I lifted into the take and the rod hooped over and kicked and when I say hooped over I mean really hooped over. This is a good fish I thought feeling the weight as it turned out across the current, a really good fish. I swung the rod over and turned its head so that it moved out of the fast water and into the slacker water where the crease was. This is a really good fish.
“They pull a bit, don’t they?” said Phil cheerfully.
“They certainly do pull a bit, it’s taking line!”
The “grayling” had suddenly woken up and instead of allowing me to lead it into the quieter water had decided to head downstream, taking line as it went. I began to wonder what the hell it was I’d hooked, it wasn’t behaving like a grayling at all. A big grayling will take a bit of line, but they do not generally “run” like trout. They tend to fight by using their dorsals in the current and cutting back and forth across the flow.
The battle with a big grayling tends to be played out at fairly close range, they do run and leap a bit, but on the whole they don’t take much line. This thing had taken 30 yards off me and was still going. Not an explosive run, just a powerful run directly downstream with no sign of stopping.
“That’s no grayling.” said Phil “You’ve hooked a salmon.”
Typical. I go grayling fishing and hook a salmon. I’m not greedy, all I want from my weekend is one good grayling and I hook a salmon. Though salmon are still technically in season even if I land the thing I can’t keep it because I didn’t buy a full licence this year in protest at the cost. There may be no such thing as a lucky angler, but there are certainly unlucky anglers. I know because I’m one of them.
Salmo salar had now tired of running downstream and decided that he might as well have a bit of fun playing me. I leant into him as hard as I dared and he came back upstream a bit before kiting into the slacker water downstream of where the side stream runs in. I began to think that I might just land it. If I can keep him in the slack water and wade down below him then I might just stand a chance. All this flashed through my mind in a moment and then the hook fell out.
“Never mind mate.” said Phil grinning “You couldn’t have kept him anyway.”
After I calmed down and Phil stopped laughing I fished on for a bit, but the salmon had put me right off my game. I also realised that I was dog tired too. I mentioned this to Phil who confessed that he was also tired, but having achieved his trip target not half as tired as me. He decided he still had enough energy to try further upstream for half an hour or so.
“I’ll see you later.” I said “I’ll give it a little bit longer here.”
I did give it a bit longer, but to be honest my heart was no longer in it. Phil had taken his chances superbly whereas I’d had mine and blown it, but there was always tomorrow. Losing the salmon didn’t bother me. It was the big girl under the tree that I couldn’t stop thinking about.
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Autumn on The Dee. Bottom of |
Picking up my bag I wandered back up to the pool where I’d started in the morning. It had been a long day, but the concentration required in the conditions we’d faced had been intense and the time had passed very quickly. I’d not had a cup of tea since breakfast due to Lozza filling my flask with cold water instead of the boiling water I thought I’d asked for, my shoulders ached and quite frankly I needed a sit down and something to eat. I did try the top pool again, but it was still very swirly and after a couple more brownies and a fingerling grayling I realised I wasn’t enjoying it any more.
The light was going and the water had taken on that steely look as the temperature dropped. That will do I thought winding in and nearly falling over that blasted log again. As I trooped wearily back across the meadow I could see Phil and Alex at the top of the hill.
“Come on, mate.” said Phil “We’re back here tomorrow. I dunno about you, but I need a beer and a bite to eat.”
The thought of a beer and some food cheered me up no end. I struggled up the hill, retold the tale of the salmon to Alex’s great amusement, peeled off me waders, threw the gear in the boot and we set off home. An hour or so later we were back in the car heading for the local pub and a very splendid pint of the local “Butty Bach”. This deceptively light and fruity beer does strange things to even the most seasoned of drinkers.
A few pints of this and grown men have been known to wee in wardrobes. I wisely only had a couple. Back to Alex’s for a “nightcap” which turned into 3 different malts and the rest of my bottle of Old Pulteney. Alex did not disappoint with his “cask strength” malt which is truly ferocious stuff, but very, very nice indeed. It had been a hard but successful day in a lovely place with great company. What more can you ask for?
So ended Day 1 of the Great River Dee Grayling Hunt. Without bagging up we’d all had fish in difficult conditions. Phil and Alex had had a cracker apiece and I’d lost a good one. Not a bad return for a couple of “old boys” still learning the art of “Chasing the Ladies”.
In Part 2 – I will tell the tale of the following days adventures of “The Boys from Bucks” chasing the Ladies of the Stream. In this we learn that curry and chest waders do not mix, that you should not stay up late drinking scotch when you are fishing in the morning and never to mess with a chicken called Brian. And this time I filled my own flask.
Skippy
