The Arundel hotel's David Pilkington longs for a hatch of olives as Devon's flood-ravaged rivers begin to reveal themselves
THERE CAN BE NO DOUBTING IT: spring is officially here in the Westcountry! The vernal equinox is behind us, days are longer than nights for the first time in six months, and trout fishing is once again a realistic proposition.
The wild brownies of our Devon (and Cornish — we have four miles on the lovely River Ottery) streams will be slowly regaining condition, particularly the bigger, mature fish who need to recover from spawning. The steadily lengthening days and more powerful, penetrating sunshine, along with rising water temperatures, will promote increasing activity from the bugs and beasties of the river. This warmer water, and the increasing availability of food, stimulates the trout’s appetite — you really do have to marvel at Nature’s synchronicity.
Large dark olives, and grannom, will provide the most prolific hatches, and a fish found rising to these flies on an early season day is a very likely customer. Much as I enjoy a spot of nymphing for grayling over the winter, whenever the rivers are suitable my first love will forever be the dry-fly.
Along with the brownies, a rising fish right now could also be a salmon or sea-trout smolt. It is inevitable that a few smolts will come to the fly in April, and never has it been more vital to treat these priceless little fishes with the utmost care. Every last one of them is potentially a breeding fish of the future, so barbless hooks, wet hands, or indeed no handling at all, are the way to go.
I know I have lived long enough to realise what happens every year, but I always seem to find that, almost overnight, there are many, many jobs requiring immediate attention. Hotel guests wanting casting lessons or pointing in the right direction with the right flies and kit, the beats still needing a trim, tackle in the shop to be ordered and stocked, and, on top of all this, well, dammit, I want to go fishing!
Should the rivers be big and dirty with spate water, so my need to have my string pulled can take me to the stillwaters. Roadford and Colliford reservoirs are nearby, and I always enjoy a day on these large expanses of water if the rivers are out. Our own lake here in the village, three acres of deep and gin-clear water, is more sheltered if a spring storm is howling across the moors, and fishes wonderfully in the spring with a buzzer, fished dead slow on a longish leader. The over-wintered rainbows fight magnificently — great fun for everybody, and also superb eating.
The rivers, however, will always pull me back, and the pure joy of exercising my little four-weight rod on the smaller streams, seeking a rising trout and presenting him with a dry-fly — well, to me, that rea
