Looking Back - 2013 Season

I apologise for the delay in finishing this post.  Work's got in the way (I'm currently in Abu Dhabi), although my wife will suggest that it's the combination of pheasants, visiting Doris the geriatric neighbour in hospital and just a little professional effort.

In retrospect it would be easy to write 2013 off as a very bad season and look ahead to 2014 with the usual optimism that keeps salmon fishermen going.  However, it's not in my nature to allow another year of my lengthy life to pass without hunting for some lessons that might help in the years to come.  Of course, in salmon fishing every season, day, hour, minute and fish is unique, so you have to be very careful not to over-extend.  Descartes is the father of our reasoning methods, but he didn't work underwater and as far as history relates, he wasn't a fisherman either.  This is important with fish, because you can reason all you like, but you just don't know whether your conclusions are correct.  On the other hand the perversity of salmon makes it very difficult to disprove anything, positive or negative.  This suggests Hegel's approach, which appears popular amongst fishermen: start with a hypothesis (choice of fly); subject it to analysis (cast and see what happens); and arrive at synthesis (it didn't work).  However, you can't be sure, because the conclusion might be right, but the salmon generally decline to participate in its proof, because fish, like humans, find Hegel's dialectic process complicated and boring.  The lesson here is simple: don't intellectualise nature.

For that reason I tend to avoid hypotheses for which a series of coincidences or outrageous luck might be the only foundation; and prefer those based on observation or experience.  Of course, even those may be flawed: a recent philosopher, rather fond of recreational substances and blondes, described life as a series of cock-ups connected by coincidence and sex.  The only certain fact is that having followed a different evolutionary branch of existence, salmon don't think like us, so anything I say is likely to be 50% wrong.  The challenge facing you is working out which half of what I write is complete rubbish, even if the fish won't help you to prove it (they're on my side).

Cold Comfort

In early March a generous trout-fishing friend very kindly treated me to a day on the Tweed at Rutherford near Kelso.  This is an exceptionally attractive beat of a breadth that makes my 14' rod a viable option.  I knew the weather would be bleak, so took all my specialist clothing and stayed overnight with friends near Corbridge to break the journey.  Early the next morning the car thermometer read -3C, there was a light dusting of snow and more was coming.  By the time I reached Otterburn there was 6-8 cm lying and I had seen only one car.  Getting to the top of Carter Bar was the easy bit: the descent to Jedburgh on standard tyres was something else.  When I reached Rutherford at the appointed hour the temperature had risen to zero and there were light flurries of sleety snow on the brisk easterly wind.  The river was low and clear but infused with a slight cloudiness (Michael the ghillie ascribed this to road salt run-off: I'll return to that theory in a later post).  Sadly we caught nothing and just before lunch I slipped on a smooth flat rock and fell in about mid-thigh depth water.  In the event very little water entered my waders and I remained warm enough to fish out the day for reasons described below.  So what did I learn from this bleak blank day?

• Modern multi-layer synthetic under-wader clothing is massively superior to its conventional predecessors.  It continues to retain warmth even when wet, so don't wear cotton under your waders.
• Its hydrophobic coating caused the small amount of water that actually got into my waders to run down to my feet, limiting the arctic changing operation to socks alone.  I only had to change them because they were cotton QED.
• The kit I use isn't cheap but it's extremely comfortable in normal fishing and worth its weight in gold in extreme conditions.  Ask Mrs Christmas to develop a relationship with Mr Norris.
• Keep your wader belt and jacket cuffs firmly done up and very little water gets in.  Better still, the buoyant air stays inside.
• You're most likely to fall over in a seemingly easy bit as a result of not concentrating. Focus; always use a stick; and re-stud your wader boots in the close season.
• If you want to fish and use your fingers for everything short of tying complex knots in such extreme conditions, get some thin, skin-fit neoprene gloves.  My normal Snowbee fingerless neoprenes, excellent down to 5C and great value, were well short of the thermal requirement, so I bought a pair of Patagonias.  I haven't tried the Simms specialist gloves, but £50 does cause a certain hesitation In Yorkshire.
• Red wine can be warmed in a microwave and is better than the alternative.
• My Fluorocarbon tippet purchased the previous September failed Michael's shock-snap test (a Tweed ghillie party trick): always start anew even if it means throwing away £5 worth twice a year.

Early Promise

Frodle Dub in sparkling sunshine
16th April 2013

Although the spring was exceptionally chilly (the coldest March since the big freeze of 1962-3, when I took my sledge out on Boxing Day and used it daily until 28th March), the portents were good.  We had plenty of water and salmon started running the Ure in numbers in April, certainly as far as Ripon.  The Ure Salmon Trust's imaging fish counter recorded more than a dozen exceeding 1.2m in length, which equates to about 35lbs/16Kg.  Filled with enthusiasm and optimism I had my first day on the 16th in near perfect conditions, missing a strong fish mid-morning.

Skagit - pretty, no; indispensable, yes.

The problem was the gale straight down the water.  Getting the line out wasn't the problem: getting it back to re-cast was, as you couldn't move the rod against the wind.  Then, during the return swing to form the D-loop, the loop blew straight downstream, rendering the forward stroke ineffective.  This is when a Skagit line comes into its own, combined with an ad hoc cast.  This comprised half of a left handed Snake Roll, which laid the line onto the water at about 45 degrees ahead; a low slow draw to form the D-loop; and up into to the vertical plane for the forward tap.


 In the event I faced identical conditions on my next outing on 13th May.  So what did I draw from the experience?

• You have to be prepared to work in whatever conditions you encounter and adapt your technique and expectations accordingly.  In a strong wind you won't cover the whole water, so don't even try.
• You can only do ad hoc casts if you're well grounded in the basics, so take casting lessons.
• Develop the ability to cast with either hand off both shoulders.
• Even a good spring run is unlikely to amount to more than 10% of the river's annual total, so it's not like fishing in September.  Resign yourself to long, cold days and don't get down if you catch nothing.

The Long Dry Summer

Yorkshire went dry from mid-May to October.  The Findhorn followed suit after a brief lift in early June.  Everywhere the spring fish settled down, switched off and became ever more comatose as the water temperature went up and its oxygen content down.  In the next 4 months I went up to the Ure just once (to do the evaluation of the Loop Cross 14').  Although there were fish in the river only an hour away from the office, I just couldn't bring myself to bother them.  It's a different matter if you've got a beat booked on a nice river and feel duty bound to try, although it was so bad this year that I heard of one person abandoning his week on the Middle Findhorn on the Wednesday.  

Heat-stressed stale fish
that wouldn't go away
Tomatin September 2005

I've posted before on fishing in low water (Reflections) but a prolonged drought is something else.  We've had several drought years in our time at Tomatin - 2002, 2003 (when the water temperatures were off the scale), 2005 & 2009 - in which catching poor brown fish was as unfortunate as it was dispiriting.  The memorable years in Yorkshire were 1976 (when the rain stopped in March), 1995 (when it was so hot I even tried swimming in the North Sea), and of course 2003.  In those conditions I have reservations about fishing, because there is a serious risk that the fish will not go away after the fight, like the one to the left.  I should have left it alone and not cast to it.

The Short Autumn

The rain came on Sunday 15th September as we went up to Tomatin, which meant that most of the little fishing I did this year was concentrated into just one month.  I recorded Tomatin in The Week, and the first two October days on the Ure in Autumn Glory.  I went back to Thoresby for another day on the 30th to make up for lost time and to close the season.  We arrived on the perfect water at 9.30 - remember, when our clocks go back, the salmon's don't - to experience a mad half hour.  My guest Simon took two good fish in Frodle Dub and I missed 3 takes in Flesh Dub downstream.  We thought we were in clover, until about 10.15 when it was like someone had turned a switch: the lights went out and the river went dead.  We didn't touch a fish in the next 6 hours, until Simon hooked and lost a very big fish just before we finished. It happens sometimes and seemingly there's nothing one can do beyond remaining philosophical when some other philosopher is pissing in the river upstream.

So what else did I learn this autumn?

• When the sun is lower in the sky the sub-surface light level can change dramatically, from this.....

 to this.....in 2 minutes, so always keep an eye on the water and be prepared to change your fly and tactics quickly.

• You need to get the fly down within the salmon's radius of action, but it will see a fly slightly above its sight line more readily in difficult light conditions.
• If in doubt, fish smaller and slower.
• Use a slow sink tip with smaller flies as the water clears and falls, especially if you have to get down through turbulence.
• and finally, when you take your waders off for the last time of the season, check carefully for any signs of leaks, and note where the damp patches are located (for when you send them off for servicing in the spring.

 

Packing up for the winter

I'll close with a few broad winter pointers:

• Clean and dry all rods and reels.  Do not put polish or anything else on the joints (they're precision machined to fit exactly).
• Lightly lubricate reel spindles and slacken off the drag.
• Ensure that reels are thoroughly dry internally (allow 3 days, somewhere other than the kitchen) before storing them in a warm, dry and dark place.
• Wash your waders (and wading jacket) with Goretex re-proofer and hang up to dry inside out.  Do not use conventional detergent: it contains ultra-violet enhancers and reflectors to make your shirts look whiter that may make your legs visible for considerable distances underwater.
• Store your waders in a mouse-free zone.
• Throw away all tippet materials, even if unused (that hurts a Yorkshireman).
• Check your fly boxes and cull any flies with bent or damaged hooks.
• Download all the photos from your fishing camera and then back them up to a cloud application (e.g. Google+, MS SkyDrive).
• Start your wish list for your stocking from Father Christmas - read my next post.

Make a note of the high points of your salmon fishing year, and give thanks for the glories of the beautiful places in which we are privileged to pursue this wonderful fish.

Smile, next year should be better.  Note that I don't use 'must', which would be tempting fate.

Autumn Glory - October on the Ure

Flesh Dub, River Ure
17th October 2013

October is often one of the most beautiful months of the year in North Yorkshire.  Of course we get the full variety of English weather across the span from crystal blue skies to snow and everything in between, but that's part of the beauty.  But views like this will always lift your spirits, especially when you know that the pool in front of you is filling up with fish running up from the estuary, and the water conditions are becoming absolutely perfect for fishing.

Flesh Dub
10th October 2013

It's been an unusual year, with the longest dry spell that I can remember since 1976 or before.  We had a good lift in the Ure in mid-May - sadly not big or sustained enough to pull many spring fish all the way up to Thoresby - and then nothing significant for almost 5 months.  By early October I was becoming truly desperate - writing is a poor substitute for fishing - so even a very small lift of 6" was enough to prompt an escape from the office.  In good fishing conditions the rocks in the foreground are completely submerged, but you can't always have the optimum in anything.

Dick Dub
10th October 2013

Undeterred we drove up into Wensleydale and opted to start on Dick Dub at the bottom of the Thoresby beat.  This is a first class holding pool but tricky to fish for several reasons.  First, wading is impossible for much of its length owing to the depth under the near bank.  Second, that depth extends right across the upper half of the pool, which often requires weighted tips and flies to overcome.  Most fish lie between 2/3 and 3/4 of the way across.  Third, the big back-eddy evidenced by the scum-line presents all manner of line management challenges whilst also gathering all the autumn leaves for you to collect with your back-cast.  With vegetation behind you and a swirling wind, Dick Dub is a test of your casting adaptability and invention. 

John with resident hen fish

John opted to start half way down with a conventional floating line set-up and hooked this hen fish shortly after I took the photo above.  Her behaviour and colour indicated that she had been in the river since the summer, so we went for an early netting to get her away as soon as possible.  John fished on into the run below, where he lost another after a brief connection.  Having done my net and photo duties I went up to the top of the pool to work the deep water with a weighted Ally Conehead and sink tip.

Cheerful MCX with Mr Grumpy

It wasn't long before this cock fish took a swipe at the fly before setting off down the pool.  After a brisk fight and some aerobatics in the comparatively rock-free middle I led him down to the beach at the bottom where John was waiting to return the honours.  Many novices are surprised by the distance you can lead an active fish.  Provided you maintain a firm and consistent tension in the line and modest rate of movement down the bank, the fish will come along with you.  This chap came nearly 60 yards to give a much better place for landing, unhooking and releasing than anywhere available on a steep bank with boulders at its foot.  As a result he staged an ill-tempered and speedy departure.

We then made our way up to the top of the beat for a bite of lunch in preparation for fishing Frodle, Flesh and Willow in the afternoon.



It was clearly John's day: he took 2 more fish, including a thumping 22 pounder, whilst all I could manage were a couple of misses.  Sadly I was not in range with the camera for the big one, and remained a distant spectator of his antics on the ledge between the 2 oak trees at the bottom of Frodle Dub.  As I've previously noted, Murphy's Law says that when fighting a fish you will always be on the wrong side of a tree, so John was really tempting fate by working between 2 trees.

A week later we were back on a pre-booked expedition, with part of the team staying overnight at the Bolton Arms at Redmire, and others coming and going between the Thursday and Friday.  The Bolton is an outstandingly good pub, with nice rooms, great food (a truly heroic breakfast), real beer and genuine atmosphere.  Its 5 star rating on Trip Advisor and Booking.com means that lots of people agree with us.  I joined John and Patrick for breakfast on Thursday morning before heading out full of food and optimism.

Flesh Dub at +24"
1015 am 17th October 2013

The river was well up but falling and clearing nicely.  You can see the difference between this photo of Flesh Dub and the one above.  Applying the MCXFisher Quick Calculator outlined last May, this rated a score of almost 12, so it was on with a sink tip and a 1.5" Copper Conehead Cascade, and then into the water with extreme caution.  The reason for the extra care is simple.  After months of low water, sunshine and high temperatures, every rock in the river is coated with slippery green stuff that will remain in place to the end of the season and beyond.




 

Hen fish - Flesh Dub
17th October 2013

After a dozen casts came that delirious sensation of the strong turn away of a good fish aided by heavy water.  On completing the turn she delivered a marvellous sea trout imitation with a perfect vertical take off completely clear of the water before going down and across the flow at top speed.  As you can see from her steel-grey colour and shine, she was straight up from the estuary in perfect condition and fighting fit.  As a guide my wading boot is 13" long and positioned to stop everything slipping back down the steep bank after a solo netting (there was no better option).  The hook was lodged in the back of the scissors of her right jaw (opposite to my fishing bank) and would not have yielded to anything short of dynamite.

Willow Bush Run

I fished on down to Willow, which was running at high speed (no, that's a leaf, not the take that I missed shortly after putting the camera away).  This run fishes better with the water somewhat lower and slower, which allows good oblique presentation of the fly across the tail and entrance.  This run is a classic example of the pointlessness of chasing the far bank.  The flow there is much slower and in seconds you have a giant belly in the line and a fly travelling at warp speed.




I trudged back up to Frodle to have lunch, taking in the delightful view in the opening picture of this post.  Patrick had caught a fish there earlier, but we agreed that we should be doing better in such conditions.  In retrospect I reckon that we were perhaps being a mite hard on ourselves because the river needed to shed another foot before attaining perfection. 


Spurred on to try even harder, despite the digestive demands of a truly enormous Scotch egg, I dully went back to Flesh Dub.  By now the water had dropped and cleared, the low October sun was quite strong and moving towards shining straight down the pool.  There was pronounced scattering of light in the water and a high level of sub-surface brightness.  Taken together these factors were causing a significant loss of horizontal underwater visibility.  These were not easy conditions for salmon, who lacking an iris in the eye to adjust to awkward light, rely on a slower-acting pigment that works like a form of biological dark glasses (there's a fuller explanation in 'Here's Looking at You').   Although the water level and speed (and the MCX Calculator) still suggested using a well-sunk tube, the unusual light conditions led me to select a lighter tip and a #8 Cascade in order to give the fish the best chance of seeing the fly in the clearer regions of Windows 2 and 3.  Of course this was taking a risk that the fly might be too far above them and moving too fast, but it was worth a try.  As an aside, the coloured bits of a Cascade are irrelevant in these conditions and presentation.  The dark body gives a clear-cut silhouette against the bright surface: everything else is just supporting extras.

About a third of the way down I missed a light take about half way round the swing.  It might have been a leaf, but nothing ventured, I repeated the cast on the same length and line.  At exactly the same point, bang, thump and fish on.  After 10 minutes of non-stop aggression, Mr Angry, resplendent in his fighting pyjamas and a growing kype, came into the net.  He was clearly a long-term resident, so at 35 inches on the tape measure, minus a couple for his kype and a hefty discount for dieting, I scored him at 11 lbs and sent him on his way (he's almost upright in the poor photo - I try not to waste time on positioning the pose).  Was he the fish that took and missed?  We'll never know, but it's possible.


Duly elated I chopped off the last 6" of tippet (a life-long habit); checked the hook points and re-tied the battered but serviceable cascade; glued the knot; and carried on down the pool to no effect whatsoever.  By the time I reached the bottom the light was starting to fade (as were my companions - fishing with the angling equivalent of an elderly Duracell Rabbit can be very tiring).  I made my way up to Frodle for a chat, essential chocolate and some coffee, while we agreed the plan for the last half hour. 

Frodle Dub Tail
17th October 2013

I drew the bottom part of Frodle; Patrick the top; and John took Flesh.  By now the water and light levels were significantly lower than when I took the photo that morning.  The shallower water in Frodle's tail meant that I didn't need to change my existing rig of short sink tip, 9' leader and #8 Dishevelled Cascade.

As I got right to the bottom hope was fading.  At this point you are casting a long line at 45 degrees towards the round tree in the centre of the photo: tips, AFS and about 30-40 feet of runner to get a broad but slow coverage of a series of quite shallow lies in which fish hold having ascended the shallow haul from Flesh.  About a quarter of the way round, bang!  A fish was on and heading determinedly back to the Humber.  Faced with the imminent risk of it getting into the fast water below, losing control and probably a good salmon,  I got out onto the bank as fast as possible, detached my wading stick, and set of in pursuit as fast as the multitude of leg-breaking rabbit holes allowed.  By now it was 60 yards away and still intent on going south, so it was time to gain the initiative.  After due application of drag and left palm the fish turned, before deciding to explore the alternative of a trip up to Hawes via Aysgarth.  As it passed I could see that it wasn't huge - about a yard long - but beautifully proportioned and fighting fit.  After another 10 minutes it got its first sight of Patrick's net, which prompted a combination of high speed run and aerobatics.  About 3 minutes later I got her head up for the first time and drew 15lbs of shiny steel grey, deep-bodied hen fish towards the net.  In dark water and failing light this was tricky.  Up on the bank looking down I had a good view.  Down at water level Patrick could barely see the leader and nothing below the opaque surface.  In the final moment something went disastrously wrong in the net: the fish somersaulted in a shower of spray; in the melee it seems that the loop between tip and leader caught on something; and the 15lbs leader snapped just below the loop.  It was a beautifully proportioned fish in prime condition, a great fight and a sad loss.  Even if she couldn't go in my book she was a valid score for the estate's records.  You can't expect to win them all, and you've got to take the hits.  As John drives a 4x4 I didn't have to walk all the way back to the car at High Thoresby Farm with the added burden of disappointment.  And there's still next week to come.

We are indeed most lucky people to fish in a beautiful place for wonderful fish.  The Ure's late runners are large, strong and in lovely condition.  You couldn't ask for more.

 

A view of heaven
Frodle Rapids upstream with Bishopdale Beck Junction
17th October 2013

Crash! Bang! Pluck! The dynamics of a take

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

Iceland film - the instant of a take

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

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

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

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

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

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

Crash!  Against the Fly

Take - Against the Fly

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

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

Bang!  With the Fly

Take - With the Fly

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

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

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

Pluck!  Minimum Shift

Take - Minimum Shift

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

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

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

Conclusions

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

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

Ambush Tactics - close, personal and a little dirty

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

Critical Factors

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

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

Wade's Pool  +18"
16th September 2013

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

Wade's Pool +10"
17th September 2013

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

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

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

Finding the spot

Corybrough Run +12"

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



Corybrough Zoom Detail

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

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

Ettrick Water - Bush Pool

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

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

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

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

 

Triggers - why and when

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

Practical Application

Dalnahoyn Pool +8"
Noon Friday 20th September 2013

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

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

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

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

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

Dalnahoyn 1pm 20 September 2013

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

Summary

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

The Week

Sunday - Journey in hope, arrive in joy

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

Sunday afternoon - the view from the drive

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

Monday - Cold hard work

Dalnahoyn upstream - Monday morning

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

Dalnahoyn downstream - Monday morning

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


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

Churan downstream - Monday afternoon

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

Tuesday & Wednesday - the horns of a dilemma

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

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

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

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

Coybrough Croys downstream

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

Thursday and Friday - hope fulfilled

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

HMCX - Churan Pool - Thursday

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

Purdy prepares to retrieve a fish

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

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






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

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

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





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

Friday supper - 7.5 lbs

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

Saturday - A quiet finish

Coaching in ambush tactics
Dalnahoyn - Saturday afternoon

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

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

Tomatin 2013 - Reflections

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

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

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

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

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

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