29 August 2021 News/Editorial
Most of us have surprisingly short memories, tending both to remember, if anything at all, only the good, and to consign the bad to some dark corner of our mental recesses.
2018, just three years ago, was the worst Tweed catch year since 1980. The difference of course, is that in 1980 there was still massive high seas, coastal and in-river netting, to say nothing of some frighteningly out of control poaching. Bar one part time net at Gardo in Berwick’s harbour, we now have none of these things; in other words, if a salmon wants to come back into the Tweed, there is almost no human predation to stop it. River managers were worried in the 1980s, hence the net buyouts from 1987 and the consistent reductions in netting offshore over the next 20/30 years.
How much more worried should we be now?
I detect a split; there are those who say it is all cyclical, that it will all come good and that all we have to do is sit tight to see an eventual rebound. Then there are others who are not quite so sanguine. Cyclical change is one thing, really dramatic drops in overall numbers is another.
The latter, the sanguine, would do more, much more, to try to turn the “dropping numbers ship” around.
There is a randomness that leads to disquiet; how could the autumn collapse come just after some of the biggest autumn runs we have ever had in 2010-2013? Why was 2020 suddenly much better, with April to August sustained runs of mainly salmon? Why has 2021 proved to be almost exactly the opposite of 2020, with one of the worst springs of recent times, and no sign of any numbers of summer salmon, and then the grilse suddenly returning in July and August?
The monthly 2020 catch figures will, I guess, look remarkably like 2018, when the final score was 5,644. The current 5 year average is 7,180 and so far, to the end of August, we may be at or around 3,100. If we get up to and beyond 2018’s figure, assuming that November is a non-event nowadays, that is about as good as we can hope for. But even to get there, we will need both water and some fresh fish to keep coming in.
Just at the moment, there is little sign of either, although low pressure could take over from next weekend, and at long last bring much needed rain. It can, as always, change very quickly. But at the risk of sounding gloomy, after the fillip that was 2020, we have returned, it seems, to the longer term trend of decreasing numbers.
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A kind friend, the Admiral (yes, he really is), whilst absent on a Cornish spree, asked me to fish his rod at Ladykirk last Tuesday. I was on Beat 1 in the morning and 5 in the afternoon/evening. Much to the surprise of Mark Warren, who was generously showing me the ropes, I caught an old 8lb hen with my second cast in the Pump House. We said then that it would go one of two ways, either a big day or that would be the only pull of the day. The sun came up and shone from a cloudless sky; it was the latter, no more pulls.
I took the afternoon off, after a leisurely glass of something cool and refreshing, and a Club Sandwich, at the Collingwood Arms, and came back at 7pm to fish the Long Cairn in the gloaming. It was magical, a tractor turning straw in the background, but that apart, not another sole in sight; all was calm and tranquil. I could imagine that with large numbers of fish, a la 2003, my cup would have overflowed. As it was, I was content with the odd splosh from the old stagers/residents who had not the slightest intention of taking my fly. But I cast away, nonetheless, because you never quite know.
The trouble with being ancient is that you cannot quite completely forget how things were, or maybe how you imagine they were. I never saw a definite fresh salmon all day, yes the river was low, but that close to the sea, surely something silvery should have been there? The true story of Dr Fraser kept coming to mind. He owned Horncliffe then, some time ago, and stopped anyone fishing one year in October, with the water consistently low, because his total catch had already reached 750 salmon, and he was worried he would not be able to afford the Tweed assessment if his fishing tenants caught any more. One suspects the present owners of Horncliffe, from what I saw at Ladykirk, opposite their top pools, will have no such similar concerns this year!
All that said, I had a glorious day and caught a salmon. I am a lucky man. What more could you possibly want?
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