Seven Deadly Sins - Common Novice Error 6

Being Surprised

Hugh Falkus' contention that catching a salmon is a complete fluke implies a degree of surprise.  While being surprised can sometimes be nice, much more often it is associated with things going wrong and sometimes getting worse thereafter.  Owing to its 350 year history of taking nasty shocks from Americans, Afghans, Afridis and Ashantis, via Germans to Zulus, and a long and close acquaintance with Murphy's Laws, the British Army takes surprise seriously.  It has a saying that is equally apposite in salmon fishing as warfare:

"By all means be amazed, but never, ever be surprised"

 When you're suddenly faced with the unexpected, emulating a headless chicken is a sure-fire way of losing battles and salmon.  Of course we shouldn't be surprised by a salmon taking a fly, because that's what we set out to achieve, but we still get truly surprised and all too often lose the fish thereby.  It's an awful shame to go through all the effort, frustration and cost of trying to catch a salmon, only to blow the opportunity in a blinding sandstorm of mental chaos induced by surprise.  Catching a salmon may be a rare and unlikely event, but it helps to be practically and mentally prepared.

Murphy's Laws and Salmon

It's clear that in between studying the nature of warfare and military matters, Murphy had an alternative existence as a salmon, in particular because:

• If it can go wrong, it will.  When a salmon takes all bets are off.  The infallible reel will seize up; the recessed handle will snag; and a knot will appear in the super-smooth line.  If your wife is watching, the probability doubles, but at least the camera won't work.
• It will go wrong at the worst possible time and place.  Forget all this nonsense about 'induced takes' because there's only one certain way of inducing a take, and its nothing to do with wiggling the fly.  Tuck your rod under your weaker arm; take your cigarettes/cigars/pipe/chocolate bar/mobile phone out of your inside pocket; and one or more will fall into the water.  During the crazed scramble to recover, the chances of a take increase 100-fold.  If you can find somewhere especially dangerous to do it - wading down a ledge on the North Tyne - you gain an extra 10-fold  bonus.  An old friend of my father's used to demonstrate this skill with infallible repetition of incompetence on their annual trip to the Tweed, with a dividend never less than 17 lbs in weight.  In fact, the late Jack Thomas was so shambolic that it was impossible to surprise him.  He could thus ruthlessly exploit Murphy's Laws to his profit via pipe, lighter, hip-flask (large and frequent), spectacles and false teeth - deployed individually and often severally.
• When everything seems to be OK, it's about to go wrong.  In other words, even if you're prepared, look out, and never get complacent.  I witnessed a highly experienced angler closely focused on a nice fish showing on the far side of a pool on a lovely summer's evening, doing a complete base-over-apex in 12" of still water, during which his £400 Simms Goretex waders found the only sharp stone in the River Ure to secure a return trip to Diver Dave Wader Repairs in Aberdeen (an address worth saving - he's superb).
• When several things can go wrong, generally the most inconvenient and expensive happens.  Wading on the freezing Tweed in March I slipped and fell in 18" of water (yes, me too).  In the ensuing chaos the loose line found my forceps with unerring accuracy and inflicted hara-kiri.  Fortunately the line could not run away as it was frozen solidly in the rings, so saving a £3 fly was some consolation for writing off a £70 Windcutter, which, needless to say, is no longer made and thus irreplaceable.
• Murphy's Law of Thermodynamics states that things always get worse under pressure.  When you're a novice, that's called hooking a salmon.  The first is the worst.  Having got up most unusually early (see Morning Glory), my youngest son, fishing on his own, hooked his first very large fish.  Having no net with him (and no plan for the eventuality) he tried to beach it up a 45 degree grass bank.  Amazingly he got it up; unsurprisingly it didn't stay there.

Be Prepared - Physically

Frodle Dub, Bolton Water, River Ure
Viewed from High Thoresby Bank
Spring fishing 2013

Unless you are a graduate of the Jack Thomas School it pays to be prepared and organised.  At my age the climb in waders back up from Frodle Dub to the car parked 250 feet above at High Thorseby is a major incentive for good personal organisation and double checking everything before setting off (to compensate for failing memory).  It is, however, one of the best views in the world on the way back.








It helps to keep things simple and have a consistent stowage scheme for your jacket, box and car.  I pack my wading jacket at the start of the season and do not change or empty it until the end.  There's a place for everything and everything's in its place: the contents of each pocket are unchanging.  Tips and leaders inside right; camera, phone and tape measure inside left; flies outside right; tubes, priest and chocolate outside left. The car keys go in the waterproof wader pocket because RF door openers are not submersible and there's not much worse than being stuck outside your car in the snow after falling in.  Anal perhaps; reliable certainly.

I don't wish to appear pompous or conceited, but I am amazed by how shambolic my otherwise intelligent, successful professional friends can be.  If they organised their businesses as badly as their fishing gear, they'd have starved long ago.  When you've hooked a salmon it's a bit late to discover that the drag on your reel is solid for want of maintenance after the last season.  I've watched two of our Tomatin party losing fish this way.  My carpenter/plumber/electrician friends are a complete contrast: a lifetime apprenticeship of needing to be able to find the right tool first time and keeping it working has embedded a natural mental organisation.  Of course there are exceptions: G keeps so much salmon gear in his van he can never get to the plumbing stuff.

Be Prepared - Mentally

You have to believe that you can and might hook a salmon.  Given that triumph of hope over experience it helps to think through what you're going to do when it happens.  In Walking to the Water I described a thought process for planning how to fish a pool.  If you wish to avoid surprise then you should make an outline plan for hooking, playing and landing any fish that succumbs to your efforts, which you update continuously as you progress down the pool.  Of course you need to concentrate on fishing, but equally you must maintain awareness of your surroundings (not least for your own safety).

It begins with a series of questions, starting at the far end of the operation and working backwards:

Where are the best places to land the fish?  

A small gravel beach between the rocks

You're looking for a gently shelving beach of gravel or pebbles where you can run the fish aground in shallow water and get behind it without risk to get hold of the tail to gain control.  Don't try a steep grass bank or a ledge against 6' of water, or rely on the dog.  When you get to the right place, don't try bringing the fish towards your feet: the rod will merely bend more as you raise the tip.  Once you've got the salmon's head up and pointing towards your beach, hold the rod steady at about 45 degrees, and if the terrain permits,  move back a couple of brisk paces 'surfing' the fish onto the shore.

Dalnahoyn Pool, Tomatin House
Leading the fish to the small gravel beach
Note the concentration on safe movement

You may have to move the fish some distance to the landing point.  Don't worry and don't rush.  You can make your way there gradually during the fight, provided the bank allows easy safe movement.  If not, don't take the risk, because Murphy will ensure that either the fight or the movement ends badly.  I learnt the hard way at Tomatin, falling into a small drain concealed in the grass: the fish took advantage of my misfortune.  If you can't fight and move, play the fish out first, then 'lead' it slowly and steadily to the landing point, whilst concentrating on traversing the bank safely.  You can lead a played out fish a long way if you maintain firm tension and smooth jerk-free progress.

Where are the best places to play the fish?  

Once you've gained some semblance of control you need to get first into shallower water and then onto dry land.  If it's practical, getting up onto the bank gives you 3 advantages: the first is speed of lateral movement - you can travel much faster in pursuit of a big fish on grass than on pebbles in 2' of water; second, you gain a helpful extra dimension in wearing the fish down; and third, the salmon cannot swim between your legs.  But do avoid trees and bushes, because you will always wind up on the opposite side to the fish.

If I hook a fish now, how do I get to the bank? 

As I wade down a pool I ask the same question at regular intervals:  "If the river starts to rise sharply; or I hook a fish; or something goes wrong, what will I do?".   If the wading is especially difficult you may have to fight the fish from where you are until you've worn it down enough to allow you to concentrate on your movement rather than the fish.  But in all cases you need an exit plan, which in 99% of cases will involve mostly downstream movement, because the point 10 yards upstream is non-viable in any sort of current.  Get to know and always be aware of the bottom topography between you and the bank.  For example, getting off the wading line in Dalnahoyn Pool involves passing through deeper water, and if you're under the bridge, you're better off going a further 30 yards downstream before heading inwards.

Be Prepared - Safety

The worst sort of surprise is when things go seriously wrong, so please:

• Always wade with a stick, remembering that the shallow water is the most dangerous owing to sunlight driving the growth of slippery green stuff.  Trying to move without a stick in waist-deep water with a 20 pounder on the far end is a recipe for swimming lessons.
• Always listen to the water for the change of note that warns of a rapid rise.  At the risk of repeating myself, one day on the Findhorn I caught the change of note.  I left my wading line with the water at calf depth; by the time I reached the bank 2 minutes later it was hip-deep, brown and ugly.
• For that reason, never plug in to an i-pod or MP3 on spate rivers or those with hydro releases.
• Wear a life preserver, and get it serviced every 2 years.
• Just once, practice survival swimming in waders.

Seven Deadly Sins - Common Novice Error 5

When signing off the previous Sin - Error 4 - in late June I cheerfully promised the next post in a week's time.  Like salmon, things didn't work out according to plan.  On reflection I thought you might like a break from sin as I was beginning to sound like the return of the Puritans and the weather was far too nice for unremitting gloom.  On the other hand it was much too nice for salmon fishing, with little or no water and what little there was heading rapidly to 20 degrees and beyond.  So in between work and gardening I wandered off into a little diversion lightened by the beauty of the Carron and the antics of the young at Tomatin (not a full post because work intruded).  And accidents happen.  In my case this involved self-inflicted non-elective surgery by trying to shorten the middle finger of my left hand whilst pruning a lime tree.  Despite the exceptional sharpness of the blade I didn't succeed, but the presence of a large dressing has severely limited my typing: you don't make a lot of sense with words that lack e, r, d & c, or have gained random s, w & f; and having never caught a fish on an eof or a ros I wouldn't wish to mislead or cause you to scour the John Norris catalogue for them.  However, if you're prevented from fishing it's much better when the river's low rather than when it's full of running salmon, which is why I'm writing instead of fishing.

Sin 5 - Forgetting the Fly

"Your cast is not perfect until you present the fly to the fish in the right way"

Henrik Mortensen

Henrik frames the sin perfectly.  When we're starting we focus so much on our casting that we lose sight of its purpose - putting a fly behaving sensibly in front of the salmon.  But that does not happen by accident: it's certainly not achieved by just chucking it out, letting the current fix the wiggly bits and hoping for the best.  We have to engage our brain, look at what's happening and take an active part in making the fly do what we want.  If we don't an alarmingly high proportion  - at least half - of our cast may be completely wasted.  Let me put that in context and grab your attention: you wouldn't be happy if the price of your day's fishing doubled; a 50% cast wastage rate has exactly the same economic effect.

To control the fly's behaviour we need a direct connection between it and us, which requires tension, however light, all the way from our hand, through the rod, line and leader to the fly.  If there's slack in the system things start to go wrong.  First, in the absence of the force provided by the line tension, the fly stops wiggling and in the worst case just hangs inertly with its head pointing skywards.  It has become just another piece of debris in the water for the salmon to disregard.  Second, the fly's direction of travel changes from the optimum (or stops altogether).  And third, you may start catching rock salmon, especially if you are using a heavy fly that will sink even faster when the leader's slack.

You will recall this cast profile from Sin 4.  In its final stage the tip of the line descends almost vertically onto the water.  As a result the leader and fly are not laid out straight.  There will be all manner of loops and curves adding up to as much as 6-8' of slack.  In addition, because the line is not fully extended there will be several more feet of slack.

Let's now put this onto a river with uniform flow across its width and an 80' cast made at 45 degrees.  I've exaggerated the start state (1) representing 10' of slack.  Owing to its greater cross section the line responds more directly to the current: remember that a slack leader always lags.  By (2) the tip of the line has moved 10' laterally and thus taken up most of the slack.  However, at this stage the leader and fly lag leaves the fly pointing downstream at about 45 degrees.  It's only at (3) after half of the swing that the fly is fully effective.

Bearing in mind that our casting is unlikely to improve overnight, how do we minimise the wasted part?

• However much it grieves you to reduce the length of your cast, stripping in most of the slack as soon as possible is the right thing to do.  This straightens the leader and establishes the direct link between you and the fly.  It's a simple choice between losing just 5-10% of your swing or a full 50%.  It's far better to have the fly fishing effectively at a shorter range over a wider arc for a longer time than to preserve your vanity.
• You will see the picture showed the angler keeping the rod pointing straight across the river.  Next time you're fishing, conduct an experiment.  Cast at 45 degrees then follow the swing downstream with your rod tip.  You will feel little if any tension and it will take correspondingly longer for the slack to sort itself out.  Next cast and hold at 45 degrees; and finally cast then move the rod out to 90 degrees.  You will note a progressive increase in tension between the 2 positions; and that the upstream motion of the rod to 90 degrees also takes out a useful 4-5' of slack, which makes your fly almost fully effective at (2).  The experiment tells you several other useful things: first, by traversing the rod downstream you can reduce the fly's speed and motion, which may be appropriate for smaller flies and in fast water; and second, doing the opposite by holding at 90 degrees will accelerate a larger fly and decrease its depth.
• As you complete your cast note where the fly falls onto the water relative to the end of the line.  This will help you to work out how much corrective action - strip and counter-swing - you need to apply.  In particular note whether the fly is up or down-stream, because in general down requires less corrective action than up.
• Whatever else you do, please don't forget the fly because it won't sort itself out without your intervention.  Always watch the far end, work out what the fly is doing and take whatever action is necessary to optimise its presentation - stripping, moving the rod, applying mends up or downstream, or consciously doing nothing.  The last 1-2' of a floating line will often indicate the direction of the leader, but this is not always reliable.  If you can't see, try to visualise what's happening: we all get better at this with experience, and dumbly doing nothing is the worst option.

There's another good reason to have a nice firm connection between you and the fly: a salmon might just take and you will have a better chance of knowing about it.  It's remarkable how little you can feel of the salmon actually taking the fly into its mouth.  The picture of a fish taking a fly is from the well-known Icelandic underwater film that shows several takes.  Despite the angler using a light single handed rod he felt little or nothing until the salmon turned away, even though the fish were quite aggressive.  In sum, you need all the help you can get and slack is a handicap you don't need.

If you do nothing and allow your brain to slip into neutral, then when something happens you will be mightily surprised, which is the basis of the 6th Sin.  If this hot dry spell continues I might yet surprise you with the speed of its production, provided I stay out of the garden.

 

Afternoon Delight - An Alternative Approach to Low Water

I wouldn't want you to think that I was all serious science and no fun: indeed I was young once, but the less said of my sins the better.  Anyway there's half I can't remember and the other half I'm incapable of repeating.

One of the great pleasures of our regular week at Tomatin is the broad mixture of old and young rods and families.  This makes for a lot of fun, especially if the fishing is rather slow.  For the young it offers the opportunity for some noisy partying, which is banished to the kitchen at the far end of the house in order to protect the oldies' sleep. 

In 2009 we arrived to find the river at zero low, where it had been for the previous 8 weeks.  The salmon were all stuck below the falls in the lower river unable to run upstream.  There were almost none in the Tomatin water.  We caught the odd fish by sheer fluke: I confess to a completely blank sheet for the week despite my usual early morning hyper activity.  After a few days realism and despair set in.  We slipped into easy torpor -  a bit of fishing to take in the hoped-for mid-morning peak, a little tennis, golf or tourism and a leisurely lunch in the unaccustomed sunshine - which suited the oldies very nicely.

The young thought otherwise and chose to distract themselves by making a YouTube film.  It's based on the song 'Afternoon Delight' that featured in the cult movie 'Anchorman', and represents their view of an alternative approach to low water.

Calm Reflections - Fishing in Low Water

Lower Garden Pool, Amat, River Carron

It's very pretty and certainly makes a nice photograph, but it's amongst the salmon fisher's worst nightmares.  You're in a companionable party for several days' fishing on a new river; your anticipation is at fever pitch during the 425 mile drive; and then...... 

View from Amat Bothy

....in the charming June light of the Sunday evening you arrive at the bothy to be greeted by this picturesque but unwelcome view.  Enjoying a very strong and less long drink whilst overlooking the scene you start to ponder your response to the conditions. 









The first step is to re-calibrate your hopes and expectations.  There's no way you're going to catch a lot of fish: one would be generous indeed.  In the dry years of 2002, 2003, 2005 and 2009 I caught but three in total, so was in no doubt as to my limitations in difficult conditions.  But there's no point beating yourself up and being miserable in such a beautiful place.  There's more to salmon fishing than quantity.  You're here with friends and it's far better than work.  Nor is there any point in pining for what might be.  You just have to accept nature's course and get on with it as best you can.  The blessing on the Carron in 2011 was the moderate temperature of air and water: it's a long way north - on a level with Oslo - quite high and even in early June there was a distinct chill in the early mornings, so the fish were not boiled into torpidity (as they were on the Findhorn in 02,03 & 05).  In the salmon fishing business any fuel for optimism, however ill-placed, is always a welcome motivating factor.

The next factor to consider was timing.  My experience and data gathered on the Findhorn each September for the previous decade showed that there were well defined peaks of activity and hence taking chances in the early and mid-morning, and a smaller one in the afternoon ('Good Morning Ladies' gives a full explanation).  But this was June in the far north and the sun barely went below the horizon - you could read Trout and Salmon at 11 pm whilst sipping a malt and enjoying the view over the home pool.  The only way to find out was to spend most of the day on the river to find out, albeit taking a chance on a leisurely lunch.  The one constraint on my energy was the local rule of no fishing before 7 am, so I would spend the first hour after rising taking photographs.....whilst watching the water like a hawk.

The first morning I took up station at the top of my allocated beat and watched the pool before me.  The water was low and slow apart from a little tumble at the neck, which was too shallow for fish to run out.  These were small fly and light leader conditions.  About 3 minutes before 7 a nice fish showed in a slow porpoise just off the point in the middle of the shot.  As I moved round and up to the head of the pool it (or another similar) showed again, about 10 metres further up.

Amat 1

Speculating that in the absence of a Starbucks this fish was looking for its morning oxygen boost, I cast no more than 6-8 yards and then did a series of small mends to keep the fly working to and fro in the back edge of the aerated flow.  At 0702 this pleasingly fresh hen of about 9 lbs obliged by taking a #12 Blue Charm.  On a 12' #7 grilse rod she provided good exercise for both of us before driving downstream into the net at speed.  Normally I'd do the unhooking in water, but the small fly was lodged sideways in the back of her tongue requiring careful forceps work. Over the next 20 minutes I watched 2 more fish show the same pattern of behaviour, but caught neither.  Frankly, I was so pleased and relieved, I didn't mind.  Breakfast has rarely tasted better.

The next fish I saw was caught by Patrick in the Long Pool at 1050 - a nice fresh 11 lbs hen that fell to conventional swing tactics and a small Red Frances - which proved to be the last of the day.  Nonetheless the day had made for a happy evening.

A frustrated 20 pounder

The next day was ultra-bright and clear and the water continued to fall.  Again fish showed until 7 and around 11 am, but we failed to connect.  By the third day, my last, it was even lower, brighter and clearer.  My morning allocation was up in the Gorge - not easy water to fish well, especially if you want to get the fly down, owing to the very short range.  I certainly failed, but around 11 I was teased by a variety of large fish having a surge of activity, and giving me the two fins gesture.



That afternoon my allocation was further downstream: mostly shallow and quite heavily treed.  Around 3 pm I saw a fish move: it barely broke the surface before moving back into the shade of an overhanging tree on the far bank.  Careful fieldcraft and a closer peer through the bracken found 2 fish lying close together near the bottom in no more than 3' of water, up against the tree's roots.  The nearer fish was a respectable 8-10 pounder; the far one, half as long again, was probably 20 lbs.  This was an irresistible challenge, but one that would demand stealth, care, novel casting, trout tactics and monstrous good luck.  If I hooked the overhanging branch they'd be gone.  The best angle for the casting was almost square across the gentle flow, but this would reduce the range to about 15-16 yards and hence the weight of line available to form the loop and deliver the turnover.  The dense bracken on the near bank ruled out overhead casting: I would have to get into the water, reducing the range still further.  I would also have to cut the length of the leader from my fair weather norm of about 15' to around 8-9' to keep the fly as low as possible.  With a #16 Blue Charm it had to be 12 lbs fluorocarbon to achieve the presentation, but a serious risk if the larger fish obliged.  It took me nearly 10 minutes to get into the water and complete the excruciatingly slow stalk into position: at my age moving so slowly is something I usually avoid, let alone crouching fit to ring bells.  A couple of experimental casts upstream of the targets confirmed the technique and shape required: present above, drift down, then slow swing and strip at nymph speed, about 2"/sec.

On the 8th cast the smaller fish moved up towards the fly, then sank back.  On the 14th the larger came up and followed it over the top of the other for about 3-4' and then returned.  I had to stop for a break to steady my hands: kneeling on the gravel in shallow water was not comfortable but better than the Quasimodo crouch.  Back to work:  between presentations 15-25 the salmon showed not the least interest, but nor had they spooked, despite some duffs casts.  At 26 the smaller moved again, and the larger at 27.  This was both nerve wracking and fascinating to be able to watch salmon behaviour at point blank range in crystal clear water.  One of my fellow rods stayed awhile to spectate and tease before moving on to tea.

Amat 2

On the 31st presentation the large fish rose towards the fly and started to turn, when the smaller turned inside her, sipped the fly in and on turning back to his left, hooked himself firmly into the grisle on the inside of the right hand scissors (another forceps job requiring spectacles).  We then had an interesting tussle in a confined space involving tree roots, the other fish and some amphibious action over a gravel bar into the water above.  Through all the splashing, crashing and bashing, the large fish remained wholly unmoved.  To avoid disturbing her (silly greedy and presumptuous man) I released her 8 lbs companion into the water above.

The whole operation had taken over an hour from first sighting to release.  My knees and back had solidified.  I went back to the task: somewhere around the 50th presentation the large fish gently drifted back 8-10' into the deeply shaded shelter and disappeared from view.  It was time to stop and make my way back for something stronger than tea.  Although I had not caught what at that time would have been the fish of my life, I'd been outrageously lucky and privileged to catch a respectable fish. 

The big lessons on low clear water I took away were stealth, patience and persistence: I commend them to you.  If you stay out of the line of sight and don't make noise, salmon can be remarkably stolid.  And in this week at least, there was a discernible pattern in fish activity (on one day in June 2012 all 3 of us caught fish almost simultaneously at 1055 am in 3 different pools separated by 1/4 mile).  There are of course lots of other flies and tactics you can apply: Bombers fished dry on the surface; riffle hitched plastic tubes; and high speed Sunrays.  There's nothing to say that any or all of those might, or might not, have been a better choice that week.  I can only describe what I chose to do at the time and which seemed to work reasonably well, but you'll have your own views and preferences.

Of course, you wouldn't expect me to tramp 1/2 mile back to the bothy on the last evening of the holiday without waving my rod on the odd pool along the way.  Not least it would pass the time to get the sun in the right elevation for a drink.  Four pools done, then through the undergrowth and over the round stones to the Curve.  It's a bit like fishing in a bottle: a long narrow neck and dark green all round with trees.  I was tired and not concentrating, allowing the rod to follow the fly round to ease the next cast of the sparse Thunder & Lightning #10.  Bang!  A good cock fish caught me with my mental trousers around my ankles, brain in neutral and the rod pointing straight at him with a classic dangle hooking at the very front of his jaw.  it didn't last long: you can't expect to be lucky all the time, and I'd used a year's worth that afternoon.  You need to know when to stop, but we fishermen never do.

But at its end I'd committed the 6th novice sin - Being Surprised - I'll write about that another time.

Seven Deadly Sins - Common Novice Error 4

Trying too hard

In his long-running and outstanding Spey casting DVD, Michael Evans uses a phrase  - "if you're working hard, you're working too hard".  Simon Gawesworth calls it 'bashing'.  If things aren't going right we tend to apply more effort and energy in the sincere belief that if we work harder, they'll come right in the end.  I suppose it's a a man thing and the product of testosterone and our Anglo-Saxon work ethic: these are good things in many areas, but in salmon fishing excess effort and aggression usually leads to things getting worse, not better.  The salmon are unimpressed by our exertions and cannot be beaten into submission.  They take when they feel like it, not when we've earned it.

Please don't confuse effort and persistence.  We need persistence to overcome the inevitable disappointments and frustrations of salmon fishing.  It took me 4 season to catch my first Scottish fish - small, stale and weedy in the darkness of the last evening of the week in the 4th year.  There were many lonely times when I felt pretty despairing about the whole thing: when contemplating the results of yet another dire cast; when trudging back to the lodge empty handed; when celebrating my friends' successes; and when paying the bills (and justifying them).  But persistence is the foundation of experience, and if nothing else, in those early years I learned that muscular effort was a very poor substitute for sound technique and calm thought.  Low morale is bad enough, but it sinks further and faster when combined with physical exhaustion, aches and pains.  The purpose of this post is to help you avoid that condition.

Casting

This article is not a casting tutorial: the written word is no substitute for properly qualified practical instruction on a river.  I took lessons when I started and I still take them today in order to iron out bad habits and to improve.  However, it's in casting that trying too hard is immediately apparent, happens most often and generates the most frustration.  When casts persistently go wrong, your line is telling you to seek help and coaching.   When they go right it adds huge pleasure to your fishing.

Does your cast look something like this?  The mid-section hits the water too soon; the end-section runs out of steam; and the tip collapses in a heap.  I still do these, and it's usually as a result of trying too hard and applying undue physical effort.  Unfortunately our immediate reaction is to try even harder and to apply more power to the forward cast, which makes things even worse.  Before we do, let's stop for a moment's thought.  Did we feel resistance in the forward stroke or did it feel a bit like punching air with an audible swish as the rod went forward? 

If you felt proper resistance, then you're not far from success, but you must take the excess muscle out of the business.  You tried too hard and carried on applying power until the direction of movement of your rod tip was downwards rather than forwards.  Try the following simple trick, and you may be surprised by the results.  With your upper hand, hold the cork between forefinger and thumb only (if your rod is 15' I'll allow an extra finger).  Now you can't welly it.  Relax, look up and try a couple of casts.  Behold, you'll get 80+% of your maximum range, nice and straight, because the rod has done the work, just as it ought. (With grateful thanks and acknowledgement to Jim Curry who showed me this trick in last year's brush-up session).

If you were punching air, then the rods just wasn't loaded by the weight and resistance of the line.  It's most likely that you were putting too much effort into the back cast and swing, which mucks up the formation of a good D-loop and leads you to break the 180 degree rule.

 Viewed from above it probably looked something like this.  The main weight of the line is not aligned with the direction of the cast: most of it is offset by 45 degrees to the right.  As a result the energy you apply doesn't load the rod: indeed, half of your effort is wasted as it always will be when the line rod and cast are misaligned.  When you start the forward cast the line won't follow the movement of the rod tip towards the target.

By putting too much effort into the first stage of the back cast you throw the line upstream, leaving only about 10% to form the D-loop behind you.  This often happens if the fly is sunk and/or you are using a sink tip.  You give a good heave to get it out and you just keep on heaving.  You're in such a hurry that you cut the corner between back and forward movements, rather the correct circular track to bring the D-loop behind you.  Don't try so hard: just do a nice easy downstream roll cast to bring everything up to the surface and break the water's hold on the line.  Then you can make a nice smooth swing to create a well aligned D-loop.

What you're looking for is more like this.  You can see that the critical heavy section of the line is almost straight behind the cast direction, i.e. at 180 degrees.  All of the forward motion you put into the rod transfers directly to the line.  The job of the lighter bit out to the right is to stick lightly to the water when you start the forward cast, thus creating the tension that loads the rod and bends it to work like a spring.  When you stop your right hand, the rod carries on straightening, throwing the weight of the line straight ahead.

The whole thing of not trying too hard becomes even more important if you are using a modern short-headed line or a shooting head.  Too much muscle or hurry and it flies all over the place - everywhere except into your D-loop.  Just slow down, relax and look up.

Why do I say 'look up'?  When we're trying too hard we tend to lean forward, tense the muscles and look down at the water surface.  This will always make us follow through beyond the stop point by which stage our upper/right hand is following an increasingly steep downwards curve.  Try the forward cast motion using just your right hand, without a rod, and watch the track that it naturally follows past your ear.  Look down and repeat; and then up and repeat.  Any downward motion of the top hand in the forward cast will make the near end of the line hits the water first.  Just like shooting the shot/line goes where we're looking, so if we raise our line of sight our shoulders are further back, and we'll find it easier to hold the stop on the forward cast and project the line in the desired upward trajectory.  This gives it the time in the air to turn over to its full length and straighten before it reaches the water.

Above all, remind yourself that the line you're trying to throw only weighs a couple of ounces, so only apply forces that are proportional to that load, and let the rod do the work. It's simple: your forward cast bends the rod by accelerating the mass of the line; you stop; and then the rod throws the line (not you!).  

If you're getting really frustrated and explosive, take a break: chocolate's wonderfully soothing; avoid coffee (you get even more twitchy); and remember that more than 2 units of booze will start to degrade your timing (or in my case, puts me to sleep).

Contemplation and reflect - antidotes to excess force

Salmon fishing is a rare and often expensive privilege.  As a result we want to have a fly in the water every minute of the day.  However, it's difficult to combine focusing on improving your casting with fishing well.  Instead there is huge value in going off to a quiet stretch, early or late, where no one's watching.  You're not there to fish, but to explore and learn how you, your rod and your line interact with each other.  It's the same lonely solace that golfers endure to get better, but you must learn the basic principles first.  Practice without principles leads to deeply embedded bad habits, whereas practice of principles leads to excellence.  By the way, it's got to be on water because grass just doesn't provide the right type or level of drag.

Because a fly line is not rigid it behaves in ways that don't always make sense to us (I'll spare you the maths).  The Snap T or Circle Spey cast is a case in point.  When we accelerate the top of the rod downstream, downwards and inwards to the bank, why does the tip of the line fly upstream in precisely the opposite direction?  Why can you cast a lot of line off the water with a Double Spey, when even half that amount will kill a Single Spey stone dead?  If getting the line up and moving back can be such a heave in a Single Spey, why does it lift so easily with a Snake Roll?  With your rod and line combination, what is the critical amount of line you need behind you for a Roll cast to go airborne?  

So once you've found your secluded spot, explore and experiment to gain understanding of how and why the line behaves in response to different movements of the rod.  Without the pressure of fishing or spectators you can break your cast down into sections, stop, look and start again.  Above all, you can confirm and embed the basics: you won't be a good Spey caster until you've understood the dynamics and mastered the Roll and the Jump Roll.  And whatever else you may try, don't step into the river with people watching and attempt a Snake Roll unless you've perfected it in lonely isolation.

Fishing

Having got in a bother with the casting we tend to transfer the same excess of force and energy to the fishing.  We speed everything up.  We're so keen to cast again that we strip in too quickly.  We're so busy being busy and cursing ourselves that we don't look at the water and and adjust our angles, actions and tactics.  How many fish do we unknowingly miss as a result?  And worst of all, we commit another sin, forgetting about the fly, which is the subject of next week's sinful post.

Seven Deadly Sins - Common Novice Error 3

Anthropomorphosis - or failing to make the effort to understand salmon

From the outset, let's be clear on one thing: we don't know what salmon think.  I certainly don't know, because none of the fish I've caught have given interviews, written their memoirs or done anything else to help our understanding.  Faced with this void of information we slip unconsciously into the sin of Anthropomorphism  or setting natural behaviour in a human context.  It started with the ancient Greeks, who in the absence of science attributed human forms, behaviours and thoughts to natural phenomena and animals.  Several clever early authors took profitable advantage of this by writing best-selling stories of half-human gods, god-like humans and their travels and travails.  But myth and history aside, this sin is still alive and well on the riverbank, and leads us into all manner of mistaken assumptions on how the salmon behaves that reduce the number of fish we might otherwise catch.

It's not my purpose to make you an expert on salmon behaviour, nor do I make any such claim for myself: I am not a fish biologist.  Consistent with the theme of this blog, the aim of this mid-season low-water article (sorry, but I'd rather be fishing than writing) is not to provide doctrine for adherence, but rather to provide some materials to equip and stimulate you to think more deeply and draw your own conclusions in the avoidance of sin.  I apologise in advance for this post's length, detail and lack of pictures.

A framework for thought

If we do not know what the salmon thinks we can fill some of the void through a simple logical process comprising two stages.  Underlying both is a critical assumption: modern man is the only animal on this planet gifted with free will and knowledge of his own mortality; and the conscience and sense of humour to compensate for that wilfulness and knowledge.

With that human exception, the behaviours of animals are determined by 3 universal forces that are directly aligned to securing the imperative of the survival of their species, known collectively as the '3 Fs' - food, fear and reproduction.  Their actions in responding to those forces are mostly reflexive (otherwise known as System 1 or 'front brain' processes) rather than reason-based.  The individual salmon has limited need for near-term recollection because its reflexes draw on the accumulated experience of a million previous generations printed in the genetic material within its cells (a form of ROM - or 'read-only' memory if you like).  Its default mode is therefore risk averse unless one of the Fs makes an overpowering demand for action.  As an example, while spring fish are generally tentative and quite hesitant runners, those that run closer to spawning time are more driven and determined by hormonal demands.  Only humans actively seek risk (reindeer don't ride motorbikes) and we must not allow that peculiarity to influence our perceptions of fish behaviour because theirs is a frightening world full of hazards and horrid death, even if some threats are long-extinct in the UK, such as bears.

In their turn survival and the 3 Fs have driven the salmon's evolution into the fish we observe today.  The salmon is a very old species (at least 3 million years and probably older) and therefore both highly refined and proven to be very adaptable (salmon survived the Ice Ages).  By looking closely at the salmon's physical characteristics and capabilities we can form a better idea of how its reflexive actions are triggered and hence gain a more informed view of its behaviour.   Most of those characteristics are multi-purpose, mutually reinforcing and complementary - sight, smell, sensitivity to vibration, speed etc - so it would be unwise to draw absolute deductions.  They are also directly linked to genetic programming, so stimuli linked to known information may trigger a full or partial response, whereas the unfamiliar may be disregarded.  The best example I can offer of this phenomenon is the roe deer's reaction to tobacco smoke: the roe has lived with us for long enough (about half a million years) for man's scent to be a powerful flight trigger, but a hundred years of random exposure to cigarette smoke has not yet embedded a hazard signal to be handed on to future generations.  Bearing in mind that we've only been fishing with rod and line for a couple of hundred years, it's therefore likely that most of our activities just don't register on the salmon's threat scale.  Some may even induce curiosity, whilst other seemingly innocuous things will make it run a mile.

In the interests of brevity (and the lack of fishing will make this a longer than normal post) I shall concentrate on the characteristics relevant to the salmon's behaviour in fresh water.  I shall also not be discussing migration, which will be the subject of another post in the close season. 

Smell

Evolution has given the salmon one of the most sensitive noses on the planet, with the capacity to discern at the level of parts per billion.  Put in a familiar context, that equates to detecting and identifying one pub measure of whisky in 25 tons of water.  This amazing nose is connected to the brain via high capacity channels (clearly visible when you section the head), which tells us that a lot of brain capacity is devoted to processing smell information.  While this capability contributes to the final stages of migratory navigation we now know that it is not its predominant purpose (when Norwegian researchers blocked the noses of a sample of salmon, 95% found their way back successfully - see Journal of Fish Biology).  Instead, the salmon's nose provides:

• An acute, 24 hour, long-range early warning system, because fish-eating predators discharge trigger scent chemicals, especially in their excrement.  The salmon can detect both upstream threats in the river (across the range from herons, via otters to bears) and the general area of operations of estuarine threats such as seals and dolphins.  Fish that are physically ruptured by attack also discharge signal chemicals. Lying on or near the flow line will give a salmon the best information more rapidly than in a backwater.  A dollop of heron poop entering a pool will be quickly detected by every fish.  Although its effect on their behaviour is unknown, we may surmise that it will raise their alert levels.
• A means of detecting other salmon upstream and deriving important information from their urinary excretions, including their sex, stress levels and their genetic-family groupings.  They are more likely to be alert and run confidently if the information coming downstream indicates a secure and friendly environment above.   Conversely the lonely springer is afforded no such comfort.  My earlier 'Morning Glory' post recorded the effect of testosterone stimuli on cock behaviours.
• Familial information that is very important to a social schooling fish.  They were born together, migrated to sea together, hunted sand eels together, and the survivors will return together.  Although smolt to salmon survival rates are statistically quite low (around 3.5% - University of Maine 1988 included UK data) this is an average across the population as a whole: some family groups will do better, others worse.  Lying and running with your siblings or relatives reduces stress and increases confidence.  It is therefore possible that fish in a pool will seek out and congregate with any 'relatives' from the same family group or spawning tributary (with small DNA variations) that they detect.  If you take 2 fish from the same lie in quick succession, do they appear similar in most respects?  The research confirms this ability to discern relationships in fine detail, and suggests that it is significant in the final pre-spawning period.  Conversely, mixtures of diverse family groupings may induce competition and friction, especially if a pool is densely populated (either with a lot of fish, or as a confined space in low water).  Eventually the survival imperative will suppress the frictional wastage of energy, give or take the occasional cock fish outburst.
• A means for the exploration of curiosity in relation to the unknown or unfamiliar (worm fishing?).  While there is good evidence that salmon have high aversion to smells that jam or otherwise disrupt their sensory system, I have found none to suggest that minor traces such as human scent on a fly have any effect whatsoever.  Owing to the brevity of our relationship with the salmon, we're firmly in the 'unknown' category.
• Scope for delay and confusion, because the sensitivity covers a very broad spectrum of smells that the salmon must differentiate and classify.  Inevitably any sample of river water will include plenty of scents the salmon has never previously encountered, including tributaries other than the one in which it was born and raised.  It may also include contaminants (simple biological materials more than man-made, but think about road-drain and cow pasture run-offs as a complex and confusing scents) that make the differentiation even more difficult.  In such circumstances the salmon will be cautious and circumspect, taking its time to achieve a clearer idea of what lies ahead.  In other words, it's a fully alert fish in a holding lie, and therefore eminently catchable.

Sound and Vibration

I have deliberately not used the term 'hearing', because as water-borne animals salmon do not 'hear' in the same way as we do in air.  For them vibration, range and direction appear more important than our focus on volume and pitch.  They have auditory sensors in their heads but no external ears because they don't need them: not only does sound travel 4.4 times faster in water than air, but also the energy density is about 800 times greater.  This allows direct transfer of pressure and vibration to the auditory sensors without an intermediate stage.  Because the sound is contained within the body of water the attenuation losses are much lower than air, and so transmission distances are much greater.  However, the downside is that water can be a very noisy environment.  The effects include mechanical interactions such as rapids, falls and waves (and consequent air expulsion); falling rain and surface wind; flow harmonics; animal generated sound (prawns and mackerel are noisy, but whales and dolphins must be deafening); and of course our activities as well (for example, at Tomatin, the vibration of every car passing over the expansion joint on the A9 viaduct is faithfully transmitted into Dalnahoyn pool via the concrete and steel pier foundations).  This gives some insight into why salmon generally don't like to lie in bubbly turbulent water (a sort of Radio GaGa effect of continuous noise).

In addition salmon have acutely sensitive vibration detection arrays in their lateral lines on each flank that deliver vital functions, not all of which are fully understood.  It would take a substantial book to cover the known capabilities, so what follows is massively condensed, with due apologies to the knowledgeable and scientifically minded readers.  However, for most of us the long towed array sonars used in anti-submarine warfare provide a handy analogy.

• The large number of nerve sensors gives exceptional sensitivity to pressure and vibration over extended ranges.  This is the main component of a 360 degree, 24 hour early warning and situational awareness system that provides information on enemies, friends and food. 
• It sensitivity and importance does, however, make extended stays in high vibration turbulent environments uncomfortable physically and mentally (the effect of teenage Radio GaGa on their parents), not least because the salmon will feel vulnerable.
• The length of the lateral line gives a directional capability.  The signal is maximised when it's at 90 degrees to the body and the direction of arrival is easily sensed.  A 24 inch lateral line gives a 12 lbs salmon good discrimination of direction.
• When the salmon is moving incoming signals can be oriented to the direction of travel owing to the connections with the lateral line's navigational and spatial awareness functions.  It therefore works well even when the salmon is moving quickly.

Sight

In the interests of reduced time and volume, if you haven't previously read them, please study my earlier posts, Windows on the World and Here's Looking at You, which cover how the salmon's vision works in the underwater environment.

Water is a poor visual medium and rapidly becomes much worse as soon as the river rises or the angle of elevation of the sun falls below 5-6 degrees.  As a result the salmon is inherently short sighted because it doesn't need to see a long way, even if it could.  Nor does its eyesight give discrimination of fine detail: kestrel levels of capability are superfluous in its world.  Unlike Jack, all the salmon needs to catch a sprat is shape, movement and contrast.  The salmon's colour integration and discrimination is currently unknown, whilst its UV capacity is subject to further research.  On the plus side, the salmon's eyesight is a near 360x360 sphere, and provides its only means for detecting above water threats such as avian predators.

In effect eyesight is the inner ring of a suite of complementary sensors that contribute to the salmon's spatial and situational awareness.  It is highly geared to reflexive action - feeding on fast moving prey species; fleeing from peripherally detected threats (especially above and below and behind); sexual attraction and competition; and of course swimming at speed between obstacles in fast moving water.

However, from the angler's perspective it's the limitations of the salmon's eyesight that are most important, because they contribute to creating the preconditions for a catch.  Unfortunately, when we arrive at a pool, we scan it with superb eyes that are capable of instantaneously focusing on objects from 20 cm to 20 km, adjusting for changing light levels and resolving light and dark objects in the same field (think about the limitations of your camera in that regard).  We confidently predict running lines based on above surface visual clues and fish accordingly.   Because we don't use the other senses we completely disregard the smell and vibration that dominate the salmon's decision making and thereby fail to appreciate how it might act.  We are indeed sinful anthropomorphists!

The salmon's world - an integrated multi-sensor view

So let's don a salmon's character and start again.  As a reminder, the key behavioural determinants are:

• I must survive to breed: I will not take chances or vicarious risks (except when my silly male hormones get the better of me).
• I shall position myself so that I am best protected against predators, can move or hold position with minimum effort and do not handicap the operation of my sensors (excess noise, bubbles and turbulence).
• I'm a social fish and a team player: I'm more confident in company.
• I will heed what my sensor systems tell me: this may take time to process and I think better when I'm sitting still.  After all, my brain is only the size of a broad bean.
• Once I have reasonable confidence I shall go forward to have a look at the next obstacle: if in doubt, I'll wait (unless it's getting late in the year).  If the obstacle is very complicated I'll do it in daylight provided there's enough water to make me feel secure, even if that means a long wait.  If it's simple but shallow I'll wait until the ospreys have gone to bed.

Let's now put that into a narrative for a fish proceeding up a pool, starting immediately after entry and the 'phew, made it' moment.

• Move clear of the noise and vibrations of the fast water behind so I can hear and feel what's around me.  How close is the next obstacle ahead?  Any threat indicators?  Do I need to stop to think?
• Get into the main flow to maximise scent information and stop: what's ahead?  Any threat smells?  Happy salmon? Mother in law?  Confusing smells?  Bushmills or Tomatin?
• Move forward a bit until I can sense the next obstacle quite clearly: big or small?  complex or simple?  New smells?  Bit of confusion here as I'm picking up two different stream taints (ever wondered why 'junction' pools are so productive? Salmon indecision is the angler's friend).
• Move forward a bit more: problem, I'm running out of water depth and flow as this isn't the main stream line.  Drop back and try again further left.
• Move forward again, now closer to the obstacle.  My sensors tell me that it's relatively simple (no roar), but from what my eyes tell me I'm not happy with the water depth in these light conditions.  I'll drop back and wait.

If you can  only see 10 feet and you're building your spatial and situational awareness with long wavelength sensors it all takes time and thought, and often plenty of stops.  Try walking to the pub wearing welding goggles as an experiment (take them off before you get there, otherwise the bar tab will be heroic).  So look at the water again and ask yourself, "given what I now know about how a salmon behaves, where are the obstacles and the running line between them, and where is it likely to stop to gather information, process it and make a decision?" 

Free at last from the sin and purgatory of anthropomorphosis you may even catch more fish. It may all be a fluke, just like dice, but a little mercury and some wax polish can help.  Tight lines.

Seven Deadly Sins - Common Novice Error 2

Far Bank Fixation - or Standing on Fish

As novices our attention is magnetically drawn to the far bank.  The water there unfailingly looks darker, deeper and more promising.  If the far bank is lined with interesting rocks and features, the attraction grows even stronger.  For men, the fact that it's a long way away makes it almost irresistible: why commit just one sin when you can do two?  Or even more?  So off we go, happy sinners, casting to our maximum and beyond, tempted to wade ever deeper to reach the salmon nirvana under the far bank.  But despite our best efforts and the expenditure of enough testosterone to make every hen fish in the river have a hot flush, we don't get so much as a take.  Our failures spur us on to even greater efforts: if we try harder, put on a stranger fly and cast more often, we shall surely succeed.  Sadly, we don't.  Why not?

Here's a good example of a magnetic far bank, the highly productive Garden Pool at Tomatin House.  The main flow runs down the far bank for most of its length, past an array of interesting boulders until it reaches the shade of the wood on the left.  The water under the far bank is deeper, darker and far more attractive than the shallower clearer foreground.  The middle is just plain boring.  For years I assiduously cast my fly to land as close as possible to the attractions on the far side, whilst wading down a line 1/4 to 1/3 of the way across.

Now let's look at the results.

 Here are the locations of 20 salmon taken from this pool during my regular week over the period 2007-11.  Just one, or 5%, was taken close to the far bank, and she was a special case.  Note the 2 fish taken from under the near bank.  The majority were in mid-stream lies on the near edge of the flow.  The upstream group is significant for 2 reasons: first, it is in a triangle of quieter water in which salmon seem to muster before running the fast water at the head; and second, it is on the line that one would wade when casting to the far bank further downstream!  In 2007 I took 2 fish out of this triangle with consecutive casts of less than 15 yards.

Dalnahoyn Pool
Tomatin House

Two other pools at Tomatin - Dalnahoyn (under the A9 road viaduct) and Churan (below the house) - have very magnetic far banks with deep water, strong flow and lots of attractive rocks.  On Dalnahoyn the weighting of take distribution towards the near bank (top side) is more marked than in Garden, even allowing for the smaller sample of 10 fish.  The 2 outliers in the fast water, both cocks, snatched flies on the surface whilst running.  The cluster of 3 fish comprised hens of above average weight for the water holding in a triangle of easier water between the main and subsidiary streams.


Churan is the most popular and heavily fished pool on the Tomatin House water on account of its productivity and easy casting and wading.  The fast water up against the rocks on the far bank is literally bombarded with flies from every angle throughout our week.  The number of fly presentations is so huge that probability should yield more far side fish, but it doesn't.  The proportion of far bank fish to middle and near remains around 5%, within a sample size of over 100 salmon taken by various rods.

None of this says that there are no fish at the far bank, but rather that there are fewer than you imagine; and that they are much harder to catch than the others owing to the difficulty of presenting the fly well.  After all, if the salmon is close to the bank it sees less than half as much of the fly as a fish lying in the mid-stream (which benefits from the full extent of the lateral movement).   Furthermore, that 'half view' largely comprises a fly that is going further away, rather than approaching, crossing and then receding.  Then there is the question of depth: a fly that spends a relatively short time in the target zone is less likely to get down to fish depth before departing.  Putting all those factors together, you probably have less than half the chance of catching a fish lying up against the far bank compared to one in the middle; and let's remember that even for those in the middle the odds are pretty wide. 

Of course, it may be that some fish from the far bank follow the fly some distance before taking it nearer the centre, thereby adding to the size of the middle group.  This is certainly a viable hypothesis, albeit one that is impossible to prove or disprove.  While I have seen cock salmon follow or attack a fly from considerable distances - up to 6 metres in one case - in my experience the energy conserving hens appear to have a smaller radius of action.  Moreover, as most of the fish in both the Garden and Dalnahoyn samples were hens; and the distance from the far bank to the taking clusters was between 8 and 15 metres, it is arguable that the 'follow and take' cohort is probably quite limited.

Conclusion

Succumbing to the magnetic attraction of the far bank will cause you to catch fewer fish whilst wasting time and casting effort.  Where the salmon lie is determined by the running line, not the banks, so spend time working out where it is and the location of the adjacent short halt lies that contain the most alert and catchable fish.  Use the width of the river to get your fly fishing well by the time it passes through the running line.

However........

There are pools where the fish most definitely are along the far bank.  Here is a classic case, Wade's Pool at Tomatin in mid-height water, in perfect conditions, with fish lying along the running line within 3-4 metres of the far side. 

The water in the foreground is much too shallow to hold fish.  You can therefore wade through it to position yourself best to cover the holding lies under the far bank without the risk of treading on otherwise catchable fish.  The trick here is to cast downstream at a much shallower angle than normal, say 20 degrees, and then apply 2-3 upstream mends.  This keeps the fly in the narrow fish-holding channel for as long as possible and thus gives the fish the best chance of seeing and being stimulated to take.  Even so you will be quite close to fish, so wade carefully and don't go too far downstream as the holding area widens as you approach the lower croy.  The important point is that you should choose your casting angle on the basis of what you want the fly to do in terms of placement, motion, speed of traverse and sink rate relative to the fish, and not some set formula.

The next post in this series involves a very long sin - anthropomorphosis - which might come in handy in a pub quiz about 100 years hence.  Until then, tight lines.