news/editorial

13 June 2021 News/Editorial

The Tweed is low, the weather warm and settled, perfect, you would say, for the lowest beats below Coldstream, yet if there were say 80 salmon landed last week, at least 70 were caught above, many well above, Coldstream.

That there is a difference between springers and summer fish is well known to ghillies and knowledgeable anglers alike; counterintuitively, the springers, with 5 to 8 months to get to the spawning beds, do not hang around, especially without any kelts or other springers to decoy them in the lower reaches. In stark contrast, grilse and summer fish come in and out on the tide, seemingly in no hurry. In 2020, many of the fish tagged when caught in say July, were still in the same place, or very little further upstream, when landed for a second time in September.

I have never heard anyone yet come up with a convincing explanation for why this happens, why the later in the year the fish come in from the sea, the less of a hurry they appear to be in to progress upstream at speed?

Luckily, there are still many mysteries about the innate behaviour of the salmon we love.

As for next week, it looks to be mainly dry, if cooler. There will be storms in the south, but they are unlikely to get to us. We could do with some rain soon, to freshen things up and to provide more water to fish in.

--00--

Observant readers, and those with elephantine memories (I have said I would never do just this), will recognise what follows, a tale of actually catching salmon, for what it is, both a story of the “aren’t I a clever boy?” variety and perilously close to “the reel sang as the rod bent into a horseshoe” stereotype.

My excuse is that, amongst a very low key start to the year in most rivers, it reminds us, as it did me while it was happening, why we still bother. The capacity to surprise is everything, even to a 71 year old who has seen most of it already.

It is I hope, even vicariously for you, a little interlude of joy in extraordinarily beautiful surroundings, in wonderful summer weather, with the greatest of friends, with the most generous and kind of hosts, being provided for by the amazing chef John (he of PG Wodehouse’s Anatolian skills) and on the river by the encouragements and advice of charming ghillie and young fishing guru Craig.

That Fergus could not also be with us with his infectious smile and quiet humour was the greatest sadness. I hope you find it, with all its caveats and faults, worth reading.

--00--

It is not a great road, the twisty/turny A93 from Blairgowrie to Glenshee, then over the top down into Braemar, past the Castle, then Invercauld and Balmoral, that lovely Church at Crathie and on on to Ballater, then our destinations, the amazing log cabin, Norwegian style, at Birkelunn, and the nearby Braehead, just off the South Dee road.

Old, fully vaccinated, friends were there, unseen for months, for obvious reasons, and we staggered happily into bed, far too late, but with tales of fish having been caught at the end of last week.

Headinch and Cambus O’ May is 3 miles of the dreamiest fly water you will ever see, pool after pool of streams and glides, never deep, some sadly now too shallow after Storm Frank did its worst on 30th December 2015, but on the plus side some new pools were created that had never been there before. All in the most glorious of surroundings, Deeside in early June is impossible to beat for sheer, unalloyed beauty.

I have a weakness for Kate, the pool at the very top of the beat, a half mile hike from any car, and John was kind enough to send me there on Monday morning. In these Zoom days, I could still have attended the quarterly RTC meeting, even though I was 150 miles away from Kelso and on holiday. Before going to Kate, I tried a quick swing through Glashan, also much changed post Frank, but still very fishy, and as I neared the end of the pool, pull-less, I was thinking “serves you right for missing the RTC meeting”, just one or two more casts into the darker water on the very far side of the tail, further down than you would normally go, when the faintest suspicion turned into the line going quietly, but firmly, off in the other direction. After 10 minutes of heartache, the most perfect 9lb Dee springer was “beached” up against the bank, in amongst the stones, unhooked, quick photo and sent back on its way. Hardly believing my luck, I re-engaged the darker water in the far tail of Glashan, and immediately had another pull, a long draw on the line, then nothing. With 4 or 5 more yards to go, I kept casting and then another pull, this time it hung on and another 6lb springer was on, and subsequently landed, to squeals of delight from “the girls”, headed by our hostess Clare, who were on a long walk and catching up on the gossip. I could hardly believe it, 10.30am and I had landed 2 and had another pull. “The best RTC meeting I have ever not attended” I texted host John with the picture of the 9lber.

Then the long walk up to Kate which looked perfect, much easier wading post Frank, could those massive boulders that made wading so tricky really have been washed away, or are they still there, under countless tons of new gravel? Nothing in Kate, then down to Rockies and Bonnet, in neither of which have I ever caught anything, but they looked fishy, and still shaded from the sun by the trees. I had a rise in Rockies, but no contact, so wait 5 minutes, put on a smaller Silver Stoat, and try it again, but nothing. Arthur Wood, the floating line legend, said that if you rise one on the Dee, it is a taking fish, and you should always catch it. He would have been disappointed in me. I put on the old No 10 Cascade again and continued right into the tail of Rockies, where the massive boulders jut out into the river, when there was a swirl, and contact, as I began to pull in the line to cast again. A few minutes later a beautiful, perfect, 7lb cock fish lay amongst the stones as I took another photo. That was it for the morning, and to say that I was unpopular at lunch does it no justice. Others had had action, pulls and losses, but nothing landed. I rested up in the afternoon, then lost one after a brief encounter in Ministers at around 6.30pm. Ghillie Craig caught another and lost one in Fergie’s at 10pm when we layabouts were tucking into the incomparable chef John’s (same name, different John) perfect dinner. Another far too late night followed, then contented snores (or so I am told!).

The south side of Sheerless and then the tiny run that is Peter Stripes was mine for the morning on Tuesday. Sheerless looked perfect but despite plying it with the faithful Cascade and then a skimmer, nothing happened. My back was killing me and wading amongst the rough stones into Peter Stripes was testing, it too has changed post Frank, but the very tail looked deep enough, fast and fishy. Just opposite where the trees begin on the north side, a face appeared above the surface just where my fly was, but nothing happened for what seemed like an age. I was about to loose off some unmentionable oath, when the line, so slowly, started going away. Only then did I begin to contemplate being 40 yards into the river amongst nothing but shallow stones and mini boulders, without a landing place in sight. First things first, I played it for some 8 or 9 minutes before deciding to try to pull it in amongst two or three large stones that were sticking out of the water, albeit still 20 yards from the shore. Fresh as paint, 9lbs of not quite still sea liced, I kept it in the water amongst those big stones, a quick photo and then back it swam. Charlie had caught one in The Bell Hole and risen a few more on his skimmer, and Poppy had one in Clarach, so three for the morning and some more pulls and losses made for another good session. Later that evening, after another post prandial zizz, I tried Stone in the Hole and Peter Ogg before dinner, shallower than I recalled, both affected by Frank, but they looked possible. Just in the right spot in Peter Ogg, another face appeared where my fly was, but this time no connection. I did the “smaller fly” bit but yet again I proved a failure, a continuing disappointment to the great AHE Wood.

Another late night after feasting on the incomparable John's delicacies, we were leaving at lunchtime Wednesday, and Craig was having his first jab in Banchory at 11am, so Clare asked him to take me to the south side of Fergie’s, jungle country, for half an hour before Craig would have to leave. After some unpleasantnesses with the foliage and overhanging trees, I began to flick the fly out over the right bits and just exactly where you would expect it, the line began to go away. After a doughty fight, a beautiful, if slightly less fresh, 7lb cock fish was securely in Craig’s net, to great laughter and congratulations, as Craig set off back to his car for the journey to Banchory and a date with Messrs Pfizer. I tried Mill (also Frank affected, but possible) and Peter Ogg, to see if my rise of the day before was still home (not). Then a picnic lunch near the new hut John and Clare are building in memory of Fergus Cumming, long time ghillie at Cambus, and old friend of us all, the best and most gentle of men, who so tragically died last year, and who we last saw at Cambus in May 2019. John and Clare have started a book for “FERGIE” with some lovely smiling pictures of him, and I wrote some heartfelt message, if wholly inadequate, to him. He once caught a 20+lber, all on his own, on the south side of his pool Fergie’s, whereas I had struggled with a 7lber with Craig there to help. How he did it we will never know, but as ever, he made light of it, just what you would expect from the most modest and charming of men.

Then goodbyes to all and we set off home to the Borders with a song in our hearts and the happiest memories of three glorious days on Deeside with the best of friends, and some incomparable fishing, all thanks to our most generous hosts, John and Clare. Between us, we had caught 9 salmon, and lots more “action”, in two and a half days in those glittering, sparkling Cambus pools.

It was only on the journey home that I realised that in all that time I had never seen a single salmon jump. But they were there. Cambus is 40 miles from the sea, yet those springers were heading straight to Ballater and beyond, ignoring the great lower beats like Park, which has caught nothing in June so far, even in the increasingly low water.

Sounds familiar!?

(Here are the photos of three of those perfect Dee springers.)