Poking your nose up a tributary of a big river like the Tay can be hugely rewarding, writes Paul Procter
TRIBUTARIES ARE OFTEN overshadowed by their parent river. Take the Perthshire Ericht, a branch of the Isla, which in turn empties into the mighty Tay. It’s known to local rods, but you can see how it might be ignored by the masses. Not that this is a problem — many will see it as a blessing. While everyone flocks to the trampled beats of the big river, this feeder stream is barely touched.
I found myself on the Ericht by accident because the Tay was angry and coloured. I dropped into Kate Fleming’s shop in Blairgowrie, which is stuffed with tackle and a hive of information when you wish to arrange a day’s fishing. Kate’s son, Paul, was on hand and two hours later I was still poring over maps with him. The Ericht had ceased to be just a blue line. It was now living water, surging and then slowing, a place of hatching fly and potentially enormous trout. However, due to an overload of information, most of his advice went in one ear and…
Thankfully, he’d given me his phone number and a quick call the following morning put me — literally — on the right track as I bounced down a rickety farm road with the river in my sights. I’d pigeonholed the Ericht as a salmon hotspot, yet according to Paul the canny broonies hereabouts raise eyebrows every season. A 7lb 12oz glass-case specimen in Fleming’s shop is testament to the Ericht’s potential. That the beast was tempted by a size 14 Ginger Quill makes it even more impressive. Most of these huge trout are fooled in spring when fly hatches are prolific, but the jungle drums informed me a six-pounder was caught in the closing days of September last year.
The Ericht is short, ten miles or so, and it spills into the Isla upstream of Coupar Angus, where I’d planned to stake my claim. It’s a classic tumbling river, especially in the upper parts, although as it nears the Isla, the pace slows, and there are deep, sauntering pools. Just the kind of place you’d expect broad-flanked trout to hole up.
Ericht is Gaelic for “beauteous” and there’s no denying the river possesses charm during its journey through woods and farmland. It flows through the centre of Blairgowrie, too, and my friend Richard Tong and I have often gazed into its depths from the town bridge, pondering what might be lurking thereabouts. The way its chortles over polished pebbles is a draw to anyone who wafts a fly-rod. It hadn’t totally escaped recent rains, and while it still hovered around summer levels, a wee flush of fresh water gave it the inviting colour of craft beer. Following the prolonged dry spell, I hoped the lift would have trout crawling up my line.
