An old age urge

Both of us got a lot of spray on ourselves but we made it to the selected spot, only to find the wind pushing us along onto stumps, sand bars and used car bodies.

It’s a rugged wee lake. There was little chance to get flies out accurately and we also ended up becoming severely bogged. After grabbing the oars and using them to pole like an Avon River punter, I dropped the motor to half-mast and we began to make some progress. We churned through the mud, the blood and the beer, saying, “Sod this, let’s go back to good old faithful Brunner.”

Having splash-bashed our way back to the ramp, we saw calmer water in the lee of the bush line along the shore, so focused on that. The sun on the still water produced an interesting transparent Spey Valley product colour (I think Crimpy will readily identify with that).

Fish took without hesitation, mostly unseen till the strike happened. Matey picked up a three pounder, missed another, while I caught a feisty little beastie that shouldn’t have been away from its Mammy so was released. Matey got another very nicely conditioned number, meaning he had his limit. I fished on and raised a second one, which I reckoned was fairly small, well for a start. Luckily, it headed strongly out into the lake away from the fallen tree snags and rocks around the edges where we like to fish. It leapt a couple of times and was brought to the net where it also proved to be rather nicely conditioned.

I lost another one which prompted Matey to recall the time I gave him a replacement pattern for the one he’d just lost and after dropping three fish on it he discovered I’d flattened the barb. A few barbed comments followed but I swear it wasn’t intentional your honour!

At one stage, I got a nice entanglement in my leader so messed with that for 10-15 minutes. After that, we took lunch then drifted out again to drop flies into nooks and crannies. Later we decided we‘d done well for the day in spite of the conditions, in fact, away from the sheltered edges there had been more wind than ‘Mick the Master Farter’ could produce after a night of beans and beer.

Back to the ramp and with the boat on the trailer we discussed on the way home once more how we live in a wonderful region with so many lakes and wild rivers to fish. Quite gave me the urge again, so where to next?

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