Always take the weather

There's a bit of a kerfuffle in the Daily Telegraph today where Devon tourism managers are criticising weather forecasters for undue pessimism (that is forecasting heavy rain when there won't be much. I'm aware that anglers often want some rain). I think there is something in this.

Just before going up to the Oykel - a spate river - I looked at the weather outlook in the Telegraph funnily enough.

There were black clouds over the area, some of them with rain underneath, on every day of the coming week. I was rubbing my hands in anticipation.

In the event we had blistering sunshine the whole week. I couldn't have changed my fishing dates in this instance - besides, as the report said, the fishing was pretty good from the previous week's spate - but suppose I had been going to Scotland on spec, in the hope of catching some good spate conditions towards the end of the week? The forecasters should own up to the imperfections of forecasting beyond a day or two and admit to the imprecisions of their science.

Saturday: looking at the weather today the Telegraph map is again dominated by rainclouds with showers, only you can also see a few little suns poking from behind the clouds. At a glance you would think it would be pouring down everywhere. In reality there has been the odd light shower on a dull day - no sun. I think the problem lies with the symbols - they give the impression of heavy rain when it simply isn't happening.

N.B. If you are at all interested in weather lore you might be interested in some additions I have made to my archive, covering notes on Bill Foggitt, the Thirsk weather sage.

Salmon fishing on the River Oykel

Monday morning on the river Oykel. The water was perfect and the fish were running in numbers. You dream about days like this.

Gill and I were sharing a rod as guests of Andrew Pindar, chairman of the Pindar printing group, on the lower Oykel beats. The four beats are run by a consortium fronted by Mohamed Al-Fayed whose kilted waxwork dummy can be found in the shop at the nearby Falls of Shin.

They like Al-Fayed around these parts. He has donated computers to the local schools among other things. That kind of generosity can buy you a lot of tolerance for your kilted vanity. Who cares if there is not, as yet, an Al-Fayed clan tartan?

Osprey nests

So where is the Oykel? I had to ask this myself as I had never been so far north on the east coast. You drive (or fly) to Inverness at the head of the Caledonian Canal and just keep on going another hour, not far from Bonar Bridge.

The lodge, overlooking the river, had magnificent views of the hills where we often spotted golden eagles and ospreys on hunting forays. There are two osprey nests in the area and we spent the best part of an afternoon watching a pair with their fledglings.

That was after the spate when the river was shrinking to its bare bones. The spate itself had been running the previous week when the 12 rods on the four lower beats had caught 145 salmon and grilse.

Snapped line

So Monday was the tail end of the spate and we had to make the most of it. But it's hard to do your best when you reach a new river. We rose before breakfast and went to one of the best pools where Gill lost a fish. We should have skipped breakfast altogether but there was the morning organising to do - the allocation of rods and fishing spots. There is etiquette to observe as a guest and the first day on a new river is always strange for the newcomer.

The gillie took us back to the the same beat and with my second or third cast I felt a pull on the line. The next cast - a long one across the neck of the pool - produced a strong take and a thrashing fish. But after less than a minute it was away - with the hook.

Yes it took the hook. That shouldn't happen. Nothing wrong with the knot. The line had snapped. "Fluorocarbon? Bin it. It's a load of crap," said the ghillie. I tied on a new fly, pulled the line to test it and it snapped again.

This is not the first time I have heard a ghillie decrying fluorocarbon. Jimmy Barrett, who has a lifetime of fishing experience on the Tay where he ghillied on the Upper Scone beat, believes that fluorocarbon can be brittle and prone to nicking. Certainly it does not have the same give or stretch as nylon.

So I changed leaders. With almost the next cast I had a fish on again - a healthy 11 lb hen fish which put up a real fight and needed no revival as it was released. I handed the rod to Gill and within 10 minutes she was playing a grilse to the bank where she released it.



Trusted patterns

The lower Oykel fishings impose a 6-fish limit with no fish to be taken that are longer than 25 ins (about 7 lbs).

Without the breakage, without breakfast, we would have had more, really should have had more, but two fish in a morning isn't bad. Later in the afternoon I had another that came to a small plastic tube fly - stoats tail and silver. The others took either cascade or stoats tail and silver patterns, either size 10 or eight.

There is no need to fish too small when there's a good flow and there are fresh taking fish. Nor is there any need to be too choosy about fly patterns or methods. We simply used trusted patterns with double hooks on a straight cast.

Andrew Pindar hooks in to a grilse.

But when the fish stop running and you're trying for the "residents" in blazing sunshine the fishing gets a whole lot more difficult. We raised one or two on bombers and sunray shadows but couldn't get a take. Had it not been for the bright sunshine I think we might have had a few more fish. As it was we had seven fish to the three rods in the week and everyone who started the week had a fish.

I kept my second fish, a lovely 7-pounder and the first salmon I have killed for some years.

It seems churlish, however, to talk numbers on a river like the Oykel. It's a privilege enough simply to be there. Yes, in purely fishing terms, we are talking about feast and famine. But for variety and scenery it's hard to beat. I loved fishing the small pools above the Oykel Bridge where we could watch the fish leaping the falls. I probably spent as much time with the camera that morning as I did with the rod.

Hot and sunny

Rod-sharing was also fun, allowing time to think about the next session or read a book if the fishing is quiet. It's not often that you catch fish and improve on your tan in the same week. Those who holiday for the sunshine would never understand the game fishing mentality that greets a damp overcast morning with a sense of joy.

"Did you have good weather?" asked a neighbour when we returned.

"Terrible," I said with a shake of the head. "Hot and sunny every day."