Water, Water, Nowhere - 2018 in Retrospect

In truth we had a great summer, right up there with 1961, 1972, 1976, 1995 and 2003. Sitting outside for a drink and dinner is a rare pleasure in North Yorkshire, but this year was a real boon in that department: we drank a lot of cold rose on warm evenings.  Even if it didn't feel as downright hot as 2003 or the best of 1995, my wife was delighted, as despite her Yorkshire genes she feels the cold awfully.

It was, however, extraordinarily dry: indeed, even drier for longer than both 1976 and 2003. The saving grace was the effect of the preceding wettest winter in decades - we had double average rainfall in February and March - which filled the aquifers to bursting and thus prevented many streams from drying out completely with otherwise fatal consequences for their fish populations and juvenile salmon.  Unlike 2003 I didn't have to put water on the lawns and only lost 10-15 square metres of grass.  Nevertheless the two graphs below speak for themselves (note that 6th April is the opening day for salmon in Yorkshire).

Vale of York Rainfall in millimetres 6th April - 31st October 2018

Vale of York Cumulative Rainfall in mm, 6th April - 31st October 2018

During the salmon season we received just under 14% of normal rainfall.  This pattern was broadly replicated over most of the UK, although parts of Scotland did get more rain from late August onwards.  Inevitably this impacted my salmon fishing on the Ure.  A season that started with such promise became unbelievably dire. With insufficient water to trigger a run in from the North Sea, and so little that they couldn't get upstream over the obstacles, the only fish present were those that had arrived before April, probably less than 20% of the expected annual number.  Even when it did rain and the river rose it never stayed up for long enough to move the fish far.  It was deeply frustrating, but as I couldn't do anything about it, there was no point fretting or worrying. 2018 will just go down in the annals of salmon fishing as one of those years.  And if it helps, at the centenary of the end of the Great War the records show that 1914 was even worse.

Spring - A Journey to the Edge of the Known World

A very kind friend invited me for a week's fishing on the Helmsdale in the far north of Scotland in April this year, which I accepted with alacrity verging on indecent haste.  I'll not repeat the post I wrote, just reprise some of the highlights and photos.  Even in late April the north of Scotland was already so dry that the farmers were having problems with grazing and the Helmsdale was running at a sparse 4" above mean summer low, 2" of which was supplied from the Badanloch at the top of the river.  As a result the Helmsdale was short of both water and fish, but it was a fascinating experience.  In its short length the Helmsdale offers everything from highland burn to full size salmon river, all in beautiful settings.

Sunset view from Upper Suisgill Lodge
Helmsdale April 2018

From Burn to River

Despite the shortage of salmon I had quite a lot of takes, lost several fish and finally managed to land one on the Saturday morning in freezing conditions.  I took away all manner of learning points from Donnie the Ghillie for the experience bank.  Best of all, the house party was convivial, varied, interesting and fun, so we enjoyed an excellent week.

Summer - The Long Drought

After the Helmsdale we departed for a holiday in Puglia, the heel of Italy, returning as the trout season got fully into its stride.  In the absence of water there was no point even thinking about salmon, and every year I like to focus on the Rye and its trout in May to July.  It is a stunningly beautiful little river that flows off the moors, past the ruins of Rievaulx Abbey, on through Duncombe Park, by the picturesque market town of Helmsley, through the farmland around the gastro-village of Harome and onwards to Nunnington.  Although we get the occasional wanderer from elsewhere the stock is 100% wild, wily and challenging.  I really enjoy the patient stalking of solitary large brownies, and often will spend an hour or more just watching and waiting for one to make the mistake that allows me to identify the fish and its lie.  For one it was the merest hint of the sound of a soft rise and a few ripples emerging from under a dock leaf beside the far bank that gave it away.  In June this fine but ugly chap of 3 3/4 lbs was rising in a back eddy between 2 willow roots under an overhanging branch, which required a curved left-handed cast across the breeze, followed by some brutal fighting to get him out into the open.

There's a certain extra enjoyment and satisfaction when you catch an especially difficult trout.  As you rarely get to see your quarry in salmon fishing you don't get the same contest of observation, intellect and imagination. Moreover, the salmon is not as fearful and careful.  With a fresh salmon your fly is probably the first it's ever seen and it's pretty cavalier about things like the leader.  Indeed, if they're minded to take they can be as easy to catch as mackerel, and provided that your cast is in roughly the right place you'll be fine.

Migration - 80+ miles from the sea

We also get the occasional sea trout, but as our club doesn't have rights for migratory fish we not allowed to fish to them specifically.  However, one rise looks much like another!  They're catchable on a dry fly in bright conditions, but the large ones are even more shy than their brown siblings.

Amidst the trout I happily accepted an invitation to fish the Chipchase Castle beats on the North Tyne for salmon in early July.  Given the 28 degree temperatures and the blazing sunshine my expectations were low, but the release of ample cool water from Kielder gave just enough hope to justify the 120 mile drive.

In the event the river was at a perfect fishing height and this lovely shiny 8 lbs fish had been in the river less than a week.  I missed 5-6 other takes, which was frustrating but certainly exciting.

I should have loved to have stayed on and fished after dinner, but duty and age called for responsibility with a work appointment the next morning. 

Moving into autumn and still dry

Uphill past Preston under Scar with 6 miles to go

August began with me riding the 114 mile Great Ure Salmon Run, raising money for the conservation work of the Ure Salmon Group within the Yorkshire Dales Rivers Trust.  I reported it in my Costa del Chipchase post so will spare you the details. Nevertheless I was delighted to have completed the challenge, especially after the frustrations of 2017 and to have beaten my fundraising target.  I fancy doing another one, but I shall have to come up with something special if my donors and supporters are to repeat their generosity.

We had a a few hours' rain in mid-August that briefly lifted the Ure.  As I had a free day and there was no one on Thoresby I booked a rod via FishPal and headed off to the Dales after an early breakfast.  I knew there would be very few if any fish in the beat because the spring run had only got as far as Ripon by early April and since then they hadn't moved.  Accordingly I concentrated my efforts on the tails of the pools in the hope of encountering an alert recent arrival, which offered a better chance than a torpid resident.

The strategy worked, although it was a close run thing.  Right on cue, just before 11 am, this former spring runner took an MCX #10 exactly where I'd hoped in a highly productive lie in the tail of Frodle Dub.  It's a notch in the bottom about 4-5 feet wide and about 10 feet long, ideally placed for a breather after the run up through the shallows and fast water from Flesh Dub.  Having frustrated his original idea of heading back whence he'd come I brought him 20 yards up to the middle of Frodle towards the point where I'd left the net.  Then things went awry.

Tail of Frodle Dub shown in low water conditions for
clarity of explanation.  On the day the water was about
18" higher

This fish had other ideas.  Having come up from the lie it then turned about and dashed downstream with considerable force straight to the rock about 35 yards away and went round it.  I could feel the leader rubbing on the rock.  Everything went slack and I assumed that he'd broken me.  Cursing volubly I reeled in the slack line, angry at my incompetence.  Then, out of the corner of my eye I saw the orange section at the end of the Rio head passing me going upstream into the main body of the pool.  The fish was still attached!  The slack had been created by the sudden release of the line slipping over the top of the rock.  After another 3-4 minutes of energetic resistance he eventually came to the net.

Apart from the fright he had given me quite the best fight I'd ever had from a 9 1/2 pounder that wasn't silver fresh.  The leader had been badly abraded, but 24 lbs Seaguar does give you plenty of protection against such abuse.  In accordance with Norwegian advice I always use the strongest leader that the water conditions allow that is consistent with the size of the fly.  At this breaking strain Seaguar is the same diameter as 15 lbs Maxima and less visible in water, and therefore an entirely logical choice.  I might not have been so lucky with 15 lbs Seaguar, which is much thinner than the equivalent Maxima and therefore less resistant to abrasion.  Sometimes fortune smiles and makes your day.

Tillmouth

Another very generous friend (I seem to be fortunate in that department) invited me to spend a couple of days on the Tillmouth beat of the Tweed in early September.  I arrived on the Sunday evening, unpacked my kit and walked part of the water before dinner.  The water was very low indeed, but there were plenty of fresh fish in the pools.  They could run easily up to that point, but showed no interest in going beyond Coldstream Bridge.  As a result the previous week's rods had caught about 40, which was pretty good for my optimism.

This was a far cry from the spring Tweed of memory, so diminished that I could cover the water with the 13 MAG.  In contrast to the previous evening there were very few fish showing or being caught elsewhere.  I made my way steadily downstream fishing an MCX #12 in the clear water.

Around midday when passing a rock I'd marked on my way up to my start point I noticed that the water had been rising almost imperceptibly for some time.

As I approached the hut and lunch a pod of grilse splashily announced their arrival lower down this pool.  About 3 minutes later I connected and after an energetic fight landed a beautiful little 3 pounder, bright as a silver button and full of beans.  Indeed, so full that after I'd unhooked him while kneeling in 6" of water, he shot off between my knees and disappeared before I could take a photo.  As is often the case I hooked another about 5 minutes later that only stayed on for 30 seconds or so.  Not only do grilse have soft mouths their itinerant nature means you don't get the degree of turn after the take that you experience with a mature fish coming up out of a lie.  As a result most grilse takes are head on with correspondingly poorer hook-holds and thus you lose more of them.

After lunch I was allocated a boatman and boat to fish the stretch up towards the bridge, in water that seemed almost stationary.  It's not a form of fishing that I enjoy much.  The boatman exercises all the admirable skill and work, while you have a rather passive role, periodically casting to reposition the fly relative to the boat's movement and stripping in when so instructed.  I missed one take in an otherwise very quiet afternoon.  At the least the young boatman was good company and I learned much from his perspectives of the business and the way of life, and his fears for its prospects.

Over our evening drinks it was apparent that everyone else in the party had similar experiences: a quiet morning, a flurry around lunch and a very quiet afternoon.  The consensus was that this was connected to the small rise in the water level, and fish might now be moving up beyond Coldstream out of Tillmouth.  The forecast was of more water coming.  Although this would probably do for my second day it would at least set the other rods up for the rest of the week.  And so it proved: lots of fish showed for the first 10-15 minutes of the rise without taking any notice of my fly; and then nothing.  Towards lunch the rise grew into a spate with lots of mud in the water, so the sensible thing was to pack up and drive home.  I'd caught a fish, but the result fell far short of what I'd hoped for on a premium beat of a great river at prime time.  There are a lot of very worried people on the Tweed at the end of the incredibly poor 2018 season, with plenty of questions and no answers in prospect beyond declining hope.

Closing Days on the Ure

As we moved through September into October there was still no sign of significant frontal rain.  Yet again I cancelled one guest day and on the other went ahead with the picnic as he was keen to see the water (what little there was) for the first time.  Resignation was probably the best description of my attitude.

Every year I look forward to the two days at the beginning of October with my younger son HMCX.  We appreciate each other's company, fish enthusiastically and enjoy our stay at the Bolton Arms in Redmire, an outstandingly good unpretentious Dales pub.  HMCX is 6' 2", 15 1/2 stone and well muscled, which allows him to handle a 14 foot fly rod with the ease of a pencil.  He's also blessed with natural timing, so once he's got the rust and cobwebs out of his system his casting is a pleasure to watch.  I was desperately keen for him to catch a salmon: we'd caught 4 in a day last year, and with some water that should fall and start to clear our chances seemed reasonable, albeit within the limits of the small number of fish present.

HMCX fishing the head of Frodle Dub
Friday

On the Friday the water was high at +3' 6" and more so we had a leisurely journey up, taking in a tour of Theakston's Brewery at Masham along the way.   This was a most pleasant interlude, and very interesting for HMCX who'd not previously seen brewing in detail.  The tour ended with tasting the product, for which you could order 3 glasses of 1/3rd pint, an ideal solution.  We reached the river towards lunchtime to find it high and brown but very fishable.  With the score up around 10 this was a time for a big tube and a fast sinking polyleader.  After midday a few fish started to show, including one specimen in the 15-16 lbs range in the back eddy under the far bank.

I was fishing the tail ahead of HMCX and just before 2 o'clock I had a strong take on a 1" MCX Conehead at the margin of the fast water very close to the near bank.  Having won the struggle to stop him going back down the rapids I kept a very firm grip on the fight to avoid repeating the rock experience.

He was a good strong fish of around 10 lbs, brown but in good physical condition.  HMCX's early intervention with the net meant this one got away energetically as soon as the hook was out.  Of course I was pleased, but like any father I should far preferred my son to have got the salmon.

We fished on doggedly for the rest of the afternoon with only one take between us before repairing to the Bolton for restorative ale.  There just weren't enough fish in the pools to tip the odds in our favour.

Flesh Dub at + 2' 6"
Saturday

Although there was a little rain up the dale during the night the river continued to fall slowly.  It cleared much less readily as a result of the sheer volume of bio-mass accumulated over the summer.  The big problem was back-scatter in the strong sunlight coming straight down the pool, which made the sub-surface conditions extremely difficult for the salmon.  They wouldn't see a fly unless it was right on their nose, and of course there were precious few noses about.  In more normal circumstances this would be an October view to lift the heart, but in this drought ridden season I couldn't even buy a salmon in my favourite pool.

Contemplation
HMCX consoled by Theakston's XB

With little prospect of a fish we took a break for lunch at the Bolton and returned to fish until the light went off the water.  Naturally we were disappointed but in the absence of fish we could expect little better.  We'd enjoyed a great couple of days together and I was extremely grateful to have had HMCX to myself amidst the many demands of fatherhood and a high-pressure City career.  Some things are far more important than fishing.

So What?

At the end of every year, no matter how unsuccessful, I try to draw together what I've learnt during the season, so here goes:

• Fish the water in front of you before wading in and extending your line to full casting length.  If your approach has been suitably quiet there may be fish lying at point blank range, so don't be in a hurry to get into the water or cast a full line.  This is especially important on small rivers.
• If in doubt, strip and work the fly.  It's more likely to be seen and excite interest, particularly from fresh fish with lots of energy that haven't gone into full conservation mode.  Covering all the lies may require stripping in beyond the optimum casting point of your line, but it's better to cover the good lies near you than achieve the perfect maximum range cast.
• Assume that you're going to hook a fish and be prepared.  Through inattention and idleness my drag was too loose in August, which allowed an energetic fish to get a long way away from me.  Simple geometry says that the more line you have out the less control you have over the fish's lateral movement.  That's how it got around the rock.  Obviously there's moderation in all things and you don't want your drag too tight.
• And it may take where you least expect.  The October fish took in fast water beside a substantial rock less than 3 feet from the bank as I was stripping in to re-cast.  It was unexpected but this time I was ready.
• More wind, less effort.  Nothing spoils a cast like trying too hard, and a rising wind drives us to use more force.  Don't succumb to the urge because an open loop is useless in the wind.  Throttle back, keep it tight and you'll cast further and straighter.
• Match rod to river.  To avoid fatigue and increase enjoyment, use the shortest rod you can consistent with the size of the river, the prevailing water conditions and your fly choice, while leaving a little margin for changing conditions.
• Use the strongest leader consistent with the size of fly and the water conditions.
• Smile, be happy, you're fishing.

Here's hoping that 2019 will be much, much better.