A Dog Day

 

 When I walk the dogs, I head to different places so I don’t become bored, (can’t speak for the dogs though). There are several New Forest walks I like, and on this particular one, on a warm day, we made a short diversion to a ford across one of the many Forest streams. While the dogs drank and splashed about in the gravelled shallows, I saw something out of the corner of my eye. Just upstream was a dark, slow pool, tailing-out into the shallow ford, and in that pool a fish had just made a classic rise, concentric rings still spreading. I watched for a repeat, but there wasn’t one before Maya hurled herself into the pool for a swim. We continued on our circular walk, but a spark had been struck, deep in the cranium. I’d read somewhere that the New Forest streams are recorded to hold twenty different fish species, including Brown Trout and its sea-running brethren. This stream, I was pretty sure, eventually became part of the Beaulieu River (it’s pronounced ‘byou-lee’). I also knew that Robjents, in Stockbridge, used to advertise sea-trout fishing on that river, so there was a strong possibility that the riser was a trutta. A plan began to form.

 The next time I took the dogs on that particular route, I wore the small sling pack I often use when out walking; it holds a camera, my mobile, wallet, etc., but still had space for a Tenkara rod, line holder, and a few flies. Heading across the heath, making for that ford, I diligently threw plenty of sticks to tire and slow down my canine companions. Closer now, I arrived well downstream, to get the lapping, prancing and splashing over without disturbing the little pool.

The water in these streams is tea coloured and there’s lots of sediment that gets stirred up, hence my cautious approach from downstream. When the doggy excitement began to wane, so mine increased. I took out the rod, tied my line to the lillian, then extended the sections to the full eleven-odd feet, before knotting on my chosen fly: a size sixteen black and peacock spider. When neither dog seemed to be taking any notice I moved slowly, crouched, to the edge of the shallow tail-out, hardly daring to breathe. I lobbed the fly to the top of the pool, tracking it back towards me; after drifting just two feet it disappeared in the rings of a rise, and I was connected to this vibrant being from the watery world. It fought splashily, briefly, until I grasped it in my wetted hand, a be-jewelled beauty, red spots blazing vividly, belly butter gold. Eight, maybe nine, inches of wild perfection. The serene moment lasted but a millisecond before both dogs leapt into the pool to see what the commotion was about, I unhooked it and it vanished into the churned-up water. I hastily called the dogs out, lest they accidentally stomped the fish in their capering and cavorting. I stood on the bank, replaying the HD mental video, and happy.

 Just as I finished taking down the rod another walker appeared on the bank of the little stream, and enquired in the traditional way “Caught anything?” to which I replied “You’re the first!”. We both grinned, before I turned and headed off, whistling the dogs.