Wet Feet In Wellies

Where I caught my first wild brown trout for over
thirty-years, fishing from the opposite bank.

A lovely overcast, dull, warm day found me down at the river with my new rod, reel and line, a few flies and a pair of wellies. I geared up and tied a tapered leader (I can't remember these thirty odd years ago) on to my floating line and quickly realised that I need to buy a line straightener. After pulling the leader under tension through my T-shirt several times, it still had a bit of a coil to it, though not too bad. I tied on a tiny black spider I had made the night before and had my first cast.

For a first cast in over thirty years, I was really surprised, as I had missed all the tree branches, rocks and debris lying around but had also missed the water, the fly landing on the opposite bank and snagging on some weeds. I didn't want to yank my new rod and as the river looked very shallow I waded across the few yards of water and found myself up to my knees in it, which would have been OK but for the fact that the wellies only reached to just below my knees. There's nothing like the feeling of really cold wetness running down your legs

I retrieved the fly and poured the water out of the wellies and then hung my socks on a tree branch to dry. I was determined to carry on fishing and then slipped the cold wellies back on and tried again. After an hour or so I was really enjoying myself and wasn't giving a damn if I caught a fish or not, it just felt really great being out on the water, not a soul in sight and just the sights and sounds of nature for company, bliss. It was lovely to spot a Kingfisher streaking by me in a blur of blue and orange. I hadn't seen any sign of trout, no rises, nothing. It couldn't be for a lack on insect life as there was plenty of insects clinging to the underside of every large stone I looked under and several Dippers were disappearing under the water and emerging with insects in their beaks. I remembered as a boy watching what seemed to be shoals of trout lying below the bridge over the water at Lennox Castle Hospital. Changed days or perhaps just the imaginations of a small boy. 

Anyway, I kept plugging away, usually having to roll cast for short distances upstream trying to avoid banks, trees, vegetation and the odd household item that had been tossed into the river.

  I eventually stunned myself when I cast my little black fly into a ripple and watched as the end of my fly line stopped, I raised the rod tip and found myself with a hooked fish. After a very short fight I was holding it in my wet hand, all five or six ounces of wild brown trout. It was at this point that I wondered how anglers can carry a camera and take a photo while holding a slippery wet trout. I have a digital SLR but no way is that going near water, too expensive and too heavy, so I will probably have to invest in a cheap digital compact just for fishing, something that will fit into a waistcoat pocket.

Anyway, I slipped the hook from the trout's mouth and held him in the water until he flipped his tail and buggered off, hopefully to fight another day. After that I called it a day as my sockless feet were killing me having been stuck inside wet wellies for a couple of hours.

I was pleased with the rod and reel, especially as I had bought it mainly for loch fishing, being nine and a half feet long and 6/7 rated it casts beautifully and has a nice action. The only problems I encountered were that the river is narrow and mostly tree lined with over-hanging branches, and a shorter rod, probably seven or seven and a half feet and 3/4 rated would have been ideal.

Next purchase just has to be a pair of waders, probably bootfoot waist waders as they will keep my arse dry and I really don't see myself wading any deeper than the top of my legs - famous last words.