My 2026 season drew to a close with four days on the Ure in glorious autumn weather, bathed in golden light. On three of the days the water was below optimal height, while on the other we suffered a small muddy spate that precluded fishing. The water temperature was a perfect 12-13C throughout. Nevertheless, I found the beauty of the surroundings and the company of my guests supremely relaxing and satisfying. It was a delightful way to end the season.
Yorkshire autumn silver
Despite the disadvantageous water levels, the first day delivered my best salmon of the season, a shining hen of 16 lbs in perfect condition. Such fish have a value 'beyond rubies', because they provide the solid foundation for the population. Joint Norwegian - Finnish - Swedish research has shown that these large hens produce a disproportionate percentage of the smolts that go to sea. Owing to their size they expend the least energy in reaching spawning; dig and cover the best redds; lay the most eggs; and sustain invaluable genes. We must therefore handle them with exceptional care to ensure they survive to complete their mission.
I also caught a cock fish later the same day that while fit was in much less perfect condition, showing substantial mass depreciation of perhaps 3-4 lbs, or about 15-18% of his at sea weight. Although slightly longer than the hen (measured to the nostril/bone line, not the kype), he was very obviously slimmer and lighter. The same research shows that male size is less critical in breeding success, but bigger males are often more successful at securing and keeping a larger hen. Interestingly, both fish were caught from the same lie, little more than 15' from the water's edge.
Hut Pool tail looking upstream The double taking fish was lying about 4' off the small stones in the centre foreground
Over the days my guests and I had several takes that we failed to convert. On the last day my delightful guest lost one about 10 minutes before he had to finish in order to take his wife out to dinner, which was both sad and fortunate. One of my misses was unusual: the pattern of behaviour suggests it may have been a territorial cock fish. The take came in an established lie close to the left bank towards the tail of Hut Pool. I hadn't expected a salmon to be in residence at this reduced water level, although there was still a good 3' or more there. After a firm tug, a kick and a head shake the hook came free. Following a little cursing, I started to strip in to recast, holding the rod in my left hand in preparation for a double Spey. After 3-4 feet he came again with a sharp jerk, but the hook didn't lodge securely. This is often a problem when fishing with small flies in low clear water. When cock fish chase flies and take them end on without turning back towards a lie, you are trying to get a hook hold at the front end of a curved kype with a small hook, perhaps a #10 or #12, which is a real challenge. A decade and more ago I had a cock fish do a similar double take, which I missed, but when I recast he took for a third time and the hook held. Sadly this fish didn't come back for a third attempt. The other lesson to take from this experience was that we should never be surprised by how close to the bank salmon may lie if the conditions are suitable for them.
Looking back across the season, missed fish have been a consistent feature on all the rivers I fished, In total it was probably 12-15, although a substantial proportion of those were grilse, as is so often the case. I certainly had the chances, so I've got no grounds for complaint. Despite landing only 6 salmon over the season - the sort of number I used to catch in a day on the Ure 15 years ago - I'm not disappointed, quite the reverse. It may be the effect of advancing years, but I end this season content and relaxed, having fished a selection of rivers large and small, and enjoyed the challenges each presented. Above all I have rejoiced in the company of the people with whom I shared the fishing, friends I've known for almost 60 years and those I met for the first time alike. A pleasure shared is indeed a pleasure squared.
I've used my full armoury of rods from 14' 6" down to 9' 6" and I enjoyed using all of them. Not only do they fish well, they all deliver real pleasure. The 13' 6" XO is still as 'Yar' as when I first used it on the Conon in 2019; after 11 seasons the 11' 6" Tool's capacity for entertainment remains undimmed; the 14' 6" Hero is a great big-river all-rounder in an economy package, in its element with sinking lines (and especially the outstanding Rio GameChanger system); and the 12' 8" XO is a match made in heaven for the Findhorn and Ure. I have neither urge or incentive to change anything. I shall nonetheless endeavour to write a Christmas Stocking post this year.
Now everything is stowed for the winter, with rods up in the loft and tackle in the GFC at the top of the stairs. The reels were all cleaned, dried, lightly serviced and lubricated (there's almost nothing to do with a Danielsson) and their drags slackened to minimum. The shooting kit has emerged from hibernation to take its place. I've undergone coaching and practice, and I'm ready for my first day, now less than a week distant. Amber's walks have included dummy work for the past 6 weeks, so she's ready to go. There is indeed a season for everything.
Amongst the 150 or so posts I've written for this blog, there are several that bid farewell to Tomatin, where my salmon fly fishing journey began and so many happy memories were created. We left sadly at the end of the 2013 season, never expecting to return. By good fortune we came back in 2017 and enjoyed our second best week ever, despite losing 2 1/2 days to spates. Our return in Covid and drought bound 2020 was less successful owing to the abject lack of water. Our unexpected return this year had an air of finality against a background that suggests that this may really be our final visit. The matriarch of the owning Glynne Percy family has died and it's possible that the house and fishing will be sold. In that event we have no means of knowing whether any future owners might let the fishing, how and to whom. We have to assume that this may indeed be it.
The house hasn't been let in recent years owing to the economic challenge of making it conform to the new regulatory requirements for rental properties in Scotland. Last year John and Patrick fished the water while staying at a nearby cottage. This year John invited me to join them, staying in a converted farmhouse at Balvaid on the other side of the river. The other three rods would be John's son and his young party, taking the Colonel's Pool bothy and fishing on the right bank of the river.
We arrived on the Monday afternoon to find the river on its bones. Frankly, it was so low as to be unfishable, leading us to finish early. That night we could hear the wind and rain lashing the house, and slept soundly with the reassurance of having water for most of the week ahead. The river rose rapidly on the Tuesday morning. The two photos below, taken from the Colonel's bothy looking upstream to Ladies' and Garden at an interval of 60 minutes show the scale and speed of the 5' rise.
0930
1030
There seemed little point in fishing in those conditions, so my wife and I enjoyed a rainy and windy day sampling the modest delights of Nairn, which we'd not previously visited.
Garden Head 1000 Wednesday
The river was still running strongly on Wednesday morning but falling quickly, which offered good prospects for fishing, and so it proved. Having allowed Patrick the first run down Garden, I arrived around 10 o'clock and started fishing the pocket alongside the fast water at the head of the pool, where running fish tend to congregate before moving up. Within 5 minutes a decent grilse took my MCX Dark #8 and after an uneventful fight returned briskly to its running. I missed another shortly afterwards, but by virtue of my good fortune and high morale, I wasn't unduly bothered.
Garden Tail 1100 Wednesday
I fished on down to the bottom of the pool to cover the quieter lies down at the wood. The flow profile had changed since 2017, with the main exit shifting across from the near side to just beyond the middle. One of the keys to success in Garden is, if at all possible, to avoid wading. The deeper water starts about 10-15 feet from the shore, and running grilse will exploit the easier flow up the left bank.
After failing to touch a fish in this usually productive stretch I concluded that a proportion of the salmon present were running, and those moving up from the lower river were yet to arrive.
Churan Head 0930 Thursday
On Thursday I startedon Churan in a brisk upstream wind. As the water had fallen and cleared I was fishing light with the 12' 8" #7 XO and a plain fluorocarbon leader to an MCX double.
A fish took the fly from a lie just beyond the rocks in the middle that mark the start of the faster water at the head of the pool. Instead of turning away and kicking it moved sedately to my right into the main flow. It didn't seem to be of any great size or to be especially bothered by being hooked, maintaining its steady progress upstream against a light drag. When it had drawn level with me, it turned towards me, and without any unusual action on its part or mine, ejected the hook. It was probably the lowest-key take I've ever experienced with a salmon, more chub than salmo salar. I missed a grilse shortly afterwards: clearly this wasn't my morning.
After lunch I headed up the glen to the Farr water, which John had taken as an insurance against low water and loss of capacity at Tomatin. I'd not previously fished up there, so this was a journey of discovery in steadily worsening weather. The stretch, which is about 4 miles upstream from Tomatin, runs on the left bank from Dalmigavie Lodge down to just below Dalarossie Church, and contains 3 or 4 decent pools. The density of fish was unlikely to be any higher than at Tomatin, but it seemed well worth exploring, although the weather did temper my enthusiasm.
The Laird's Pool Dalmigavie Thursday 1500
After parking at Dalmigavie Bridge beside the Lodge Pool, I walked some distance down the left bank with the wind and rain on my back. The Laird's Pool, about 500 yards below the bridge is the first really fishy site you encounter. It's about 25-30 yards wide and very exposed to the elements. Croys on both banks constrict the flow while creating a series of attractive holding spots. I started fishing where the water deepened and covered the whole pool around the corner to the left until reaching the next shallows. The wind was blowing up to 20 mph, with frequent showers that forced me to put up my hood. I heartily dislike the enforced loss of situational awareness.
In the conditions the fishing was quite challenging, although the 12' 7" #7 allowed me to deliver an intermediate tip and small MCX conehead across the entire width without undue effort. Despite the promise offered by some very attractive lies it was an uneventful sortie. The walk back to the car into the teeth of the wind with the rain striking my jacket like birdshot was dour enough to persuade me to call it a day.
Dalnahoyn 0930
Friday morning saw me back on the upper section, where I started at the head of Dalnahoyn under the A9 viaduct. Historically this has been one of my favourite and most productive pools at Tomatin. However, a succession of major storms have changed the flow at the neck, bringing it towards the left bank and removing the former right bank defile; moved lots of rocks and the lies that used to be in the foreground of the photo; and rendered the inlet to the left unwadeable. With a 20+mph downstream wind complicated by the turbulence generated by the viaduct and railway bridge, this was a very challenging fishing proposition, and frankly not much fun.
After fishing to the viaduct I trudged downstream to Wade's for a couple of casts to placate the fishing gods, before making the long trek down to Garden. There isn't a path along the bank, so you pick your way along meandering sheep tracks through the thistles.
Garden Friday 1200
Garden in the midday sun and sheltered from the wind helped to restore my morale. The water had fallen considerably from Wednesday's ideal fishing height, but there was still enough to allow fish to run in daylight. Accordingly, I once again targeted the pocket and the near edge of the fast water for a pausing runner. On my fifth cast the plan worked when a small 2SW of about 5 1/2 lbs took the #10 MCX, just as my wife arrived with her phone to record the event. The last time she achieved such perfect fishing timing was in the same pool in 2011 for a much better fish.
Drain (the House Pool) Friday 1400
After lunch I waded across the Major's shallows to fish Drain from the right bank, which gave me an entirely new perspective. Previously we'd always fished it from the grass you can see in the left of the photo. The biggest challenge came if you hooked a fish, because the bank is 5 feet high, vertical and falls into deep water, making solo netting a very risky proposition. This led to some heroic leading of fish most of the way upstream to Colonel's.
Although the water had fallen a lot since the young rods were catching fish here earlier in the week, I thoroughly enjoyed fishing it from the right bank. From there I made my way downstream to Rocky, again from an entirely new perspective. There was, however, nothing new about me missing a take in the head of Rocky, just a typical tap-tap gone of a grilse, nothing more.
Church Pool Saturday 1100 before the storm
The weather forecast for Saturday was dire, with warnings of gale force gusts around lunchtime. My morning allocation was up at the Farr water, so I opted to have a late start and fish the Church pool at Dalarossie. The entry section is largely inaccessible (around the corner to the right); the middle is slow and enormously deep; and the tail in the foreground is generally the most productive part. It's not wide and can all be covered from the bank. With the continuing fall in the level and lack of flow, you had to strip plenty of line to work the fly.
I had about half an hour's fishing in a rising wind before the storm hit.
It was impossible to fish in such conditions. Even standing up was a serious challenge. With discretion being the better part of valour, I retired to the lee of the churchyard wall for shelter as the wind roared down the pool.
I closed the week with a short valedictory session on Garden, in what may have been my final, final farewell to this lovely pool that has given me so many fish over the years. It was wonderful.
While I miss the raucous multi-generation family house parties of years gone by, perhaps this low key week with two close friends and their wives in a small farmhouse was better suited to my advancing years. If we do not return I shall miss it terribly, but in an overall context of gratitude. This is where the story of Just One Week and my salmon fishing journey began, where my enthusiasm was ignited, and where, after 25 years, I had become confident and relaxed enough not to regard just two fish in a week as a failure. In fact, we had 17 between the 6 rods, and everyone enjoyed themselves. Au revoir Tomatin.
Tweed - the picture says it all Horncliffe 1 looking downstream
We had an extraordinary week on the Bottom Tweed, the complete opposite of last year when we were spated off for 4 of the 6 days. The low water - quite the lowest the boatmen had ever seen - was what we wanted to hold fish in our beats at Horncliffe and Pedwell. The downside was that the Costa Del Norham was enjoying more hours of sunshine than Marbella. The challenge wasn't fly selection, but making sure that you had adequate sunscreen and drinking water. The air temperature was consistently 25+C, while the water was uncannily warm to the touch: on most days we stopped at midday when it hit 20C. Starting at 0600 didn't improve the odds or the results.
There were plenty of grilse entering the river. We had a frustrating time with their nips and tugs that rarely led to proper contact, and on the occasions it did, the combination of tissue-paper mouths and front lip hooking condemned us to lost fish. In 6 days' fishing I probably had 15-20 attempts. I managed to get just one onto the final run towards the net, when inevitably it came off. Indeed, our party of 4 rods only managed one grilse in the book for our week.
Our water varied between the wide open space of Horncliffe and the more enclosed Pedwell:
Wide open spaces - Horncliffe 2 Looking downstream, running line 20 yards to my left Note the extreme clarity and shallowness of the water This is the normal wading line
Horncliffe 3 looking back to the bank to show the bend in the trees in a 30 mph gust My D-loop had just flown away downstream
Amidst the relentless sunshine we had one overcast day with very strong winds, gusting up to 30 mph. Apart from keeping my hat on and standing up, trying to execute a right handed double Spey presented manifold challenges: first, sweeping a 14' 6" rod upstream against the wind; second, stopping the whole show from blowing off downstream while trying to form a D-loop; and third, delivering something resembling a cast. It was tiring and frustrating.
Horncliffe 3 looking downstream in less savage conditions
Horncliffe 1, looking upstream to the 'Aquarium' The opposite bank is Ladykirk The visible flow line gets progressively closer to the Horncliffe right bank downstream
Amber loyally observed the comedy performance patiently and without judgement, holding her seat until I completed each pool. She normally gets excited if I actually catch a fish, so a whole week of patient observation was probably as bad for her as it was for me.
Pedwell Tip Hole
The more sheltered and intimate nature of Pedwell offered both protection from any wind and the opportunity to use a smaller and lighter rod. It was also holding a lot of fish. Once the grilse and salmon ran in off the tide into the tepid water, they made best speed for the deepest, coolest and shadiest spot they could find. Most hunkered down to sit out the heatwave, although in the Tip Hole plenty of them displayed their boredom: I saw 30-40 in less than half an hour, although none showed the least interest in a fly.
Inevitably the weather defeated us. There were respectable numbers of fish and the low water advantaged the bottom beats, but the conditions, especially the low crystal-clear hot water, were absolutely against us. In compensation we had a hilarious party and a relaxed holiday. Having had too much water in 2025 and too little in 2026, we can only hope for something in between next year, because when it's right this fishing can be tremendous: in the past week Horncliffe and Pedwell have landed 22 and 21 respectively.
Gruinard
After finishing on the Tweed on the Sunday we briefly returned to Yorkshire to sort out and swap big rods - 14' 6" and 13' 6" - for small - 9' 6", 11' 6" and 12' 6". In the event the 11' 6" DH Tool proved ideal. On the Tuesday we turned about and after staying with friends in Ayrshire that night, we arrived at the Gruinard in time for an early drink on Wednesday evening. This was a repeat of the outstandingly kind invitation from a lifetime Yorkshire friend we had received in 2024, with the same fun party of old acquaint. The juxtaposition of conditions from the Tweed, and indeed from the Gruinard in 2024, was total: the air temperature was 15C, the water 14.5C and the level was perfect. A little rain on the Thursday raised the level slightly and freshened things up, without introducing discolouration.
Gruinard - The Bridge Pool Comparison of water levels at the Labrador's Head
Indeed, we could not have asked for better conditions in which to enjoy the stimulating challenges of fishing this little river - only some 6 miles in length between the loch and the sea - with its varied stretches of rocky white water, smoother pools and open runs. It's such fun to fish: no two casts are the same, and you have to be on the mental ball all the time to spot and maximise your opportunities. It's also essential to change your fly to match the water, in this example with rapid switches between tungsten mini-tube, 0.5" conehead and small double, while progressing down the run pictured below.
Miss Ferens' Run looking upstream seriously challenging and fun to fish
Spot your opportunities while going carefully
After umpteen misses and several losses, one of the grilse found its way into the net. By taking the MCX Dark conehead in fast water between two rocks at the bottom of the run shown above, it had to commit and wound up very firmly hooked. The fast water flattered its 3 lbs mass and made the fight great fun.
Gary the ghillie opined that the grilse run was late and thin. The fish were in excellent health and tightly grouped around the 3 lbs mark. If we had netted even 25% of the takers we should have caught a dozen or more: in the event we had only 4 grilse, which confirmed the correctness of Gary's view.
The were large numbers of small sea trout in the river, taking everything in sight, and typically feisty when hooked. A couple stayed on and came to my net, the larger about 3/4 lb.
MCX roll casting left handed in a downstream wind Anchor positioned well in front to avoid 'heather grab'
As long as the wind blew we were safe from the midges, but every time it paused or you entered a sheltered spot, then they appeared instantaneously in their thousands. Consequently, I tended to fish with a head net and tolerate the inconvenience in preference to being caught out. Hence in this photo I look like Count Binface's cousin.
The joys of fishing with a little rod and the challenges of producing the right cast for the circumstance, made every minute on the river a real pleasure.
On the Saturday morning I was looking down from a cliff into the run that my host was fishing. About half way down I saw the flash of a fish turning, followed by its 45 degree ascent to the fly, take and turn down: I was able to shout "fish" before he felt it. During a brisk fight I descended the cliff and netted a perfectly fresh 2SW salmon of 7 lbs.
The afternoon he was able to return the favour. I was fishing a curving open run in which the fish and their lies were concentrated within a band about 6-7' wide, casting short and at a shallow angle to maximise the time the small MCX Conehead stayed in play. My host was relaxing on the bank 150 yards downstream, reading a book. The fish took and ran hard downstream, helped by the weight of water. As I applied pressure to stop it getting into the white water at the bottom of the stretch, it went fully airborne, which with my shout of "fish" alerted my host to the excitement. This very athletic salmon jumped a further 4 times during a fight extended by my fear of losing it and the speed of the water: there was no readily available slack water for fighting or netting. Finally a nice 2 SW of 6lbs, which had been in the river for 3-4 weeks, came into the net to my intense relief, providing a perfect end to the week.
Reflections
The two sessions could not have been more different in every respect, and the conditions on each river were exact reversals of the situation when we last fished them. Our 2025 Tweed week was demolished by rain and spates; this year we had a heatwave. In 2024 the Gruinard was dried out and unfishable; this year almost continuous rain had put the river in perfect condition. Better still, I didn't attempt to sever my right thumb by falling down a bank onto a sharp rock. So what observations flow from the experience?
Although Horncliffe is dauntingly wide on first look, in almost every case the running line and holding lies were within easy casting distance. It's the old adage: "on big rivers, look for the rivers within the river". Just because the far bank is 50 yards away, you don't have to cast to your limit. Focus on covering where the salmon are and presenting your fly in the best possible order, moving correctly.
Most of the pools and runs on Pedwell place a premium on accuracy and presentation. You don't have to cast far, but it's essential that your fly is working effectively as soon as possible after it enters the water, which requires a good turnover.
On both beats the great majority of the fish were on or adjacent to the main flow line and you should tailor your casting angle and range accordingly.
When the conditions are close to impossible, you have two choices: carrying on doing something sensible; or retiring to the pub. There is no silver bullet: even the Sunray Strippers were disappointed.
Fishing small Highland rivers is great fun, but even in ideal conditions, success is not guaranteed. Remember that you're always very close to the fish, so good field and water craft are essential. The cardinal sin is being skylined. If possible, stay out of the water to avoid transmitting the noise from your boots.
Read the water 10-20 yards downstream where your fly will be working, not what's straight in front of you. In rocky runs there may be several spread across each block of width. Every lie may require a different casting angle and presentation, so fish them specifically: don't rely on the swing to do the work for you.
Keep an eye on the depth, remembering that the deepest section may be just in front of you. While fresh salmon may come up 4' 6" or so in medium paced water, in faster and more turbulent conditions this may be reduced, so be ready to change to a heavier fly to get down into their taking envelope. In clear water with small flies this may mean using a tungsten conehead or a brass bottle: my little MCX 1/2" coneheads worked a treat.
On such small rivers you are unlikely to be using the full length of your line or head, which can make turnover an issue, especially with heavier flies. A sinking polyleader is a boon in those circumstances, and in fast water you can go one or two steps beyond normal up the sinking scale to get the effect you want.
In the smoother stretches and runs the fish will be concentrated on or close to the main flow line. In some cases on the Gruinard they were within a band no more than 4-6 feet wide, which is where you should concentrate your efforts. Cast just far enough beyond the band to get your fly set up and working properly, and no further. Choose your casting angle and employ mends to keep your fly working in the band for the maximum time possible. Both of the salmon taken on the Saturday were caught using this approach.
Ensure your wading stick is fitted with a good rubber tip. In small rivers the clatter of a bare metal end on rocks is a sure-fire scarer of fish that may be as little as 10-15 feet away.
Invest in a quick patch wader repair outfit. On small Highland rivers there are lots of things lurking along the banks capable of making holes, and these self-adhesive patches provide a quick and effective remedy.
The 11' 6" Tool DH still puts a big smile on my face that the 10 years since its purchase have only enhanced. A small double-hander is a wonderfully flexible and fun answer to the demands of small Highland river fishing.
Everything is improved by the people with whom you share the experience. Friends are the best part of salmon fishing.
This faithful hat has been with me for every step of my salmon-fishing journey, through rain, shine, snow and ice. Finally, faded under the impacts of wear, tear and rot, it has fallen apart and now must retire. I'm sad to lose my constant companion. Whether it was a lucky hat I'll never know, but for 30 years we shared wonderful days and blank days alike. For all those reasons I feel moved to tell its story.
It bears the logo of Maybe Airlines, the name given by the mordantly humorous Norwegian Movement Controllers to the incredibly brave, skilful and sometimes drunk Ukrainian contract pilots who flew a motley collection of ex-Soviet transport aircraft into and out of Sarajevo under fire in support of the United Nations during the Bosnian War 1992-95.
The Serbs held Mount Igman and the hills dominating the airport and much of the ground under the final approach path. An IL-76, a giant barn under some wings and 4 jet engines, was a large, slow-moving target and especially vulnerable while taxiing on the ground. You approached at night at altitude before entering a steep spiral descent, then levelled out, took aim at the minimal intermittent runway lights and landed at speed with maximum reverse thrust.
Once on the taxi-way the back ramp went down, and with the aircraft still moving you threw your bergen out, then followed it into the darkness. Once the new arrivals were clear, the outgoing passengers reversed the process, throwing their bags in and running up the ramp. The aircraft never stopped moving, because halting invited mortar fire. Sometimes things went wrong as evidenced by the wrecked IL-76 at the far end of the runway. I remain in awe of the bravery and skill of the Maybe crews, and I wore their hat with pride in memory of their service.
In the beginning with the hat, an inherited rod, and the adulation of an admiring dog.....
15 years on, with increasing confidence and success.....
With some very large wild trout along the way......
Year 20 and a serious salmon......
Year 27.......
Spanning a new generation of salmon anglers.....
Year 30 the last wash too many and disintegration
Farewell old friend, but you won't be thrown away.
