The first night spent on dry land

Twice I woke during the night with a start. I must have gone aground. No rocking, no lapping and tinkling water on the hull and none of the discordant harmonics that wind makes passing over tensioned rigging. Familiar sounds that instantly reassure a resting sailor that all is well with the world; as by their stridency, pitch and intensity he instantly senses changes in wind, weather and tide.
Birdsong fills this beautiful Devon garden with its views over Instow, Barnstable Bay and out to Lundy. Ducks have nested again this year and valiantly try and raise their young in a small and fast drying natural pond. Weasels and Crow sadly take their offspring one by one.They have their young to feed too. The ducks ssecond attempt to raise a clutch of chicks is already in trouble. Their numbers, Tim tells me, visibly dwindling daily. Nature can be so cruel.

For the next 7 days Huish Moor Farmhouse will be my home. Pretty much the same group of seven have fished together for over 25 years. The group used to be larger, but we’re all getting to the age, where we rejoice most of us are back, despite a growing list of ailments; and together again we remember fondly, the souls that now fish elsewhere, some celestial. An inflexible mandatory bond has held us together under the stewardship of Tim Stoop, our host. The man who thinks like a fish... as Hugh, one of the group puts it. To watch Tim fish – fly only - is an education for those of us who strive to make the practice an art. The fly placed time and time again exactly where he wants it, whatever the wind is doing and whether he’s fishing under overhanging trees, bushes, banks or waist deep in swirling water, left or right handed at three in the morning in the pitch dark or three in the afternoon in bright sunlight. If there’s fish to be caught, be it salmon, sea-trout or a wild brown trout Tim will know what fly, what depth, where and when to catch it. He knows many miles of the Taw River inside out, each pool, resting place, taking point and lie. Together we walked a two mile stretch yesterday. The river is bare bones. There’s been no rain to speak of in Devon for nearly a month. At regular intervals Tim points out a spot where a guest had a five pound sea trout there, 2 school peel there of about a pound and a half each. Another regular had a 6lb salmon there a small 3 pound grisle there and that’s where Gary, another of our team had two salmon in two days on the first days of the season; and on we walk. Pied wagtails flit from bank to bank, Kingfishers like electric sparks flash past, Buzzards cry overhead while butterflies dance together in patches of sunlight seeping through the canopy of the steeply wooded banks. Woods that have remained untouched for hundreds if not thousands of years. Old and twisted oak, ash and willow trees along the banks, with their erosion exposed roots, carry the detritus of last winter’s floods as high as 15 feet above our heads; that come with huge and regular ferocity from high up on Dartmoor and Exmoor. A true spate river, scoured clean each winter. Tiny wild brown trout rise to sip insects from the surface in shaded spots and electric blue and green damsel flies dispute their territories. A rare green sandpiper lifts off a silt laden exposed bank and flees as does a white egret disturbed from fishing in the margins. The water, gin clear, looks sterile. And yet deep in among roots and in deep shaded pools lie our quarry in untold numbers. All but invisible in bright sunlight and rarely seen or heard until late eveining, when a maybe a few or sometimes many start to splash athletically, providing focus and impetus to our night’s sport. Yes, we fly fish at night! Only starting when 7 stars are visible and continue until too exhausted or two cold to continue. Stealth and an intimate knowledge of both the river bottom and banks essential to avoid a soaking or the loss of fly after fly. The reward, an infrequent fish that when caught, maybe fresh from the sea just days earlier, is a tremendous fight with a powerful silver athlete; whose aerial antics and reel emptying runs, heart stopping.

True to form, Tim had the first fish a 9lb7oz Salmon, Landed with some help from Malcolm Findlay who along with me lost decent sized fish - mine right at the landing net which got into a tangle with my wadding stick. The week looks promising,as plenty of fish are making their presence known and rain is forecast for tomorrow and possibly even tonght (Sunday) which should liven things up considerably - as long as there's not too much.

This will be my last post until I set off again next Saturday - weather permitting. Next stop Milford Haven in South Wales - quite some way away....!