Fishing Rod Decoration


By Graham Waterton

Fine and Far Off

- By Graham Waterton

Discovering the delights of The Grange fishery on the Itchen, the Arle and the Candover Brook was one of last seasons delights as a caption in Major Baird's lovely little book, A Trout Rose, so delicately describes:


'so the three, having found one another journeyed together down to the sea'


Although memories of my Avon grayling season of 2013 are damp and murky, as a lover of clear water stalking The Grange was a delight but a stark reminder of some of this type of fishings basic rules.


But let me go back a few years.


For the clear water stalker New Zealand truly is the 'anglers eldorado'. As I write this in cold wet January I'm getting a little green-eyed to hear so many preparing for their annual trip when my last was made some years ago. It was on that trip that I bought Catching Trout by Les Hill and Graeme Marshall. Buying the book was as close as I would get to Marshall as having tried to book him as my guide he decided to retire just before my trip. However I found some brilliant guides and the whole experience was one the most influential times in my fishing career.


Les Hill and Graeme Marshall collaborated on two books in the 1980s and 1990s. Both Kiwis and lifelong fisherman, Les was a school teacher and Graeme a professional guide. Their first book was Stalking Trout, their second Catching Trout and their titles hint at their no nonsense approach. Both are highly practical works describing the techniques for catching spooky wild trout in the clear back country streams of both North but more specifically South Island.

Their second book has a chapter entitled 'Concentration', an under estimated quality for all fisherman but particularly those who sight fish for big wild fish, where chances are few and far between.

In that chapter they sum up their basic stalking skills.


'While stalking I employ three defensive ploys. I move as slowly as possible, I stay as far from the waters edge as I can while still having a good view into the water and I search as far upstream as I can, hoping to locate fish while still out of their most perceptive forward or side-on vision.'


So obvious you may think, but after casting, I believe these are the next most important skills for fisherman who like stalking in clearwater and so often ignored by chalkstream fisherman. This mantra is explored widely in their first book but that paragraph so concisely sums up what our approach to all clearwater situations should be.


Contemporary nymphing at the moment is dominated by the Euro nymphing techniques developed so successfully by the international river fishing teams of The Czech Republic and France in particular but now adopted by all. These techniques are characterised by a single or team of relatively heavy nymphs fished short, in some cases under the rod tip, on a long light rod as the angler advances slowly upstream. Aficionados wax lyrical about the subtleties of fly choice (heavy up or down), leader construction (length, furled, bead indicators etc) rod length and of course technique. I've dabbled and they are fun and in the right situations, undeniably effective. We should not forget that these techniques were developed and work best on slightly deeper rivers often with coloured water and a quarry of mainly bottom hugging grayling. I'm not convinced about their effectiveness on the classic chalkstreams with shallow clear water although they do work on deeper runs. In the antediluvian weeks of late September last year I used a similar technique most successfully on the broads running a heavy nymph under the rod tip between beds of ranunculus.  But the key to that success and these modern nymphing techniques is that the fish can't see the angler.


So back to The Grange and the Kiwis three basic principles.


Firstly move as slow as possible. How many times do fisherman have to be reminded that movement can be seen by fish in all directions well away from the proximity of their 'window'. Add to this heavy footfall and clumsy wading and slow movement becomes a stalking  fundamental. As many readers of this will have discovered, on The Shallows (Beats 1and 2 of The Grange) for instance, one clumsy movement sends ripples upstream 20 or 30 yards.


If you have fished in New Zealand their second point about staying as far from the bank as possible is obvious. Their back country streams and our freestone streams for that matter have no cut paths. There is no hip height clipped margin. You therefore feel that you have to stay back. On so many chalkstreams you are pushed towards the rivers edge by fences, trees and mown banks and then given a false sense of security with the margin 'hedge'.

But assuming you can't wade it is still desirable to keep as far back as you can.



Their third point is I think part of the key to success in all sight fishing situations. Spot your target early. We tend to scan water far to close to us. It seems quite obvious that  a fish spotted out of range gives you time to consider your options and a much better chance of success but so often we hurry and don't spot the signals every fish gives, even at distance.

The most delightful place to see this in action, I believe, is on the flats. If you ask a good local guide where he is looking it will be far further out than you. Of course reasonable eyesight is a prerequisite but assuming that, if you get into the habit of looking further out, with practice, you will spot the target earlier.

Having spotted the fish early and far off it is tempting to make the approach immediately to where you will cast.  I would suggest you have to gain all the required information from distance ie depth of the fish (if your'e nymphing), what's he eating, what's the water doing around him. At distance you make the leader and fly adjustments and have mentally made the decision about what is the best presentation cast to avoid drag and present delicately.

Where do you cast from? Simply your Maximum Effective Casting Range. Any further away, your cast risks being ineffective in terms of presentation and accuracy and any closer you risk spooking your fish. Clearly that spot must be suitable for the cast you want to make in terms of obstructions.


In a sort of preface to Catching Trout  there are 2 or 3 pages entitled The First Cast. It tells the story of one large fish which nosed the fly on the first cast but ignored it on the subsequent better casts. I recognise that problem. It goes on;


'Much of our talk, long into that night, centred around the number of fish deceived on the first cast and the number of fish which refused our initial offering through some minute foible and were not to be tempted beyond inspection again.

The first cast. If the assumption of its importance has substance, if it offers the greatest chance of luring a feeding fish, then perhaps it deserves appropriate attention. Heed your fly choice, tread lightly and present delicately. A mindful first cast is a tribute to the trout, a tribute to its instinct and nobility. This compliment paid will reap reward'


Sound advice, elegantly delivered.


As we have just done, they go on to describe many ways of ensuring the first cast works.  A lot on reading the water, casts to combat drag and of course those stalking techniques.


One particular tip I really liked was the importance of long leaders. In New Zealand 4/5/6 metre leaders are often required for all the normal reasons. In addition they advise this length because it forces you to cast a long line. You can't turn over a 15 ft leader with 10 ft of flyline outside the rod tip. To get a long leader, whatever the taper, to turn over well you need a good length of line out. Sounds obvious but this keeps you well away from the fish. Maybe not for the novice but as ever, long, accurate, delicate casts delivered from your MECR do improve your chances.


This is not just a chalkstream issue. As suggested these principles apply to all sight fishing situations, freestone rivers, saltwater flats and clearwater salmon rivers like Iceland. The process my guide made me go though on the Midfjardara last September was much the same. For example, if we were fishing a pool upstream, we approached quietly from downstream. Prepared fly and leader early, waded slowly and quietly, took the first cast from the MECR and concentrated on the perfection of the first cast. Most importantly do nothing to alert the fish of your presence. So often forgotten by salmon fisherman.


In New Zealand they often only get one chance at those big beautiful trout. This directs their preparation and their approach. I think it teaches us good lessons.

Both books are now published as one which is available through The Halcyon Press.



Graham Waterton digs into fishing literature in his blog  Fishing Words, part of his website

May 2014 - 'Where else would you want to be?'

- By Graham Waterton

May is the month when all our hopes and dreams for the season ahead become a reality. All the winter worries, the doubts and the anxieties drift away as the early hatches submerge them into our memories. And so it has been this May, a busy one with some particular high-points for me.


The first week had a few last minute cancelled days guiding. How can you be too busy to go fishing? Luckily the weather wasn't great and I kept myself busy instructing a number of fly fisherman who had their eyes on distant rivers and flats. As the weather improved, hours by the lake were a joy. What a beautiful place to lean how to cast.Picture: /blog-files/blog/w288/stickwithoutbrains-casting-platforms.jpg




The guiding continued with most clients achieving success although conditions were often less than kind. As the weather improved, the daylight hours expanded and the sun appeared which improved hatches but for some rivers, also brought on the May blight of algal bloom. Our rivers are not the only waters that suffer. In mid May I had a long weekend in Devon, of which more later, and went out on the rocks to try and catch some early mackerel. Three out of the last 4 years I have caught mackerel here by the second week of the month. Not this year. A local crab fisherman told me that what he called 'Mayweed' was the worst he could remember. Coastal algal bloom exacerbated by the extraordinary amounts of phosphate rich suspended solids washed off the land this last winter. But if the mackerel didn't like it the huge jellyfish did and there were dozens drifting around, some as big as dustbinsPicture: /blog-files/blog/w288/giant-jellyfish-devon.jpg  I wonder if these canoeists knew they were surrounded?




Picture: /blog-files/blog/w288/jellyfish-canoeists.jpg


The first high point came in the middle of the month when I was invited to fish the Bourne Rivulet. This Test tributary, much loved and described by Harry Plunkett Green in his classic book Where The Bright Waters Meet, was on great form and gave me three beautiful wild brownies, one about two pounds and in such good condition. The fattest and fittest wild trout I have seen for a while.



Picture: /blog-files/blog/w288/bourne-rivulet-wild-brown-trout.jpg

All our chalkstreams are fragile ecosystems, in constant risk and none is safe, but this one seems, at least at the moment, healthy and full of food for its residents.Picture: /blog-files/blog/w288/bourne-rivulet.jpg That session inspired a Fishing Words blog, which you may enjoy. It was a memorable few hours spent by a beautiful river.




Another day of my Devon trip was spent on the River Avon, a freestone river which rises on Dartmoor, wanders through The South Hams and joins the sea at Bantham. A good stretch is available through the excellent South West Rivers Trust Passport scheme. It was simply one of the most enjoyable days I have had for some years. For the first hour or so there was only a few fish moving and a couple fell for a small 'f fly'. Then by midday with bright sun overhead I found a long shaded stretch where fish were moving regularly to a variety of flies.Picture: /blog-files/blog/w288/river-avon-south-devon.jpg Olives, black gnats, small dark sedges and even a lonely mayfly put an appearance.  I like a New Zealand rig in these situations. You can prospect the deeper runs, cover rising fish and sighted fish. Technical and occasionally tricky to flick under the trees but worth the effort. A #16 Klink Adams with a #16 WHM underneath tempted another eight fish with two about 12 inches ... that is huge for this little moorland fed stream!Picture: /blog-files/blog/w288/river-avon-wild-brown-trout.jpg I had a smile on my face for hours.





I was then booked back to back with mayfly guiding until the end of the month. I met some wonderful people throughout my property career but guiding has confirmed my belief that nice people fly fish. I have, and hopefully helped, some lovely and fascinating people on the river bank and these last 2 weeks have been no exception. We have had some superb days as the first fortnight of the mayfly hatch unwound. I bang on endlessly about the relationship between fishing and the weather but this mayfly season has so far benefitted from what would normally be considered poor May weather. The odd cold day, rain showers, and a lot of overcast but warm weather gave sparse hatches over extended periods or short intense hatches for an hour or two. All gave good fishing with a few frantic rises when the fish threw themselves at the fly, well presented or not. These events are what mayfly folklore is made, but as I explored in another Fishing Words blog it is not always easy!

It's as if Mother Nature in order to get these remarkable insects hatched to complete their ephemeral life cycle,  snatches an hour here or an hour there forcing them out when the conditions are favourable for their procreation. Then shuts them down in an instant when something triggers her doubts. But whenever they appear they fall prey not just to fish but a myriad of other predators from fluffy ducklings to swooping snapping swifts as they scream up and down the river. On occasions it is good to stand back from the frenetic casting and catching and observe as the whole event is a performance I never tire of watching.


As I write the mayfly hatch is continuing although fish are becoming harder to fool as they become full and fat and fussy, differentiating between artificial and natural. Soon the spinner falls will take over from the dun hatch as the opportunity to catch that special fish. Looking forward to that. 

One Jerk in the Footsteps of Another

- By Graham Waterton

This article was recently published in The Flyfishers' Journal Summer 2014


Fishing for striped bass had been on my to-do list for many years. Its listing had its roots in various books and articles but I pushed it near the top after I read Robert Hughes' A Jerk On One End, which was published in the UK in paperback in 2000. 


Hughes, an Australian, sounded like an intriguing character. He was an author of many books, a journalist, art critic, film producer; survived three marriages, a car crash that nearly killed him, the death of his first wife and his only son, and was by repute opinionated and colourful. I'm guessing he was pretty good company.


A Jerk On One End is a great little book but difficult to bracket: not so much a fishing book as a fishing memoir with attitude. It is neatly divided into three chapters: Salt Water, Fresh Water and Troubled Water. The first of these reinforced my desire to chase stripers, but it is the third that seems to define Hughes the fisherman, with a robust statement of his personal fishing beliefs. He starts by tackling the philosophical angles with typical Aussie directness and the words 'Fishing is a cruel sport'  before moving angrily on to the commercial slaughter which has put so many species in jeopardy. He directs venom at the record chasers, and after a lifetime on the water urges moderation in all our fishing. Throughout the book his love and fascination with the rivers, the sea and all their creatures shine out without a sliver of sentimentality. I liked the sound of him, and if he liked striped bass fishing, I wanted to try it too.


In 2011, about a year before Hughes died, I found myself entrusted with delivering my son to his university in Rhode Island. The date of my trip was fixed, so as with trying to intercept any migratory fish, I had to find the right place for this time.


As the water temperature rises through spring and early summer, huge shoals of stripers move north from their spawning grounds off Chesapeake Bay and North Carolina. By the the summer and autumn, the shoals have spread up the east coast as far north as Maine, until their prey thins out and the cooling water encourages them to head south again. My trip in late August was too early for the heavily fished 'blitzes' of late September and October, but after speaking to a number of guides I found I had a chance in the area between Block Island and the north end of Long Island.


Our flight out of Heathrow was the last before Hurricane Irene struck America's east coast. In a fit of post-Katrina caution, the entire seaboard was shut down, but in due course I finished my family duties in Rhode Island and drove south into Connecticut. If you want to get into local culture anywhere in the world, hire a car, drive and listen to local radio. An hour or two of local news and '70s rock music brought me to the seaport and former whaling town of New London (complete with River Thames) and the first of three ferries across to the small but very pretty and affluent town of Sag Harbour. 


The first crossing was the longest, an hour or so across to Orient Point on the tip of Long Island's north arm. As the ferry swung west into a glorious sunset, we passed between Plum Island and the lighthouse at the tip of Orient Point. Picture: /blog-files/blog/w288/plum-gut-lighthouse.jpgThis strip of water is called Plum Gut and it's mentioned by Hughes as a concentration for bait and fish, where the tide forces its way in and out of Long Island Sound. He was right, I would catch a lot of fish there. 


A short drive to Greenport, and a second shorter ferry trip to Shelter Island, were completed in fading light. From the south of the island a final crossing of only 200 yards onto the south arm brought me to Sag Harbour in the dark. A great little road trip. My guide for the three days helpfully offered a spare room at no extra cost, on condition that I took him out for supper each evening... which turned out to be a good and highly entertaining arrangement.Picture: /blog-files/blog/w288/shelter-island-ferry.jpg


Early next morning, lingering jet lag and a Mexican gardener with a leaf blower provided me with the opportunity for an early walk round the town. A wide, pretty main street full of classic New England architecture and upmarket brands leads down to a gin-palace-filled marina. Sag Harbour also used to be a whaling town, mentioned in Moby Dick and home to numerous writers including John Steinbeck who lived here until his death in 1968. Today, it's split between South and East Hampton: a holiday playground for New Yorkers and Bostonites, Padstow on US Dollar steroids.


Each morning we would head out of Sag Harbour towards the islands and rips between the Long Island and Block Island Sounds. As is so often the case with saltwater fishing, you don't have to know where the fish are, just where the baitfish are most likely to be. At that time of year, large shoals of menhaden, sand eels and bunker congregate, and if you can find them you will find the bass. 


When the shoals weren't apparent, local knowledge came into its own and we sight fished along shorelines and over shallow reefs where the big tides ripped. Now and again we would encounter isolated drifting areas of filthy water and arborial debris washed down the mainland rivers and into the Sounds by Hurricane Irene. When circling birds appeared we raced over to cast for bass crashing on their preferred baitfish. Faced with an area the size of a tennis court churning with feeding fish, you imagine that any fly fished in any way will do... not so. These predators are remarkably fussy, and matching fly size and colour to the baitfish, and then getting depth and stripping speed right, were all as crucial here as matching the hatch anywhere. Picture: /blog-files/blog/w288/striped-bass-on-the-fly.jpg


Most of the stripers were not large (the big ones appear later in the autumn), and they fought much like their European cousins. I suppose 7 or 8 pounds was the average. But the revelation for me was the bluefish. These chaps are brutes... savage hits to the fly, and as you would expect from a member of the jack family they take no prisoners. However, I wasn't unprepared. Hughes, who would have caught them in Australia, describes them thus:


'Blues are voracious beyond belief. They're like Cuisinarts with fins, equipped with rows of razor teeth. A school of blues tearing into a school of baitfish on the surface is one of those spectacles that will still all thoughts of the benevolence and peaceability of nature. It is manic, out of control Morderlust - every fish a Jack the Ripper. Once hooked, they fight with a furious all out abandon that makes the classier and more fastidious striped bass look relatively sluggish'.Picture: /blog-files/blog/w288/bluefish-on-the-fly.jpg


I hooked loads of bluefish up to 14 pounds. The main problem in landing them is that they shred nylon with those amazing small, hidden but exceedingly sharp teeth: don't put your finger in a bluefish mouth. The stripers are quite leader shy, so if you set up for stripers and a bluefish turns up instead, chances are you'll lose it. If you rig up with wire, you'll scare off the bass. The answer, I hear you say, is have two rigs set up. But stripers and blues often travel and feed together: cast to a striper, and a blue can come out of nowhere and chew off your fly. This all results in lots of lost fish and swearing. I found that standard saltwater patterns like Deceivers in white and red and the ubiquitous green and white or tan clousers did the trick for both. I fished mainly with a 9-weight, but you could go safely lighter at this time of the year as long as you can handle the largeish flies. When the big bass turn up, though... it's 9-weights at least. 


Every time my guide named the spot we were about to fish I was reminded of Hughes' book and the iconic names of the local marks. We spent a lot of time drifting over the rips around Great Gull and Little Gull Islands: Plum Gut was very productive although a little unnerving as we drifted over the 'stoppers' created by the tide racing through a relatively narrow gap. 


We shared 'The Race' between Little Gull, Valiant Rock and Fishers Island with the big commercial tourist boats jigging for blues. When the bait were on the surface, and stripers and blues were feeding, individual fish were hard to identify, but a quick cast to one side and frantic stripping often triggered an aggressive take. When casting to identified individuals or groups, long slower retrieves tricked the fish to follow right up to the boat. Time and again they would turn away as the fly was lifted off, frantically looking for the missing snack, and as soon as they saw the recast fly would take it boldly. It was all a great experience and I'm sure catching a big striper is wonderful. But like Robert Hughes, I fell for the bluefish.


As it turned out, I was too late to meet Hughes in person, and I'm not sure who I would have found if I had. But I like his book a great deal, and I'm glad I fished, albeit briefly, in his footsteps. I can see why he lived there.


April - 'the cruellest month'?

- By Graham Waterton

April is a teaser of a month for the flyfisher, particularly in the south. It so often flatters to deceive with days of warm weather and fly hatches that beckon us towards the summer only for cold and wet weather to return us to the frustrations of winter.   


Last year's early fly hatches were limited to olives but this year the warmer early spring weather gave us a welcome return to form for the Grannom and the Hawthorn.  We get significantly more excited by Grannom than the fish do. This little early sedge can hatch in vast numbers. There were days in mid April when the centre of Salisbury was awash with insects. On the Avon south of Salisbury I watched a blizzard of fly hatch and drift up the river on a gentle warm southerly breeze. Over an hour, not a fish stirred. Were the fish taking subsurface or just full? Sparse hatches are so often more successful for the fisherman.


The Hawthorn also has started to appear and on a beat flanked with Hawthorns in blossom, particularly when these dangly legged black flies are blown onto the water, the action can be frantic.


A now regular event at the start of the chalkstream season is the Test One Fly Competition. This year it was held on 25th April (St Mark's Day) and is centred around The Peat Spade pub in Longstock. It impossible to entirely remove the competitive element from any group of fisherman but despite this and its name the event remains a very uncompetitive day. The rules are clear and well defined but the atmosphere is wonderfully relaxed. I contacted Simon Cooper, the originator and organiser of the event back in January to enquire about entering and he suggested I joined the guiding team!  I'm still not sure how to interpret that but I'm glad I did as I had a really enjoyable day with my delightful fisherman.


We drew a beat on the pretty River Dun, a minor Test tributary where I have caught a number of lovely wild fish in the past.


Picture: /blog-files/blog/w288/river-dun-wild-brownie.jpg


For the first time however, the weather gods did not shine on this event and we had rain all day. The Dun is susceptible to rain and soon it was rising and coloured.


Picture: /blog-files/blog/w288/river-dun-in-the-rain.jpgHowever in the middle of the day we had a 2 hour hatch of olives including Large Darks and Iron Blues. A great sight but one not shared by the fish in brown water and anyway we had a tungsten headed GRHE on the business end! Just to underline the absurdity of it all on a wet cold day and for the first time, a dry fly won.

All in all a thoroughly enjoyable day with a lot of friends, old and new.


I had another trip to the River Frome to try and catch a spring salmon but a cold north easterly and high a slightly coloured water made it tough.

Picture: /blog-files/blog/w288/river-frome-spring-salmon-fishing.jpg

 Typical that Robin should catch a stunning wild brownie.


Picture: /blog-files/blog/w288/river-frome-wild-brown-trout.jpg


As the water warms up salmon fisherman want to learn new tricks. The sinking lines in all their varieties are going back in the locker and I have had a number of good casters who simply want to polish their technique and look to cast further. Once the rod and line are balanced and the basic stroke examined we concentrate on two things. Lengthening the stroke and increasing tip speed.

Now I tell every one that it is not all about distance but these small simple changes, when practised can really improve the length of cast and turnover.


I have spent Mays in the tropics, in the Southern Hemisphere, in the US and on continental Europe but there is nowhere I would rather be than in Britain. Every day the view greens and warms and the urge to get out on the river grows. For me the next 6 weeks is dominated by guiding on the chalkstreams and I predict we will have a better mayfly season than last year!



I had two evenings in April huddled with others in a darkened room. The first was the Fly Fishing Film Tour. Six short films, all from the US. Lovely evocations of the gentle peaceful art of flyfishing accompanied by heavy rock tracks! For me pretty perfect entertainment. The second was a wonderful photo lecture about a friend's trek to Everest Base Camp. Both were hugely inspirational.


So which one's it to be?  Let's go fishing!

April Flyfishing - Past and Present

- By Graham Waterton

In the UK we are confronted with a variety of trout fishing opening days from 15th March to well into April according to individual fishery rules and of course National and local bye-laws. The freestone rivers of much of the north of England and Devon, for instance, start early but for the chalkstreams of Hampshire, Wiltshire and Dorset it is April fools days when the flag drops. Very appropriate you may think.  For, as TS Eliot wrote 'April is the cruellest month'.

So although many get to fish in March, us chalkstreamers see April as the first month of the season 

Early season fishing has its challenges, not least the vagaries of the British weather but we are not the first to confront them. Through the writings of those who fly fished before us we can see that they too, for over 150 years, have enjoyed the anticipation and frustration of April fly fishing.

In 1899, Viscount Grey of Falloden in his book Fly Fishing, rather dismisses April for the dry fly fisherman on the chalk streams of the south but as a lover of wet fly fishing he takes a more positive attitude to the freestone rivers at the other end of the country.

'Let us take an April day on some northern river. It is a days fishing that is before us, and the first thought in the morning has been 'what sort of a day is it?'. Probably that is the first thought of every one who lives out of town and cares about the country. It is always some sort of a day in the country, not always the sort that had been expected or desired, it is one to be looked at, studied, recognised and made the most of in an appropriate spirit.'

And that's the first lesson with early season fishing. If you open the curtains or listen to the forecast and then go back to bed you don't even get the chance for a taste of pain and pleasure.

Falloden goes on to describe the good April days:

'Such days may come at any time of the month, in the beginning, middle, or end, but in the north, at any rate before quite the end of April, trees will still be brown and bare. That does not matter. There will be a spirit in the air, an appeal, a promise, a prophecy, to make a man's heart leap up within him. There is a feeling of rising sap and reviving life.'

Exactly. Optimism flies high on those first trips. The anticipation is over and at last we're on the river.

In Reflections of a River by Howard Marshall, published in 1967, he beautifully evokes how we feel about our favourite rivers and those early April days.

'... from the moment you have put up your rod and tied on a Greenwell in early April, you are conscious of being gathered up into the kindly, loving season before you, and you know that it can bring you nothing but happiness.'

In JW Hills classic book A Summer on the Test he too describes April with enthusiasm.

'A good many Aprils have been spent after ... trout in northern waters, far from the Test. The great lesson which April trout fishing in these streams teaches you is never to despair. Fortune may suddenly change, and you will never know what you bag till you have reeled up.'

'But the chief joys of April are anticipation and the sense that you are getting something for nothing. All the best of the year is in front of you, and you have not used it up yet. However bad your luck, nothing is wasted. The real season has not begun. And so, if you do get a good day, it is something additional and unexpected.'

One of the perennial debates on the chalkstreams is whether there is less fly than there was. Reading old fishing books won't teach the experienced fisherman much but the benefits, other than sheer enjoyment, are that it takes us to the roots of some of our flyfishing traditions and it gives us the opportunity to compare then with now. They describe good seasons and bad, they observed cyclical changes in water levels, weed growth and fly hatches. They had issues of pollution, overdevelopment, draining water meadows, unnecessary dredging, revolutionary changes in agricultural practices, to name but a few. As far as fly hatches go, their descriptions make it clear that they had the same species then, as we have now. Over recent years I started to suspect that numbers of fly may have reduced, particularly during the years of low flows and poorer water quality but again, they are cyclical. For instance many bemoaned the apparent disappearance of the BWO but I saw some consistent heavy hatches and falls throughout last July and August.

The references are too many to quote but consistently the staple April flies over the last 150 years on the southern chalkstreams have been the Large Dark Olive and the Grannom. The Hawthorn gets mentioned but I suspect this leggy black terrestrial was considered a little 'infra dig' as well as being unpredictable. In the north add March Browns and Stoneflies to that list. So again not much changes.  As for patterns however ... that's a subject for another article.

Hills, for me, sums up April dry fly trout fishing so well in this passage and it applies just about anywhere in the country.

'There is a quality of magic about those early spring rises. The river looks dead and lifeless, and this impression is heightened by the bare meadow and the lifeless trees. The stream runs with a dull lead like surface, which nothing disturbs and apparently nothing will ever disturb. You expect a rise and it does not come, and then suddenly, when you have given up expecting, trout start moving simultaneously as though the signal has been passed around. At one moment you see fly after fly sailing down untaken and you think nothing will ever break the unbroken surface: at the next the river is alive with rings of rising fish. It has come to life, and the sturdy vital trout, which a moment ago were hidden so completely that you doubted their existence, have mysteriously reappeared.'

He then describes finding a group of feeding fish, selecting the largest and having his Large Dark Olive pattern rejected. And then again by another fish and knowing that time may be short he changes to a Medium Olive Quill and immediately his fortunes change. But as quickly the rise is over.

'This indeed is the peculiarity of early spring rises, that they start and end suddenly. You are lucky to get a fish before they begin: when they end, you can go home. Whilst they are on, fish are not difficult, provided there is not too much fly: but you very rarely do well when your artificial has to be a member of a drove of naturals, for the competition is too severe.

But in these short April rises, you have no time for bungles or disasters or changes of fly: if you are to do well, your fly, must be right to begin with. And this is not as simple as it sounds.'

Never, never believe that cold weather hinders fly. You will hear it, always and everywhere; but it is not only untrue but the reverse of truth. Except at the very beginning of April, you get more fly on a cold day than on a warm.

Once again, good advice. So as far as April is concerned the message is clear. The waiting is over, the anticipation satisfied and now is the time to get out and enjoy those fleeting moments of April magic. And why read old fishing books? Well I don't subscribe to the mantra of 'there's nothing new in fly fishing' because there is and much is good but it's sobering to be reminded that so many of our routine customs were their hard won lessons. Its good to understand some of the history of our sport and always a joy to read wonderful writing.