Roaming the Retro River
So that plan I mentioned at the end of the last blog, to try and get species 26 before Easter took place last night and what fun it was. As a spotty youth and while still at school one of my favourite pastimes was wandering the moorland streams that pass through our little town and try to catch the flighty wild Brown Trout that resided there. From March the 15th onwards I would dash home grab my spinning rod and shoulder bag and head to Fatherford woods and the gorgeous River Okement, meandering down from Dartmoor above. The little river at this point was shallow, foamy and strewn with boulders, the bulk of the river was rapids punctuated with shallow glides and swirling pools.
My memory's of this river are all fond ones and I can still remember all the times when elusive 10"+ Brownie's were encountered, although rare they were there. It was only these biggest of fish did I ever consider taking for the table and most times I was happy to return the Trout quickly to the river, my fishing shoulder bag had a measure printed on the side, no need to estimate the size with this bag. My parents must have thought that the fishing bag with the measure on the side was the safest option when they chose it, to prevent me falling foul of the law. The same logic must have occurred when they chose my school shoes, all my mates had Doctor Martins with 10 holes, not me my mum bought me Clarks Commandos! If the shoes name, lack of laces and clumpy style wasn't embarrassing enough, the fact that on the heels they had a raised backward facing arrow built in, that left a track for you to follow home should you ever get lost was a playground bashing for sure. However now as a grown up, I feel that both the bag and the Clarks Commandos were a flipping good idea and if I still had them id use them both. The plan was to have my roast dinner and meet Chris by the old viaduct and try and relive our old schooldays by working our way up the river towards the moor using LRF rods armed with worm and cheese. The tactics we used as youngsters were size 14 hook, one large split shot, cheese, worms and bread for making dispersals, so we stuck to the retro style and kept it simple.
Upon my arrival the river looked lovely and the gurgling, roaring of the water tumbling across the extensive granite boulders instantly took me back to my youth. The walk up this section of the river is largely devoid of walkers and runners especially during the week and even more so during the evening. Chris arrived and seemed remarkably cough free which was a good thing for both of us although with the river rumble he would have been drowned out, maybe literally! We set off each finding our own preferred spots and continued the retro theme by touch ledgering the bait down through the pools, straight away my line was pulled from my fingers as a savage grab at the worm occurred. My strike was like the average British train, considerably late and the hook returned wormless. It took a few more missed bites before I finally got my act together with brain and arm coordination finally becoming symbiotic, my first tiny fish in forty years from this river was now landed.
The stunning little fish writhed and jumped with an attitude way above its station and upon early examination it was identified as a Salmon Parr, the young stage of a salmon and as the size shows, very early stage. This future king of the river was quickly returned and I was so pleased to see that the river I grew up with still contained the eco system it did 40 years ago. The next pool and once again a couple of missed superfast snatches with the greedy little fish beating me to the prize, Chris was undergoing the same frustrations and every now and then I heard the shout" darn it", as his bait was nabbed!
With the amount of bites I was getting even a Brazilian three toed Sloth would eventually connect, and soon yet again I battled a tiny future Salmon as another little Parr was swung in and quickly returned. I knew Salmon used to make it up this far and its great to see they still do with so much against them, this really is the limit of their journeys.
Chris finally connected with a fish, well I say fish it was possibly grabbed by the worm as it swam past, the picture shows Chris looking suitably embarrassed. My eyes weren't good enough to see for sure but it did look like another Parr. We walked further up the valley looking for the perfect run for a Brown Trout and eventually I connected with one, great fun on the LRF gear.
Sadly Chris was once again double booked and had to head off to a band practice, he must have been crazy the fishing was constant, the scenery breath taking, school boy Chris would have stuck with the fishing. Maybe the worm food he had caught had pushed him over the edge and the worry of catching something smaller hung over him like a really tiny cloud. My plan was to keep going and keep reliving those memory's each of the most attractive pools I reached had fish memory's, or camping and swimming memory's. Then my bubble was burst for a minute, as on the ground before me ,sat a plastic bag full of dog poo, this is my pet hate, why oh why does someone pick up the dog poo in a bag then dump the bag in a beauty spot. The dog mess as annoying as it is would have degraded, the plastic bag wont!
The low point of this ignorant thoughtless act is that 300yds back towards the viaduct is a supplied , maintained dog bin, unbelievable! I decided to grab that on the way back and deposit it in the bin for the sake of my peace of mind, I quickly found a waterfall to get my chakra back inline and sat for a minute enjoying a naturally created radox like show of foam .
Once suitably calm I continued up the river revealing more and more of my old stomping grounds and at one point discovered the standard, slaughtered sheep. The slaughtered sheep were common place when we were younger and I remember the stories of the Monster of the Moors, a creature that sucked the life from these dozy woollen animals. It made me chuckle the thought of how terrified we used to be cowering under a slither of canvas while the Monster of the Moors could tear a sheep to bits but couldn't get through the cheapest of nylons!
The further I climbed the moor trout there seemed to be and it was getting to the stage where I could get a bite from anywhere, I moved up to a tiny side stream that I had fished as a lad and soon found the whirlpool I considered my own holy grail. This was a spot when times were hard as it would always produce, and hear it was I couldn't wait to cast and as I did I knew as the line swirled into the right spot it would go in seconds.
Bang a fish hit the bait hard in the little stream and in no time it was swung to my hand, I looked at the trout and thought are you the relative of the trout I used to catch, most likely and what a thought. The second cast was also quickly taken and this pool was still the theatre of dreams where Dartmoor stream trout are concerned.
The time had gone on, and I had been so engrossed in casting and walking I now found myself an hours walk back to the car, with the light dropping and no head torch it was time to make tracks, if only I had those Clarks Commandos! The thick woods increased the feeling of gloom and as I passed the slaughtered sleep not only was I no longer chuckling about the Monster of the Moor I was thinking about the landlord's warning in American Werewolf in London ", "stay off the moors and beware the moon"!
Now with this thought firmly in my mind every shadow looked beast like, every snap of a twig sounded like the stomping of huge feet, the owl screech just had to be a wolf howl! How can something so benign and beautiful, suddenly change into the set from a classic Hammer Horror. Eventually I made it back to the bag of dog doo and knew I was only 300 yards from the carpark and civilisation, at least I could beat any beast off with the bag of dog waste! Once I reached the car I could relax, even though its at this point most horror movies deliver the big shock as the star of the movie are seconds from safety. Despite the final judders it was a great couple of hours and if it wasn't for doing the challenge its unlikely I would ever have fished this river again, but now I will be back and I wont be waiting another 40 years.
