About Me
Hello, here's a little about myself and my interest in fly fishing.
I started fishing when I was knee high, about 6 years old, catching sticklebacks, bullheads and my prize quarry - the brown trout in Bob's Brew, Horwich. Armed with a small fibreglass rod with a broken eye, I collected worms from next doors compost heap and hit the stream every day trying catch a monster trout that I was convinced lived in the stream, washed down from the Rivington reservoirs.
It was in my early childhood years I developed a love for my favourite fish, the brown trout. On summer evenings I used to sit next to the waterfall and watch the trout rise and take small flies.
I was determined to catch a bigger trout and researched the matter thoroughly with books from Horwich library. The pictures of fly fishers catching trout from clear chalk streams and raging scotch rivers sent my mind spinning and I decided I needed a fly rod to persue my dream.
My mother bought me my first fly rod for my 9th birthday. It was 9ft Sundridge. I bought myself a Shakespeare fly reel and some floating line with my birthday money.
Off course a serious fly fisher needs a decent fly so I went Andrew Leaches in Horwich and selected the best fly I thought would be suitable for the 4 foot wide, 2 foot deep, trickling Bobs Brew stream - a size 6, double hooked, Jock Scott salmon fly...
I spent the next few days with a library book, needle, thread and my mums nail varnish learning to tie a leader to the line.
I practised my casting on the playing fields near to my home and within a few weeks I could easily cast a small piece of cloth into a hula hoop at a good distance.
With my new knowledge, fly tackle and size 6 Jock Scott I hit the stream. After a good 6 hours I hadn't had a single bite.
It quickly came to me I may need to change my tactics or my fly to bag a prize trout so I went off up to fly lake - Rivington where 'grown up' fly fishers fish to research more my chosen art.
I strolled around the edges of the vast lake and found dangling from an overhanging tree a piece of line. I chased the line in the wind and followed it up to a branch. Hooked into the branch was a small light brown fly. I examined carefully this minute masterpiece. It was no where near the size of my Jock Scott and was so small and light. I held the fly tightly and ran home.
Further investigation of my fly fishing artifact was required and a trip to the library yielded a book on fly patterns and instructions on how to tie them. From my book I identified the fly as a Blue Dun May Fly, size 12 hook. I needed one...
For getting a good school report my mum bought me a fly tying vice and few packs of feathers. I 'borrowed' a tupperware sewing tub off my mum and quickly filled it with a musky smelling collection of feathers, furs, varnishes, tinsel, raffia and other goodies. I carefully practised patterns from my book and made a right mess on my bedroom carpet with black varnish. I had limited tying materials and it frustrated me that I couldn't make most of the flies on my book. Oh for a golden pheasants feather... It wasn't long though before I created my first masterpiece. The Olive French Partridge.
So the scene is set. Sundrige 9ft fly rod, Shakespeare reel with red wool backing and aftm 7 double tapered light green floating line, 4lb leader, hand tied Partridge fly dosed in silicone, Wellington Boots, Bob's Brew stream, Horwich. I'd knew the trout wouldn't be able to resist my weeks of preparation and deadly combination. I carefully cast and perfectly dropped the fly upstream to drift under the trees. Everything was perfect, the fly floated and scribed an arc across the pool. I lifted my line and started to cast again watching my fly come in front of me. To my sheer dissapointment the fly was now a couple of inches of unwound thread. I flicked the fly back to me and it had started to break up. The hackle unwound before my eyes. My first attempt at fly tying had failed. I packed up my tackle and ran off back home determined to create a more durable fly.
For weeks I sat at the dining table, library books spread all over amonst a mass of feather and thread. I found an old red elosplast box and cut a piece of foam found in the boot of my dads old Morris 1100 to snuggly fit inside my make shift fly box. Money was tight and many of my patterns missed essential materials but I was very resourceful. I used an RSPB bird book to research birds and went on long walks collecting feathers. I visited local ponds to collect duck feathers. My favourite fly tying 'shop' was Moss Bank Park animals section. They had a great selection of more exotic breeds. Using a long stick I dragged a Golden Pheasant feather from inside an enclosure.
Soon I had tied a proud collection of flies in various forms.
I was ready to hit the stream again.
I never fished Bobs Brew again. One evening my father came home and said we where moving to Scotland. At first I was shocked. The chances of catching my dream fish shattered. I 'sulked' for days until my father told me about the Scottish rivers and he would find a house near one for me.
My nights started to fill with dreams of wild Scottish Trout and Salmon. My dreams both scared and excited me. I conjured up images of Ghillies and tartan clad scots proudly holding huge silver Salmon of raging rivers in spate and wild, wild fishing.
In 1981 I moved with my family to Bannockburn, Stirlingshire. My father kept his promise and our house was within walking distance of the river Bannock. A burn that meaders down to the river Forth.
When we first moved into the house, exploring the rooms I found an old cane fly rod in the cupboard.
In progess...to be continued... June 2010
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