TROUT & SALMON

The voice of game-fishing since 1955

IF YOU TRAVEL NORTH ON THE A1 THROUGH Yorkshire, there are two things you must do. The first is stop at the Wetherby Whaler and order a large haddock, chips and mushy peas. Still, in my opinion, the best F&Cs on the planet — only now you now have to pay extra for the bread and butter, which is surely not the done thing in Yorkshire, but no doubt it’s paying for the restaurant’s recent refurb. By the way, if you are tempted by the Whaler Giant — atitanic 2lb haddock fillet — think again. It will probably still be lodged in your oesophagus a week later. It may also discomfort you during the next leg of your journey: the 40-minute dash up to the River Swale, north of Catterick.

If you’re travelling from the south of England, the Swale may be your first glimpse of a game-fishing river. Take a look. Gauge the water height. Usually, you’ll spot a scattering of rocks, busy pocket-water and a few short glides. I’ve got this Swale gander down to a fine art, jockeying for the slow lane on my approach or timing the gaps between trucks to lengthen the window of opportunity (Please: not another driver-awareness course, officer). The extra second I gain doesn’t cut it when looking for rise forms, but this habit is a tradition for me — and, I suspect, for some of you, too.

I passed the bridge the other day (after F&Cs) and there were no rocks, and no pool definition, just a bank-to-bank rolling riffle, heavily stained and topped with froth. The highest and liveliest I’ve seen it, except in flood. Further on, above Newcastle, there was standing water in fields far from watercourses. It’s not what we’ve come t