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.

Seven Deadly Sins - Common Novice Error 7

We've reached the end of our penitential journey.  For those readers who have stayed the course over the past 2 months, I commend your patience and thank you for your loyalty.  I'm especially grateful for all the helpful and encouraging comments you made along the way.

Although this series has been all about sin, it's not a sermon delivered from a lofty pulpit of personal rectitude.  Along the winding path of my own learning journey I've committed all of them all too often.  Indeed, I still do, so I can't be judgemental - we're all human.  But in the early days, when your head is full of thoughts jumbled by the need to remember so much, a few simple inexpert things are more useful than a torrent of detailed expert advice.

The final sin is burnt into the very heart of this blog.  Although I may express my views clearly and firmly, I never claim that mine is the only way, still less the only right way.  My purpose is not to tell you what to do, but rather to stimulate you to think about what you are doing, why and how.  Dogma and salmon fishing are wholly incompatible, because every day, every river, every pool, every run, every lie and every fish are different, and the relationships between them change by the minute.  It's all about applying our minds to the mystery of salmon, knowing that we shall never fully understand, which makes this sport so uniquely rewarding.

The Ultimate Sin - Not Thinking

We may be a little daft, but none of us are stupid.  If we were we would not have earned enough money to go salmon fishing.  We all have the potential to become good salmon anglers because we have the necessary capacity to reason, act accordingly and convert our experience into knowledge.  The physical elements of fishing - especially the casting that so preoccupies us - will come with instruction and intelligent practise.  But it is the quality of our thinking that will determine the speed of our development from novice to angler.

The Initial Maelstrom

I remember the first time I arrived on the Findhorn at Tomatin in 2002, clutching an old 2-handed rod inherited from my late father, without the first clue of what to do.  Preparation?  Absolutely nil: I hadn't even bought Hugh Falkus' book at this stage.  Spey casting?  You jest: the wonderful Michael Evans casting DVD appeared in my stocking the following Christmas.  Fly selection?  A roast chicken would have been a better choice than my stabs in the dark.  My head was both whirling and completely empty.  Any ideas that emerged were no more than wild guesses.  I was an experienced but foolish trout fisherman who had blithely assumed that he could convert from one discipline to the other by serendipity on the basis that the salmon was just a very big sort of sea trout.

My experienced and ever-helpful host humoured my silliness and did his best.  Other experts tried but only served to increase my confusion in a welter of jargon.  The harder I tried, the worse it got, with the complete absence of water accelerating my decline.  What I really needed was a simple minimum list of mental anchors as a starting point for thought.  And of course a stern "Calm Down Dear" from either the late Michael Winner or the Prime Minister.

Now perhaps you may understand why some experts view Just One Week as awfully simplistic: it reflects what I required when I started.  Walking to the Water is the anchor-set I craved then, and I still use it today.

The Early Experience Trap - 'The Favourite Fly Syndrome'

Finally, in my third week at Tomatin in 2005, I caught my first Scottish salmon.  Small, stale and nearly black maybe, but it was so welcome I could have kissed it.  Then I got another, which was even darker and truly ugly, but a salmon for all that.  At last I'd found something that worked - a small black Stoat's Tail - which in view of the desperate relief involved, caused short term experience to trump thought completely.  That was a sin, because every year is unique: the Magic Stoat didn't work in 2006.




River Findhorn - weekly average height (L) & daily variation (R)
Shenachie gauge, data courtesy of SEPA Dingwall office

To make the point, this graph shows the year to year variations of water level and its rate of change each day over my first 10 years at Tomatin.  The drought years of 2002, 3, 5 & 9 are clearly visible.  The best fishing years of 2004, 7 & 11 are circled in yellow (I missed 2004 celebrating our silver wedding elsewhere).  It shows why the Magic Stoat didn't work in 2006. 



Indeed, this graph has marvellous powers of hindsight.

• In 2006 medium-sized Ally Shrimps caught fish, including my first forays into double figure weights.
• But bigger Shrimps and Cascades worked better in the slightly higher water of 2007, which brought me 7 fish in the week.  The rods who stuck to their established favourites did less well.
• 2008 was almost identical to 2006, but there were precious few fish in the river.
• In 2010 I was caught flat-footed by the water conditions.  My limited experience had not included high strong water.  There were plenty of fish, but only one rod was catching.  My standard approach of a bigger Shrimp or Cascade just didn't work, because I wasn't deep enough.  I'd caught a couple of fish, but I knew I should have done better in such good conditions. 
  
  Subsequent reflection on the relationship between fly size and water level shown in the graphic led me to develop the 'Thinking Toolkit'.  In turn I expanded my armoury to include tubes and sink tips to cover all water heights; and bought a Skagit line to throw the heaviest tackle into the wind.  I was learning and above all, learning how to think systematically.
• In 2011 the water was at the same ideal height, but as you can see from the lower deviation, the level was much more consistent.  This was pure tube conditions for all but one day: otherwise the decision was on the speed of sink tip required.  The rods who stuck grimly to floating lines, plain leaders and conventional flies caught few fish (the lesson of 2007 repeating itself).  During 2011, on a variety of rivers, I caught salmon on every type of fly in my boxes from a tiny #16 Blue Charm to a 1.5" copper tube Cascade.
• 2012 - not shown on the graph - saw the water at perfect height but freezing cold, another variable that called for different flies and approaches.

The conclusion here is that your experience should inform and guide your thinking, but not dictate it.  By all means have a favourite fly for a given set of conditions, but be prepared to wait a long time for them to repeat!

Latter Days - Hubris and Nemesis

 

Twelve years on and I've gained confidence and even more equipment.  I catch my fair share of fish.  Some people even seek my advice.  But the truth is that the salmon generally win in the contest of chance between man and fish.  No matter how much I think, it's still a fluke when it happens.

There are still moments when I fail to think.  Either because I'm thinking of something else (I'm sure the two weddings last year caused me to catch fewer salmon than in previous seasons, but the joy and delight of both occasions exceeded a lifetime of fishing) or on account of my age the brain kicked into neutral.  Then I wake with a jolt to realise that I've just wasted a premium stretch of water fishing the wrong fly the wrong way.  I can never have the time and the water again: both have flowed relentlessly away.

And sometimes I think that I think too much - my wife and friends would all agree on that.  It may be a fluke, but I convince myself that with a little more thought I can tilt the odds a fraction more my way.  For me at least I find the thinking adds greatly to my enjoyment whilst stretching it out into the close season.  Many people will rightly consider my crunching SEPA's data sets with Excel macros as exceptionally sad, pitiable behaviour.  But for me, each coincidence of water and time on the screen brings back a stream of happy memories to be added to all the others.

The biggest risk is nemesis.  If you write a blog to get people to think more about their salmon fishing, then the Greek gods will surely revenge my human presumption by causing my catch to return to 2002 levels, without the pleasures of being ravished by Diana on the river bank or skewered by Neptune's trident whilst wading.  But on the other hand, pushing your luck isn't a sin hereabouts, so whatever else you do, please think!

Absolution

If you've loyally followed this series and you consider that by virtue of committing all 7 Deadly Sins you merit either execution (painless, instant and sub-contracted to the Inquisition) or the prize of a day's fishing with me on the Ure in Yorkshire (long and painful), please contact me via the Comment tag or the e-mail address at the top of the page.

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.