Think highland burns and rivers - and lochs, mostly fairly acid water, and my fishing was concentrated on the wet fly. I never really thought of anything else until I had the oportunity to fish for salmon and sea trout and realised that my floating line, cracked at the tip, now simulated grease-line fishing and it was ideal for salmon and sea trout in the shallower spate burns, and wet fly fishing on the small hill lochs.
But, I still tied and used wet flies, the old-fashioned dressings. I did convert to a short tube with a gold body, natural grey squirrel tail and a hot orange hackle for some of my low water fishing, and tiny tubed versons of teal-blue and silver for evening sea trout, but it was all still sunken flies.
Some thirty years ago something happend to me. In fact - two things. The first was that I suddenly realised that I had fished down a complete pool on automatic, because my mind was filled with the day-to-day business of keeping an estate running; maintenance, forestry and deer.
The other was that I had noticed a rapid decline of salmon and sea trout stocks during the previous five years.
I reeled-in, walked home and put my salmon rod in its cover. It only came out twice again, in both instances when I was invited to fish the Findhorn.
On the matter of my backing away from salmon fishing, there's nothing precious about it, nor judgemental about anyone who carries on. I had caught plenty salmon, and during that period they helped provide an essential addition to the freezer and winter fare. In fact, leading a salmon upstream like a dog to safe water in order to fight again and tire it out enough to land became, if you'll excuse the term, old hat. I enjoyed the fishing and I enjoyed the knowledge, and the dour weight of the 'take', but for much of that time I was in the business of 'bringing home the meat'. I didn't exactly fish for sport, I fished to eat; thus catch and return seemed pointless to me.
But that is just a point of view. In another month I hope - if life allows - to be fishing for brownies in an environment very alien to me, and the fish I catch, if I am fortunate, will in all likelihood require to be returned . The fish paying yet another visit to the dentist.
But back to the dry fly.
I was prompted to sally forth on this, to me, completely alien form of fly fishing when I was priveliged to be asked to fish on the Upper Clyde.
So, in conference with a keen fly-fisher friend of mine, I embarked on this new venture at my fly vise and in due course caught my first Clyde trout on a cold morning with the river still a bit coloured and easing off after a spate. No dry fly for this fellow, but an intermediate sinking line and a black bulky nymph with a silver tag covered in clear polythene.
My next Clyde foray led me to a quiet pool on a fine evening - but with a downstream breeze - and a trout rising steadily about twenty yards away across the river - just short of an overhanging willow.
I went through all the frustrated angler comic tricks - short of trampling my rod underground - and finally got my wee black fly in the right place, saw it sucked down, tightened and netted the bonnie fish - one inch short of the twelve required inches - it went back.
I'll send the fly file next post.
