Crash! Bang! Pluck! The dynamics of a take

I apologise for the delay to this post, which is long overdue.  Unfortunately 10 days ago our 93 year old neighbour fell and broke her right leg very badly.  As a result I've spent much of the intervening period visiting the hospital rather than thinking and writing.  In between visits I did manage to fit in a successful day on the Ure last week, which will form part of a future post.

Iceland film - the instant of a take

Last January in 'Revelation' I looked at an example of a salmon taking a fly live on a film made in Iceland.   If you haven't viewed it before I strongly recommend doing so, not least for its remarkable insights and excellent underwater resolution.  Of course this is only a small sample of one group of fish, in one river, on one day, so we have to be careful not to draw too many inferences.  Nevertheless it is the best illustration of sub-surface taking behaviour that I have seen.  It also provides some confirmation of my own observations of the angle at which salmon approach flies; the sort of distances they can cover in moving to the fly; and the lack of indication to the angler of the fish taking the fly into its mouth.

There is a lot of good footage of salmon taking a variety of flies fished on the surface - bombers, hitched tubes and giant caddis - with especially good examples from Newfoundland and Labrador where dry fishing is a widely used tactic.  However, all of the film I have seen is taken from or near the angler's perspective: I haven't found any underwater sequences of surface takes showing approach angle and so forth.  In addition, the small number of salmon that I have caught in the UK either on the surface or in the surface layer does not give me adequate evidence for analysis and discussion.

Equally, I haven't equalled Hugh Falkus' endless hours of observation from elevated points of fish behaviour in clear water responding to a variety of baits and lures.  Nor is my armoury as broad as his: worms and prawns are not part of my repertoire.  Accordingly, this post only examines the dynamics of sub-surface takes whilst fishing with sunk flies.  

In thinking about takes there are 2 cardinal points we must bear in mind.  

• First, there are plenty of theories but we don't know what prompts a salmon to take a fly: every take is aberrant behaviour that currently defies explanation.  I have difficulty accepting the 'induced take' as anything other than good fortune based on getting the fish's attention.
• Second, the way in which an adult salmon takes a fly is markedly different from how it takes prey at sea, even though the fly may emulate a marine species.  Like other predators the salmon attacks at high speed - 3-4 m/sec is typical - as it scythes through a shoal of sand eels.  I've watched salmon feeding in the surface layer and there is an audible hiss as the dorsal fin cleaves the water.  If salmon hit our flies at that speed sprained wrists and broken rods would be commonplace.  In addition, the salmon's mouth and throat is designed to trap and swallow prey fast enough to make room for the next sand eel, yet I have never hooked a salmon in the gullet.  In sum, it's doing something abnormal prompted by factors other than hunger.

 Thus every take is different and unique to the fish and the circumstances.  Nevertheless they appear divisible into some 'classic' groups.  This post looks at 3 broad types - 'Against the Fly'; 'With the Fly'; and 'Minimum Shift' - that have been the commonest in my experience and are therefore most easily described.  Beyond those is the realm of  the random, usually involving later-season cock fish, which includes extreme cases such as the  'Headlong Charge' and 'Surface Slash'  While these make for amusing anecdotes they are not amenable to analysis beyond noting the power of testosterone.

Crash!  Against the Fly

Take - Against the Fly

You're fishing from the right bank with your fly tracking from left to right.  The diagram shows in 3-D the track the salmon might follow from its lie at A to a take at T, before turning away at D to return to A.  Whether the fish takes by interception as shown here (a likely scenario with a slow moving fly) or follows it (the converse case) matters little.  The key factor is the direction of turn after the take, which is opposite to the movement of the fly.  This increases the relative speed of fish and fly and so makes it harder for the fish to eject the fly.  The tension on the line L comes immediately into play, usually causing a good hook-hold towards the rear of the salmon's jaw.  You probably won't feel anything at T, but as the fish turns D-E, feels the drag of the line and reacts, its acceleration will leave you in no doubt.  The 'crashing take' is at E not T, when your fish is usually well hooked.

In this scenario you have to do precious little, beyond smoothly lifting the rod and leaning back to get the hook all the way home.  Never do anything hasty or violent, and as always, ensure your drag is on a sensible setting.  Barring bad luck you will land the majority of fish that take like this.  You'll be able to identify them by virtue of the hook often being in the side of the jaw opposite your bank - i.e. right bank, left jaw.

Bang!  With the Fly

Take - With the Fly

You're still on the right bank.  The next fish comes up from A and takes at T.  At D it turns with the fly and swims parallel to X.  You are even less likely to feel the take.  In this case the relative speed of salmon and fly is much lower, so the fish has more time to eject it, largely untroubled by the line tension.  Three options follow: you don't hook the fish at all and feel nothing; or you get a weak hook-hold near the front of the right jaw which soon comes undone (bang-bang, gone); or if you're lucky the fish turns and dives sharply at E, giving you a strong take and a good hold in the upper right jaw. 

The simple fact is that if the fish turns with the fly the mechanics are much less favourable, but there are no sure fire ways of changing the odds.  Just observe the basics.  Keep a good working tension between you and the fly.  Use the rod as your first shock absorber by holding it upstream of the line.   Keep couple of feet of slack line as a back up to the rod (which reacts far faster than you ever can).  And again, don't strike or do anything hasty.  If you've missed, you've missed, and only one per thousand comes back for a second try.

Over the years I've heard a lot of advice such as giving the fish slack to run back to its lie before setting the hook.  This is probably more about stopping inexperienced anglers doing hasty and violent things than anything to do with hooking fish.  The salmon will only take the fly back to its lie if it has failed to eject the foreign object from its mouth; and the fly will only stay in there by virtue of the hook.  In any event the drag on a salmon fly line alone is more than enough to start the process of setting the hook.  I therefore suggest that the hook hold does not improve  much with delay.

Pluck!  Minimum Shift

Take - Minimum Shift

We now enter the realm of the gentler take, or more accurately, turn away.  Indeed, the salmon may not have to turn at all.  The minimum shift take occurs most often when the lateral movement of the fly is very slow and close to the fish.  This is the case at the dangle: lateral  movement has stopped and the fly may be sinking. Hence in this diagram the fly is shown as a point rather than a track.  The Minimum Shift take is also common in ambush fishing and when working a fly deep and slow in response to cold or dirty water, when the salmon reacts to something almost directly ahead at short range.  You get the same condition when a curious salmon has followed a fly over a considerable distance in quiet water, only taking it into its mouth when it starts to move directly away.

Minimum Shift Take
Hen fish from low slow water
Blue Charm #14 front centre of jaw
Dalnahoyn Pool Tomatin
 13 September 2010

Here the fish merely inclines its pectoral fins to rise gently to B, applying the minimum lateral movement.  It takes the fly into its mouth at T before reversing the pectorals and sinking back towards C.  Clearly without lateral movement there's not a lot of force in play.  As a result hook holds tend to be towards the front of the jaw and inadequately sunk.  The salmon gives a couple of shakes of its head to get rid of the fly; you feel the consequent pluck, but it's already gone.  All too often it stays on for 5-10 seconds before the hook hold gives way.  But if Murphy's looking elsewhere, sometimes they stay on.

Conclusions

It may seem strange that you will detect the merest fragment of leaf, weed or grass upon your fly, yet incredibly you feel nothing when a salmon takes it into her mouth.  It's simply because in most cases the first stage of the take is towards you and slackens the leader.  Which way the salmon turns from the take is the determining factor in what you feel thereafter and how soon.  Only then do you become an active participant.  There's no magic or tricks, just a few basics to observe.  Most salmon hook themselves without your help, so all you have to do is avoid upsetting that happy situation through haste and violence.

Hopefully by the next post some more salmon will have hooked themselves for you and me.

Ambush Tactics - close, personal and a little dirty

Following last week's post in which I talked about ambushing a cock fish for the Friday's supper, some readers asked me to expand on ambush tactics and their application.

Critical Factors

Ambush tactics are not universally applicable and their success depends on a combination of factors coming together.   You are more likely to find suitable ambush sites on medium and small rivers like the Upper Findhorn and the Ettrick Water.

They work best in the autumn, because the increasing urgency of the salmon's reproductive urge will lead fish to run in daylight through water that they would only ascend at night earlier in the year.  There are more fish present in the river and the running groups are consequently larger.  Taken together those influences can make the fish edgier, more excitable and more likely to take.

Wade's Pool  +18"
16th September 2013

The water needs to be low enough to create narrow defiles that concentrate the fish onto a single tight line.  This picture shows a pool at full running height, at which the fish can deviate widely from the primary running line across a broad front.  There is only a faint possibility of your fly crossing the 22m width every 90 seconds intercepting a fish moving upstream at 1m/sec and with a forward look of 1.5m at most.  Actually, given those assumptions it's theoretically 1 : 720.  However, that's before you apply a probability of a take, which at say 5%, makes your odds about 15,000 : 1, which explains why fishing the short halt lies is more productive in those conditions.

Wade's Pool +10"
17th September 2013

Now come forward 24 hours with falling water, albeit there's still ample for autumn fish to run in daylight.  You can see how the viable running space has reduced by around 75%.  In addition, owing to the ease of the wading from the near bank, HMCX was able to fish it at a much narrower angle than was feasible the day before.  This meant that not only did his fly spend longer in the red zone, but also small mends more than doubled its dwell time.  This would have cut his odds to about 150:1, but for the fact that there were not yet any fresh runners coming past him.

The other factor is gender: the great majority of the fish I've caught in ambush have been cocks.  Indeed, in one of the locations pictured I've taken 4 from the same defile in the past 3 years.  It's probably the testosterone-based aggression that makes them readier to make a snatch at an object entering their space.  However, the fly doesn't need to be especially large or bright to achieve the effect, just proportional to the depth, speed and clarity of the water.  That said, there are no hard and fast rules.  In 2011 experimenting with a Sunray Shadow in ambush mode I caught a cock on the first pass, then handed over to Tim who hooked (and lost) a good fish with the next cast.  The moral of the story is that if they're taking, they're taking.  The purpose of ambush tactics is to increase the chance of a fish seeing your fly.

There's one drawback with ambush tactics.  They need time and space.  You won't be popular if you try this on a river with a lot of other anglers who need you to be marching downstream at one pace per cast to avoid a serious traffic jam.

Finding the spot

Corybrough Run +12"

Some ambush sites, like the examples used in this post, are relatively easy to spot. Others are more subtle and take time to work out.  In this instance on Corybrough the defile is at the bottom, not the top, with a neck in the running line about 20m downstream, as shown in the zoom section below.  Although the width looks the same, the running section contracts from 14m where I was stood to no more than 6m on the outside of the flow curve.  By sheer chance I pressed the shutter at the instant a fish took in the defile.



Corybrough Zoom Detail

The fact that I lost the fish highlights one of the drawbacks of ambush fishing.  Because you are working at narrow angles in order to stay in the running zone, a lot of your takes will be head on with the hook lodged near the front of the jaw.  Compared to the take and turn away of a fish in a lie, the frontal take of a running fish is not a recipe for a good hook hold.

Smaller waters like the Ettrick provide a feast of ambush sites, but many of them are not immediately obvious.  You have to remain alert and read the water below you as you advance down the beat.  In October 2010, with the river at a comparatively low +6", I was fishing down a nice straight narrow section with a broad running line just over the centre of the flow.  However, at the bottom of the section the river took a 45 degree right turn.  When I was about 25m above the bend I paused to work out where the running line might be at the start of the curve, and concluded that it was in a narrow channel, no more than 2m wide, about 2m out from the far bank.  I needed the fly to get down quickly and stay down whilst keeping it in the run with small mends.  This meant a small weighted tube, and you can see the Ally Conehead that took the fish (it had to come out of the water as I was up to my knees with a steep bank directly behind me).

Ettrick Water - Bush Pool

But you sometimes have to look hard and think carefully to identify the best place to stage your ambush.  This is another example from the Ettrick on the same trip in October 2010.

The fish run up a broad section, but as they enter the bend the gravel spit at A pushes them towards the near bank, on their way to ascending the fast water at C.  The holding lie at B between the centre line and the far bank can be productive, but it's difficult to present the fly well owing to obstacles on both banks.  You arrive at this pool on a path from the road directly across from B, but it is essential to do a reconnaissance and make a plan to get the best out of this section rather than just starting at C and fishing mechanically downstream.

The really interesting point is at D where the gravel bank A squeezes the running fish into a narrow defile no more than 2m wide at exactly the point where they have to turn sharply across the flow to get to B.  This brings the great bonus of giving  the fish an oblique view of your fly, which is far better than end-on.  Unless you take time on first arrival you wouldn't spot this feature until you were standing on it and amongst the fish running through, where at point blank range on a raised bank you are painfully visible to all comers.  Watercraft is vital on small rivers.

After 5-10 minutes of thought the plan was to fish B from C (no result) and then D at a very shallow angle from opposite B.  After 2-3 minutes of swimming the fly in the narrow channel a large cock fish of 12-14 lbs followed the master plan, took and proceeded to charge all over the pool for the next 10 minutes.  Unfortunately I was in too much hurry to clear the pool to allow my fishing partner to repeat the trick, applied excess force and melted the knot at the eye whilst bringing him to the net (hence no photo).  At least I didn't lose the tube as it stuck on the blob of congealed nylon, but I should sooner have had the fish: lesson learnt.

 

Triggers - why and when

At this time of the year fishing the short halt lies is generally productive, especially as the numbers and concentration of fish rise.  As the numbers of fish in a lie increase so the chances of a take improve more than proportionately.  But there will be times when, for whatever reason, the fish get on the move almost en masse.  One moment there are fish showing, lots of visible activity and you're catching.  The next it goes stone dead.  If there's enough water to run, it may just be that they've decided to take off.  We can't be certain of the stimuli or their combination. On the Friday at Tomatin this year there was a small lift - no more than 2" - of good fresh water that marked the transition from taking to running.  I'm not asserting that was the cause, just noting the coincidence of timing.  I was happily fishing the main lies in Dalnahoyn Pool: when I arrived around noon there were fish showing.  Shortly afterwards they stopped; the note of the water changed; and I could see the small rise on one of my marker stones.  I judged that they were doing something else, and put my money on that being running.  I'll never know whether I was right or wrong, but the decision did yield a fish.

Practical Application

Dalnahoyn Pool +8"
Noon Friday 20th September 2013

Here is the pool at noon that day.  The viable running area is very large: the near edge of the red zone is waist deep.  The primary running line is just beyond the middle and passes through 2 holding lies.  Lie A, identifiable by the 'Y' where the 2 flows meet, is large and consistently productive.  Lie B is smaller and tends to be occupied for very short halts by fish pausing briefly before entering the fast water, which at the exit is only 2 metres wide.

The first stage involved wading out close to the centre line just above '2' to fish the narrowest part of the defile.  This involved casting at a very narrow angle and applying frequent small upstream mends to keep the fly in play for the maximum proportion of the time.

Next I made my way back towards the home bank at about 45 degrees, covering Lie B. This involved a slightly wider casting angle and bigger mends.

And third, following a line parallel to the bank down to the large dark rock to cover Lie A.  At this stage the casting angle was closer to the conventional 45 degree norm, with no mends and a slow strip.  There was no sense in going much beyond A to chase widely dispersed running fish at odds around 20,000 : 1.

In an ideal world the 4th stage would have been to fish the entry points at the tail of the pool after the long shallow run up from Wade's. However, there are several, spread across a broad frontage, which expands the odds; it takes some deep and cold wading to cover them properly, which takes time; they are interspersed with some awkward rocks, with the consequent risk of snagging and more time lost; and time was not on my side.  I had 90 minutes left until beat rotation in which to deliver a fish to the cook, which focused the mind admirably.

Dalnahoyn 1pm 20 September 2013

So I went back to '2' for a second iteration.  Shortly after starting the oblique wade back inwards a fish took just upstream of Lie B.  Of course it was a fluke; they all are, but I flatter myself that my choice was vindicated by improving the odds, which is what ambush tactics are all about.

Summary

• Try to remain alert and aware of even small changes in your environment such as water tone and level, light, temperature and weather, all or any of which may influence salmon behaviour.
• Remember that by the autumn the salmon's reproductive alarm clocks are ringing loudly, which makes running a more urgent activity and the fish consequently bolder.
• From birth the salmon is a social shoaling fish that prefers to run in company.
• An abrupt change of behaviour or 'feel' in an otherwise benign environment may indicate a transition to running.
• If the evidence suggests that is the case, the odds tell you to switch tactics from area coverage to point ambush.
• Look closely at the water you are fishing to identify run lines, transitions and defiles that offer suitable ambush sites.  Even if you don't need the information today, store it for future use (see Reading Railway Maps for more detailed advice).
• Don't rush: do a reconnaissance, think and make a plan for fishing each stretch, but be prepared to change the plan as better information emerges.
• Don't fish mechanically with a preconception of casting angle: be flexible and ready to adapt to changing conditions and emerging opportunities.
• Get the fly into your chosen defile and keep it there using small mends; turn your casting switch to the mute setting.
• Add ambush tactics to your armoury: they may yet save your supper!

The Week

Sunday - Journey in hope, arrive in joy

The rain started shortly after we turned off the A1 onto the A66.  By the time we had topped the watershed and were heading through Cumbria it was coming horizontally on a south-westerly gale.  As we crossed the border into Scotland it became a proper downpour, which prompted my wife to ask, when she briefly awoke from her slumber in the passenger seat, "Now are you happy?".   Well, I was happier, but far from confident, because on several occasions we've driven through downpours in the Lowlands only to be held up by herds of camels on the A9 in the desert north of Perth.  However, I allowed my spirits a tiny fillip when the wipers came on after Perth, and a small uplift when we crossed the Slochd Summit into the Findhorn catchment through dense rain clouds.  We turned off the A9 and into the Tomatin House drive with bated breath: might there be some water?  It's a very long driveway and you don't get to see the river until the last 50 metres, so the anticipation, hope and fear built to a crescendo.

Sunday afternoon - the view from the drive

Oh, what joy!  There was water and plenty of it.  Park and unload the car; heft the suitcases upstairs; greet the other members of the party as they arrived; feed the dog; then put on the wellies and wander up the bank to Colonel's Pool to look at the gauge (along with everyone else - not all obsession is lonely).  Plus 3 feet and rising: alleluia!  Of course it wouldn't be in my Yorkshire nature to break into unrestrained delight: the rain had been intense but brief and there was no more forecast until Thursday, which meant that the level would fall off rapidly.  As this was the first proper freshet since mid-June, would the water stay up long enough to draw fish up from the estuary and allow them to run up to Tomatin?  Would the coldness of the water delay the run as it did in 2012?  No one had answers to those questions, but they gave us plenty to talk about over supper and the high spirits were almost tangible that evening.

Monday - Cold hard work

Dalnahoyn upstream - Monday morning

This was my view of Dalnahoyn Pool at sunrise the next morning.  The water was a bitter 43F/6C and the air a degree or so cooler, with a sharp 20 mph wind blowing straight downstream.  The river was brown but clearing and eminently fishable.  On the MCX scoring system it rated a full 12 points, which called for the DDC line, a 10' fast sink tip and a 1 1/2" Cascade Conehead.  Wading would have to be cautious for safety, and brief and shallow to avoid the hypothermia risk I had encountered in 2012.

Dalnahoyn downstream - Monday morning

My expectations weren't high.  Simple distance from the sea meant that there wouldn't be any new fish in the river until Wednesday at the earliest.  The residents from May and June were few and probably widely dispersed.  At least I had the consoling thoughts that I wouldn't have to confront a head wind until the afternoon change-over from upper to lower beats; and 90 minutes of Double Spey and cold wading followed by the bracing march back to the house in waders would treble the pleasure of a full breakfast. 


The rest of the morning on the upper beat followed the same pattern, with only one rather weak grilse take to keep me on the ball.

Churan downstream - Monday afternoon

After lunch I was on Churan facing straight into a 25 mph wind with gusts up to 30 mph, as evidenced by the waves in the picture all running the wrong way - upstream.  You can also see how quickly the water has cleared despite still being up by 18+".  The challenges with casting weren't with getting the line out - the Loop S1 and DDC line combination has near armour piercing capability - but with moving the rod round into the wind to form the D-loop and then keeping the D behind you (rather than downwind).  To that end the firm water anchor of the Snap T was more controllable and reliable than the Single Spey.  The other problems were that with the lack of fishing this year I was far from casting fit, out of practice and under-confident, whilst a strong wind has the psychological effect of making you over-exert, despite telling yourself the truth that the more you relax the better it will fly.  After 3 1/2 hours and one grilse on the hook for 30 seconds, I'd had enough and succumbed to the lure of a hot bath and a strong drink.  But I was not downhearted: I hadn't expected anything different; there were some fish in the river; and tomorrow would be better.

Tuesday & Wednesday - the horns of a dilemma

After Monday's rapid fall the level steadied at about +8-10".  However, deciding on the right approach was tricky.  On one hand the water was crystal clear, suggesting small flies fished shallow, and on the other, still a distinctly chilly 45F/7C, suggesting larger, deeper and slower.  This awkward dilemma occurs frequently in spate rivers that clear quickly like the Findhorn.  The difficulty in resolving it one way or the other was that although fresh estuary fish started to appear on Wednesday morning, they weren't present in sufficient numbers to provide a reliable indication of what worked and why.

We also need to understand that water clarity depends on your point of view.  We'd all agree that this water is clear when viewed from directly above.  However, when we move out into the stream, go down 18" and look sideways to replicate the salmon's view, things are rather different.

This is the same pool in overcast conditions around 3 pm, looking horizontally.  The dark area is Window 1 (explanation of terms), with the reflective Window 2 occupying the top third of the frame.  The boundary with Window 3 is at the very top of the frame.  I've corrected the tone to suit the human eye, but the visible range in Window 1 doesn't change: even quite large rocks cannot be discerned clearly beyond 6'/2m.  The low light level of an overcast September day at a high latitude explains the lack of brightness and clarity of Window 2.  

It also suggests that the salmon will see your fly more easily over a larger area when the sun comes out from behind the clouds.  Here is almost the same view taken 4 minutes later with the sun out, but not hue corrected for the human eye.  The camera is looking slightly more upwards and you can see the bright clarity of Window 3 with foam floating on the surface.

Coybrough Croys downstream

There is of course another way when nothing else works - exploiting Murphy's Law to induce a take.  Here you see me wading down the Corybrough run with the rod tucked under my right arm arm; the camera in my left hand; and the wading stick in the left, about to negotiate the maximum current at the tip of the croy.  This was a sure-fire way of inducing a take - have a look at the rod top at exactly the moment I pressed the shutter!  Thankfully I had attached the camera to my wrist with a lanyard, but the fish only stayed on for 5-10 seconds.

Thursday and Friday - hope fulfilled

Salmon continued to run into the Tomatin water in increasing numbers over Wednesday night despite the level falling to around +8".  Whilst they will usually avoid shallow water in daylight, the security of darkness encourages them to progress, even through minimal runs.  Around 11 am we started to catch, with 4 fish before lunch.  The key was uncertain, but a number of possible factors coincided. The light level increased significantly; a small shower during the night put the level up by 2"; and the water temperature climbed towards 50F/10C.

HMCX - Churan Pool - Thursday

Here the youngest MCX sends a lightly tanned 11 pounder back on its way in time for lunch.  Its colour, strength and condition suggested that it had run directly from the estuary since Sunday.  It took a #10 Ally Shrimp fished slow and shallow in the mid-stream, top centre in the picture.

Purdy prepares to retrieve a fish

The taking resumed in the afternoon.  With help from the family labrador I fluked another nice light tan hen in the end of the fast water at the head of Garden Pool. Fresh and frisky, she laid on a pleasing aerobatic display.

By the end of Thursday we had 7 fish, including a 5 lbs sea trout, the largest taken at Tomatin in recent years.  The most successful rods had used small flies, mostly #10, in a mixture of patterns, with Silver Stoat and Ally Shrimp predominant.  The sea trout had fallen for a #12 Hairy Mary fished just below the surface on a long leader (a deliberate response to seeing it taking flies off the surface).






Friday followed a similar pattern up until lunch, with 4 fish landed.  The water and air temperature were creeping up steadily.   The water level was falling very slowly, but still allowed fish to run into and through the Tomatin beats.  However, around noon the river went completely dead.  No fish were showing, no takes, nothing.  This was a bit desperate because we still needed a cock fish for supper for 16 people: 10 of the 11 fish taken so far had gone back, and we weren't in the business of killing hens.  The one kept was a coloured 16 lbs cock with one entire gill plate missing, presumably ripped off by a seal, which was judged unlikely to survive to spawn.  The pressure was on and we were running out of time before we might face the degrading decision to send the wives to catch one in the Inverness Tesco.

Dalnahoyn upstream Friday noon
showing 2 primary short halt lies and running line

Up in Dalnahoyn Pool the head was deep enough for fish to run through in broad daylight, and it was obvious that they were doing so in numbers.  I needed to confine my efforts to the short halt areas and the run line into the neck in an attempt to ambush a passing cock fish.  There would be fish in the tail pausing after running up from Wade's below, but they would be dispersed over a wider area and required sustained bone-chilling wading to cover all the spots.





Over the past decade all the fish I've caught on this approach line have been cocks, which seem to display a greater propensity for snatching at flies whilst running than their sisters.  In 2012 one even took a weighted tube as it hit the surface.  This tactic required wading out towards the middle of the rapids, casting at a narrow angle and then mending the line to and fro.  A sinking polyleader and short tippet were essential to get the #10 Ally Shrimp down quickly and steady its movement in the turbulent water, otherwise it might churn randomly and be disregarded as debris.

Friday supper - 7.5 lbs

On the second circuit, just before 1pm, a respectable cock fish crashed into the fly on the run line beside the upstream short halt.  After an unusually aerobatic display and a good 6-7 minute fight I led him to a small gravel beach.  After checking his size and gender I despatched him without hesitation, even without the justification of the seal bite out of his rear underside visible in the picture.  He was very slim with about 10-15% body mass depreciation.

Saturday - A quiet finish

Coaching in ambush tactics
Dalnahoyn - Saturday afternoon

As I've previously noted this was almost certainly my last week at Tomatin, so after 12 visits the last day had a particular poignancy.  As a result I was keen to catch a memorial fish but failed.  In a final note of pathos I missed a take on my last cast of the day: I'm not clear as to the symbolic significance, but I handed the beat over to my son without further delay.

After a long day's fishing the other rods had added 3 more to the score to total 15 (13 salmon, 2 sea trout).

Tomatin 2013 - Reflections

Despite the challenging conditions, very cold water and the lack of fish on the first 3 days, we reached a bag close to our 10 year average.  Within that each rod, including me, finished somewhere near their personal average.  We'd been very lucky to get at least some rain and just enough water to start pulling fish up from the estuary.  In that respect we had fared better than several other east coast rivers - back at home the Ure still has no water whatsoever.

The dilemma posed by cold, clear water is not unusual and requires careful thought to resolve.  As a general rule, smaller and slower is best, but you have to be persistent if the density of fish is low.  It is not contradictory to use a sink tip with a small fly: it helps to get it down through turbulence and steady its movement.  I find that the 5' slow sinker is a useful compromise.  The trick is in choosing the right one and being ready to change it as you progress down the pool.

The honours were roughly equal between orange shrimps and black stoats.  We generally agreed that it didn't make a lot of difference: if you put it in the right place and the fish was minded to take, that was it.  Two of the 3 fish taken on Saturday fell to small Blue Charms: while you could speculate on clearer water, more sunlight and rising water temperature (52F/12.5C), there wasn't enough evidence to draw firm conclusions.  Indeed, there rarely is in this game.

Having recorded and plotted air and water temperatures, meteorological conditions, water level and relative clarity 3 times daily, only 2 potential trigger factors appeared to stand out.  First, the small hikes in water level shown in the graphic above; and second, sunny intervals that allowed fish to see flies over greater distances, hence bringing more of them into play.

The punishing wind that featured on the first 3 days, and occasionally reappeared on Friday and Saturday, underlined a critical point.  If you don't have a reasonable repertoire of 3-4 Spey casts capable of responding to any wind direction your are at a real disadvantage.  The better casters covered more water and more fish, and thereby caught more.  Three out of 4 in that category had previously undergone professional instruction.  QED: take lessons (in casting, not Latin).

As always it was great fun, beautifully organised and managed by John and Gilly in a wonderful location.  It's not just about fishing, it never has been.  It's the banter, company and transport into another world in beautiful surroundings shared with like-minded people that adds the magic to the fishing.

D-7 - Divine Madness

The Vanishing Rain of Inverness

It's awful.  From this screenshot of the BBC website you will see that everything I predicted in the last post has happened exactly as forecast.  The rain has both postponed itself and reduced its intensity and duration.  If it does fall the parched earth will soak it up in an instant, leaving the Findhorn resolutely unmoved.  I can't even cling to false hope for the Week (starts on the 16th), because the barometric pressure is heading off the scale.  At 1020 millibars the 2 salmon at Tomatin will need to stick their heads out of the water to relieve the pressure, and I haven't got any flies that operate in mid-air.

It's getting worse.  The Fishpal Findhorn page reported the first 100% blank week in living memory, and this week's party at Drynachan reportedly abandoned on Wednesday.

Photo courtesy of the Daily Mail

And worse: the poor salmon are stuck outside the estuary waiting to run and every predator in the universe knows where to be each September.  Here's Danny the Bottle-Nose Dolphin having fun with a nice 16 pounder.  Of course there's no scientific proof that dolphins eat salmon.  It's probably only a coincidence that each April 260 of them take up residence in the Cromarty Firth off the estuaries of 10 major salmon rivers, where they remain until November.  If they do eat salmon, they need 2 good fish per day to meet their protein requirements.

Photo courtesy of Natural Scotland

Then there's Sammy the Grey Seal, but there's no proof that he eats salmon either. On the other hand, the largest grey seal colonies in the UK, which have grown by 20% in the past decade, are all coincidentally adjacent to the estuaries of the major salmon rivers.  It can only be a further coincidence that the arrival of Sammy's relatives in the Humber was contemporaneous with the return of salmon to the Ouse system.  If Sammy does eat salmon he needs about 15-20 pounds daily.


There's no proof in the UK, but the US fishery authorities are generally more robust.  Some years ago they decided to do something about the seal that had taken up residence at the bottom of a fish pass in a salmon river's estuary in Washington State and thus was heading towards gross obesity.  They couldn't shoot Sam as he had gained a degree of local celebrity, so they caught him, tagged him and transported him several hundred miles up the coast to a place thick with herring.  The fact that Fat Sam was back at the fish pass inside a week suggests that he preferred something there to herring. 

However, Danny and Fat Sam are both part of the natural system, so I shall await the arrival of Orca and Jaws the Great White to strike some balance.  But it's probably our fault to some degree.  We've cleared the North Sea of cod and haddock, the herrings are long gone, and the teeming masses of mackerel of my childhood are a distant and fading memory.  Not content with that we (well the Danes) simultaneously attacked the bottom end of the food chain, hoovering up the sand eels and sprats on which all the North Sea's fish depend, and especially salmon smolts in their outward migration, to make fertiliser, cow food and power station fuel.  How mad is that?  On that basis we can't blame Danny and Fat Sam if they've changed their menu, but I do wish they'd pick up the birth control habit and give the salmon fishermen a break from the effects of unremitting climate change.

You can tell from the rant that I haven't been on a river this week and so have nothing really interesting to say, but that's why I called this post Divine Madness.  On a saner note I list some tips for your preparation:

• Don't forget to charge your camera battery and check the SD card.
• Check the laces and studs of your wading boots: if laces are going to snap it will be on the Monday morning, so add them to your John Norris shopping list.  But buy them first because they're down at the wife's end of the shop.
• Carry on making your list for flies, polyleaders (well there may be some water and you should ditch all those you used last year), leaders and tippet material.  I like Seaguar Fluorocarbon for its clarity, abrasion resistance and flexibility, but I know there's plenty of contrary opinion on fluorocarbon.
• Add some knot glue to the list.  I use Loon Knot Sense but normal Super-Glue products work fine. Long ago I lost a huge trout when the knot failed.  I've glued knots since and haven't lost a fish to knot failure.  The salmon of my life straightened out both sides of a #8 double, but the knots didn't fail.
• Have you got some Aquasure for emergency wader repairs?
• Have you checked the weight of the gas bottle on your life preserver, and do you have a spare?
• And remember there are lots of other things that you're responsible for packing into the car.  This may include all her boots, socks, wet weather kit, gilets, jackets, hats, gloves, which by their nature are viewed as being on your side of the business.

There's only one more post before departure, so keep the rain dance going and here's to tight lines.

D -14 The Countdown

Our annual trip to Tomatin is now just a fortnight away and the anticipation level is rising rapidly.  It's especially high this year because in the absence of fishing water I've only been out on the Ure once since May (to do the Loop Cross S1 and DDC evaluations); and poignantly, this may be our last year at Tomatin House.  'Just One Week' may have to be re-titled 'No Week Whatever', which will be very sad.  We've had lots of fun over the past 12 seasons, interspersed with all the effects of the total unpredictability of both weather and salmon.  We may go elsewhere next year, but at this stage we don't know when or where;  team leader John with Patrick in support has been doing a reconnaissance on the Deveron this week, but his Wednesday report recorded an even lower level of water than Yorkshire.

It is of course entirely typical and a manifestation of Murphy's Laws of Fishing Meteorology that one's anticipation and the river level move in exactly opposite directions.  The harder you wish for rain and the more often you consult the BBC forecast web-page, the less likely it becomes.  Over the years I've noticed a strange phenomenon - the Vanishing Rain of Inverness.  On Friday, when I started writing this post, the forecast said that there would be some rain from next Tuesday onwards.  However, based on 12 years' experience, I confidently forecast that by Saturday it would have slipped to Wednesday (it did), and when we reach Tuesday the rain symbols will have migrated to next Saturday.  It's always 4 or 5 days away, but it never actually appears.  How do millions of tons of spare water hanging in the sky just disappear?  Can evaporation happen twice, and if so, what does the water become then?

When I did geography at school nearly 60 years ago, the big lump of air over the eastern Atlantic in summer was called the Azores High for the simple reason that's where it was, most of the time.  When it wasn't, for example when the French blew it to pieces testing nuclear bombs in the Sahara in the late 50s, we had wet summers as well as amazing sunsets.  Now, for the past 12 years of salmon fishing it's spent most Septembers in the big gap between Ireland and Newfoundland, as far distant from the Azores as London.  If it gets any further north and west it will have to learn Danish in order to relate to the locals who will re-name it the Greenland High, something they've only previously achieved by eating fish fermented in buried barrels and washed down with Skidoo fuel additive.  I wrote that bit in the hope that the insulted Greenlanders will send it back where it belongs - venligst: vi vill vaere meget taknemmelige og sende dig mange billeder af laks.

In a vain attempt to console myself I also look at the Fort Augustus forecast covering the area to the west of the Monadhliath catchment that supplies the Findhorn, but that usually makes the condition worse.  "How can it be?" I rant to the dog, "that somewhere a mere handful of miles from Fort William, the wettest place on the planet this side of the Congo Basin, gets less summer rain than Hull, which has Manchester to draw the incoming fire?"  Or more correctly water, but you'll get my meaning, even if my wife doesn't.  This is the worst time of year for her, when I'm preoccupied and thus more than ordinarily deaf, domestically useless and snore more loudly.  In that respect I failed to give you this advice in Walking to the Water: you can't practice a Single Spey in your sleep lying on your side; only on your back can you freely swing both arms to form the D loop whilst minimising the divorce risks of the forward cast that unfailingly delivers a perfect V loop - if only.

When fully awake I can inflict serious domestic damage.  Checking and servicing reels must be done in the kitchen.  It's got big, hard, oil-proof work surfaces and bright overhead lighting. However, Murphy's Domestic Law dictates that your timing will be infallibly wrong, and the reel servicing will always coincide with an essential requirement for pastry rolling and activities involving lots of flour.  There are some serious risks here.  Vital parts of your reels, especially the legendary Vision Koma flying circlip, will end up in the bread and subsequently require at best embarrassing and difficult recovery, or at worst an expensive visit to the dentist. On the other hand, self-raising flour is a useless reel lubricant.

Wishing to avoid domestic discord I head outdoors to complete an essential part of the preparation ritual, servicing the lines.  This is best done on a dry, warm, bright sunny day, after you've cut the grass.  We've had plenty of those recently.  The 5 step process comprises:

1. Unspooling and easing.  Good modern fly lines have a marked resistance to 'memory' or holding the shape of the spool.  All you have to do is unspool the line and lay it out on the grass in the sunshine to ease for about 15-20 minutes whilst you're setting up for the washing.  Don't pull or stretch the line to take out bends and minor kinks.  It will only spring back, so it's a complete waste of effort.  Let the warmth do your work.
   
   
2. Washing.  Fill a bucket or spare washing-up bowl with lukewarm water and
   
   add a small squirt of detergent.  Hotter is definitely not better.  A small flat sponge is easier than a cloth, but it must be clean.  Fold the sponge over the line, submerge in the water and then pull the line through with the other hand.  When you reach the backing, reverse the process.
   
   
   
   
3. Drying.  Using an old towel remove the excess water from the line by pulling it first one way, then the other, before leaving it on the grass to dry for 10 minutes.
   
   
4. Lubricating.  Fold a piece of porous kitchen paper to about playing card size.  Apply a
   
   blob of line lubricant about the size of a pea (I'm currently using Loon Line Speed, which seems to work well) at the mid-point and spread it by folding the paper over.  Pull the line to and fro through the folded paper, topping up the lubricant about half way through if the paper has dried out. Don't use too much: you'll only wind up taking it off as excess in the next stage, or throwing it away with the paper. Leave the line to dry for 10 minutes.
   
   
   
5. Polishing.  Pull the line briskly to and fro through a clean, dry non-linting cloth to polish the surface.  Complete the action by winding the line back onto the reel through the cloth.

At every stage stay alert for any signs of damage to the line such as abrasion. Cracking was the bane of the early PVC lines, but my 13 year old Series 1 Windcutter currently remains crack free.  All PVC lines benefit from lubrication at least annually, or more frequently if you're doing a lot of fishing.  They last longer if you store your reels in a warm, dry and dark place.  In that respect an unheated garage is a bad solution - mine went as low as -20 for 2 weeks a few years ago, which played havoc with all sorts of plastic items.

The process of stripping the line off the reel will confirm the adequacy of last winter's pre-storage service.  If everything is running smoothly just remove the spool and have a look to ensure that there's no debris, muck or flour in the frame.  If it isn't, then it's back to the kitchen for a full strip and service: hoping everything will be OK is not a good maintenance regime.

The other useful activity to start at D-14 is the development of the honest shopping list of what you really need.  The Spice Girls' question ("tell me what you want, what you really, really want") is a real fun-killer but certainly protects one's wallet.  In common with most English anglers heading to Scotland, my route to Tomatin is via John Norris in Penrith.  If you enter his shop without a disciplined list you are vulnerable to fancy, temptation, poverty and worst of all, large numbers of flies that you will never use.  I suspect that over the years Mr Norris has done very well out of those human weaknesses, and his beautiful shop is carefully arranged to enhance their effects.  To minimise restraint he has cunningly placed everything that most interests my wife at the furthest point away from the fly selection. There is no line of sight through the displays.  When she inevitably arrives at the till area before me (unknown elsewhere), all the items in the vicinity are either low price or on deeply discounted special offers, which no doubt is intended to create the impression of universally modest economy. The truth is that Mr Norris, whose experienced staff always pack the densely opaque carrier bag with the lowest price items on the top, is in league with the angler - he wants you to survive to return next year!

One tip for the older angler based on my experience: don't buy flies on the basis of cloudy memory of what you think is in your boxes.  Go, look, count, write down the result and put the piece of paper into your wallet. Then at least you'll be able to find it, provided you haven't left your wallet at home along with your left wading boot and whatever else.  On that note I'll leave you to your dreams until D-7; or if you're there on a river already, tight lines and I hope the clocks stop for you whilst it rains.