Unexpectedly I was given a late pass on sunday afternoon for a couple of hours. “Well it’ll be a while before you’re able to go again darling wont it?”

A day spent in the garden, picking plums and turning over the beds in readiness for the tulip planting had got me feeling quite autumnal; and for that reason I was drawn to Pandy. I just wanted to be there to witness the late afternoon September sunlight bathe the Black Mountain and ignite warm harvest embers acrossthe valley below. I wasn’t disappointed.

Arrived at Trewyn Mill about fiveish and parked up. Both the Honddu and Monnow are very low and clear and the fish will see you long before you even think there are none there! So the utmost care is needed. This is the time to sit, watch and wait; not for long - just for long enough, as even in the shallowest runs good fish were showing, tempting you, daring you to dive in. But this is FA Cup fishing rather than Champions League - one crap cast and you’re out of the equation, no return fixture, and no prize for a great second effort. The 7ft Esse and 3wt Partridge Dry and Delicate were teamed up with about 10ft of leader down to 2lb and on the end, one of Alan Bithell’s delightful little grey no. 18 klinks.

As I worked my way patiently up the Honddu I rose and hooked several fish but could bring none to hand, which was a great pity as there were some good ones amongst them! To be honest though, the real pleasure of fishing here is to find the good fish in this tiny little river and watch them rise, wondering if they’ll come to you, and if they do, it’s almost the same feeling you get if a beautiful woman, one you’ve being eyeing up “subtly”, meets your gaze across the room with a smile, at least I imagine so. And if you miss the take… well at least you gave them something to think about. As with beautiful women though, frustration sets in after a few “ooh nearly!” moments. A change of tac is in order and maybe a bigger fly, the logic being that a bigger hook will prove more difficult to spit. Out comes the Elk & CDC, size 14 in natural elkhair and canary CDC, and beautifully tied by Phil Holding. Again, I’m still missing and hooking fish, maybe its just me? Of course it is! Eventually I fish a run just below the campsite bridge where having missed and connected with four fish, one trout takes pity on me and just hammers the fly. You cant describle the beauty and thrill of this fight. The trout cavorts and splashes showering jewelled beads of water in the sunlight, leaping and diving for the roots before coming to hand.

I wander back downstream, looking at my watch and clenching my fist in satisfaction, still another half an hour (or so) before packing up time. I catch a couple more smaller fish before returning to a lovely pool which I bollocksed up earlier by putting my first cast into the alder when the pool was pockmarked with rising fish. At first glance the pool looks silent but a slurp of port from the flask is punctuated by splishing rise under the alder bough. First cast and my sedge drifts down towards the zone where it is literally engulfed by a very hungry trout. Fantastic stuff! I love it when the fish rise like that, not because they are easy to hit, but because its clear that they are just completely relaxed and happy in their environment, confident, kings of their domain and all that, and to fool one into such a take isimmensely exciting. The culprit is landed - a lovely dark 13″ fish, deep and muscular. God I love this place.

Another glance at the watch and time for a last cast, below the Monnow bridge at the Altyrynnis where a good fish is rising. Again, first cast and a smash take. But this time the fly comes flying back in my face after a brief and brutal flurry. The tangle on the end of my line and the distrubance to the water means that I’m out of The Cup…till the next time!