My First Salmon on Fly

As a boy I was fortunate to have access to some of the finest salmon fishing in the country, The Forglen beat of the river Deveron was 2.5 miles of double bank fishing, which at that time, could only be fished by invitation of the owner. My father and I were privileged to know the owner and had almost an open invitation to fish here any time we wanted, and, more often than not, were the only two people fishing the water! Very lucky for any boy!!

My first fish came on a Saturday morning in early September 1977, although I had caught a few fish on worm and bait, I had yet to score with the fly, and wow, when it came it was certainly worth the wait.

The day was calm and overcast, the river low and clear but with lots of fish present in almost every pool. Mid way through the morning, my father and I arrived at a pool called Banff Stream, a slow deep holding pool with very narrow, but fast flowing run of no more than 15 feet wide which flowed tight to the walkway under our feet on the left bank. The far side of this run was dead water with no current, stretching a further 25 feet before reaching the tall reeds of the far bank. The pool was shaded by overhanging oak and ash trees on this, the left bank, all of which had been there for at least 150 years. Looking downstream this stream run into the deep holding pool which was Banff Rock, itself giving way gave way to The Stable flats, a shallow, but at that time, as I was about to find out, very productive pool with all fish lying tucked under the far bank and requiring a good fishing technique to catch them. At the end of this 100 meter long pool and nestling on the top of the hill was a house, an imposing building, the type of which I had only ever seen in film. A stately home fit for a king and with much character and history. Although empty most of the time, when fishing here I felt people watching as we fished, those were not people from the present, but from the past, keeping an ever watchful eye on their river, enjoying the fact nothing much had changed in the 100 years or so of fly-fishing there. As a boy, I found this place rather eerie and a little frightening, and certainly like to have my father close by when fishing there.

On that particular September morning I recall looking downstream and watching my father take four fish from the Stable Flats. A fact which was a little frustrating as he had told me to go there in the first place, but feeling there was a better chance where more fish were showing, I chose to stay in Banff Stream. Feeling somewhat dejected at my lack of success, which on reflection, was because I was constantly stuck in the trees behind me, I sat down to reflect [always a good thing to do when things are not working whilst fishing for salmon]. After a short piece of advice from my father, I shortened my line, made a roll cast of no more than 25 feet and watched my number 8 silver shrimp, slowly at first, before picking up pace at it swung through the fast current, eventually come to a stop around a foot from the bank, I slowly retrieved the line and begun to raise my rod, a movement which must have been too much for the fish to resist, for just at this point, I felt the resistance, not of a rock or weed, but of a strong pull from the opposite direction. Instinct told me to let go of the slack line which I had previously retrieved, the rod tip bent and I was in contact with something heavy, much heavier than I had felt before, not just the tip, but the whole rod begun to bend, I felt the rod blank flex through my upper hand and knew something very sizable indeed had taken hold.....