28^th July 2006

It was one of those days when you somehow know it’s going to be a good session. As I left Willy Wonkas in South Birmingham and made my way to Tigermoth Towers, not even the stifling heat, or the transmitter failure interrupting the Test Match coverage could dampen my spirits. Sometimes when you cram a fishing trip into a busy time it can mean that you end up going through the motions, but this time after a month of enforced abstinence I was like a coiled spring, ready to go, but not over tightened.

After the amazing evening session that Dave reported earlier this week, he seemed keen to show me this section and to take his exploration further. The Bridge Beat I believe it is called. On arrival we park in a pub car park and make our intentions known to those inside. The bitter looks good but we press on, only held up briefly by a chat with an old boy in the corner. He is interested that we’re fishing, and informs us that the biggest trout are best caught using a ‘lure’ fashioned from bread and silver paper. How is it that you only hear these kinds of tales from old men in pubs?

We make our way downstream until we come to a lovely riffle with a gentle tongue of current leading to a chuckling, bubbling outflow. It reeks of fish. I open my flybox and am unusually drawn to the flashback colours of a Copper John nymph. Nothing is rising, so I tie it on and fish it under an indicator. Dave stands by with camera in hand. Best not disappoint I think and fourth cast a good take leads to a beautifully coloured 10” brown with vivid spots. Forward comes Dave with the camera, and like a bar of soap, my first fish makes a bid for freedom before the shutter opens! Another few casts in this pool and a small but sporting grayling is brought to hand. A fantastic start to the evening.

Upstream we go and Dave is into the breach now. A deep pool swirling around an overhanging tree catches the eye. It’s not easy to present the fly and his New Zealand approach with a Elk Hair Caddis at the top is proving difficult to manoeuvre through the current. Third time down and he is into a good fish though. A broad flash of twisting silver confirms it’s a grayling but out pings the hook and flies past my right ear. A brief fling only with that Lady. Incredibly the next cast yields another take, but I am surprised to see the quarry swung in so easily. It is a Monnow Minnow. And a small one.

The next pool is a fascinating mix of deep water, tree roots and lovely oxygenated water above. Trouble is, the sun is low, I have no hat on and the sunglasses alone do not make visibility easy. DAVE is a big hearted kind of guy and offers to play the role of Stevie Wonder’s ghillie for me. The combination of his eagle eyes and my slow reactions make us a tandem no smarter than a pantomime horse, and I miss between five and ten takes before I hook and land another fit brown of 9”. So fit in fact that it darted behind me and headed for the tree roots before I had time to turn. I played the fish like the back end of the panto horse but happily got away with it.

Time for a break and dinner and on this occasion Dave pulls out all the stops. Two enormous steaks are draped onto a BBQ scarcely big enough for the job. We leave them to cook and fish on further up. I take a grayling and a couple of browns, and Dave picks up the fish of the night, a lovely brown of 13 inches from a pool as pretty as any I’ve seen. Time to eat and a badly timed phone call from my mother prevents me getting my hands on the cow baguette that is now prepared. Desperate Dan is halfway through his before I tuck in. The second half of the too-long conversation marred by saliva running from my mouth onto the phone.

Now it’s time to head to the ‘flats’. A long meandering piece of water above the weir. It’s getting dark and the water is calm, sluggish and dotted with clumps of algae. It does not look fishy at all to me, but my host is confident that fish are here. He’s right. After a brief pause half way up, there are rises. Sporadic and never in the same place twice. Swirling rises with the fish never seen. But they sound like big fish. What are they taking we muse? I tie on an Klinkhammer thinking they must be picking up emergers and Dave tries a bigger more visible Sedge pattern. The scene is eerie to say the least. Dark. Still. Mesmerising. The woods opposite make a mystical silhouette. I get two chances out of the blue and miss them both. This is fishing by instinct, and mine are not honed enough for this kind of thing yet.

Reluctantly we draw the session to a close, and wander back talking about what might have been, and wondering how you should approach that kind of situation. Maybe the bread and sliver foil isn’t such a daft idea after all!! That is until we reach the wooded section where navigation is now impossible in the dark. The torch on a mobile phone guides us through. ‘This is madness’ I say, but Dave has enthusiasm that knows no bounds. Even as we wade through the rocks and river to the car, he is like a mountain goat to my lumbering wildebeest.

A nightcap of 60% proof malt completes the evening. It tastes like potent vaporised fruit cake and is a fitting toast to a rich evenings fishing.