12 September 2021 News/Editorial
It is tempting to say we have never seen the like, either ever or for a very long time. It is almost always untrue, unless you're talking about Emma Raducanu’s astonishing victory in the US tennis Open. 18 years old, 10 matches, no dropped sets, not even a tie- break, “astonishing” does it no justice.
In the more mundane matter of persistent drought, 2021 is very far from alone. Just three years ago, in 2018, it was not so very different. Then there was 2003 when Horncliffe stopped fishing in October as they had already caught 750, and Dr Fraser was concerned he would not be able to afford the subsequent Tweed assessment, which is based on fish catches. Those fishing at Norham reported feeling salmon hitting their waders as they walked into the river. The mass of salmon simply could not progress far up the river, for lack of water.
Even here, on 11th September 2003, with the height minus 1 ½ inches, much the same as now 18 years later, I caught a 4lb grilse in the Ledges on my trout rod, the “Comments” column in my Book says “just one of 16 in total caught here in the day”. Which is not quite the same as now.
Then there was 1959, ah I remember it well. My Godfather’s Book records “The driest, finest and hottest summer since 1911”. An extract in the local newspaper records on 1st September 1959 “hundreds of dead fish including salmon found from Coldstream up to Kelso” and “the Tweed is down to its lowest for many years and fish life may continue to perish”. The drought finally broke on 27th October 1959 with a 4ft 10” rise. Until then, nobody bothered to cast a fly or launch a boat for the whole of August, September and October. Unsurprisingly, after the first flood, it never stopped raining and most of November was flooded off.
I am sure I could find many other drought ridden examples (eg 1976), proving that what we have suffered in 2021 is not at all uncommon, the drought years simply being a matter of degree and longevity, for there are really quite a number of examples.
Which brings us to the matter of water security. My Times newspaper told me yesterday that a surprising amount of the Upper Spey water was diverted into the Tay, and one assumes that the purpose of Tweed’s many reservoirs (Megget, Talla, Fruid et al) is to divert their water to the good folk of the Central Belt and Edinburgh. There is clearly much sense in this, as most of the reservoir water would otherwise be lost in flowing down to the sea, and of course the Tweed does benefit hugely from freshets released from these reservoirs when levels, and heat, in the Tweed become dangerous to fish.
But, as we enter an ever hotter and hotter world, the whole matter of our water will inevitably come under more scrutiny. It will only take one disaster, and multiple fish deaths such as those of 1959, to press a few more alarm buttons. The nightmare scenario of low water combined with a week of temperatures around 30c, and substantial fish mortalities, is not the least unlikely thing you can imagine for the future.
It would take a brave person to bet against it.
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As for next week, it will be cooler but with no rain at least until Friday. Even then, YR No is predicting less than half an inch at Eskdalemuir.
What could happen, as the autumnal temperatures decline, is that, at some point, the old river fish will both begin to move upstream, despite the difficulties, and will then be more inclined to take your fly. Their biological clock is ticking.
Whereas spawning, when we had a big autumn run, could be (other than the springers) mainly in December and January, now, as the fish come in earlier, it is more likely to be October and November, as evidenced by the number of kelts both now seen, and caught, in November.
These summer fish, presently lurking in our deeper pools, at the first sniff of extra water, will be gone, to Galashiels, Peebles and beyond. There will be no stopping them, and some may look at your fly, but for the most part, their minds will be on other things.
As they should be.
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Whilst looking at my Godfather’s fishing Book for the great drought of 1959, I could not miss the next year when he noted, underlined in red, “by 4pm on 29th March 1960 we had our 300th fish for the season, and not one on a prawn”.
That was with never more than 2 rods, more often just one, fishing on 2 miles of river, with less than 2 months of the 10 month salmon season gone. The “prawn” comment gives a clue to the different prevailing angling methods over that 60 years passage of time. It is now, and has been for many years past, illegal to fish with a prawn.
And here on the 12th September 2021, the salmon caught have reached the grand total of 117.
The chances of getting to 300, even 6 months later than in 1960, are slim.
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