Birthday trout from timeless waters

Birthdays inevitably come around each year reminding of our progress on life’s journey a time to celebrate life, to reflect and perhaps to recalibrate.

My wife Pauline had treated me to a fine leather belt celebrating the wild brown trout of Exmoor from https://www.bordercountrybelts.co.uk

A fine present that oozes quality, craftsmanship with the pleasing fragrance of real leather.

Inspired in part by the belt what better way to spend a birthday than with my wife beside a river that teams with wild trout and the occasional grayling?

Late August is a pleasing time to visit Exmoor with its heather clad rolling hills interspersed with yellow gorse. The roadsides decorated with bright loosestrife in shades of pink. The trees are starting to take on early hues of the coming Autumn, seasons on Exmoor seem to arrive earlier and later than in the lower lands.

We arrived in Dulverton late morning, grabbed a pasty and sausage roll from the deli to enjoy at the water’s edge later. We visited Rothwell and Dunworth bookshop to check out the fishing books of which there are always a good selection. A good old fashioned traditional second hand antiquarian bookshop that it is easy to spend half an hour or so browsing in, so much more aesthetically pleasing than scrolling through the clinically sterile internet. Having been tempted in the bookshop we headed to Lance Nicholson’s to see what beats were available on the https://dulvertonanglingassociation.org.uk/general.php Beats. The Beat I wanted to explore was Old Woman’s the associations latest acquisition and to my delight James told me it was free and promptly wrote my name in the book.

Before heading to the river bank we grabbed a coffee and popped into the Exmoor Society’s Office to learn about their Rivers day on Saturday August 24th. https://www.exmoorsociety.com/individual-event/exmoor-rivers-day

There is always something special about exploring a new water and Old Woman’s Beat oozed a timeless aura from the moment we left the car and strolled into the lush green field that borders the river.

A herd of Friesen cows were grazing at the far end of the field. Old farmhouses were nestled a distance away in the valley, Oak woodland bordered the river with dense oak woods further down the valley.

The River Exe flowed between ancient oaks, at low summer level now peaceful and serene. Swallows swooped over the summer landscape, sunshine broke through the high white cloud and a strong breeze ruffled the leaves that had now taken on the deep darker green of late summer.

We arrived at Old Woman’s Pool and hut half way down the beat. A picnic table providing a pleasing spot to take our lunch as we savoured the timeless scene. Fishing Huts are undoubtedly places that absorb angling history as anglers from generations pause to take a lunch and debate the issues of the day.

We scrambled down the bank to the rocky foreshore where I threaded the line through the rings of my 7ft Snowbee Classic. I had purchased a couple of deer hair dry flies in Lance Nicholson’s after asking advice on what fly pattern to try. Pauline gave me sound advice and suggested I sit a while and watch the water as she had spied a couple of fish rising in the pool above.

 

A kingfisher flashed downstream a streak of iridescent blue that always inspires. Large dragonflies hovered above the water and a wagtail paused upon a rock on the far side of the river. It was indeed good to pause before casting in haste savouring the ambience and scenery of the river.

I waded carefully into the shallows and worked my way slowly up the pool flicking the bushy dry fly into likely looking spots as I tried to read the water.

I didn’t really expect to catch in the smooth water as I have always found the fish easier to tempt in faster riffled water with plenty of oxygen especially during the days of low summer flows and higher water temperatures.

After exploring Old Woman’s pool with the dry I decided to head down river and fish back up exploring the faster deeper water with a New Zealand style set up. After fishing a couple of likely runs to no avail I removed the bushy indicator fly and tied on a heavy nymph.

I plopped this upstream allowing the heavy tungsten nymph to search deep down in fast dark water. The lines tip paused as I followed the progress and I lifted to feel that thrilling life transmitted through the line. A beautiful wild Exe brown trout was admired before releasing back into the cool water.

I fished on and hooked a bigger trout in the next pool. The fish darted to and fro causing a few moments of anxiety as it momentarily became snared in some weed.  Gentle pressure brought it free and I slipped the net under another pleasing trout of over 10”.

After lingering for a chat with Pauline who was reading the latest Exmoor Magazine at the water’s edge I returned to explore Old Woman’s pool again sending the heavy nymph into the deep dark waters.

At the head of the pool I waded carefully across the shallow shingle that runs into the pool.  I noted that the shingle gives way, the water plunging into the dark mysterious depths of Old Woman’s Pool. I pondered upon the history of the pool and how it had got its name. Had those deep dark waters that offer so much life also taken life in the distant past?

I messaged James at Lance Nicholson’s later enquiring about the pools name. He told me he would seek details from  Michelle Werrett who may be able to elaborate upon the legend of the old lady who was taken by the river. Several anglers have talked of a presence they have felt by the river at this spot. I can well imagine the atmosphere of the pool as the light drains from the day beneath those ancient oaks.

         I plucked my copy of Michelle Werrett’s fine book Song of the Streams and opened its pages to rediscover her accounts of fishing the Old Woman’s beat. I suggest you look out a copy and enjoy her evocative and descriptive prose.

Copies of the book are available at Lance Nicholson’s or online at https://www.medlarpress.com

 I fished a few runs and pools upstream reverting to the new Zealand set up. With no further takes and no fish showing it was a good time to depart and head off in search of an evening meal to complete those birthday celebrations

 

A Meandering Winter Stream

       I joined Dulverton Anglers Association in 2023 intending to explore the waters of the Exe and Barle that wind their way through the wooded valleys around Dulverton. As is often the case ambitions are not always met and I failed to make a single trip to their waters in 2023. We do however visit Dulverton on a regular basis and generally call into Lance Nicholson’s Tackle and Gun Shop to talk of the river or buy a few flies.

       Having already sorted my 2024 subscription I was determined to start exploring their waters and pledged to pursue the grayling of the Exe and its tributaries as soon as conditions allowed.

       Grayling are true fish of the winter months and give a great excuse to visit the water. The South West is not known for its prolific grayling fishing with just a handful of rivers supporting stocks of these enigmatic fish often referred to as the ladies of the stream.

       The grayling of these Exmoor streams have been lingering in my mind for many years. Several decades ago, my wife and I attended a fishing event at the Carnarvon Arms. The Carnarvon Arms was a renowned Country Hotel that hosted many visiting anglers and country sports enthusiasts. A stand at the event was hosted by an elderly gentlemen who talked of grayling enthusiastically and fondly. Sadly, the Carnarvon Arms has now been converted into flats its legacy now just a distant and fading memory.

       Fortunately, time has been kind to these rivers and whilst the salmon are in steep decline there is an everlasting and deep character that still flows. Negley Farson waxed lyrical about the Exmoor waters in his classic tome ‘ Going Fishing’.

“ I think the best thing to call it is a certain quiet decency. This almost unchanging English scene, with its red and green rolling hills, holds a romance that wild rocks, and wild flowers, or snow capped volcanoes could never give you. It has a gentleness, a rich rustic worth, and an unostentatiousness that is like the English character. An imperturbable      scene which fills you with contentment.”

       These streams are still inspiring authors to this day with Michelle Werrett’s latest book ‘ Song Of The Streams’, maintaining a rich literary vein that links the past to the present.

       It was -5 degrees when I left home to drive across Exmoor. There was no hurry as I left home at around 9:30 hoping that the worst of the ice would have melted. The sun was well up in the sky as I drove across Winsford Hill yet the road glistened with white frost.

       I arrived at Dulverton at around 10:30 and called into Lance Nicholson’s to get detailed instruction where to park to access my chosen beat on the River Haddeo. I purchased a hot pasty in Tantivy’s; a shop and café that I assume gained its name from the late Captain Tantivy an old English squire who rode with the hunt as mentioned in Farson’s “Gone Fishing’.

       At the fishing hut I assembled my tackle whilst munching on a Cornish pasty and hot sweet coffee from my flask. I set off to the river unsure of the route to take. The Haddeo starts its journey high on the Brendon Hills its route punctuated by Wimbleball Reservoir that has become a mecca for Stillwater trout fishers.

       The beat I was to fish runs through a Private Country estate and walking across the frosty field to the water I heard the volleys of shots from the shoot. The convoy of guns vehicles were parked up in the field across the valley. The pickers and their dogs worked away further up the valley and a team of beaters were undoubtedly working the woods and cover beyond.

       The river was running fairly low and clear. I descended into the cold water carefully negotiating the barbed wire that will rip waders whatever the price tag!

       And so, the search began with two gold headed nymphs carefully flicked into the rushing stream. It is a delight to explore a new water especially if it is wild and characterful as this beat is.

       As I waded upstream a gamekeeper attired in traditional  tweeds wandered across the field and made a friendly enquiry as to my success. I explained that it was my first visit to the water and that I hoped to catch a grayling. I don’t know if he was a fisher but he gave me encouragement telling me that there were some lovely looking pools up through the river valley.

       I waded on clambering through the arch made by an ivy clad fallen tree. Icicles gripped the branches as they caressed the clear and icy water.

 

       The river tumbled over a stony bed meandering through the valley. The signs of pheasant rearing were all around and I caught the occasional whiff of cordite from the shoot drifting in the cold frosty air.

       I carefully made my way upriver searching each likely looking pool methodically. I was using a long rod adopting Euro Nymphing tactics. I focused intently upon the bright orange leader as it entered the water tightening the line each time it twitched as the flies bounced the rocky riverbed.

       Luck was certainly on my side for the flies came free each time they snagged the bottom. And even the trees failed to rob me of the expensive nymphs that were tied to gossamer thin 3.5 b.s fluorocarbon that tested my ability to focus through lens of recently prescribed varifocals.

       As I wandered the river bank I observed the occasional wren flitting through the branches and the ever present red breasted robin.

       A buzzard mewed above the trees and cock pheasants strutted arrogantly in the frosty fields safe for a few days now  and with just a week of the shooting season left likely to survive into the warmer days of Spring.

       I peered into the flowing water hoping to glimpse my quarry but the river seemed devoid of fish. I knew that grayling were present yet connection seemed less probable as the number of fruitless casts mounted.

       I flicked my flies into another likely spot struggling to see the leader as strong sunshine shone into my face. I perceived the pausing of the line and lifted the rod to feel the magical and delightful pulse of life. The grayling gyrated strongly in the water and I took a step downstream releasing the net from my back in anticipation. The prize was just a few  inches from the nets frame when the hook hold gave, the silver fish disappearing back into the clear tumbling water.

       Would this be my only chance? Grayling are shoal fish so I figured that there could be more in this small pool. I retraced my steps dropping the flies into the pool again. After a couple of casts, the line tightened and after a short tussle I netted a grayling of perhaps 8oz.

       I admired silver flanks and crimson dorsal fin, grabbing its portrait before letting it flip away into its home water.

       I fished on contentedly a blank averted and confidence restored so that I fished with belief and conviction. Covering some promising lie’s, I strolled until I came close to the top of the beat.

Woodsmoke drifted up from the chimneys of cottages across the valley. I savoured the rural scene as I worked my way back downstream revisiting promising pools. In a deep slowly moving pool the leader stabbed down and once again I connected to another grayling. This one was bigger than the first a fish of perhaps 12oz that was once again admired before slipping back into the Haddeo.

       As the sun began to sink lower into the sky I fished on down with no further action. I reached the bottom of the beat and clambered over a style that allowed access to the river beside an old stone bridge. I descended into the river and waded beneath the old bridge contemplating the cars above racing around the troubled modern world.

       I arrived back at the car poured hot coffee from my flask and reflected upon another perfect day beside a meandering stream.