Scotland 2019
Every year I try to take one trip to a place I've never been. This year I decided that I wanted to go to the UK where so much of what we now know about fly fishing originated. Fish my way through the U.K. ( Kind of has a ring to it right ?) As I pondered and imagined my way through the hills and dales of the mother country a sense of nostalgia crept into the visage in my mind. I imagined myself standing knee deep in the light coffee brown flows of one of the many rivers of lore . Perhaps wearing a tattersall shirt and country tie, hooligan cap and my trust worthy Labrador on the bank behind me.
Not being content with the dream I ran the notion past my significant other, Judy. I think I got about half way through my description of the thought before she was on the phone with her travel agent making the arrangements. Got to love that. After the requisite research and quality control that is necessary for adventures abroad we had our plans made and tickets purchased.
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Anybody that has traveled with a partner knows that there is always some negotiation involving the itinerary. With every negotiation there is, usually, a concession or two offered up in the hope that it facilitates the overall enjoyment of the trip by both parties. In this case I agreed to spend a couple of days in the city of London. I don't have a strong desire to spend my vacation in cities even if they are great. London is cool, the history is amazing, the brexit protests were interesting, but by the third day my eyes were watering and my soul was salivating to get to a river and cast a line.
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And so after as much city cultural saturation as my simple mind could handle,we were off to Scotland. We flew from Gatwick to Inverness , a short junket of about an hour. We rented a car in Inverness and drove to our first destination, the town of Aberlour. A name that resonates for me because there is a very fine single malt scotch produced there. Now, before I omit it, let me state with unfettered honesty that driving on the "other" side of road had been a preoccupying concern in my head since before we were even on the jet in the U.S. . The preoccupation was validated when, instead of my functional but spartan eco rent a car, we were mercilessly upgraded to a Volvo diesel station wagon. The frenetic Norwegian rental agent woman was very emphatic that should there be any damage to the car I would be held liable for the entire value of the cost of the vehicle, a sum that I could neither fathom nor afford. Intrepidly, I entered the cockpit of the vehicle only to be immediately flabbergasted by the instrument array and the fact that it had no ignition key. At home I drive a 2006 Toyota Tacoma with 318,000 miles on it. The cockpit of the rental car felt like a cross between a light show and a jet fighter cockpit. Judy, having experience driving cars that were made within the decade, reminded me in her patient, maternal, caring way, that it didn't need a key and all I had to do was rotate a little nob. Twist and ignition sequence initiated. We were off on our white knuckled, wrong side of the road adventure.
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If you've never been to Scotland you should go. There is an affect that the Scottish highlands has on your soul. I understand now why so many good poets and writers came from Scotland. It is vast, it is beautiful. Driving through the villages spawned a sense of time and history, more humble, more honest, than what I felt in London amongst the trappings of the empire's edifices. The understanding that these were villages and farms that may have been around at the time of either of the great Roberts, Bruce or Burns becomes somehow more clear. The historical conception becomes so much more tangible when the buildings are actually visible.
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We arrived in Aberlour in the late afternoon. Our hotel was called the Dowans Hotel and it was a beautiful house overlooking the Spey river dale. It was literally next door to the Aberlour distillery. A tour of which I was grossly negligent in not taking. In my defense though, we did stop and see the Macallen distillery which was nothing short of amazing. And they gave out samples. Enough said. At the Dowans, Judy and I made ourselves comfortable and after a brief decompression from the trauma of driving on the "other" side, we took a small hike down to the river.
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The river Spey, as it called in the more familiar sense, is where spey casting was originated. Spey casting has permeated almost every facet of fly angling in America. The techniques used with a spey rod have crossed borders into single handed rods and used are incorporated into virtually every fly angling scenario one could imagine. To stand on the banks of the river Spey and cast a spey rod is to give homage to something that is transcendent. To me it is reaching out and grabbing a piece of history and examining it in my hand. This is really what I wanted. This is why I came to Scotland.
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Fishing in Scotland is much more a regulated affair than it is here. The access to most rivers is controlled and limited. Sections of the river, called beats, are controlled by various entities, heritages ( old castles or noble families ), associations, and such. Although this might sound a bit prohibitive, it really isn't. A modicum of research will find that in many situations the controlling interest in the beat will sell a day tag to the general public given enough advanced notice. Perhaps a better approach is to research the outfitting services that cater to out of country anglers. They will handle the procurement of the fishing rights for you. This can be very important as access to a river may require intimate local knowledge and relationships with landowners.
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And so it was with Judy and I. After a bit of research and communication we made our arrangements with Stewart Collingswood at Alba Game Fishing UK. Let me say something here in earnest. I am very familiar with the process of hiring an outfitter. I am familiar with those that appreciate the opportunity and those that view it as a necessary evil. Unequivocally, Stewart is of the former attitude. I seldom dealt with someone who was so positive and helpful. Very quickly during our electronic and verbal discourse I realized that Stewart was a going to be a great guy to work with. That realization was never questioned.
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After a great breakfast at the Dowans, we met Stewart, who arrived as requested by me, with his yellow lab Keely in tow. Stewart had arranged for us to fish Beat 1 of the Gordon Castle section of The River Spey. We were met by our Gillie, Lewis, who was a very enjoyable lad ( see it rubbed off on me a bit ) There is something about a Gillie that is different from a guide. Gillies are responsible for the beat. Every guide has a bit of a Gillie in him or her, or at least they should. They have a stewardship role that is often not observed by guides in the states and elsewhere. This is an artifact of bygone times when the Gillie was an important member of the landowners crew. Lewis knew this beat as well as one can know a river, which is what someone who hires a Gillie needs them to know. This level of intimacy in a river can make or break your fishing day.
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In my mind, no small part of this whole pilgrimage was to experience Atlantic Salmon fishing from a historical perspective. So much of what I do in Steelhead fishing in the U.S. is derived from Atlantic Salmon fishing in the U.K. . From the biology of the critter to the methods employed they are intertwined as precursor and descendant. In fact, for quite a long time taxonomists included Atlantic Salmon and Steelhead in the same realm of genus ( Salmo.) I really wanted to fish in a classic Atlantic Salmon angling fashion which also meant that I wanted to use traditional equipment. Stewart stepped up and obliged by providing Judy and I with excellent Scott McKenzie spey rods. Longer than the spey rods used here in the states, my weapon of choice was a fifteen foot for ten weight line and Judy's was a fourteen foot for a nine weight line. Far from unwieldy, the rod was crisp and surprisingly precise for such an enormous twig. Judy who is about as enthusiastic a learner as one can be had only a little experience with spey casting and that was with a shorter switch style rod. While Lewis and I commiserated at the top of the pool, Judy enjoyed the attention of Stewart at the lower end while he coached her up on the technique of a circle spey. One of my favorite memories of this trip is watching her putting it all together and authoring a couple of really nice, bomber circle spey casts. Nicely done Stewart.
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The only conceivable detriment to fishing beats is that you are confined to the beat. In other words one is not free to roam upstream or down to explore different sections of the river outside the beat boundary. That should be known in advance though and therefore not much of a negative consideration. And so it was that our morning efforts were allocated to sections within the beat, Judy learning and getting it, me wistfully imagining myself in Lewis's role, resplendent in my deer stalker cap, vest and tie. Bombing a couple of casts and blowing a couple too. It really didn't matter. I was here on the River Spey, with a Gillie, a host, and a yellow lab on the bank. Couldn't get much better. But, it did. Our morning efforts were rewarded with an outstanding lunch of venison stew, broiled asparagus and some really good red wine.
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After lunch we redeployed, switching up sections of the beat and even rowing across the river. We fished well and thoroughly and even though, at the end of the day we had no fish pictures, we had enough fodder for pleasant mental images that it was almost ( almost being the operative word ) inconsequential. The evening came too quickly, as did the end of our time with Stewart and Lewis. We gathered for our goodbyes to Lewis, then Stewart drove Judy and I back to the Dowans. This is how you tell you've had a good day on the river with a good guide or Gillie - when you say goodbye it is with a mix of sadness and joy. The sadness is that the reality of logistics reared it's ugly head and I realized I wasn't going to be able to fish with Stewart or Lewis in the near future. The joy was that I had the opportunity to do so in the first place. We shook hands, wished each other well and bid our goodbyes. It's difficult some times to sum up the total effect on your being that doing something that is so much fun can have. Sometimes it makes sense to not try too. And so I will let it reside in a happy place in my being. Stewart, the consummate outfitter and all around great dude. Lewis, the perfect Gillie and also great dude. Keely the crazy young at heart yellow lab. And the River Spey, where it all comes from.
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If you've half a notion of partaking in a fishing adventure in Scotland I would recommend Alba Game Fishing without hesitation. Follow the link below for more information.
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Yorkshire 2019
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Leaving Scotland was bittersweet. I have developed an affection for this wonderful country, its scenic beauty and its warm likable people. But travel we must. So we loaded into the Volvo space shuttle vehicle and proceeded to drive south back into England. The drive was long but comfortable and it gave us some time to reflect and even contemplate future plans to return to the UK. Our destination was the town of York. Really more of a small city than a town, York is a wonderful mix of very old and fairly new. A medieval city with modern suburbs surrounding it. The ancient part of the city is actually within the confines of an old wall portion of a fortress. Within the walled portion of the city there were a plethora of small shops and eateries that could keep an unsuspecting tourist busy for at least a week. Our plans kept us there for only a couple of days so we maximized our opportunities by walking through the streets as much as possible. We did our fair share of bolstering the U.K. economy and enjoyed every minute of it.
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We did have an ulterior motive though. Judy's daughter Emily ( we call her M ) was playing some medieval music at a local venue and we planned to attend the concert and join her and her friends later for dinner. M is a flute virtuoso, as are her friends in their respective specialties be it voice, stringed instruments and harpsichord like contraption that I am completely unfamiliar with. They specialize in ancient music, long before modern orchestration and clearly are a group of wonderful people following their respective passions and the results show it. I am a bit of an uncultured dolt but this music was wonderful.
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Our next fishing adventure was to fish a classic UK trout stream with a local guide. Now my expectations for fishing on this trip had already been exceeded, so I wasn't expecting much other than some good trout fishing. Our guide was a grand soul named Olly Sheppard who runs an outfitting company called Fly Fishing Yorkshire. Olly is a big guy with a big heart to match. One of those people that you like right away. He's also highly qualified with a back ground in entomology and passing a fairly stringent U.K. qualification resulting in the title of Professional Game Angling Instructor as well as an accredited level 2 Sport Angling Coach. Things are a bit more formal in the U.K. Thankfully.
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We were to meet Olly in a little town called Piercebridge and the river we were to fish was the middle section of the River Tees. It was a beautiful little piece of water, flowing at about 270-330 cfs I would guess. Like so many streams in the U.K. it was a tannic river with a rich dark brown hue. Olly supplied great equipment including some brand new waders and boots which we were very grateful for. It became readily apparent that Olly was more than just some local dude who fished nearby. I suspect he was a bit of a luminary as he was greeted kindly by several people walking down the road. We started the day using modified high sticking and swinging combination. I love fishing with guides from other places because there is always a learning opportunity to be had. Olly took Judy down to a run and not long after they were in the water I heard the tell tale laugh and hoot and I knew she was into a nice fish. It is important I think to keep in mind just how spoiled we are here in the U.S. . We simply have more opportunities to catch more and bigger fish than perhaps anywhere in the world. Something I think we should keep in mind when conservation of our rivers is needed. So a nice fish by U.K. standards may not quite be what folks in the U.S. consider nice aka big.
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As the day progressed we started to see a hatch of some large mayflies happening. Here we would call them simply grey drakes. Olly called them olives. U.K. fish may not be large but they are surly and wily. Despite our best efforts in casting to rising fish they refused my offerings with regularity. Which only made me laugh and enjoy the test a bit more. The bugs were the size of small green drakes and prolific if only for a short while. Too soon lunch time was upon us and we adjourned to the bank for a respite and some wonderful food from Olly's home. Just after lunch we saw a few more rises and both Judy and I were rewarded with some beautiful brown trout. Judy also caught and landed her first Grayling.
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The afternoon passed quickly and Olly, being ever observant, was aware that I had a hitch in my stride from some nagging back issues and wisely but tactfully suggested we call it a day. In an over the top act of consideration Olly took time out of his day to show us some Roman ruins that the town of Piercebridge was actually built over. His knowledge of the history and town was impressive and I felt like we were getting a bonus for our fishing day. We bid our goodbyes to Olly with no small amount of regret. I would like to fish with him again an compare strategies and techniques more thoroughly than time allowed on this trip. If you ever have the notion to fish in north England I would happily recommend Olly. Follow the link below to his website and make the arrangements. You'll be glad you did.
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