This is Skippy’s story following on from part one here.
Saturday had been a difficult day, but even though the river conditions had conspired against us we’d still managed a few fish. Sunday’s weather was more encouraging with a warmer day forecast and the wind set to ease. Despite this Phil and I had both decided on fleece lined trousers and an extra top layer reasoning that we could always take something off if we got too warm.
I woke early on Sunday with a thumping headache. I’d got a bit carried away on the malt the night before and now I was paying for it. Leaving Phil in bed I crept downstairs with a cup of tea in search of some fresh air to clear my head.
It was a lovely autumn morning. The sky had been crystal clear Saturday night and we’d spent some time gazing at a sky the likes of which you just do not see where we live. With no light pollution the night sky had been spectacular. We’d experienced a night like this during the summer when out after the sewin and been treated to the most spectacular pyrotechnic display. Every so often the valley would light up as a meteor streaked across the sky… white, gold, red, bright green and one that blazed a great arc above the hills from horizon to horizon.
It was truly breathtaking and had we not been fishing we’d never have seen it. That is the beauty of this game, it takes you to wild places at times when you might be the only person around for miles. That night on the river we had all gazed in wonder at the heavens and felt really rather insignificant in the great scheme of things. Sunday morning was just as spectacular albeit in a different way as the sun started to light up the slopes of Cader Idris which rises barely a mile from Alex’s backdoor. What a place to live.
As I stood drinking in the wine-clear air, watching the slow creep of day across Cader I felt both privileged and ever so slightly humble.
Breakfast over and this time with a flask full of boiling water we set off for the Dee.
Amazingly, once again, we had the whole beat to ourselves. Was this an omen from the River Gods or did the locals know something we didn’t ? Alex had checked some EA website or other and told us that the water had indeed “spiked” at about midday on Saturday, but this morning it was down 9 inches.
“Provided they don’t release any more water it should fish “ said Alex as we strolled across the meadows, shooing the sheep out of the way.
Arriving at the river Phil announced that he was going to try the Top Pool and that I was going to fish The Island. To be honest that suited me as it had produced for Phil on Saturday and it wasn’t a pool I’d fished often…mainly because once Phil gets on there he is harder to shift than an Alabama tick.
“Off you go then, mate.” says Phil cheerfully “ Good luck, we’ll see you later.”
So it was that I found myself on The Island. The water was definitely down and seemed a bit clearer, but it was still very quick and the main glide just did not look right. Phil had had his fish much higher up the pool. My logic said that the grayling had pushed up a bit to get away from the “boil” where the side stream ran in. Setting up my usual rig I guessed the depth and started fishing away.
Nothing. I increased the depth at which my bugs were set, looking for the tell-tale tap-tap-tap on the indicator as the bottom bug bumps along the bottom. This is normally deadly, the point fly acting as an “anchor” so that the bug on the dropper fishes through a couple of inches off the bottom where the grayling are lying, but I just couldn’t get any interest at all.
I searched that run and pool from top to bottom without even a little trout to show for my efforts.
“How y’doing Skipples?” asks a voice behind me. Alex.
“I’m doing rubbish, thanks. I’ve not had a touch yet”.
“Blimey, you’re a bit deep aren’t you? Its barely 2 and a half foot through that fast run.”
“His Lordship was fishing this deep yesterday.” I said indignantly.
“Yes, he was” mused Alex “and I still cant work out why that worked. Never mind, what say we do it properly today?”
Alex then proceeded to fiddle about with my rig finally deciding that about 3 foot was right and suggesting I change to a heavier bug on the point.
“You want to get it down to them quickly.” he said “There’s still quite a push on.”
So once again I started searching the fast run with Alex quietly coaching me.
“Remember the chess board. Take a step up, now fish that line and don’t forget to search that crease hard.”
After 5 minutes or so I found my rhythm and began to feel a whole lot better about what I was trying to do and how I was doing it. I told Alex that I finally felt that I was fishing the pool properly.
“Good.” said Alex “Now all you need is a fish.”
The indicator drifted back towards me along the crease when suddenly it was gone. Lifting the rod I felt it kick and a big fin cut through the surface. Yes! A short typically dogged fight followed before Alex slipped the net under a lovely grayling. Not a huge fish, maybe 1¼ if I was lucky, but a fine cock grayling in perfect autumn trim.
“There you go.” said Alex “I’ll leave you to it now then.” and off he wandered downstream.
I searched every inch of that pool over the next two and a half hours and never had another take. I messed about with depths again, tried the fast and slower water. I even tried the run below which, as it had the day before, just did not look right. Nothing. Not even a parr. I ended up staying on the Island far longer than I should have and it was not until well into the afternoon that I finally gave up and wandered downstream.
I was very tired as I’d pretty well flogged both The Island and myself to death. Earlier I had seen Alex playing a fish at the bottom of “The Queen’s Walk”, but I couldn’t see him anymore. I badly needed some inspiration. I found him fishing the shallow riffles below The Queens Walk just above where the river sweeps round and into The Bridge Pool.
“Any good?” I enquired.
“Yeah. I’ve had half a dozen on the dry fly, not huge fish, but good fun. There’s loads here.”
Alex waded out and joined me on the bank, “You had any more?”
“No, all I’ve done is knackered meself ” I said.
“Then have a break. Relax. You’re supposed to be enjoying yourself. ”
Once again I realised I was making my usual mistake of trying just a little bit too hard so I took Alex’s advice and had a rest and a cup of tea. Before long I felt very much better for it.
“Come on then.” said Alex “Get your dry fly rod out and let’s catch some fish.”
Alex approved of the same little grey Klink as I had on yesterday and off I went to fish the water he had been covering. First cast the fly disappeared and I missed it. Second cast the same thing happened only this time my strike connected …splash, splash, splash, splash, splash.
“Brownie” said Alex and so it was. And the next, and the next!
“Where are all these grayling then ?” I said.
“Oh they’re here.” said Alex “The next rise could be from a 2 pounder.”
Well, it wasn’t. Though I say it myself I fished that water very well, but despite one little grayling all I could catch were trout. I reckon he’d emptied it before I got there and accused him of the same. Alex grinned and wandered off and shortly afterwards Phil arrived . He’d done well in the top pool taking two good fish around the 2lb mark each, both on bugs, but confessed to not liking the pool at all.
“Its a bit bloody boily up there, mate.” he said “You never know where your flies are going to end up.”
In this height of water the Top Pool is indeed very boily. It had been a much more benign prospect when I’d first fished it last year. Still, boily or not, Phil had had another couple of good fish and I was beginning to feel the pressure a bit.
“Have you tried The Bridge Pool yet?” Phil asked
“No…I’m going to try the bottom of the Queen’s Walk with a dry fly.” I said “Alex reckoned he rose a good fish there earlier.”
So Phil went down to The Bridge Pool and I waded back up past the riffle into the deeper water at the bottom of the Queens Walk. By deeper I mean relatively deeper as it’s still only about 2-2.5 ft deep. Good dry fly water though, the river runs fast and smooth over weed with clear runs in between. If this was a Southern chalkstream I dread to think how much a day’s fishing would cost you.
Moving above the rapids that mark the start of the riffles I flicked the dry fly upstream and across to my right. As I tracked it back it disappeared and I missed the take. Next cast, in exactly the same spot, I didn’t miss the take and after a short tussle on the light rod I slipped the net under my second nice fish of the day. A little smaller than the one from The Island, but a beautiful and very welcome fish nonetheless. Maybe I was getting the hang of this dry fly lark?
I carried on slowly working my way upstream. I had another smaller grayling and a couple of brownies and was finally beginning to relax and enjoy myself. At this point a fish rose barely 5 yards away directly upstream. A good fish too. Steady now Skippy my old son, don’t go getting all excited again.
I watched the water for a minute or two and the fish rose again. I saw her come up and I saw her go down and I could see it was a cracking grayling. The 2lb+ fish I so desperately wanted. I waited, remembering Alex’s advice that grayling will often keep rising provided you don’t do anything stupid. I cast and plopped the fly two foot above her and slightly to one side, up she came and I pulled the fly – clean out of her mouth! Sod it, but I hadn’t pricked her so I decided to wait and see if she would carry on rising.
A minute or two passed and then plop, up she came again. She was still on station, still rising and not spooked. This was in marked contrast to me because my legs were like jelly, I wanted this fish badly. Up she came again and this time I dropped the fly pretty well exactly on line and 18 inches above her. Obligingly up she came again and a big silver-grey flank rolled over my fly. I struck and she was on……seconds later, just like the fish under the tree the day before, the rod tip sprang back and she was off. I was heartbroken. I’d gone and blown it again !
That was enough for me. I stormed out of the river, threw the rod down and made myself another cup of tea. I’d fished well today, much better than yesterday and I really felt I’d earned that fish. I was still sat on the bank muttering angrily to myself when Phil reappeared. Having fished with me for many years he knows the look.
“Any good?” he enquired tentatively.
I told him of my latest misfortune and how I was never, ever going grayling fishing ever again. He laughed and said that if it was any consolation he’d had not so much as a touch in the Bridge Pool and was off to try upstream again.
“You staying here ? he said.
“Might as well.” I said “Makes no difference where I go or what I do.”
“Come on, mate.” says Phil “You’re better than this. It’ll come.”
“Well it had better get a move on then, it’s gone 4 o’clock.”
Phil drifted off upstream and I thought I’d have another go in the riffle as at least catching a few trout would cheer me up. Wading out I started flicking the dry fly about, but for some reason a run that had been full of obliging little trout an hour ago now seemed completely devoid of fish. I could not buy a rise except from a tiny grayling that took the klink as it dragged across the surface downstream. Which gave me an idea!
I’d asked Alex earlier if fishing traditionally “down and across” where you cast wet flies downstream and swing them across the current worked. He had said that it did and often quite well though it did not tend to produce the bigger fish. The hell with that I thought, any fish will do me now. I’ll give it a go.
Not wishing to mess about with my “bugging” rod I nipped off the dry fly and tied on a single gold headed hares ear. The extra weight ought to get it down in the faster water and I soon had it swinging nicely across the stream. This is quite nice I thought as I swam the fly across the river…its just like fishing for sea trout or rainbows in a nice ripple where you get that lovely curve in your line as it tracks across the wind.
“Just about there” I mused to myself as the fly swam across the deeper water “is where I would expect to get a take” and precisely where I had thought I would get a take, did I ever get a take! The line suddenly shot forward and the rod literally jumped in my hand. There was an almighty swirl 2/3rds of the way across the river and my reel screeched into life. As my jaw dropped open a big silver flank boiled on the surface.
I couldn’t believe it, I’d only gone and hooked another bloody salmon!
On this occasion I stood absolutely no chance. I was on a light 4 weight rod with only a 3lbs tippet. The salmon took off on a sudden charge for the Bridge Pool, threw itself clear of the water and with a look of utter contempt smashed me to pieces. I was left open mouthed gazing forlornly at what was left of my leader fluttering limply in the breeze. This one I got a good look at, it was a nice, clean fish of between 8-10 lb. Not a massive salmon in salmon terms, but more than big enough to hopelessly overwhelm my little dry fly outfit.
A lot of the salmon caught on Welsh spate rivers fall to worm in flood conditions. Yet here I was on a grayling trip hooking two on the fly on consecutive days. Maybe I should take up salmon fishing?
I didn’t bother tackling the dry fly rod up again. I went back up to The Island and gave that another 30-40 minutes, but I didn’t honestly expect to catch anything as there was no sign of Phil and I knew he would have fished it on his way back. He’d obviously fared no better than I simply because he was nowhere to be seen. If he’d caught he’d still have been there as he is nothing if not persistent. I think sometimes he just wears the fish down mentally and they take simply to try to get rid of him.
I tried the top pool again, even rigging up the dry fly rod but as on Saturday the water had gone “steely” with the onset of dusk and, much as it broke my heart, I finally conceded defeat and made my way back up the hill to the car where Phil and Alex were just getting out of their gear. They’d been up at the very top fishing the pots, but Phil had pronounced it “horrible” and with a couple of good fish under his belt decided that enough was enough. I cant honestly remember what Alex had caught, far more fish than the two of us put together I suspect.
So ended Day 2 of our trip “Chasing the Ladies” of The Dee. It had been challenging fishing on both days though between us we did catch quite a few nice fish. Though it had not been a particularly successful trip for me personally it didn’t really matter. I’d had two days fishing a wonderful river with two great mates and even if I’d known what was in store for me before I’d left home I would still have gone. I just wish The Dee was a bit nearer because I cannot get enough of this. I love it. This is what I do.
In my humble opinion grayling are a much under rated sporting fish. I think perhaps they suffer a bit from the image of the traditional grayling angler, a bit of a tweedy type never very far from a briar pipe. That may have been true years ago, but not so today. In fact grayling fishing has enjoyed a real resurgence in recent years. Bait fishing is not allowed on the Dee in order to protect the salmon parr, but I am told that on some rivers people have started trotting bugs with a float and centrepin. Not sure I really want to do that, but I can certainly see how effective that could be. Both The Island and The Bridge Pool would lend themselves perfectly to such an approach.
The only trouble is that Alex has made it quite clear that were we to even think about doing that we would be banned. Not from the water, but from his house and that is far too high a price to ever contemplate paying.
If you ever fancy a trip to Snowdonia ,be that fishing, walking, bird watching or simply to relax then I really cannot recommend a stay at Alex’s highly enough. Most of the fishing is controlled by clubs though there are a few day tickets waters available here and there. Its pretty well all game angling, but I’m sure Alex will know a place or two that you can get on. If you’re interested just drop me a pm.
I guarantee you will not regret it. It is simply the best place I have ever stayed, anywhere, ever. The fishing’s not bad either!
Skippy
Note: Alex went back on the following Tuesday. All the extra water from the weekend had gone, the river was down a foot and in his words “perfect”. He fished the run below The Island which had been unfishable over the weekend, he had 12 grayling, 4 of which were over 2lb! Needless to say we will be back next Autumn.
