Old dog, new trick

As I'm new to this site and it's the start of a shiny New Year I think it's important that I get one or two things clear, dear reader, if we are to enjoy an honest and open relationship over the coming months.

1. Carp anglers - THREE RODS IS CHEATING.
If you are not good enough to catch what you want with one rod, like in every other type of angling, give up or see the coaching section of this web site. Also, don't sit there for days on end trying to catch fish that are artificially fat, pumped up on steroids and wheeze their way into the landing net with all the fight of an asthmatic earwig carrying a heavy parcel. Instead, fish for just a few hours, get a life, go home and sleep in a proper bed.

2. Sea anglers - GO TO THE FISH MARKET INSTEAD.
There is more skill in trying to pick a fish off the slab that's less than a week old and contains less mercury than a thermometer than there is hauling a 2lb fish up from the deep on 60lb line. And it's cheaper. And you won't get seasick. And there is considerably less risk of death (provided you don't annoy the fishmonger).

3. Fly anglers - WHY?
Stop throwing bits of wool, fluff and tinsel around whilst harping on about being purists. Essentially, with all that fibre flying around, all you are doing is aerial knitting, a hobby usually reserved for old women. Instead, stop dressing like Ray Mears and put some bait on the hook, it's a trick the rest of the modern angling world has caught on to. I promise you will catch more and the rest of the angling fraternity will stop thinking you are stuck up.

Gosh, you wouldn't believe how good it feels to get that little lot off my chest. Obviously, in an attempt to save your poor angling souls I'll elaborate on my feelings in later articles but in the meantime I look forward to receiving your E-mails at - angryangler@tiscali.co.uk

Anyway, with all that in mind you will understand my trepidation, if not bum-clenching terror, at an invitation from the Editor of this website to a days fly-fishing with him and Sue Sissons, England Ladies Captain.

Personally, after 35 years of angling I've never hankered after the fly-fishing experience, preferring instead to stay home and stick number 4 carp hooks into my eyelids. However, how often do you get the opportunity to be taught a new skill by someone who is one of the finest at their sport in the country? Exactly, I jumped at the chance quicker than a local councillor dives on a free buffet (Sorry Mr Stevenson). After all, if anyone was going to stand a chance of changing my view on 'fluff chucking' then surely it had to be the England captain.

Venue for the day was to be the excellent Barlow Fishery complex, a truly beautiful series of lakes in a small wooded valley near Chesterfield. I wasn't surprised at the venue choice, this is the Editor's home water. He's the resident coach, and I think he wanted to make sure he had the edge. You see, about 5 months ago I stole his annual 'Gudgeon Match' crown from him - on one of his favourite coarse ponds at Barlow by a massive margin, and I don't think he has got over the shock yet. I had to prize the trophy out of his grasping fingers by tying him to a stake and hooking it up to my car.

So, if I was to catch more trout than him (he is an experienced tinsel tosser) on my first ever trip, on his home water, in the presence of the England Captain... well, you can imagine the bragging rights and potential insults next time we coaches get together, lets just say I'm not known for my tact or shyness. Anyway now that he has 'outed' me as a losing Weakest Link contestant, on this website, I feel the gloves are off.

I must admit that on the drive up to Barlow I wasn't very confident about my chances of catching anything other than food poisoning from a motorway service station. There had been a very heavy frost when I left home and as dawn broke the ice was replaced by heavy rain and a gusting Easterly. This was hardly the weather of red letter days and I was glad I had decided to slip into my thermals (even though my domestic goddess laughs herself to the point of almost doing a small wee every time she sees me in them).

It didn't look good...
On arriving at Barlow my pessimism deepened further as a quick walk around revealed that the water was carrying a lot of colour and the wind was howling down the valley. More worryingly I didn't see a single sign of any fish moving at all. Desperate angling situations such as these are well catered for at Barlow as they have an excellent cafe that serves a superb breakfast. So, to buoy my spirits I did what any right thinking human would do and went for a good warming scoff whilst trying to block out thoughts of a potentially freezing wet day exposed to the elements, with no fish.

Whilst eating and waiting for the Ed to arrive I was joined by the fishery owner, Rex, and one of his bailiffs. They worked hard to convince me that trout are far more tolerant of very cold water and would probably still feed at some point during the day, regardless of the conditions. I was decidedly sceptical but their enthusiasm was a credit to them and so persuasive were they that by the time my host arrived I was more excited than a dentist who has just discovered Matt Hayes has booked an appointment - and I was itching to get out there and have a bash.
First stop was an introduction to Sue and her husband Paul, my main coaches for the day and a demonstration of fly tying by Steve Newsome. This guy was truly amazing, he tied a couple of flies slowly so I could see the process, and then demonstrated the speed and dexterity that meant he would usually, on average, tie about 20,000 a year. I know what you are thinking, my jaw is still hanging down when I write about it now. I get grumpy if I have to tie half a dozen pole rigs for a match, let alone repeat the process 385 times a week for an entire year. So nimble was he that if he ever gets fed up with fly tying he could carve a new career assembling IKEA furniture for people through their letterbox, whilst they are at work.

After a short introductory natter with Sue we took our courage into our hands, secured all loose clothing for fear of it being torn off and headed out into the gale. To be fair it wasn't too bad down by the water. With the tree cover it was possible to find a sheltered corner where I could thrash the water into a foam without hurting any innocent bystanders. As I was guided through tackling up by Paul I noticed my host had slipped off to the opposite corner to get a head start and was already fishing.

First up was a demonstration from my coach. A few flicks of the arm and his fly whizzed out through the air in a graceful arc and landed gently on the water. He picked it off the water with equal ease and gave me a couple more demonstrations. I have to say that, as I had secretly suspected, it looked fairly straightforward, a doddle in fact. After all, when you are used to flinging 16 metres of pole around for five hours how hard could it be?

In my head I planned my day. A quick few casts, land a couple of trout, photos for bragging rights and then back to the cafe for some tea and gloating, perfect!

I took the rod, deftly flicked it back and forth a couple of times and launched my fly towards a likely looking spot at the head of a small bay. It flew straight up in the air for two feet and then straight back down to my feet, deliberately span itself around my main fly line and then hooked itself into my bootlace. With a very red face I unhooked myself, tidied everything up and went again. This time there was a whip crack about an inch from my ear and the fly managed three feet into the reed fringe of the lake. To be fair, the fly did land very nicely on the reed and if there were any trout sunbathing on the bank enjoying a Fly Pinacolada I'm sure I would have been in with a shout. But, Paul assured me that my best chance would be to actually get the fly into the water, so I tried again.

I won't bore you with the details but let's just say that 50 attempts later and I could just about get the wretched ball of wool going towards the water, but, where it would land was anybody's guess. I could still only manage about 20 feet on a good cast and any hopes of catching a fish were complete pie in the sky. My only chance of beating the Ed with this level of performance was if by luck I stumbled on a particularly stupid trout that hadn't eaten for week and had just had a row with Mrs Trout and decided to end it all.

This was turning into a very strange experience. I've been angling for 35 years and yet nothing I had ever done before was any use to me at all. No matter what I tried the fly still chose its own path seemingly un-influenced by my frantic thrashing at the other end of the line. I was cringing with embarrassment at my uselessness and found myself endlessly apologising to my coach. Despite all his best efforts and a couple of hours quality tuition I still stood more chance of hooking him than I did a fish. I think by this time Paul had also begun to realise the danger he was in, so he left me to my own devices to practice and escaped to the safety and warmth of the cafe. The only consolation in a
very bleak situation was that the Ed was still fishless as well.

It all comes together
Then something happened. As soon as I was alone and I didn't feel the pressure of having someone watching me, it all started to come together a little. I began to relax and experiment with the casting action without the fear of hooking Paul in the lip and myself looking a complete Muppet. Within 30 minutes my performance had improved dramatically. OK I may still have hooked the odd tree a couple of times and I heard the fly flick inches from my ear on more than one occasion but there was no doubt I was getting better. I was now able to get it going in roughly the direction I wanted and the only variable seemed to be how far I managed to fling it on each cast. On two out of three casts I now got it out well enough so I could actually fish the fly back to me.

In the afternoon Sue stepped into the danger zone that surrounded wherever I was casting and took over with my coaching. Now I was over my nerves I continued to improve, to a point, under her expert guidance. However and to be honest, when I saw her have a chuck I realised just how rubbish I still actually was. If she was a Ferrari I was a Skoda.

With about an hour to dark we were all still fishless. Then Paul, who was wisely fishing a safe distance away from my erratic fly, managed to wangle out a Rainbow of a couple of pounds and that perked everyone up. Sue, with eyes worthy of an eagle was starting to spot fish moving and looking like they might feed. I couldn't see a thing other than brownie-green water but that just demonstrates her skills and under her direction she got me casting to the fish she was spotting. With renewed optimism, and another demonstration of why she is England Captain, Sue suggested a final fly change. On my first retrieve with the new fly and inches from the tip of my rod my stupid Rainbow with a death-wish appeared. It looked at me, looked at the fly and in a selfless, magnanimous gesture slurped up my fly and I was in. I swear it damn near winked at me. Given that I hooked it 3 feet from the bank a very short scrap followed but for me it felt like hours.

I honestly can't remember the last time I wanted to land a fish as much as I wanted to land this one. We had all worked so hard for it and I'd embarrassed myself on several occasions just to experience this moment so I was determined to have it out. I don't remember much about landing it, it's all a bit of a blur, both at the time and now but with Sue in close attendance soon enough it was in the net, all 3/4 of a pound of it. I was so happy it might as well have been 3/4 of a ton with a gold bar stuck in the corner of it's mouth and Kylie Minougues home phone number tattooed on it's side.

My cracking little fish was duly photographed, kissed in a Rex Hunt style, thanked profusely for its willingness to sacrifice itself and returned to the water to resolve its differences with Mrs Trout. My host despite being fishless and beaten, and expecting a tirade of jokey abuse, was hugely generous in defeat and was genuinely pleased for me. In fact everyone who was there and had played a part in my unlikely success had smiles as big as mine. What a great bunch of people. What a credit to their sport. Thank you.
So this old dog learned a new trick and dispelled some of my misconceptions about fly fishing at the same time. I can't help feeling that a bit of bait would make the whole thing a bit easier and there were times in the day when I would have willingly given up my left 'man lump' for some micro pellets or a juicy worm. I'm certain I would have caught more. But it has to be said that the tremendous sense of achievement when you manage to drag one out more than compensates for not catching many. It's fair to say it will never replace my love for coarse angling, but, one thing's certain, I will definitely have another go fairly soon. I'm particularly attracted to the idea of being able to have a tiny amount of kit permanently in the car and no need for bait. That way I could fish at any time if an opportunity presented itself.

Apart from having a great day I also learnt a couple of other important lessons. Firstly, In my role as an NFA coach I've never stopped to think how people feel. having me perched next to them gabbling in their ear non-stop while they are trying to learn. I always thought I was being helpful, but, I wonder if they feel as embarrassed as I did when they too get something wrong several times? And I wonder if the pressure of having someone watching actually makes them perform worse like it did for me? This year I'm going to take a lesson from Paul's approach. Give them some tuition, make sure they are competent enough not to kill themselves then step back and let them have a go on their own without my beady eyes watching everything they do. If nothing else, it will be an interesting experiment.

The second thing I learned was that I perhaps shouldn't slag off a sport too much when I've never properly tried it. Rather than rely on my own opinions Sue and Paul's expert guidance meant I got a chance to really experience their sport and learn to appreciate it on a whole new level and maybe that's the answer. I just need Andy Little to help me catch a 30lb Carp and John Wilson to take me out to sea for a fish and a vomit, that way I at least have had a proper go at their sport before I take the mickey out of them.


Try and catch a few...

AngryAngler