Some of you might remember the first and part deux. It's been a while since I put anything up to tickle the tastebuds of you small stream... err... what are we calling ourselves?
Loons? Here's a little morsel for you fellow loons...
I present a small stream gorge. Sunday 21st August. Let's try it in the first person and see how we get on...
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I walk across the field from my house, all of 100 yards. I step over the barbed wire fence and down into a lovely little triple S I. Careful not to rip a massive hole in the ar5e of my trousers, as that's never a good look. Some interesting ferns live down here in the microclimate of the small stream (Hay Scented Buckler if anyone's interested). I've seen hares in this wood in the spring, and it's warm and sheltered in the dappled sunlight.
I follow a badger trail down to the bottom of the wood, to the streambed where the water leaves the gorge behind. Stepping behind an old stump I get a lovely earthy smell from the exposed soil and leaves. It reminds me of a toy I rescued from the garden as a kid - it always smelt like that.
The stream is shallow, gravely. There'll probably be some spawning sewin here in a heavier flow. This is a distant tributary of the mighty Dyfi, and they do make it this far. A few small trout dart up the shallows ahead in an inch of water - little torpedoes, not much bigger than fry really. I don't bother with a cast to the deeper water under the tree roots, but stop to take a quick photo, and then tuck the camera safely in the neck of my shirt, I could be taking a plunge later, so safety first.
I'll be using a little nymph for the deep water and plunge pools of the gorge. The larger fly is an #18 I think, the smaller peac0ck herl nymph I intend to fish on a dropper, but decide against this as I start tackling up. Catapult casts are going to be the main order of the day - and one fly is so much simpler, especially with the number of overhanging branches, ivy and brambles.
The first pool of the gorge. It's lighter than those to come, and the fish are fairly easy to spot - there they go - the tidlers on the fringes move deeper into the pool. I know where the bigger fish are though, and it's in the slack water round to the left - out of sight of my looming presence, sun behind me - I cast a giants shadow across the pool, even crouching. He doesn't know I'm here, the shadow is for the other fish to worry about. Buttocks just touching cold water - a little catapult cast and the beaded nymph sinks in the crystal pool. A dark shape immediately darts from the left, and hits the nymph as it's still dropping. I strike low and to the right, a little jerk. In return I see a brief flash and see the fish twist in the water and dart upstream under the waterfall. The line is slack. A chance missed. A couple more little roll casts and a few plucks, but nothing holds. I hook the fly in the guide, check my bag - fly box is still in place, and crawl around the edge. Felt soles gripping on the slick rock - but it's dry here anyway. I've done it in trainers, sandals, but the wading boots do feel more secure. I congratulate myself on the choice as the water soaks from the boots through to my underpants...
I take a photo before I leave - the nice trout home is on the left of the shot.
Pool number two, a dish of crystal clear water. No takers here, and no sign of a fish, so it's a slip and a slide into the water, finding some grip on the rocks to the side as the water reaches crotch level. Pull with the arms, push with the legs, a grunt and I slip out of the water. Nymph-like. Sadly I won't evolve into anything more elegant.
As I make my way I hear the sharp piping call of a dipper. He/she banks behind me, and rises, high over head, and down to the pool above me. I struggle with my camera for a moment, before taking a terrible photograph, but the best I can do in the low light it seems. He/she dips and hops, before taking flight and skimming low over the water and out of sight, with just a thrumming of wings this time.
After the excitement of the dipper (they're still quite rare on these impoverished rivers) I decide to take another shot. It's nice to be down in the gorge, fishing. Wildlife all around, thick moss and a ribbon of blue sky above, mirroring the stream below.
I move in deeper. The next pool provides another take, but it's a fleeting contact. No other fish show, and I press on. At the head of the pool is a lorry wheel, complete with tyre. It's been there for about 5 or 6 yrs now. Time for a quick photo.
And turning to look back where I've come from, it has a magical jungle like quality.
I heave myself out of the deep water at the head of the pool, crouching next to the tyre and survey the pool above. I always like fishing at eye level to the water above - it's the best cover you can get.
The pool is shallow with bedrock and complex flows. I flip the nymph up-stream and trundle it back along the bottom, fanning the casts across the 4 ft wide pool. After a few throws I get a take. The fish splashes at the fly - the water is shallow where it takes. He spooks and shoots upstream, a bow-wave tells you exactly where he's gone - to the safety of the cliff edge which overhangs the water at one side. Again, contact is brief. The fish is off, and no others show interest.
Fish lies here are often pockets in the bedrock - so small, and randomly placed, it's pot luck if you cover one with a drift. As I step up and reach over to the tyre a couple of fish appear and dart upstream. Where were they holding?
The stream turns to the left, and ahead is a big logjam. It's thinner and less high than it has been, but it still looks impressive. The pool below looks good, and I get my first reward - a fish on first cast, it flashes around the pool a couple of times before jumping and coming off. Damn!
Over the logjam, easy this time. It's wedged solid, and creates a pretty good ladder. Odd branches are rotten, but it's safer than the slick rocks.
The water has turned milky, almost glacial looking. Perhaps someone's been driving through the water upstream disturbing the silt. I don't mind on this occasion - if I can't see the fish, they can't see me.
The next pool is a favourite of mine, it holds a few nice fish. These are tiny trout, but they're a little bigger than average.
Another catapult cast, and a fish follows the fly down into the tail of the pool where, right infront of where I'm kneeling. It hits the fly, and turns - and is on. It was going to eat that nymph whatever happened. At last I get a fish to hand. These fish are light coloured to match the blue/green of the slate streambed. Lovely bright fish.
I remember the last time I fished this pool there was a dead lamb in the water. The sort of thing that happens here in Wales - there's so many sheep about, some are bound to end up in the water. Dead lambs, dead sheep, cows. I've seen the lot. Last time it was a peaceful scene, and the smell wasn't
too bad. That time I crept above the lamb and carried on fishing the pool. This time it was lamb free, which was nice.
The lamb from last time, poor little bug ger:
So, that's the gorge done. A successful trip to some extent. I stop to turn a couple of stones before I go. There are the usual gnat larvae and small caddis, and this little fella. About 3mm long. A little upwing larvae of some sort. Any ideas?
That's it, I'm calling it a day.
My legs are drying off now, and I'm heading home for some dry underwear, maybe a piece of chocolate for my efforts... satisfied.
Small Stream Delights... yep, another one
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