Flood Grayling
It was the end of August and all we had been granted by the weather gods for several weeks was lots of rain and wind.
Still, I thought, I'll have a trip to the river and see what's doing. when I got there the Hodder was up and very coloured. First impressions told me that the only people who would have any sport would be the salmon and sea- trouters with either a spinner or worm.
As I had travelled with my son Kyle (who was with me to take photos of local butterflies for his Lepidoptera website) over thirty five miles from home I didn't feel like just running off when faced with this big flood. Not to be daunted, I put up my six foot midge rod and tied on a red tag.
Surprisingly, before long I managed to rise a fish on the lip of a smooth fast run which head-butted my fly without getting a proper hold. Something told me to change the dressing quick so on went a trusty BWO and on the second cast the fish hit the fly hard. It turned out to be a nice silvery grayling of about twelve ounce which I gently returned to the pool unharmed.
My hopes and confidence changed dramatically with this fish and before long several more nice silver ladies graced my net.
The effective dry fly flood technique was to cast a short line up stream no more than about ten yards as most of the fish where very close into my bank, avoiding the main thrust of the spate. Takes were positive and not the sort of half-hearted pecks that can be so frustrating on low, clear conditions.
Later in the afternoon a salmon fisher came down to the water yet he had no success with his brightly-coloured Flying C lure.
I almost felt guilty at having such good sport on this flood with the tiny BWO when conditions seems to demand huge metal lures and bunches of worms for migratory species.
I ended up with six excellent Hodder grayling which is not a massive catch by any means but considering the adverse river condition was very pleasing. I also lost several fish and they all took the BWO dressing. Two, well over the pound mark, were kept for tea and they tasted better than trout.
The point of this little tale is that one should never give up hope and go home as there is always a chance of some dry fly sport - even in the most seemingly hopeless of conditions.
