A Brace of Brown Trout before Lunch

The river Ribble looked in excellent condition, clear and flowing, looking how a trout stream should be. A few mallard were preening in the margins, in the tall riverside trees a group of rooks were creating a right old din. Downstream a group of lambs were chasing one another. As I was checking my mink traps before having breakfast, I noticed a few olives hatching off. Occasionally a nice fish could be seen rising; I was most surprised to see this activity so early in the day during March. Back in the cabin I looked at my watch it was eight o’clock, having made some tea and toast. I sat outside the cabin reading the Daily Telegraph. I quickly realised there wasn’t a breath of wind, and the early morning sunshine certainly had some warmth.

Breakfast over I picked up the litter sack then went off to clear rubbish from the riverside trees and bushes. Moving up river I could see the odd fish rising, occasionally two or three fish could be seen sipping down tiny insects. Though I did suspect some of the rises were grayling or salmon smolts, but there was enough activity to get me excited. The fence posts could wait for another day I was going fishing. After collecting two sacks of rubbish I made my way back to the cabin. It was just after ten o’clock time for tea. Having put the kettle on, I got my Thomas and Thomas 9 foot 5 weight Helix and fishing vest from the car. Sitting in the warm sunshine threading line through the guides I thought to myself "When did we have such warm weather as this in late March" With a clear river I tied on a nine foot Froghair knotless tapered leader to which I attached three feet of 2lb fluorocarbon tippet, then looking through my fly selection I chose a size 20 Paythorn olive pattern.

Walking upriver through the trees I could smell the fresh garlic plants, primroses were about in profusion. Coming from the shade of the wood into the sunshine of Johnson’s field, I had to change to Polaroid glasses. I suppose it was a walk of about six hundred yards up stream to reach Swallow Pool which is over hung by a large oak tree, where the river flowed over small stones and the occasional rock; it was a friendly bit of wading water. Sitting on the bank I soaked up the warm sunshine taking in all the riverside beauty a few feet from where I sat a group of marsh marigolds looked resplendent. Towards the far bank at the bottom of the pool a good fish swirled on the surface. It was time to make a cast.

Staying on the bank close to the waters edge I pulled off enough line to enable me to drop the imitation olive about three feet above the swirling fish. With two false casts the line flew silently over the water unfurling as it did so. The fly landing like thistledown, I made a small upstream mend then retrieved the line as the olive drifted very lifelike downstream, it had gone about fifteen feet when I watched the fly disappear in a swirl. The answering strike connected with nothing. I rested the fish for some five minutes, and then made another cast, the imitation olive freely drifted downstream; suddenly it was gone, disappeared in the daintiest of rises. The answering strike connected with a tiny fish. A salmon smolt.

A few yards upstream were three or four rising fish, I moved upstream a few feet before making a cast. I watched intently as the fly drifted downstream, then it was gone I tightened, hooking into a good fish. For a couple of minutes I had a pulled string and a bent stick as the fish tried to get its freedom. Slowly the pressure of well balanced tackle took its toll and soon I had the fish in close. Bending down I eased the fly from the scissors of a nicely marked brown trout. In seconds it was streaking off to the deeper water. In the next thirty minutes I had another good trout, two grayling and a small chub. Then it was time for lunch.

Lunch finished I walked back to the river, as I did so I noticed the wind had increased, it was coming from a northerly direction. Sitting at the waters edge I watched for a rising fish, nothing, not even a single fly could be seen. Thirty minutes later I called it a day then made my way back to the cabin. No doubt I could have caught a fish or two on a nymph, but I wouldn’t have enjoyed it, as much as fish a dry fly. The morning had certainly been an interesting one.