Fishing, if I a fisher may protest, Of pleasures is the sweet'st, of sports the best, Of exercises the most excellent. Of recreations the most innocent. But now the sport is marde, and wottye why? Fishes decrease, and fishers multiply - Thomas Bastard (1598)
Took the day off on Friday, so headed up to the Lakes Thursday evening to meet up with Tom & his French mate Cyrille. We'd arranged to meet in the pub in Patterdale at 7 that evening, when I arrived Tom was there pint in hand but, no sign of Cyrille, it turns out he's gone to stalk a trout he'd seen in the small beck. Half way through our pint the excited Frenchman turns up wanting for us to get a snap, I obliged as I was keen to see what could have come out of the small stream.
What a corker!
Afterwards we decided to head up the fells to the Tarns for a spot of fishing & wild camping. The going was pretty tough that evening with a strong wind funnelling down from the tops.
Here's a lovely peaty Tarn fish Tom caught earlier that day.
After a shite nights sleep on the softest tuft of grass I could find that wasn't boggy, we headed down off the fells keen to sample some river fishing. First off we went to explore the Greta but, after bumping into the hatchery chap while stopping for a couple of Jennings in the Twa Dogs he convinced us we'd be much better off on the Derwent as the water was really low.
The day was pretty slow due to the heat & light but, we all caught fish. Cyrille was loving it as he's completely obsessed with sight fishing for Browns with nymphs and the day was perfect for spotting fish for later that evening.
Here's the best of the day.
As the sun sank a huge hatch came off & the river became alive with feeding fish. We had one of the best hours in memory casting at pods of rising Trout. The hardest part was trying to keep the fly dry with fish nailing it every try.