Neigh Lad

I had been fishing for almost six hours now and had just about walked the whole circumference of the moorland reservoir. Conditions had seemed to be perfect: warmish, a light breeze, overcast sky, and the water lightly tinged with peat but still clear. I had been through my fly boxes and had used up most of my spool of tippet, with absolute zero to show for my efforts.

My frustration had been building for a while, eroding concentration. As a result, my casting and fishing were suffering badly. With my car in sight again, I became irritated, annoyed at myself, so I sat on a stump for a while to collect my scattered thoughts and give myself a stiff talking to. I ate and drank the last of my supplies, then “Right” I said to myself “You drove miles to get here, get your head straight, there’s less than an hour of light left. Start again. Concentrate hard. Come on!”.

Just then I noticed a horse I passed an hour ago was standing behind me, watching silently, tail flicking flies. I moved a couple of paces to avoid hitting the horse with my back cast; I cast out, pausing while line and leader settled. Suddenly I heard a distinct voice say “Put a Black Leech on and fish it fast”. I looked about me, I was still alone, just the horse which continued to watch. I hadn’t actually tried that particular pattern, maybe my mind was playing tricks on me? Nothing ventured, nothing gained, so I tied one on. On my first cast a Brownie slammed the fly and I soon landed my first fish. Fatigue and doubt evaporated instantly. I moved a couple of paces along the bank and prepared to cast again. There came that mysterious voice “A Silver Invicta will work there”, puzzled, I looked around again, but the horse and I appeared to be the only creatures above the surface. Perhaps my subconscious was the better angler? I did as bid and shortly after changing flies I slipped the net under my second feisty fish. The prior, futile hours forgotten, I moved a few more paces farther along the bank, but still perplexed. “Try a Hopper in that patch of ripple near those rocks to your right” came that distinct voice. Was I going mad?

The horse continued its placid day dreaming, gazing my way. On went a Claret Hopper, to be smashed by another good trout just seconds after touching down. Before long I was netting my third and last Brown. My time was up, I tackled down and headed over to the car. In the car park, the only other vehicle was a battered old Landrover, a retriever sitting beside the driver who was puffing on his old pipe. “You’ve had a good day” he said in a cloud of blue smoke, nodding towards my bass bag as he leaned out of the window. “I can’t explain it” I replied “I was really struggling until this last hour, when a voice came into my head, telling me what to do. I checked around but I was definitely alone, nobody even in sight, just an old horse.”

“Aaah” exhaled the pipe smoker “was it a brown horse or a grey one?”

“It was grey” I replied.

“You were lucky” says he “The brown one knows nothing about fly fishing!”