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Living in close proximity to the director of the British Deer Society has its disadvantages: when they have an auction, he bamboozles me with flattery (as only he can do), and I find myself guiding on the River Avon. Secretly, of course, I am more than happy to support the BDS and its aims, and to share a stretch of river I love. For me, it is the river of my childhood dreams, a real Mr. Crabtree water (giving my age away), packed with coarse fish as well as trout, sea trout, and even the occasional salmon.
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Fortunately, the successful bidder and his friend share my views, and could both fish (a necessary skill for having success on this water, packed as it is with wading challenges, trees, barbed wire and uncut weed…never mind wily fish). We were on the river by 11, having trekked downstream in waders that were doing their utmost to resemble portable saunas.
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The first fish of the day weighed in at an impressive 3oz…an escapee brownie from a nearby fish farm. As host, you always worry that the first fish is a harbinger of things to come. Fortunately, in this case it was only an easy introduction to day filled with trout from the 3 oz to the monster 3lb that was the biggest the river keeper had seen caught on fly. As dusk began to loom, we had accounted for a wide selection of trout and the odd coarse fish, all of which were returned to fight another day.
