William and Bill led the way downstream, their intention was to go about a mile downstream leaving plenty of water for everyone to fish and be back at the rock seat around 6pm. Being a lightly fished river the going was tough, some doubling back , detour’s through wooded areas. No one complained though, what a focussed little group of anglers, a far cry from the comedians that fished the stream in the morning. “Hey shouted Dubbn, “Is that Buffalo Bill and Wild Bill Hickock up ahead?”. “Could be “; sniggered Bushy, “them is mean looking hombres.” All along along their route they encountered enormous clouds of insect life, Caddis were everywhere, dancing in the bushes, skittering across the water surface, one even tried climbing into Williams ear much to everyone’s amusement.
Wild Bill fell back and chatted to Dubbn, outlining some of the water they were about to fish. They were going to concentrate on the broken water, that’s where most of the action would take place and where they were less likely to spook the trout. Bill like William was a stickler for detail, it showed in his flies, his choice of clothes, his rod. Everything about him indicated that he was first and foremost a trout hunter, a pleasure angler second.
Bill liked fun and his attitude belied his age, but when it came to discussing fishing Bill was quite serious behind his light hearted way. He explained that he had fished Turners Cross for at least ten years and rarely fished anywhere else. This was his hunting ground and he knew it intimately. He understood it seasons and its moods and knew where and when to find the trout. Bill did not boast, he had simply applied himself to gaining the knowledge required to be a successful trout hunter and by applying it to a single river he was a master of his craft. Dubby listened without comment, nodding occasionally, enjoying listening to a passionate angler.
William finally came to a stop, surveying the water in front he suggested that Bill and Dubbn start here, he would take Hank and Dougsden further down to the next piece of water and fish up alternating stretches.
“Tight Lines , Dubby “; said Hank, “ best fish gets the first whiskey”. “Tight lines to you guys as well” replied Dubbn and stay out of the bushes my friend.
Bill was in command and Dubbn like an obliging pupil listened intently. “I suggest a simple rig, caddis are hatching but not in great numbers yet, a large dry caddis emerger with a single pupa about 3 foot underneath should tempt a few trout. We have a lot of water to cover so I will show you some of the best spots and ignore the less likely stuff. There is plenty of time to-morrow to do your own investigations”, said Bill.
Dubbn surveyed the water, not quite content to be a pupil he turned to Bill. “Bill I appreciate what you are saying but I make a poor passenger, I’ll do my own driving and if I crash , I crash. On the rig I do agree , it should work fine , but mine will have a dropper with a light pupa and a weighted one two foot deeper, it’s the way I like it.” Bill nodded, appreciating Dubbn’s independence; they would get along just fine.
The riffly water looked real inviting, every part of it suggesting good fish holding water. It was agreed that Dubbn would take the far side, Bill the near. Bill knew that this was tricky water, water that it took years for him to learn where even the average trout preferred and so he started to tell Dubbn the best spots. Dubbn immediately cut him short, “ Bill, I don’t mean to be rude, but lets see if I can read the water myself, its as much fun as catching, ain’t it ? “. And so with the ground rules set they started fishing, Bill half heartedly as he was more focused on his companion.
Dubbn waded across and up through some nice looking water ignoring it completely, this took Bill completely by surprise. Ahead was a small run no more than two foot wide, flanked on his side by some weed and on the other by some really fast water. Angling himself at about 50 degrees to the stream he commenced casting, dropping the dry just of the edge of the weed and the pupa out and into the stream. This was tricky stuff, get the cast wrong and any chance of fish is gone. After the first cast Dubbn realigned his angle to about 40 degrees and set to work again. After a few casts he tightened into a solid trout that tested his leader as brute force was necessary to hold it out from the weed. Well done shouted Bill as Dubbn held up a well spotted trout of about
18”. Both anglers fished on up the riffle taking many trout and when they met at the top. Bill offered his hand , “Well done Dubbn, you read that water like a book”.
Sitting down to rest for a few moments , Dubbn looked at Bill with a big cheesy grin on his face. “Bill, I need to confess something, but you have to swear not to tell the others, at least not until I say its okay”. “ Agreed”, said Bill.
You reckon you have been fishing this river for ten or so year’s, well my new friend , I fished it at least four times a week for nearly twelve seasons and would have stopped only a few seasons before you started, corcumstances forced me to move elsewhwere. I know this river like the back of my hand, no better than the back of my hand. Reaching into his wading jacket he withdrew a little plastic bag, it contained a small whiskey flask and a photo. Handing Bill the photo , he uncorked the flask, poured a small drop into the river, took a sip and handed it to Bill. In the photo was a much younger Dubbn holding a very large trout. “ 34 inches he explained, an epic battle of wits that took four weeks before success finally came”. Bill sipped from the flask, unable to reach for the right words and could only say “WOW”.
Dubbn laughed, “ that whiskey was a 25 year old malt when I put it in the flask, and its been there all these years just waiting for this day.” A solitary tear rolled down Dubbns cheek, he turned to Bill and thanked him for helping make an old anglers dream come true.
Old, old laughed Bill loudly, " your'e only a pup".
TBC
