It was cold, at one point there were hailstones – it was windy and on occasion just plain old raining. This was not your usual wind, this was lazy wind – a wind that is too lazy to go around you instead it just goes through your waterproof jacket, your windproof top and into your chest. All in all not nice weather – pretty much the same as last week if the truth be told however lessons were not learned and this time we at least felt that Spring was on the way as for a brief few moments the sun came out and warmed our heads – hell I think I even smiled. A kind chap called Nicolas from the Glasgow Angling Centre had put us on to this spot; confidentiality only allows a photo of the area.
As it was, in those few moments of what felt like Spring a male jack Pike on the way to the spawning beds on Loch Lomond decided to have a gnash at my fly -
A brief tussle ensued – the Pike obviously had other things on its mind – wild Pike Sex for a start…
The Pike was firmly hooked, I cursed myself for not de-barbing my hook – I had tied these up the day before and it had gone out of my head….however, the pike was unhooked while blood poured once more from my hand…
My fishing buddy has a new camera so it was nice to get some pictures of my fish for a change…..
The fly I have cunningly named the Emerald Interceptor as it is tied with a green zonker strip as a tail and then tied hackle like around the hook shank. Some glossy tinsel stuff and a pair of eyes make it a nice juvenile pike or perch imitation – or something like that anyway.
Not only is that my first Pike from Loch Lomond it is also my first fish of the year. Most gratifying as I doubt the start of the trout season will be up too much – it starts on Saturday and what with a severe weather warning across the whole of the UK I am not sure where we will end up.
I am not a fan of posting two YouTube videos in a row however I thought this might be worthwhile….
I had a weird dream last night. I dreamt I turned up at a favourite spot on a river and there was a tackle shop on the edge of the stream, not a dingy one but one that was full of important looking people in Orvis and Sage shirts – people that looked like they knew what they were doing. There were rows and rows of expensive looking rods and a stags head on the wall (strangely there was an inflatable comedy sized guitar in the corner of the room but it was a dream so made perfect sense at the time).
They were charging around £100 for a days fishing with a guide – and there was lots of people who professed to be experts on this particular river. I only wanted to fish I told them – however I was told there would be no way I would catch a trout as I did not have the specific fly that all the guides were using that week.
I looked at the river where I once found solitude and watched rows upon rows of anglers all casting with the same fly.
I went home.
…another winter nearly over, another half dozen balloon caddis tied, another weekend earning brownie points by not going fishing, another 28 days until the brown trout season starts, another blank fly fishing for Pike last weekend (reckon its too cold), another dozen comparaduns tied, another trip into town to gaze at the new camera I desperately want, another UCAPA permit bought, another sportfish catalogue drops through my door, another fly line needed, another…
Dark miserable January. The days are short and the nights are long. This morning going into work felt like the longest away I will ever be from a nice warm summer day casting a dry fly to a rising trout. Even the Pike are not playing ball at the moment. After doing a lot of research on the net into possible Pike venues I came up with somewhere that looked promising – somewhere that seemed neglected, and Pike thrive on neglect. Anyway, with all the rain the venue essentially turned into what looked like a muddy ditch. We still had a few casts but considering the water looked the colour of milky tea we decided to try elsewhere. By elsewhere I mean we decided to visit the fishing equivelant of a brothel.
Yup – we went to a trout fishery. A stocked hole in the ground with as much character as a politician talking about strategy. If you must know it was Carbeth Trout Fishery – the first thing that annoyed me was that even though they had signs up saying you could fish for four hours on a £7 catch and release ticket they bloke behind the counter informed us that we could not get them as too many people were handling the fish roughly causing finger marks. On reflection I think we should have made a bit of a fuss about that but we coughed up the cash and got fishing. I say got fishing as needless to say we all caught nothing – well Alex caught an out of season brown trout which looked wild – not sure how it got in there as it the pond is just a dug hole. It was an absolute fluke actually – his lure got caught on a discarded piece of nylon which just happened to be attached to the fish. There was a lead weight attached to it as well – so much for the “fly only” pool. Just goes to show you that Alex can pretty much go anywhere and still catch a fish.
Oh yea, so today I get into my office at 8am – its all open plan and something catches my attention, something fluttering on the ceiling, cant quite make out what it is, it comes closer – a Butterfly ?? In January? The only thing I can think of is the heat in the office somehow managed to hatch its egg. I watched it flutter around the office with a smile on my face – other people noticed it but did not seem to have the same wonder about it – sure they found it odd but not something to really ponder about. Is it something about fisherfolk that think more of these things as it reminds us of the time when casting flies to eager trout is possible ?
I have just finished reading “Salmon Fishing in the Yeman” – it was one of those books that have been floating around in my consciousness for a while now so I decided to add it to my wishlist for Christmas. It is a pure work of fiction about a fishery scientist who is asked and then forced into coming up with a way to transport and ensure that Salmon run up a river in the middle of a desert.
Highly enjoyable, it is written in diary, letter and interview format –lots of “in” jokes regarding the angling press although if someone is not a fisherman then they will still get the idea about the joke. All in all – a mighty find read.