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The king is dead

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2009-09-02T18:56:20+01:00

The king is dead, long live the king!

New version of naddery diary now Live. Old site saved here for posterity.

~ malcolm

the rise and fall of a nadder reginald

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2009-07-21T17:00:14+01:00

If my rise to becoming vice chairman of the Salisbury club was fast as I previously mentioned it has been nothing when compared to my fall. I say fall, but it was more of a jump. I may have knocked myself on the way down, I may have even made it bad news to be associated with 'that angry young man'. Like a modern day Reginald Perrin, I came, I saw, I stumbled away.

For the last few years I've listened to the voice of experience, pushed to make what small changes I could and tried to be the voice of compromise between the old guard, wanting to run the rivers like a put and take fishery and the more enlightened modern approach to river management espoused by the likes of the Wild Trout Trust, EA and other bodies. I've always felt that there was a middle way between the two schools of thought and this was where I pitched myself. Unfortunately it now seems that certain elements of the old guard are not prepared to move towards the light, not prepared to admit that things need to change and not prepared to let go of the rule book. Like a sailor clinging on to an oar after a shipwreck they grasp the rulebook like some unholy mantra that will save their souls, all the while not noticing that it is just dragging them further towards their doom.

Very dramatic stuff I know, but what this means in practice is that after allot of thought, I quit. I quit being the vice chairman. I quit being on the committee. No more work parties, no more attending Wiltshire Fisheries meetings representing the club, no more pushing for the club to support the WTT and others. I've remained as bailiff on my bit of the Nadder as it means too much to me to just take no interest in it but that's it.

I've made some fantastic friends through my involvement in the club and I hope they don't feel that I've just abandoned them, or acted rashly. But, when you've gotta go, you've gotta go.

Funnily enough, the very act of quitting has opened up lot's of possibilities elsewhere so maybe it was a good thing that the final straw came along when I was sitting on a heavily laden camel.

But, pissed off with fishing as I was, what do I do? Why, go fishing of course :)

A bit of coarse fishing for Perch, a bit of fly fishing on some unstocked truly wild rivers and a bit of saltwater fly fishing for bass. I opened the year talking about being a more rounded angler and by golly, I'm doing it.

~ malcolm

Καλημέρα, καλησπέρα και καληνύχτα

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2009-07-13T18:36:25+01:00

αν μπορείτε να διαβάσετε αυτό το μήνυμα σας οδήγηση πολύ κοντά

In the words of MC Miker G and DJ Sven, 'I'm gonna ring a dang a dong for a holiday' - 'and we take a little piece of amsterdam, RRRrright'

Pure ugly genius.

anyway, the reason for that moment of weakness is that I spent another week in glorious Parga, well most of it was on Sarakiniko beach to be fair. No fishing to report this time, just a happy smiley face bedecked in freckles. Could be the remains of chocolate ice cream, but I'm claiming it's freckles.

trying out a new technique in photoshop, click for bigger size. Reminds me of a train set or architectural model :)

I lied, it wasn't entirely a no fishing trip. I did find Andreas practicing his upstream dry fly/worm fishing...

I was standing still, trying out blurry night shots and it's only when I checked them back the next day I found that I'd captured the ghost of 1986 on camera. Honest Injun, I had no idea that the mini skirt was near me...

it's all downhill from here

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2009-06-21T19:37:54+01:00

you can feel it in the air tonight, and no I'm not referring to a balding ex-Genesis musician's song, I'm referring to yesterday being the years shortest night. The summer solstice. The beginning of the winter, eeeh lad, ee can feel the nights drawing in. Expect Christmas goods in the supermarkets within weeks.

As per last year I spent the night patrolling the Stonehenge landscape in a works landrover, putting out the odd fire, moving the odd camper on their way. It felt slightly different this year, not a spiritual occasion but a pretty good natured one by all standards. People, and by people I mean almost all 36,500 of them, were in high spirits (read into those two words what you will), it was a good natured affair with plenty of banter even when I was pouring water over their fires. I finished my shift at 1am and fled to avoid the actual sunrise as I'd seen the state of the A303 and decided I'd like to see the inside of my eyelids at some point this weekend, we watched a tanker plod his way along the A303 at one point and it took him over an hour to do a mile.

After a sleep that wasn't long enough by anyones measure I threw the waders in the boot, grabbed the rod from it's hooks above the back door and headed out for some sunny r&r on the riverbank.

First stop was the Bourne and for me, a fishing first... After 30 minutes I gave it up as being pretty much unfishable, and for me with my penchant for the wilder reaches of rivers, that was really a surprise. Wall to wall weed, 7' vegetation on the banks, bright sun, gusty winds and gin clear water; all added up to more of a job than the r&r I was searching for so I tromped back to the car and pootled over to the Avon and a little carrier stream I knew wouldn't be affected by the current weed cut. Inside an hour and without moving more than 10m I had 6 brownies to around the 2lb mark and a lovely little grayling. To be honest I felt like a coarse angler sat there on the bank flicking the fly out to one rising fish after another. Only a ruddy great box filled with every item of tackle ever invented, like some deranged granny from hell on a mission to find the last box of tunnocks tea cakes in Tesco's, could have completed the picture.

~ malcolm

click click click

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2009-06-16T17:47:36+01:00

just some photo's this time. No rambles, no rants. Sorry!

summer arrived

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2009-05-30T11:44:34+01:00

Seems I don't actually write all that much about fishing these days, although I suppose that most of my ramblings come back to the rivers in one way or another. Anyway, this time a new camera, some good friends and a cracking piece of river happened to coincide with the first real summer evening of the year.

We arrived at the river at 6ish and crossed the wooden bridge over my old friend the Nadder. Looking over the bridge the river strikes you as a vastly different creature to the one I know so well, only 3 miles upstream. Darker, wider, more sluggish, but still my Nadder, at least my Nadder for that last field length, before it falls off the edge of the known world. Plunging into the unknown reaches of the Avon and surging off to Downton, Fordingbridge and ultimately Cristchurch harbour.

The sun, still hot on our backs throws a golden colour over everything, like wearing yellow polaroids or peering through a quality street sweet wrapper (is it only me remembers doing this as a kid?). There was a huge amount of fly life evident as we crossed the water meadows, heading for the Avon; sedges, mayfly, olives, gnats, caenis - matching the hatch obviously wasn't going to be a problem but I had a sneaky feeling with that much food on the wing, figuring out exactly what the fish were likely to be feeding on could be.

Wading into the tiptoe inducing depths, fording fantastic beds of ranunculus it wasn't long before everyone was into fish. Mostly small chub and dace, but we know this stretch holds some real lunkers so even the wee brownies, picture perfect as they were, were somehow just not really satisfying.

8pm and the light was changing, more flies were about, but still no change in fishing. Lots of tiddlers, a brief encounter with a lump of a chub for one of our number, but nothing of any size.

9:30pm, light fading fast. Mayfly and sedges everywhere. Can't see to tie a new fly on so I blindly fished on. More tiddlers, more dace, more chub; a pattern repeated amongst everyone.

But then just as I'm about to turn away, pack up and go home, I notice something. Nope, no lunker to grace the end of this tale, a visual spectacle for you. Surely, one of THE most unique fishing views in the country, if not the world? If the fish aren't biting, it's not far to look for divine inspiration...

So, maybe the bigger fish hadn't turned on to the food yet, being the first warmth of the summer evenings to come. Maybe our flies were wrong, maybe the casting was poor (especially mine). BUT, it was one of those evenings that remind you why it's called fishing, not catching. The world is a beautiful place, as anglers we are lucky in that we actively take the time to look and feel it.

~ malcolm

I've included this one before but it just seemed fitting:

What is this life if, full of care,
we have no time to stand and stare.

No time to stand beneath the boughs
And stare as long as sheep or cows.

No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.

No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night.

No time to turn at beauty's glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance.

No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began.

A poor life this if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.

- William Henry Davies 1871-1940

new camera :)

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2009-05-28T15:07:20+01:00

Got a new camera! Yipeee!

Nothing more exciting today than a quick test of the camera this lunchtime. Normal service resuming.

~malcolm

troot an aboot

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2009-05-16T19:45:52+01:00

In the absence of a camera I'm just posting a few shots from it's last outing. No clever words today, just a few photos from me and Luke's surreptitious jaunt round (and under) Salisbury one sunny Sunday morning.

(for some reason I really like the shot above, not sure, but something about the composition tickles me)

Oh, and as always the mayfly start to hatch and the weather turns. 35mph winds and dropping temperatures aren't conducive to good fishing conditions, but two weeks ago in the sun, the Nadder was heaving with little flies and plenty of hungry fish were interested.

~ malcolm

damn and blast!

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2009-05-12T18:08:40+01:00

Well, I won't be taking any new photo's for a whee while I'm afraid.

In a carry on moment that involved a set of windy stairs, a brick chimney and a cunningly placed lego brick (six stud straight block if you'd like to know) and one pair of sensitive bare feet, my camera took a fateful tumble down the stairs. I'm hoping that I'll get at least some of the value back from the insurance but time will tell. In the meantime I thought I'd get the begging bowl out here and ask for help. Any help that people can offer in these tough financial times will be gratefully recieved; £5, $5, £20, $20 - doesn't matter. Any help is going to get me back on the road to making a go of this here photography thing and keep you in river porn for when you are stuck in the office! If you happen to be in the fishy trade then perhaps we could do a deal for a wee advert, I've always tried not to do so with this site, but in these circumstances I may be swayed. E-mail me if you are interested.

I'll try to use some of the old photo's I haven't used to date to keep entries coming on the site, but apologies if you have seen them already.

~ malcolm

a river really does run through it

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2009-05-01T20:09:12+01:00

plip plip plop.

A sound that's music to my ears this year, the sound of some fresh life being breathed into rivers that although not entirely low, are not as high as in reality they ought to be. I fished the Monnow a few weeks back and it was pretty much at summer levels, not good for the first month of the season. Anyway, where was I, oh yes, plip plip plop.

I'm out on Salisbury plain, hard hat on, work boots covered in chalk so sticky that loctite really should have patented it years ago and the rain is neatly bouncing off my hat now, splintering into a fine spray and splashing into my eyes. Oh, it's nice to be out though, watching the puddles gurgle and ooze their way into the calcified nothingness below the grass, off on their way to the Avon.

A miraculous journey all told, it starts with some mystical mojo between some hydrogen and some oxygen. There's a bit of molecular how's your father, a bit of super cooling, a bit of updraft, a bit of downdraft, some clever special effects on TV weather channels and before you know it, that heavenly fall out is going plip plip plop off some guy on Salisbury plain's hard hat.

Springs gurgle, giggle and push and those individual plips and plops are tumbling over themselves, surging like opening time at the Harrod's sale into our rivers where they bumble and bounce majestically through rolling fields and tree lined carriers; over crashing wiers and hatches, under busy roads and through towns. Past noses of munching cows, under the bellies of gobbling swans, through gill and fin the river bound plips and plops go on; rolling onto the sea and the end of the cycle. Rebirth by evaporation.

Funny to think that taking the busy roads and town centres away, the river has been running in the same cycle pretty much undisturbed for thousands of years, the key feature of the landscape. I think some time ago (and I'm too lazy to check back through posts) I called our chalkstreams the crystaline veins of southern England, and as you look back in history the more obvious their importance becomes.

Many of the current population living in this area are unaware of what a chalkstream is, unaware of it's historical, ecological and sociological importance. To a happy few of us though the river runs as much through our veins as it does the rolling chalk landscape. If ignorance is bliss I'd rather know my rivers and be miserable.

I'm a fairly recent convert to the pull of the rivers, recently having passed my 38th birthday I count as a relative spring chicken on the Wiltshire Fisheries Association committee and I know I've been raging against a certain fishing 'clique' over recent posts, just don't be assuming that I care nothing for the past and the efforts of others that have made the place into what it is today. The river ran as much through the purists blood as it does through mine, they just chose to deal with it in a slightly different way is all, I've no doubt that they rebelled against conformity and stricture in their own way as I have in my days.

I received an email from America this week, it wasn't offering me viagra or extra inches and it wasn't telling me that I'd won a Nigerian lottery so I opened it and to my surprise it was from a nice guy who had historical family ties to the Nadder. Robert's father and grandfather both fished the Nadder in their day and it seems the passion for the river has now gone through at least three generations, hopefully one day the grandchildren of the grandchild can come over and fish, what a mind boggling thought! A river really and truly does run through their veins.

I've kindly been granted permission to use the couple of photo's below of Robert's grandfather. A finer, pith helmeted, mustachioed man you couldn't hope to find. The pictures really give an immediate image of that brave new world. A world of opportunity and exploration, no mobile phones, no email, no TV; just donkeys, rifles and indigenous Oxacan indians who by all accounts were and still are a honorable and noble race.

Anyway, this fine old boy was Paul Engleheart. Born 1879 in Appleshaw, Hampshire, His father was vicar of a small parish church. Paul left the UK for Mexico in 1908 as a fully trained engineer, built dam/powerhouse, railroad to Lago Botella (the Bottle) in the Central Mexican Highlands in the corner of the states of Oaxaca & Michoacan. He dodged bandits, saw the Mexican Revolution (1910-1920) and watched the battle of Ceyala from a hilltop; this is known as Pancho Villa's demise. His cavalry made multiple charges against entrenched troops with barbed wire and crossing machine gun fire. Paul is said to have described those soldiers were the bravest men he'd ever seen, he was very moved.

I can't begin to imagine that sense of adventure, of being on the edge of something new and brave. These days we have to shoot a rapid, climb a rock face or straightline a couloir to get that feeling of pushing ourselves mentally and physically. With the advantages of modern technology I again find myself asking what we have lost as the world shrinks.

Again, thanks for letting me share the story Robert. The Nadder is still here, and fishing on it is yours or your grandchildren's anytime you want it...

~ malcolm

I've discovered purest green m'lord

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2009-04-14T21:18:33+01:00

I've been ranting a little too much lately. Tired of suffering old men chewing wasps and being bitter about the world changing, I've been somewhat frustrated and by turns disillusioned and angry with the fishing world. It's one thing to be raging at the dying of the light but do they have to do it on my watch? There's a thing that people of a certain age will get, and it tends to be blokes, it's helped me enormously. Imagine a musician called Zack De La Rocha, grit your teeth and shout 'bullet in your head' a few times. 'they say jump, you say how high. Your brain dead, you got a ...... bullet in your head' - I know, most of you won't have a bloody clue what I'm talking about but a few will know and that's enough :)

Anyway, anger is an energy and all that.

As a counterpoint to the frustration and anger at 'the man' the rivers have been fantastic, the weather has been more like early summer than early spring and the Nadder, normally a late season river has woken from her slumber a little earlier this year. I know, by saying this it's bound to snow next week but there is something about the neon greens of this time of year that encourages thoughts of the new, of birth (rebirth if you can see past chocolate eggs?), of optimism and of fishing to come. Autumn may be the part of the year where you watch the riverbanks and forests wither away, but April oh April, she brings daily growth, purpose and newness as stretching her arms, nature shakes her sleepy head and wakes up.

I may be frustrated with the establishment, but rod in hand I can drop fishing politics and escape once more to the joy that remains undiminished from those days as a boy trotting worms under bushes, illicitly searching for trout from the Axe.

~ malcolm

tradition

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2009-04-02T09:07:17+01:00

My last rant, and apologies for ranting quite so much, left me thinking a bit more about tradition and how it applies to us today.

Why do we stick with traditions? Sure there's allot to be said for learning from the past, knowing how things were done and why. Some of the most interesting bits I do at work are investigating historic infrastructure at properties; amazing that the victorians were so good at dual flush water systems, water turbines and innovation in general.

So tradition can be a helping hand, something that helps younger generations learn from mistakes made centuries gone. However, the world has changed more in the last few hundred years than many credit and the increasing rate of climate change is going to mean that the rate of change speeds up exponentially over the next century. Bizarre to think that my son, at the age of six, will live to see a world without mineral oil, a world where the quayside buildings of Brownsea Island where he was playing yesterday are well and truly swamped by rising sea levels. Who knows what other massive changes, for better and for worse he will see in the world around him.

On the flip side however, tradition can act as the ties that bind, stopping innovation and stifling creativity. I mean thinking about fishing alone, we are so tied to tradition, especially on the chalkstreams that it sometimes beggars belief. Dry fly, wet fly, upstream, split cane, tweed, manicured banks, stocked fish; the list goes on and on. I mean seriously do people fishing and shooting wear heavy barbour waxed jackets or tweed because they are superior to a good Goretex jacket? I don't believe so, and having worn both over the years I wouldn't consider going back from a performance fabric, albeit out of choice I'd be wearing a more sustainable choice than Goretex... Anyway, yes, the reason I argue that people wear that stuff is blind tradition, it's about looking the way you think an angler/hunter should look, regardless of the way they perform.

Even our fishing seasons are fixed in stone, bound by tradition. The Avon used to be famed for it's spring run of Salmon, now with water coming in heavy bursts in November/December the fish are apparently more prevalent in the system during Autumn/early winter; great news for the salmon, but bad news for the fishermen... The Salisbury trout season starts on April 1st and was made to do so in recognition of the changing nature of our seasons and the opportunity to fish the waters around the town at the same time as the massive Grannom hatches are taking place. We take allot of stick from other local clubs/syndicates/societies about opening that early as they don't open until May for the most part. Why? Well they'll claim more rest for the rivers but I'm not sure of the science behind that argument, if that was the case they'd ban fishing during the winter for Grayling; My bet is on the fact that a may opening is tradition. A date that older members of their exclusive cliques can comfortably raise their weary bones from their members club induced stupor and have their driver take them to the river in time to snooze in dappled sunlight on the river bank. Not such a bad thing but to give others a hard time because they break tradition and do something different is just barmy, go back to sleep grandad.

Fly fishing is dominated (apart from maybe on the salt flats?) by a generation of people who for a large part fail to see the changes, people who decry:

'We can't do that young man, we tried that 30 years ago and it didn't work'

'That's not in the rules, we cannot (will not) allow that'.

'Of course I knew Tarquin at school, ruddy good chap, what. Good at rugger, sound bat at the wicket. Buggered me senseless when he was head boy of course, but never killed me. Knew what was good for us in my day boy!'

I'm determined this year to break free of the shackles of fishing traditionalism. Whilst taking lessons from the past I want to move forwards, brave new world and all that! I want to see if it's possible to fish well, and not accepting inadequacies in performance, using rods that don't cost £400, simplifying setups as much as possible, surviving on two rods and one reel to cover 90% of your fishing needs. I'm going to be demanding on performace of my clothing and gear, but not beholden to a label or 'look'. Watch this space...

Toodlepip!

~ malcolm

Yaaarp

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2009-03-23T17:41:52+00:00

So, 'ere in the country we's mebee a bit slow on the uptake. Loife is a bit slower an' we don't hold with all these new fangled city ways an we don't much like outsiders.

Or at least many journalists from the broadsheets seem to think so, there is more than one regular column written by very witty journalists who delight in laughing at rural sterotypes. Me, I'm totally pissed off with sanctimonious twats from papers writing columns that bemoan the slower pace of life in the country, people who have made the move to a rural idyl and found it wanting. They blame the yokels being unable to give change in a shop speedily, they blame dull neighbours, they blame everything but themselves. If they took a good look they may just find that the reason they had their move to the country fail had nothing to do with the country, those of us who live in the country or the country way of life; It was purely their own petty, vain and intolerant life that was at fault.

You know what, Kensington is welcome to them, they can use their new hunter wellies in Richmond park at the weekend and exercise their black lab from the boot of their ever-so-clean landrover discovery. Certainly Daisy Waugh from this Sunday's Times seems to be a good match. I'm sure Chelsea misses them terribly when they go abroad (that's past the M25 to you and me).

Daisy, along with the rest of you oh so superior city people, have fun, don't let the gate hit you in the ass on your way out if you please. Leave us in peace to enjoy the fact that we've realised that there's more to life that Starbucks and the kings road.

Yes the country has some intolerable bores, and many of them have moved to join some sort of rural idyl that is only perpetuated by themselves. Our love of the traditional image of country life is deeply instilled in us, but I hate to break it to you, the country isn't just filled with wealthy landowners and the odd scruffy-but-posh Fernley Buyitall. Everyone poor person won't doff their cap at you and call you m'lord. If you move to that tumble-down barn in Dorset and do it up with swimming pools and tennis courts I don't doubt that there will be noone good enough to play with you. Lets face it, I don't imagine there are any people you would think are good enough for you outside of other city ex-pats. You might try running a village shop and handing out change yourself, running a business and paying a fair wage, not what you think cash strapped country folk deserve. You could also realise that rural poverty is a real thing in today's Britain and all your failed jaunt to the country has done is mean that there is one less housing opportunity available to local people. One more house that has been escalated out of locals price ranges by people using London levels of equity.

I also hate to break it to you, but I don't own a pair of plus fours, I don't own a check shirt and nor do I posses a flat cap. Me and the rest of the great unwashed, rural bleeding heart liberals living out here are just happy to dress as we see fit, and enjoy the life that we find on our doorsteps. We don't get bored because there aren't dozens of restaurants on our doorsteps, the fact that people do get bored when out of the city shows an overwhelming lack of creativity and imagination.

Now I'd just like to point out at this point that I am not in fact an angry man. I seem to have ranted a little there but I'm allowed to do that, this is after all my chaotic brain-storming word dump. My landfill for ideas and scribblings.

Catch you later Bill and Ted.

~ malcolm

free will

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2009-03-06T10:17:02+00:00

Well, the trout season is once again nearly upon us here in Wiltshire, another few weeks to go. Rather than resolutions in January, my new years resolutions come just before the season. Some hardy souls have already been making the pilgrimage to fish the Welsh waters that have already opened, discussion forums are busy with people arguing about definitions of dry flies and tattooing their hearts on the sleeves of their simms fleeces. Making sure that people know whether they are purist, realist, pragmatist or just prejudiced when it comes to their angling preferences.

Me I've discovered a new way and I'm sticking to it. Perhaps I've been hanging around our coarse brethren too much but more and more these days I'm seeing the lure of the light float rod and the worm, I'm being pulled to a branch of angling where innovation, for the most part, is expected rather than frowned upon for being 'new' and somehow dirty.

In 'how to fish' Chris Yates writes
"The art of angling, as opposed to the mechanics of angling, simply involves observation, appreciation and improvisation; everything else follows behind."

Trout fishing, in particular on the chalkstreams of Southern England has got too hung up on mechanics and divorced itself from art. Seriously, life's too short to argue that some dead bloke was right and another dead bloke was wrong, dry fly, wet fly? Arggghhh. Give me a break. 90 million years ago, or thereabouts, the chalk was being laid during the late cretaceous period, it seems that at about the same time, Halford was busy writing his trite dogma and his followers are preserved in time with the chalk and are still at it today.

Definitions over what constitutes a fly are as pointless as arguments over dry or wet, emerger or nymph. The word 'fly' has been used to indicate an artificial imitation made from fur and feathers for hundreds of years;

"The term fly is applied by sea fishermen to a certain arrangement of feathers, wax, etc., which I am about to describe the manufacture of, and which may be used with considerable success in mackerel, basse, and pollack fishing. I am not disposed to think, however, that such baits are ever mistaken by the fish which they are intended to capture for flies; but the number used, the way in which they are mounted, viz., several on one trace, and the method of their progress through the water, rather leads me to the belief that they are mistaken for a number of small fry, and treated accordingly"
[Lord, W. B. (1863). Sea Fish and How To Catch Them. London: Bradbury and Evans]

So the word fly has been used to refer to any number of things for at least the last 150 years, why do we insist these days on going with the Halfordian rules? He was after all only one man, and by all accounts actually not that good an angler, tending to blame the fish rather than himself when things didn't work out.

This year you'll find me roaming our 'non premium' waters, avoiding tackle tarts, purists, rules and historical dogma and fishing for fish, not just for trout. I'll also use the most appropriate method for the conditions rather than trying to impose self held beliefs that I'm right and you're wrong. If it's just off dark and I know there is a big cannibal trout in that pool, then a woolly bugger may well be called for and I won't feel a twinge of guilt as I reach for my fly box.

I'm going to be as happy with a chubb or a jack pike as I am with a trout and if I catch perch then I will smile more than for all other fish put together. I've had it with rivers full to the gunnels of stocked fish, as artificial in their own way as still waters be they coarse or trout waters.

Don't get me wrong though coarse waters are as full of prejudice in their own way, stories of lure fishermen being chased off canals, fly fishers frowned upon at carp waters. But our underfished rivers outside of the premium stocked trout parts are for the most part as free of rules, or shackles as they can be. If you get your kicks out of fishing within a narrow band of boundaries then more power to you, enjoy it. I'm just tired of it now.

I'll be working on my new seasons resolution; being an angler. An all-rounder, a generalist and as flexible in approach as I can be.

See you out there, and I can guarantee that I'll be smiling...

~ malcolm

flash flash flash

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2009-02-16T19:38:37+00:00

Flash Flash Flash. The sunlight playing morse code on my closed eyelids has me dreaming of early summer. Dot dash, dot dot dot, dash, dash, dot. I'm drifting off as the signals confuse my brain. Mayfly, a gentle breeze, a quiet river bank in full vegetation still wearing it's neon green early growth colours. I can smell the freshness of the undergrowth, almost taste the excitement in the air as swallows skim the surface jostling with over enthusiastic trout for the flies as they drift downstream. There's a sense of enormous relaxation, like a slow exhale, a calm which slowly works it's way through my body. Yoga without the uncomfortable sitting positions or unintentional flatulence, tai chi without the study and practice.

From somewhere I hear a mechanical kerthunk, kerthunk, kerthunk. It's out of place in this spring based nirvana. I can't see a train or combine harvester near the river, however It's coming closer and closer, an unwelcome interruption bringing me back to the present moment.

I wrest open my closed eyes, free up my hands that are tucked into balls inside my gloves and wedged into my armpits and slowly peek my nose and chin from the cover of the fleece liner of my jacket. The seat rumbles and I realise I'm only two pylons away from the end of the chairlift line. The fact that it's minus 20 or so also come back into my consciousness and I get ready for the off, checking gloves are fastened, goggles are snug and backpack is free. I lift the bar and scoot, not so gracefully away, the snow squeaking like breaking polystyrene under my board.

I unclip from my board, turn away from the crowd and start hiking away, up the ridge towards the aguille reaching for the sky.

Seconds, minutes or hours later; lungs biting and legs burning I reach the top and gingerly look over the top into the 10' wide couloir dropping insanely steeply away from me towards the lower part of the resort. The snow is over knee deep on my little platform and I cling to it like a security blanket as I strap the board back to my feet, breath coming slower now, my mind focussing on overcoming the urge to go back, back the way I just came and back to the safety of the blue run.

I edge off, gingerly slipping the top 6' or so on my heel edge. A herculean effort and I'm round to my toe edge, heart racing as the rocks seem to close in, heel, toe, heel then I'm free of the rocks, pointing straight into the open untracked powder field below me speed gathering and elation kicks in. There is a moment, a brief moment where screaming Yeeehaww seems appropriate, then I'm settled comfortably into the powder turns and before I know it I'm back onto the run below me with a collection of skiers and boarders looking at me like I'm nuts. I stop, gather my breath and look back up. It looks much steeper and further away from back here but my oh my do I feel alive. I grin, turn and chase down the hill, leaving my lone track as the only evidence of the descent.

I really should have stayed living in the mountains...

deep and crisp and even

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2009-02-06T18:11:41+00:00

Well, we had a bit of snow in the UK the last week. A bit more than usual, but nothing to the winters I remember from my childhood. Somewhere in the chaos of house moves a photo of those old winters is lost but it showed the family standing on a drift in West Dorset with the arm of a signpost poking out of the snow some feet below. Yes, we've had some traffic disruption, a few people lost power, a few people crashed their cars but seriously, it's been snowy for 5 days and we're acting like the world has come to an end.

Like a pig in $h1t however, or a kid with the day off school, I've been making the most of the snow. I've been snowboarding, yup, in Wiltshire and I've played in the snow with the young'un.

I've walked along the rivers a bit in the last few days as well and, well, they look funny in the snow.

I'm not sure if it's the snow making the white balance all wrong but walking the banks this week there is something very mysterious about their blackened depths. I almost didn't need to take pictures in black and white of the rivers this time. Against their snow whitened fringes the waters of the Nadder has taken on a coal like hue, not the usual murky colour of a river in spate, a true jet black. The black of outer space, the black of your trousers if you happen to make the mistake of brushing against my car at the moment, the black of melted asphalt. A Hammerite like hue, solid and unforgiving in it's appearance. Like someone turned up the contrast on a black and white TV, the environments of earth and water polarised against each other. Yin and Yang, evil and good.

Knowing the river as well as I do it's the first time I've seen it in snow and it was slightly off-putting, like seeing a really good friend return from a makeover programme bedecked as a goth.

Anyway, off for some more snowboarding. Catch you later Bill and Ted.

~ malcolm

geek heaven

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2009-01-24T12:33:50+00:00

I got sent a link to the beta of a new music service earlier. I signed up, downloaded the client and BOOM, I was in all honesty blown away. It may not mean allot to many, but to anyone who loves their music, regardless of genre, it's a game changer.

www.spotify.com

So basically, you download the small client file, then you legally can listen to pretty much anything you like at your computer. If you don't pay the fee you can still listen, but every few tracks you have to put up with an advert at the end.

Why was I excited? It's just got so much music on, it's legal and it really was a piece of cake to install. Other than the ability to download the music to your ipod I can't see how to improve this much (actually, I do now know a slightly surreptitious way to xfer the music from here to your itunes library but it's not legal so I won't advertise it here).

So nothing to do with fishing, no decent photography. Sorry! But if you sit at your desk, whether fly tying, editing photo's, doing work, whatever - It's a cracker!

~ malcolm

the sound of one hand clapping

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2009-01-16T19:19:46+00:00

shhh, sometimes words aren't needed.

Fishing at this time of year may be the preserve of the brave or the stupid, but I love winter...

~ malcolm

reasons not to be a skier...

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2009-01-07T18:03:53+00:00

I seriously can't begin to imagine what the lifties are saying to each other, can you?

Too many jokes... Cannot compute... danger will robinson...

bandwith beware...

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2008-12-31T17:35:25+00:00

Everybody it seems, does a review of the year just gone. So, as 2008 passes like a post Christmas brussel sprout and bubble and squeak fuelled parp, who am I to break with tradition. I'll raise a glass to the twelve months gone and beckon the future with welcome arms later. It's been a good year all told, ups and downs, a few wrong turns and a couple of double-back-on-yourselves but all in all, a good year.

As per previous years I'll bust some broadband heads and leave you with an encyclopedias worth of photos.

hmm, too much order there, need to break up the pattern so gratuitous landscape format incoming!

Have a great 2009 - looking forward to meeting up with all my old friends, and with any luck maybe make new ones too.

~ malcolm

unity

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2008-12-18T17:30:38+00:00

So the angling world, or at least a good chunk of it, has come together to form a new body to represent our interests. To my mind it can only be a good thing. One lobbying voice to represent the millions of us in the UK who count fishing as a sport/hobby/passtime/addiction/job/marriage - or all of the aforementioned. To put things into perspective, the National Trust has 3.5m members and look how big a voice that organisation carries within the halls of power in the UK.

Anglers and authors considerably more worthy than I have espoused the virtues of a single body far more eloquently than I could ever hope to so I won't go there, if you want to read a bit try looking for Brian Clarke's articles from the Times.

What I will do however, and it may seem a bit odd coming from an Angler, is vent a frustration at anglers - or at least a number of them. I sometimes pop into online forums to catch up with people and read the things people are grumbling about. This time I saw a thread that I won't dignify with a link here from people doing nothing constructive; badmouthing the body before it's even up and running. I get really fed up of people who sit there, in the comfort of the lazeeboy chair and claim that the body won't deliver, that it won't be representative of them. Well for ^%$^&*!!'s sake get off your arse and get involved. Make sure your interests/opinions/thoughts/gripes are considered, shape a force for good instead of doing the easy thing and moaning in your apathetic corner of the universe.

The new body is supposed to be about unity, one voice, one point of contact. You wonder how often people pushing back against this sort of thing is apathy, and how much is a desire to be an individual. To argue against something without really needing to, just because by arguing you go against the grain, you become the outsider - the lone voice, stirring romantic visions of freedom fighters and noble poets. Bollocks, your just the guy who doesn't give the only opportunity angling has of being taken seriously by Government and funding bodies a chance to even get off the ground. Fine sit on your hands (wring them a bit if you'd like) and be the one to tell us all 'I told you so' if it doesn't work, but at least let them go for it without negativity from the outset.

I'm not suggesting that it's wrong to have a different viewpoint, I'm just suggesting that there is one thing we could do without in this world (no I don't mean McDonalds) - I mean negativity. My old boss once told me that he would rather work with someone inept at their job than someone who whinged and bitched the whole time and didn't give things a chance. I guess I fell into the positive but inept category. We're all individuals, we're all different (I'm not! see below) but we could all take a bit of a step towards being more positive. After all, if you want to live in a happier world, try being happy...

In other news, the world is collapsing, the weather has been bloody freezing and the rivers are high and coloured. Happy Christmas!

~ malcolm

i'll show you mine...

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2008-11-15T15:04:37+00:00

I was walking round town earlier and doing my usual people watching thing, noticed something funny. Now, I mean this in a non-sexist non-stereotyping way, but next time you walk round town, lift your eyes from chest level for a second and watch women's faces as they eye up clothes that other women are wearing. There's a not-so-subtle glance up and down, a split second appraisal of style. How most people miss it I can't quite work out, to me as an outsider to the experience it looks blatantly obvious. Then add the slight sneer, the shake of head, the knowing smile - or the ultimate sign of respect - the complete ignore.

I've also noticed that this happens on the river bank. If you meet someone on the river bank other than the sizing up of the casting action from a distance, the first thing you'll notice when you get close is the glance at your tackle. Phnar phnar, I know what you thought first gutter-brain but of course, I meant fishing tackle. There's a micro second appraisal that takes in clothing, waders, boots, rod, reel, line leader and choice of fly. Whether you're a vest, backpack or stuff-as-much-into-your-pockets-as-you-can kinda guy, your fellow fisher will have sized you up in that flash. From then on in, you're the guy with the expensive waders covered in crap, you're the guy with the expensive brand new sage rod and the big gold ring on your finger, the guy with the £30 rod. What people make of me with my assortment of tackle, with my mud covered waders, wading boots with no soles (they floated off during the season somewhere), no vest but bits shoved in pockets and scruffy burton snowboards baseball cap I'm not sure. I do know though, that most will have decided that I'm just not chalkstream material. Lets face it, you don't get photos in trout and salmon if you are the chalkstream equivalent of a ski bum, gear held together with gaffer tape.

Like Seasick Steve, I started out with nothing and I still got most of it left...

malcolm

cheer up dude, it's nearly christmas

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2008-11-09T20:40:51+00:00

I've been told off for my blog entries being too serious, too morbid. Far be it from me to not listen to wise words, lets face it, as our by now omnipotent Mr Obama (if you're from Ireland, I understand it's O'bama [see bottom]) stated in his address, there are two major wars, a planet in peril, the biggest financial crisis in gazillions of years BUT you can get a nice top in new look for £19.95 and I believe you can buy enough food for an entire Namibian town, or one American household for £3.50 in Tesco's - Right, that's OK, calm down guys, 'when you're chewing on life's gristle', always look on the bright side and all that. Don't panic Captain Mannering!

The rivers are showing the effects of some heavy downpours, the wind is howling and there is no way on god's earth I'm going out fishing in that. So, I'm firmly ensconced in front of the (locally sourced!) log fire, trying to ignore Strictly Come Dancing on the TV. I've slunk my way around the web, read the latest copy of thisisfly and stumbled across a new online fishy mag, catch magazine (stunning photos by the way). I've also found a new charity worth bringing to your attention, Protect Our Winters. They come firmly from a winter sports background (fine by me), but it got me thinking more generally. I'm not sure that enough people pay attention to the importance of our winters. Winter rains recharging aquifers, spates clearing gravels, frosts, down time for plants and soils alike; even on the localised level of a small English river, winters are supremely important and the effect of our actions on length and severity of winters shouldn't be underestimated.

All anglers should be concerned about man-driven climate change, I've met alot of fisher/hunter types who pooh-pooh the whole thing while they carry on driving their range rovers and pretending to be conservation minded individuals. Well, I ask you, what's the %$@**! point of returning wild fish you catch if by arriving by gas-guzzler you're directly causing a rapid global temperature shift which could see entire genetic branches of the trout population wiped out? A temperature shift which could irreversibly cause the collapse of the chalk-stream eco-system (dependant as it is on cool, clear water). A temperature shift which could very easily cause the total extinction of the Avon Salmon, which is incidentally, genetically unique from all other Atlantic Salmon. Globe trotting fly-fishers addicted to the glamour of the salt flats or the rush of patagonia/russia/etc ARE going to be responsible for those lovely salt flats disappearing below the salty brine. A 4m sea level rise (as predicted by NASA) over the next 100 years should make sure that your grandchildren never get so see most of Bournemouth, let alone Bangladesh or Bermuda. They ARE going to be responsible for that 3-4 degree temperature shift that will melt the glaciers/snowcap and halt the annual snowmelt in the rivers, affecting the whole spawning/run cycle of the salmon. No matter how small a contribution, we are all responsible.

I try not to preach about this stuff but, holy hell, start making changes for the world you claim you love. Stop reading historic treatises on dry fly purity, get off your backside and fix the insulation on your house, swap your landrover (which has had 4wd engaged once in three years in the car-park of the game fair) in for a car that has emissions of less than 130g/km CO2. Go on, I dare you, change your life, even just a little.

Enough ranting for today, I've got anaerobic digestion plans to look at, biomass boilers, air source heat pumps, insulation, water metering and a whole host of other things that need attention instead of sitting here writing this.

Oh, and don't forget Mr O'bama...

sad news

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2008-10-27T22:28:15+00:00

I find that I type an update for once, heavy in heart. Not just my usual outpouring of really pretty irreverent nonsense, this time I'm at a loss for words.

It is with great sorrow that I note the passing of Dr Mike Locke - sure he was the chairman of Salisbury & District AC and has done great things for the club, but to me he was a friend. A passionate angler, a proponent of a move to wild unstocked waters and a force to be reckoned with as a chair of an unruly committee. I'm deliberately going to focus on the positives though, I fished with him a fair few times and it's Mike's fault that I became a bailiff on the Nadder and a committee member of the club. Somehow I feel that we've all lost something.

I'll miss you Mike.

~ malcolm

there goes the summer!

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2008-10-03T19:04:22+01:00

Autumn eh? It’s a funny season, a sort of ending, somehow final. Although you know that spring is coming eventually, it has a terminal taint - a seasonal full stop.

A drawing to a close, the final curtain for barbecues, beaches, freckles, shorts and t-shirts. An end to those lazy dog days, lounging in the shade next to the river, letting the gurgling current schmooze past you, taking the heat of midday downstream towards Fordingbridge. Watching, lost in thought and anticipation. Waiting for the evening to gather you up in it’s cooling embrace, for the sights, sounds and smells of dusk to rouse you from your splendid slumber. Waiting for the river to come alive, the heart wrenching sploosh of the rising fish under the alder to wrest you from your repose and bring you heron like into complete and utter focus on the water that has the current slowing to a crawl. A seemingly timeless place that only a warm summer dusk and a rising fish can bring.

Ahh yes, Autumn. It’s like watching an old friend wither away and get old before their time, wishing you’d spent more time with them and squandered less in front of the computer, or at work. Every speckled leaf, helicoptering towards the grounds heavy grasp is another wrinkle on a once youthful face, every rotting plant stem hanging lifeless to the waters surface another grey hair. A bit more stoop, a creaking bone, a little less energy, stiffening joints. No, it’s hard not to become somewhat maudlin at summers passing, the end of the trout season. The dying back of summers bloom.

Apparently it's not just me that feels this vague discomfort at the passing of this years non-summer. I heard the radio the other day as I was preparing to head off to work, they were discussing, in what can only be described as a cheery manner, songs to be buried to. A great breakfast topic, but it got me thinking, what song do I want played at my funeral? I settled on a cover version of a carpenters song by Sonic Youth. You may have heard it in the film Juno, it’s one of the most bitter sweet love songs I’ve ever heard – alternative enough, just the right amount of feedback and a shining example of slacker-pop.

Man, seems I’m on a downer today! Can’t have that… Right, things to look forward to:

Wading knee deep through crispy leaves
Bowls of steaming soup
Jacket potatoes
Crackling log fires
Christmas
Snow!
Hats and scarves
Warm coats
Breath frosting in the air on cold mornings
Snow!
London on a cold crisp winter morning, walking across Westminster bridge - going against the commuter flow
Proper winter storms on deserted beaches
Chopping firewood
Bonfire night at Dinton
Mountains
Did I mention snow?

~malcolm

devolution

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2008-09-19T10:40:56+01:00

Stealing words from NoFX it seems more and more these days that someone has dropped a steamer in the gene pool, evolutionary-wise we seem to be taking a step backwards as we move forwards. Celebrating stupidity and celebrity more than achievement and innovation. Big Brother, X-Factor, you name it, it's all about pointing the finger at stupid people for entertainments sake. Clever people are labeled as nerds, geeks and dull all too often (How can Stephen Fry, surely one of the most intelligent people in the country also be one of the funniest if intelligence is dull?) - you know what, bugger it, I may not be the brightest person in the country, but I'd rather be labeled as a geek than resort to the mind numbing level of the masses. I'm off out to buy some horn rimmed glasses, a pocket protector and a number of pens for my white short sleeved shirts. I'm going to develop an unhealthy obsession for beautiful women and spend my evenings playing world of warcraft but dammit, I'm going to enjoy being away from the inane stupidity of our celebrity obsessed media.

Ohh, I seem to have gone off on one again. I sit here and write whatever tumbles from my jumbled head, look back and think, oh! did I write that? I don't tend to edit it once I've written, just write publish and then worry.

What brought it on though was spending 2 days on Brownsea with a group of young environmental volunteers. We looked at all sorts of issues on the island and then spent some time mapping sea level rise on the island with surveying equipment. It was quite apparent, that these guys all had similar experiences at school to me (OK, some were less likely to drop out than me...) and felt in no small amount isolated by being passionate about the planet we live on. It's a funny world where people who care enough to work at things are labeled as nuts.

The photo shows you the current sea level (mean high tide marked by the seaweed and the post), the tape is at the 1m above current high tide and the string is at the 4m above current high tide. That shows you the very best estimate for sea levels in 100 years at 1m above current levels and the NASA prediction for the same period at 4m. The slope is a 45 degree pitch by the way, seeing it from the other side makes it far more scary (faces blurred to protect the innocent...)

When you start to look at this stuff against infrastructure - buildings, generators, sewage plants Etc it becomes very alarming, very quickly...

anyway, on a fishy front the rivers have been in pretty good shape all things considered, as I type the Nadder has cleared right down and all the others are clear as a bell, enjoying the last gasp British Summer. I snuck off to the Monnow again for a day and as, always, am amazed at just how good this river system could be. I love it, even if I do look grumpy in the token glory shot. In my defense, I'd just taken 4 and a bit hours to do an hour and three quarters drive... The fish was maybe 2nd or 3rd cast so the rivers magic was just starting to happen and the stressy journey was just beginning to fade - oh, and Dave, I pinched some of your photos!

ooops! Butterfingers...

everything is borrowed

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2008-08-23T23:02:27+01:00

Words unashamedly stolen from 'everything is borrowed' by the streets.

~ malcolm

Daydreams are made of this

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2008-08-16T12:55:01+01:00

I've spent a good chunk of the last week poring over databases, spreadsheets, budgets, facts-figures-numbers; Call it what you will and whatever you call it, it'll still be dull. My sleep deprived brain was beginning to send signals to my eyes that resembled a scene from the matrix, numbers falling from the top of my vision to the bottom, but slightly too quick to take in their meaning. For any of you who work in that sort of environment full time, I'm truly sorry if I ever mock you, but listen to me know, I have a secret to share with you.

Come closer...

Life's too short dude. You only get one crack at it, do you want to look back and see the prime of your life filled with numbers and meaningless boardroom projects? Take a paycut, do something you want to do, not something you feel you have to do.

Because my Crohn's makes me very attuned to how my body responds to stress I noticed immediately what even a week of targets, deadlines, and relying on other people can do to your health. Stress isn't something that most people really pick up on, you just get on and deal with it, Crohn's makes me notice and then it's quite easy for me to take that step back. One advantage to being sick maybe?

Anyway, if you're sitting there, stuck in your cubicle, or lovely open plan office, sat behind a ubiquitous black dell display on a uniform mock beech desk, join me, come join the dark side. No I don't mean buy an Apple, I mean stare into space for 5 minutes, tell people your thinking a problem through, brainstorming (or what are we supposed to call it now in this politically correct world?). Join me in a daydream.

You've had an early start, the car's locked, lunch is in your backpack, the waders are swishing as you wander across the few fields to your favourite river. You can hear cows munching on grass, see the swallows swirling on the still summer air, smell the warm earth and grass as you cross the meadow.

Getting to the river, it's gin clear, weed waves slowly, nonchalantly in the current. Flies flit above the surface and there, out of the corner of your eye you see a movement sub surface. You see a flash of white and then a small circle spreads in the otherwise still section of the river behind the fallen willow. Your brain has already scanned a thousand possibilities of approach, fly selection, drag, silhouette - that nanosecond is all you need to have decided. Unreeling a bit of line from the reel as you go, you crawl up to the reeds, flick the line out, one false cast, bugger! The line is in the willow. A small tug and the fly plops out of the tree onto the surface, someone is certainly smiling on you today. The nanosecond it took your brain to decide on an approach is countered by the 3 hours it takes your fly to drift the 5" or so to where you saw the rise. closer. closer. closer. Slowly, slowly you see the river bed coalesce into the unmistakable shape of a brownie, he's looking, he's looking, then like lightning he's decided and your connected to a jumping, thrashing wild thing. A thing of primordial beauty that once at the bank you hold gingerly in your slightly shaking hands, until on some unseen signal you blink and he's gone, back to his shady home, and back to the timeless cycle of life.

See, now that 5 minutes of daydream has just sent all thoughts of bosses and banks and numbers swirling away like the Autumn leaves that will all too soon be drifting down the Nadder once again.

Oh, seems I rambled some today!

Anyway, having worked my ass off, the data was sent in, the spreadsheets closed down and the rod was lifted down from it's hooks over the back door. I wandered across the fields, the waders swished, the cows munched, swallows swooped and the trout, well, he's still there as in the real world, the fly didn't plop from the tree and he bolted. He's just one resident in a good mile of river though and his spotty mates were as always obliging.

~ malcolm

Don't get comfortable

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2008-08-12T11:21:51+01:00

In my younger days I used to paint my meandering thoughts down on canvas, doors, bits of board - anything that didn't move basically. It suddenly dawned on me yesterday that I hadn't picked up a paint brush in an absolute age, so I shoved all the fly tying mess into a bag, cleared a bit of desk (which I now know is actually a light beech colour as opposed to the dusty grey I thought it was) and got painting for an hour.

I'm no Van Gough or de kooning but I do rather enjoy painting, don't be surpised if the odd one crops up here in place of a photo or two.

~ malcolm

ευθυμίες!

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2008-08-03T12:35:34+01:00

or for those of you who don't speak Greek, cheers! (according to my online translator at least, it's all greek to me - ooohh, the puns never stop)

anyway, just managed to get through the hell on earth that is Gatwick on my way back from a week in the sun. I honestly didn't think I would, but I thoroughly enjoyed myself in Greece. Hot beach holidays aren't my thang at all, but the area around Parga turned out to be simply gorgeous. I avoided the hugely busy beaches such as Valtos and instead we snuck though dirt tracks up and down mountain villages and spent days on quiet, crystal clear watered, not another English person in sight, perfect beaches.

Oh, and for the piscatorially minded, the rivers were to die for! Just incredible... Andreas had told me how good they were but I'm not sure I believed him. Well, now, I believe him, and I really want to go back with a rod. Those mountain rivers were just incredible, when I win the lottery, I'll go back!

Anyway, just a few photos to prove I'm not making all this up ;)

the first this is fly T-shirt in Greece?

the castle overlooking the harbour in Parga was simply amazing. There is no way in England that the place would be open to the public - crumbling walls and walkways, sheer drops, slick pavingstones, no lighting in the tunnels, no ropes or barriers - you get the picture. BUT, it was so much better for it. Having ranted about how Stonehenge is totally devoid of any mysticism any more a few entries back this was a real gem. You could just soak it all in, free from the litigious minded way that we now seem to have to live in the UK.

oh, and Andreas, if you read this, thanks for the tip. It really was a fantastic place to visit - this one's for you!

~ malcolm

yin and yang

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2008-07-16T17:19:59+01:00

Life's full of contrasts. Laughter and sorrow, sunshine and showers, chalk and cheese, labour and tory (OK, not so different these days), right and wrong - you get the picture. On Friday the Nadder was up 2' and coloured like chocolate, we'd had a months rainfall in one day and fishing looked like a pipe dream. By Sunday the river had dropped and cleared down considerably then Monday came creeping round like an unwanted neighbour but brought with it the first decently warm day in what feels like an age.

Sneaking off in the early evening I spent the evening slowly working my way through the shadows on the Nadder. A stealthy trawl through an overgrown chessboard, light, dark, light, dark - If I'd been on a train or in the car it'd have been one of those days where you can shut your eyes and feel the flashing of the light through your closed eyelids. My photographers instinct half took over, the fishing was fairly slow going anyway, but it's hard to capture the extremes of light and dark that a couple of feet can make. Perhaps a reason that photography, while great, can never replace the painters brush as a medium for conveying emotion and a sense of place...

In my last post I referred to that american site celebrating the wild, which set me to thinking, wild? What does wild mean to me? Instantly pictures of patagonia, montana, the alps, kamchatka and yeovil on a saturday night leap into my mind. Half remembered episodes of nature programmes on TV, pages of dog eared magazines in dentists surgery waiting rooms - all equally unattainable (although in the case of Yeovil, just simply undesirable) and hazy images. But does the wild have to be that remote? I say no, any corner of any town, village or city can hold wild surprises.

Taking the Nadder as it winds it's way unnoticed through Wilton as an example if you look closely enough you can find the signs of the wilderness, perhaps only on a small scale, but touches of the wild remain.

I mentioned the Giant Hogweed a little while ago so decided to introduce Luke to the Wilton Triffids. I'm not sure he's sleeping soundly since, the sounds of plants tapping at his windows are keeping him awake at night.

~ malcolm

return to the outdoors?

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2008-07-02T21:27:18+01:00

I booted up the old mac this evening to find a surprise, an email from a PR company pointing me towards a new website and asking me to take a look and see if it was worth letting you guys know about it.

I'm torn, on one hand it's actually supporting an amazing cause and although american based it seems to do great things and be entirely worthy of all of our support. On the flipside it's a pr company being paid well for the efforts of others and other peoples sites. Is it a blanket email to anyone google finds with the words outdoors or fishing or has someone actually read my ramblings and decided that I'm worth contacting? While I continue to ponder that question I thought what the hell, I'll do more than link the site Return To The Outdoors, I'll also embed the video from their front page. It's an interview with a serious icon and someone who I can look at as one of my inspirations. Environmentalist and author Yvon Chouinard, founder of Chouinard Equipment, Patagonia and One Percent for the Planet, and it's well worth a listen. Yvon, in the extremely unlikely event that you ever get to hear of my little corner of the web I'll extend the offer of some chalkstream fishing any time you're in the UK, it'd be an honour to meet you.

~ malcolm

spiritual my arse!

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2008-06-30T07:56:36+01:00

No, I'm not implying that my derriere is somehow imbued with spiritual powers, although I know some ex girlfriends who believe that to be true (there was also a guy at Bournemouth Uni who decided, anyway, lets just say that love remained unrequited...) No what I'm referring to is that I went over to help police the summer solstice at Stonehenge earlier this month.

Basically I spent a few hours driving round the henge landscape getting the odd crusty to put out their fires and picking up litter. Solstice used to be a spiritual occasion at the henge, this year? Well, lets just say it's now more like a chaotic music festival, without the music. The area is now so full of beered up jeering chavs that there is no silent majesty as the sun turns up, just a special brew infused roar. English Heritage are their own worst enemies in this, as they've made it so well organised now, with floodlights and marshalls and the trappings of 'safe' modern society. The net result, the stones have about as much spirituality and dignity left as the solstice park KFC car park on a sunday afternoon, that is to say nada, 何も, zip, rien, ничего. Nothing but the piles and piles of rubbish littering the ground once all the vauxhall corsas have moved on taking their burberry clad drivers, complete with 'pumping' sound systems, home. Like the rest of the year, I'm amazed by just how diminished the stones are, English Hieritage's cash cow, let's face it, what's in it for them to make changes to the visitor facilities Etc? They don't want to reduce the number of people who go there or make access more difficult, it would loose them a fortune.

The countryside is starting to turn, colours becoming slightly browner. Nothing noticeable unless you really look, but the beginnings of the move into summer clothing for fields. The wild meadow at Bullbridge, full of meadow sweet, is almost ready for it's haircut. The Nadder, as it always does at this time of year is really coming into it's own now. High vegetation but if you can cope with the nettles, himalayan balsam and giant hogweed (yup, that's what I said, 8' high triffids with poisonous sap! perfect!)

you don't need to be posh to be privileged

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2008-06-04T21:35:45+01:00

Sometimes you take a step back, or at least I do, and realise that there are some experiences in life that money doesn't buy. I don't mean the obvious gushy things, but sometimes, just sometimes, you encounter something in your day to day life that makes you take that step back. Something that touches you in some way. The beauty of these encounters is that they are different for everyone, it's one of the things that makes us individuals and interesting.

I remember a few years back going to do some contaminated land testing at a closed down steelworks in Sheffield. Walking into the factory caused an immediate reaction to me, it was pure living industrial archaeology. The dartboard still had scores written in chalk, a tea mug still sat on the window sill. The workers had simply been forced to down tools one day and they left and closed the doors behind them.

Well, today I had a similar experience (although totally different if that makes any sense at all). I went over to West Dorset to look at Bottleknapp cottage with a view to installing a ground source heat pump instead of oil or lpg. Well anyway, the cottage was lovely as one would expect given it's age and location in the world.

What set it apart in my mind was when I opened a cupboard door to find messages from a succession of artists who had lived at the property. As far as I could see they traced a period of time covering 1956 through to January 2008. It seems quite silly when looking at the pictures, but these simple and often unreadable messages really gave me a ghostly touch of the people who had shared this house. Most of these would never have met and some of whom are long gone, but the cottage in it's isolated splendor remained. A flint and thatch thread connecting people across generations.

Like the days I get to spend on the rivers that haunt my dreams it's moments like this that will fill my life's story. Unforgettable snapshot moments, like pictures indelibly etched in my often over-full brain.

These things, not a fancy oil painting or tapestry; To me, they're the real gems. The human fingerprints that are all too easily lost.

more a circus than a carnival

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2008-05-21T07:03:52+01:00

I'm not sure what it is about a certain insect - For now we'll refer to her as a Ms D. Anica. She turns up once the winter clothes have been shed, she flits about for a day or two, flashing off her lithe body, freshly exposed to the spring weather and then she's gone. Like a chance encounter with a woman that makes your heart stop in a busy city street. Trout and angler alike are patently unable to resist her charms, and she knows it the dirty tease, bobbing back to the waters surface to lay her eggs, playing chicken with the spotty behemoths lurking beneath the surface.

All I know is that once she arrives our little rivers go crazy. Crazy in that fish are smashing into any artificial that resembles Ms D. Anica, and crazy in that every angler sneaks days off and heads for the Avon. The only time that you'll see car parks full and river banks busy throughout the whole year.

Deliberately heading away from the Amesbury circus I headed down the valley towards the Woodfords yesterday evening and fished a nice quiet hatch pool and some shallow, riffly water that is sheltered from the wind. Just a couple of yellow insect teases floating about, but not enough for the fish to be taking any notice of their blatant provocation. But, to my surprise, fish were busy feeding everywhere and in the 2 hours before I had to head back home I brought 10 fish to hand, from 9" through to about 15". A thoroughly relaxing evening and it just reminds me that if you avoid the circus and just fish away from the crowds you can have a carnival all of your own.

~ malcolm

assaulted!

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2008-05-08T08:34:21+01:00

The last 2 weeks have seen something of an explosion of activity in the countryside around here. After the long dreary colourless months of winter this sudden change comes as nothing short of an assault on your senses; Millions of shades of green abound in the woodlands, supported by a bright carpet of magnificent bluebells. Cherry blossom litters the streets like leftovers from Notting Hill carnival, just without the McD's wrappers and beer bottles. Someone appears to have stitched yellow patches onto the countryside. Rape seed, artificial in it's brightness dot's across the Wiltshire fields. Roadside verges with their greens darkening as the weather warms are now dotted with white from the cow parsley, daisies and a huge variety of other flowers (the council haven't come out on their roadside flowers massacre yet).

All in, as you drive round Wiltshire at the moment you can almost drink in the heady aroma, almost see the pulsing heart of the country growing in front of your eyes.

And the fishing? Well, if you're sat in your office in London, my advice is take the day off...

winkle

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2008-05-02T17:39:23+01:00

So, utilising what apparently is a mostly British word, I came, I saw, I winkled!

After a fairly hectic week dashing from place to place with work (although, undeniably they are lovely places!) I snuck off for an hours fishing this afternoon. The heavy downpours mid week have rendered the Nadder and Avon chocolate coloured, well OK, the Avon is more a minestrone soup as you can just about see through to the river bed. Anyway, uhmm, I was saying, oh yes, the rivers are mostly yucky so in a flash of uncharacteristic inspiration I figured out that e does indeed equal mc squared, that the answer to most of life's questions appears to be 42 and perhaps most importantly that the upper Wylye, Bourne and Ebble would be totally clear as they run clear through almost everything that the rain gods could throw at them.

Given that I only wanted a quick dash out from home I plumped for the Ebble and accepting that this may well mean that I do nothing more energetic than drown some cdc feathers off I trotted.

The weather was warm, and bright sunshine only interrupted by the odd cloud made me smile somewhat inanely as I scooted along the Chalke Valley towards Broadchalke. Singing at the top of your voice in the car can only be called cool if noone else actually sees you. I must report that I'm not sure the three girls in the car in front of me thought I was particularly cool as I succumbed to the violent femmes and belted out blister in the sun as loud as I could.

A strong breeze smacked me in the face when I got out of the car but undeterred I slowly made my way along the weed strewn stretch by the road. My small nymph spent more time being blown onto the weed rafts than actually drifting down the channels but the casts where either the wind didn't blow, or the wind blew and corrected my sloppy casts resulted in 4 lovely 9" wild fish. Bars of gold, bedecked with stars of fiery red and orange; Truly magnificent beasties to hold, even for a few seconds.

Fishing above the barbed wire fence as the river turns away from the road rewarded me with another two fish, the biggest some 13" or so.

Six fish from such a wonderful wild piece of water is enough for me, so rather than fish to the end of the beat I chose to turn around and wander back through last years reeds, detritus from the winter floods and the lush new nettles, just beginning to show their thorny crowns. It took me a whole season to get my first fish from the Ebble when I started fishing Salisbury's waters, so six in an hour just seemed magical. Truly a case of winkling a fish ~ next time, Deverill, you will be mine!

Half way back I spooked a lone swan who was honking mournfully about on the river some 12' from the remains of a nest. One egg remained in the middle of the nest and I found another about 20' downstream in the reeds. Neither egg was damaged, but both looked to be pretty scratched. Didn't really come to any conclusions about what could have done that to a bird as large and ferocious as a nesting swan, one thing I do know is that given it's location, human intervention is highly unlikely.

~ malcolm

wiley wylye

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2008-04-22T18:56:31+01:00

I just got back in from a day spent on the river Wylye with a writer/angler and a photographer. I'm not going to write about that, I'll leave it to the professionals, suffice to say however that it was a fantastic day. Not the best day for fly hatches, but one of those elusive 'memorable' days. Thanks Paul & Rod, great to meet you both.

What did get me thinking was that angling truly is one of those pastimes that bring you into contact with the most interesting, diverse group of people. Jeremy Clarkson wrote in the times the other week that anglers were a group of people who hate their families, as if in some way the river makes us anti-social. Perhaps he was talking about carp anglers, and in which case OK, I can see that given their propensity to squirrel themselves away in bivvies for days at a time waiting for a beep to go off. River fishing however, and roaming trout fishing in particular is an altogether more social experience, but I can't imagine that Mr Clarkson would ever get invited. Lets face it, would you want to spend a day chatting to the self opinionated, eco-phobic arse?

The actual fishing is one thing, but increasingly to my mind, what sets it apart is those down times in-between. Basking in the sunlight chatting while you let the water rest, the pint at the end of the day, the sense of shared pain when a fish is spooked or lost. A days fishing therefore is definitely a case of being greater than the sum of it's parts.

As my guests were getting back into their cars and dreading the 6hr journey back up north I jokingly suggested I might pop in on the Nadder on the way home. I left the camera at home so thought I'd resurrect an old photo but I did it, first Nadder trout of the year. One about a quarter of a pound, the other around a pound. Thanks go to Frank who tied the fly, you may think your eyesight is going but it seems no-one told the fish!

~ malcolm

humble pie

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2008-04-16T20:13:00+01:00

First things first. I'm genuinely humbled by the fact that people have been willing to donate hard earned money to help me keep writing, snapping and publishing. Nice to know that I may be doing something that people actually like to look at and read. Thanks guys! (and of course if you'd like to donate, even a tiny amount, you can make a donation via paypal using the new easy-peasey button on the right.) Every weenie bit helps.

Other than to say thanks and keep begging, today was a short update to let people know that today was something of a landmark. I took the not-so-wee lad fishing again today. He's been really enjoying sitting watching a float with me, searching for perch but today I took him fly fishing for the first time. Casting was a bit of an issue, then at 4yrs old I didn't imagine it would be anything but. Retrieving the line was somewhat erratic, mostly done on the reel which made the rod tip jerk around violently with every turn.

BUT

He caught his first trout on a fly, and at 4yrs old I think that's cause for celebration. Of course, it wasn't any old fly, not for my son! It could only have been a dry fly :)

Stealing directly from Mr Maclean

"He told us about Christ's disciples being fishermen, and we were left to assume, as my brother and I did, that all first class fishermen on the sea of Galilee were fly fishermen and that John, the favourite, was a dry fly fisherman."

Anyway, I may not be a religious man, but I find that by turns amusing and touching.

Amsterdam? Nah, Tulips from Barrington Court is what you want ;)

~ Malcolm

april showers

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2008-04-13T08:06:53+01:00

The trout season on our waters opened, as usual, on april fools day. I've managed a few trips to the waters so far, a couple hours on the Nadder, an afternoon on the Avon and a day on the headwaters of the Wylye. Not a whole heap to report to be honest, the rivers are high and coloured still, air temperatures are on the chilly side and although fish are being caught it's not the norm. I think April forgot the definition of shower so I thought I'd better remind it:

See the reference to brief and light? Last night Wilton looked more like an alpine village as over an inch of hail covered the ground, having fallen in under 2 minutes.

But anyway, it's early days in the fishing year. Raise a glass to warm sunny days for me!

What else has been going on? Well, house sale fell through, something major that a solicitor missed when we bought the place. Means I now start a lengthy legal battle to resolve it all. Something that fills me with no small amount of dread.

You may notice that I've removed the google ads from the corner of the page. As a way to help raise the cash for me to continue writing this without selling out and accepting sponsorship and adverts it has proved singularly unsuccessful. In fact, they've eared me $3.67 in 3 months... I don't want to do a formal charging scheme, mainly as I'm not sure people would actually be willing to pay to be subjected to my ramblings. What I thought I'd do, and this way there is no expectation at all, is ask for help.

If you enjoy the site, if I can give you a smile when you're sat in the office away from the rivers all I'll ask is that you think about making a paypal donation to (malcolm@nadder-diary.net). I'll leave it up to you as to whether you do or not, but even the odd £1, £5 or £10; Whatever you feel appropriate. It would all help go towards keeping the site together. I hope to keep the site going anyway, regardless of whether people feel up to making a small donation to the cause, but it depends just how expensive my oncoming legal fight becomes!

Anyway, drop me an email if you are able to help, even if only a tiny bit.

~ malcolm

oh, yes, almost forgot. Look at how the Bourne ends up where it flows into the Avon. A disgusting mess, full of litter and human detritus. Unloved and uncared for. The funny thing is, despite the mess, the water still runs clear as gin and hidden away I could see the odd fish tailing in the current.

wild trout trust auction

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2008-04-03T19:36:08+01:00

Just a heads up really this time. The Wild trout trust auction is up online (www.wildtrout.org) and can be found on ebay here. Among the lots you may find lots 147 and 181. Bid more for them! Really, it's a great charity and as a bonus you get some great fishing from both lots.

You can fish some nice relaxing Avon waters, have a good chance of catching some fish, have a lovely day and think no more than that. OR, you could try some true wild chalkstream... I won't go into too much detail as I cover that many times, but will leave you with a couple piccies to whet your appetite. Never stocked, truly wild, fish to 2lb and by god, you'd be lucky to catch one! The perfect spot to challenge yourself though :)

~ fancy, ebay giving you the opportunity to buy me, well, for a day at least! Worth every penny I say... Malcolm

who, what, where?

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2008-03-28T09:06:26+00:00

Memory is a funny thing, something we mostly take for granted especially in this day and age of digital photography, instant communication and online instant sharing of photo's and videos. We all experience how music can often trigger memories, for me The Pixies are forever entwined with days traveling round Cornwall looking for surf or likely skate spots and Afrikaa Bambata's planet rock will always remind me of younger days spent painting little dungeons and dragons figures in the house in Netherhay. Just the first couple of bars of a tune is all it takes to bring back distant memories as if they occurred yesterday.

What I often forget however is that smells can do the same. I was walking along a stretch of the upper Wylye the other day and well, it just smelt of spring. Hard to describe the smell as it was something that I couldn't quite put my finger on, perhaps as much as anything it's the smell of optimism, of the promise of the summer sun, days on the river bank, bbq's and lazy evenings. Just that faint smell on the breeze is all it takes to be all geed up, willing the winter to finally be over.

It made me think a bit more about the smells of my childhood and I came up with a relatively short list; freshly baked bread at home, breakfast frying at my grannies cottage in Hertfordshire, cut grass, Hay on a hot summers day, mud (just in general although this one covers thousands of different scenarios). I know, it all seems like a rural idyl, very darling buds of may, but the smells that really bring back memories of growing up for me are somewhat grittier. The faintest whiff of petrol, diesel or grease and I'm yanked back through time to sedgemoor plant hire, able tool hire, yph, the big barn at the Yews and Pete's tractor shed. With the places come names and faces; Dick Colbourne, Frank Biddlecombe, Phillip Forsey, Ralph (who I've only ever met once in my life when he wasn't slightly covered in oil) and countless others. Most of all however, there was always dad. Thanks old boy, you didn't do half bad :)

The inconsequential angler

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2008-03-10T18:00:28+00:00

Sometimes I wonder why I ramble on and on here. I don't get any financial reward (infact I was trying out google ads and have made a sum total of $2.74 in the last 2 months I guess I'm not retiring any day soon), I don't have sponsors knocking on my door offering me free stuff, I don't have hordes of fishing groupies (does such a thing exist?) and I'm still no closer to writing for print.

I may not be as important, recognised or lofty as some who write but I suppose I am a part of a growing movement of amateur (some would add, rank) writers using the internet as a vehicle for their meandering thoughts. I know that people read this at least as I still get thousands of unique visitors each month and I know for a fact that I don't have that many family members with internet connections.

Maybe I write as it's cheaper than a therapist?

The storm that wasn't is raging away outside as I write this, to be honest it is a bit windy, there's the odd branch on the roads but we seriously didn't need the emergency, panic, chaos, danger-will-robinson warnings that we have received over the weekend. The Nadder is once more a raging chocolate torrent today, swelled by downpours, hard to believe that there are only a few weeks to go to the start of the trout season. I'm starting to get itchy feet, waiting not-so-patiently for the clocks to change, the weather to warm and to allow the Nadder to weave it's magic through my soul for another summer.

I'll leave you with the view from my office.

four seasons

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2008-02-28T22:12:38+00:00

A few days away; Hail, thunder, sunshine, downpours, gales, rainbows, calm and all before lunch. You have to love Ireland.

As a buildings lover I always enjoy my trips to Ireland. They have, to my mind some of the most fantastic built history, the trouble is it seems that no-one gives a stuff about it all. There are Dallas style timber frame houses going up every 500m along every road right from Cork to Bushmills, disgusting 5 bedroom things that all look exactly the bloody same. Interspersed with these monstrosities are some quite innovative contemporary modern buildings and for their willingness to embrace the new I applaud the Irish. The trouble is that for every contemporary build there are 10 hideous grey boxes with sweeping drives and the sense of community and place that traditional Ireland was built on is eroded more and more with every one. Think a constant ribbon development along every main road, with no real communities or small villages. YUCK!

With the love of construction and design, coupled with the fantastic historic building stock you'd think there would be some simply fantastic renovations going on across the emerald isle. You'd think huh? There are some odd exceptions to the rule but... From tumbling down cottages in Kerry to the imposing waterside warehouses in L'Derry there seems to be an air of decay, a lack of interest in the old, or simply a lack of understanding of the importance of these iconic buildings. Perhaps in the north it's the years of troubles? Maybe people have had more important things to worry about or their sense of community is grounded in the people rather than the buildings? I couldn't tell you.

What I could say though is that I adore Ireland, the Republic and North alike but every time I go back expecting to see the movement to protect their heritage gaining apace I'm dumbstruck by more timber frame boxes and yet more farm buildings being left to rot. Sooner or later the Irish will wake up and I pray it's not too late. For every year those buildings get more dilapidated they become more expensive to fix, every time they get hemmed in by grey wooden Dallas style ranches they lose something indefinable. Something of the Irish spirit and way of life goes the way of the dodo with every one.

~ malcolm

valen who?

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2008-02-14T17:07:50+00:00

It's that time of year again. Card vendors and florists across the country are rubbing their hands with glee as people panic buy blue cuddly bears and bunches of roses that have miraculously doubled in price over the last couple of weeks. I'm not going to rant, not even a little bit although I think people may be able to guess at my moral indisposition to the whole valentines day thing. I'd much rather someone gave me a mix CD or something (hint hint) that came from the heart rather than the wallet any day of the week.

Meanwhile while awaiting the fishing season, spring has crept up (quicker than last year) and is giving me some very very lovely days walking in woodlands and sitting eating fish and chips on the quayside waiting for the boat to Brownsea. My freckles are out, my back is warm and here's to a lovely happy summer!

~ malcolm

why?

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2008-01-30T09:05:04+00:00

To my non-fishing friends I'm something of an oddity with my desire, if not need, to go fishing. Many people more auspicious and worthy than me have, over the years tried to find a way to express their reasons for fishing. Like them, I'm not sure that my own ramblings can convey my feelings. I've struggled trying to explain what it about fishing that captures not only my attention, but also that of the millions of others in the UK that share my piscatorial predilection but I still have to have a shot at it.

To some it may seem like it's simply a case of having something to do, an excuse to be outdoors. You know, wind in your face, sun on your back; That sort of thing. I've always been an outdoors sort of guy and there is definitely an element of that general outdoors, feel-good nature to fishing. That said you can also get that same level of connection from a myriad of other activities. If it's only a fix of fresh air that's needed I can cycle, walk, surf and a whole host of other such things and knowing this I find myself back again with the question of why fish?

To my mind, beyond the connection garnered from the above, fishing provides one with the opportunity to form a deeper bond, to delve a little further into the natural world. I find that when fishing my attention is drawn to the minutiae of life; The birds, the trees, the weather, the flies and insects around you, the sunlight, the shade, the ripples, swirls and currents of the surface. Added to this there is the mental picture of a subsurface world of gravels, reeds, weed, roots and bankside cover, sunny shallows and deep dark pools. Together they all merge together into a rather one sided conversation between river and angler. Perhaps what fishing allows me to do is to be more able to listen to that babble and have at least some success at translating the multiple channels into manageable chunks. On the whole a successful angler is either just plain lucky, or is someone who has the ability to process that one sided conversation and in some way understand the conflict in a fish between caution and the need to grab food quickly, before someone else does.

I suppose there's the inevitable conclusion of the hunter gatherer about fishing and this does ring somewhat true. There is something that draws you back in time, something that takes you away from the modern world and reinforces your need, on a basic level to be able to fend for yourself. It reminds you that no amount of iphones or fancy cars can quite remove you from that deeper, darker animal background that underpins every one of us.

I have a sneaky feeling that what draws me to fishing is, ultimately, greater than the sum of it's parts. My belief, unfounded as it may be, is that there is a deep seated connection between our psyche (some more than others) and the natural world. A primeval bond that can't be fully explained. I'm sure there's a fantastic research paper in that somewhere...

My own experience has shown me that over and above the connection that comes through fishing I am grounded to the natural world increasingly through physical work on the rivers. Perhaps it's in my nature, perhaps it's bigger than me but saw in hand, blisters, cuts and nettle stings I find I can achieve a true peace. In this world of needing money to survive, constantly striving for that next pay rise with gadgets and stuff being a measure of an individuals worth perhaps I actually fish as a replacement for the fact that in truth I should have been a gamekeeper, riverkeeper or warden? Perhaps it's actually about time that these jobs, the living breathing custodians of our natural world, were paid a fair wage?

Oh blimey, I rambled off on one there and haven't even had a drink! Brought on no doubt by another sterling work party on the rivers last weekend. Thanks again guys!

The usual photo essay for the week follows!

~ malcolm

mobius loop

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2008-01-21T22:25:22+00:00

Much as I should be really pleased and thankful that the rivers are high up the banks, the fields saturated and the aquifers recharging I can't quite get past the fact that it's bloody miserable. I just wish it'd stop raining for a few days and give us some nice crisp cold weather, I'm so fed up of soggy, miserable weather. I want to be able to get out for a long walk, feel crunchy frost underfoot, sit and let the winter sun warm my back and just feel refreshed by the outdoors. Some whit always comes up with the 'there's no such thing as bad weather, only inappropriate clothing' remark. That's fine and dandy but no amount of good clothing will make this sludgy, brown, sloppy mess of countryside feel exciting. Fields that during the summer held corn or happily grazing sheep, now look like marshland. There were swans grazing on the road verges as I drove towards Stapleford yesterday, a sure sign of how awful the fields must be if they are so unpleasant that swans are displaced.

In previous years I've had the distraction of running away to the snow to lift my spirits. This year, the failure to sell the house, the new job and the added incentive of reducing my carbon footprint mean that I'm here for the duration. Every sodding sodden last minute of it.

Funny though, how things go in circles. Life follows art follows life and all that.

I seem to remember slopping around in mud last year, looking at snowdrops on the banks of the nadder. Today I found myself doing the exact same thing. A reminder if you will that spring is just around the corner, light is at the end of the tunnel and hopefully, it isn't an oncoming train...

Just close your eyes and imagine a warm day, mid may. The river is glistening, the mayfly are streaming off and you have the place to yourself. Trout are rising, the surface dappled like raindrops. Close your eyes and feel the warmth flow into you as the sun invigorates your senses. Not long now and this year you will get that epic day on the river, I can feel it.

~ malcolm

They moved Bristol!

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2008-01-13T19:06:46+00:00

I've broken the record for my most disastrous car journey within the UK. I spent Thursday up at Tyntesfield, near Bristol airport (ironically as it turns out, looking at water resource issues). The drive up was a tad damp to say the least, some large puddles on the roads, especially driving through Chew Magna. Nothing out of the ordinary though just your average wet British winter day albeit as gloomy as A A Milne's famous thistle eating donkey and as wet as a stage dive in Billingsgate fish market.

About halfway through the afternoon the rain turned to a very very thick, wet, snow like substance. It wasn't a real snow, more a cold thick ice, slush puppy in appearance. Probably somewhere between kyck uck yackuck and yuckyck kyck cayuck in inuit (hey, that's what the weather forecast used to sound like when I lived in Canada). Anyways, the murky grey stuff fell thick and fast and I left the estate through an inch or so of slush on the roads. Trying to cross the Bristol to Weston road proved tricky, a ford focus was sat at a 45 degree angle with water up to it's windows, something told me I wasn't going to get through, unlike the people in the golf who drove past me pooting their horn, straight into the flood, straight up to midway up the doors, a soaking, and an expensive repair bill. What then transpired was that every road I tried to get south from the area was flooded at one point or another and traffic was starting to gridlock. Ahahaaa! a brainwave... I turned round and headed for Nailsea and the m5 thinking a quick trip north and then along the m4 a little and I'd be home in no time. After about an hour to cover 10 miles, getting totally lost in Nailsea I made it to the m5. Nailsea for those who don't know it is another place, like Yate, where signposts to get out of the town don't exist. I assume its the sort of festering pusshole where the council can't afford to let people know how to get out else there'd be no-one left in the place. It truly has to be Bristol's stinky wet armpit.

I foolishly thought that things were going well as I passed Gordano services, the motorway moving freely however I soon ground to a halt along with hundreds and hundreds of others. Eventually the radio informed me of an accident but that the traffic was still moving, albeit slowly. After an hour of stop-go traffic the cheery radio informed me that the m5 was now, infact, closed. ARGHHH.

Still, off the motorway, into Cribbs Causeway, into Clifton, another hour and a bit, and I was in Bath and feeling like I was on the home straight. That last kick in the ass however was a succession of people driving at 35/40mph along the road. Why do people buy 6 litre Audis and BMW's etc and then drive them around like horse carts?

Six long hours in the car and I was home, safe in the embrace of my little corner of Wiltshire. What I really want to know, is how did they move Bristol up north of Manchester without me noticing?

~ malcolm

that was the year that was

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2007-12-31T10:39:19+00:00

So, 12 months ago today I was writing about a life falling apart around my ears. Through 2007 I've met some of the most amazing people, learnt to laugh and have fun, quit a job, found a new one, failed to sell my house, figured out a few of my Crohn's triggers and even managed to spend some time on the rivers in between all that.

I can safely say that 2007 has been a long roller-coaster. Stealing a line from the band snow patrol and misappropriating it for my own use, I'm hoping that in 2008 my life can become the traffic jam instead of the car crash.

The year however has drawn to a close and although not quite as pleased to see it go as I was last year, I'm definitely looking forward to 2008.

In an attempt to bust peoples broadband connections I'm going to add a quick snapshot of the year that was 2007...

happy new year!

jingle jingle jingle

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2007-12-22T14:01:45+00:00

ho ho ho

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2007-12-19T08:38:57+00:00

So the world's gone all-a-crazy on some capitalism infused shopping high, town is looking like more like a scene from the film 300 than a Wiltshire market town. Avoiding the cold induced frostbite that is pike fishing in this weather and neatly side stepping the stay-at-home-and-watch-strictly-come-dancing torpor I did the decent thing and went for a walk.

Frozen leaves and crispy, frost coated grass crunching underfoot (sounds like an american breakfast cereal, just add in sugar, colourings and chocolate) as I walk, my spirits are soon soothed as I watch the old heron prowling the shallows, the squirrels sorting out their last bits and pieces before winter proper kicks in and send the pheasants spiraling skywards from the brush. I spent a good 15 minutes on the bridge of the main hatch pool in Wilton watching the pink pike running the race upstream, leaping, rolling, tirelessly striving forwards; Looking for all the world like a scrum in Debenhams. Perhaps the natural world and the human world aren't so different after all? We just respond to different callings. The urge to make those ancient spawning grounds and get on doing the do, Vs the urge to buy novelty boxer shorts, christmas santa hats and cheap tat. It really is the most wonderful time of the year...

In the words of Mr MacGowan:

They've got cars big as bars
They've got rivers of gold
But the wind goes right through you
It's no place for the old
When you first took my hand
On a cold Christmas Eve
You promised me
Broadway was waiting for me

You were handsome
You were pretty
Queen of New York City
When the band finished playing
They howled out for more
Sinatra was swinging,
All the drunks they were singing
We kissed on a corner
Then danced through the night

The boys of the NYPD choir
Were singing "Galway Bay"
And the bells were ringing out
For Christmas day

You're a bum
You're a punk
You're an old slut on junk
Lying there almost dead on a drip in that bed
You scumbag, you maggot
You cheap lousy faggot
Happy Christmas your arse
I pray God it's our last

I could have been someone
Well so could anyone
You took my dreams from me
When I first found you
I kept them with me babe
I put them with my own
Can't make it all alone
I've built my dreams around you

scribbled in chalk

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2007-12-03T21:06:58+00:00

A number of our local chalk streams are, in reality, a fairly static environment. Weed grows in mostly the same spots year after year, the dab chicks are in the same hidey holes, the fish lie in the same swims. Sure there is some movement around, a new snag forms, a scour hole appears with some fresh shiney gravel but in the main things you learn one season will mostly still be in place the year after.

Hard won lessons on the Nadder however are somewhat more transient. By September you feel that you have a measure of the river, you know where to chuck the fly, you know just how the current will drag in certain situations. You know that if you approach from just here that you can get a line in and the backcast is clear. The truth is however that the knowledge may as well be scribbled on the river bed in chalk, just waiting for that first spate of the autumn. Walking the Nadder today it became very clear, very quickly, that come March I'm going to be starting from scratch. The river is close to the bank tops, running a muddy chocolate brown colour and our silver tourists are moving their way up through. Murky dark silhouettes the only clue to their presence in the tumultuous torrent that the river has become.

No photo today I'm afraid, I just wanted to drop down that thought before it dissapeared...

Oh and thanks to Karine Polwart for the title.

supercalifragilisticexpialidocious

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2007-11-24T20:14:05+00:00

Does anyone ever read the titles? I always forget that I've given a title to my ramblings, then I bump into someone who says 'what was the dog days' about? Well, hopefully I'll really flummox them this time!

So, what's been going on since the last meander? Ohh, November's been a long month. Long but good I guess. There's been frosty mornings, long walks, a bit of fishing, fireworks, trips to Brownsea Island, a crashed hire car, a new hire car and today, a work party on the headwaters of the river Wylye. The same bit mentioned in the 5/7/07 entry so search for it there if you need to.

Anyways, this is nothing more than a public opportunity to say thank you to everyone who turned up. It was a great day and we really got a whole load done. Oh, and the fact that the fishery is 10 mins away from my new office had absolutely nothing to do with me choosing it for a work party. Honest!

~ malcolm

purfick

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2007-11-08T22:09:37+00:00

Some days you just know. You know things are going to go well, or badly, from the moment you wake up and the day filters through the sleepy dust and caffeine withdrawal.

Last Thursday, I woke up and knew it was going to be a bad day. My neighbor cheerily let me know at 7:30 that a cat/fox/rat had been at the bins, so I spent a while picking up rubbish from the alley. Halfway to work I had a phone call to say my boy had broken his collar bone, so a swift turnaround had me flying back towards Wilton, and then onto Salisbury district, where he'd been taken by ambulance. I stopped at home, ran in to get some stuff to take to hospital, came out after 10 minutes to find that someone had crashed into the hire car and driven off... As I say, some days you just know.

Sunday on the other hand was pretty much a good day from the second I woke up. I had planned to head up to the Kennet carriers near Newbury for a days Grayling fishing, as mentioned last time. I peeked out of my curtains groggily to see a heavy thick fog blanketing the world. Having grown up in Dorset I have a thing for fog, apart from on the westcountry moors I've never seen it roll in as thick as it does in Dorset. I remember many an evening driving back from the Windwhistle through fog so thick that you could barely see the end of the bonnet.

Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, the world was cold and grey. Cold, grey and damp, but I quite like it like that to be honest. I threw on some warm clothes and headed out for the car and then gingerly drove up north (north from here anyway, hell I had to even go on the m4, that's a long way north to me!). There were no other cars on the roads (or maybe there were and I just couldn't see them?) so the journey was blissfully peaceful, just the dulcet tones of the smashing pumpkins serenading me at full volume for company. I find some irony in the fact that having crawled through heavy fog for an hour, the fog lifted a bit just as I got to the m4 and then what do I see? A 12' sign flashing FOG at me, as if to make sure I'd been paying attention. Honestly, do you really need a sign to tell you it's foggy? Surely the lack of visibility ought to give it away? What we really need is a big sign that only works from 9am til 6pm that flashes 'DARK SOON' in big letters to remind you that it'll soon be nighttime. Or writing on takeaway coffee cups that says caution, drink may be hot... Oh, they do that already? Crazy Americans.

So, ranting over and done with, I arrived safely at the river. Met the others in the group and then headed out to fish. I got put onto a nice beat that started with a lovely little weir and pool, although I was reliably informed that no fish were ever caught in the pool for some reason. Bull, red rag springs to mind. Well anyway, I obsessed on that pool (photo below) for an hour with no luck, so I threw on a black woolly bugger (noone was watching!) and stripped it through the pool a few times. After about the 4th or 5th go the fly stopped in it's tracks and I thought I'd caught a snag or something, only to have the rod tip take a sudden dip. The reel gave a momentary squeek as line pulled off only to be silenced as whatever was in that pool broke the leader and left me wishing I'd brought my pike gear. Oh well, back to the grayling...

I worked my way slowly up to the bridge that marked a sort of halfway point catching a small brownie and an even smaller couple of grayling when I noticed that there were a number of fish rising just below the bridge. Most were small little sip rises but there, just off the point of the weed, that looks like a bigger fish. Fly switched to cdc & elk, combat crawling mode turned on and I'm shortly in position. Cast is thrown out, just to have it drag back towards me frustratingly. A 2 minute wait proved that my submarine target was still hungry and a second cast, combined with a little flick just before the fly landed on the water to give some slack resulted in a rainbow of about 1 1/2 lb. I know, it's out of season, but a fish is a fish and from the far bank I couldn't see what was rising, just that it looked bigger than the other tiddlers. The rainbow was slipped quietly back and was feeding again in it's same spot 10 minutes later.

The day progressed with a few more fish, half a bottle of red wine, a steak sandwich from the rusty old bbq and a good number of tall fishy tales.

Heading home was an altogether smugly satisfying trip as I was going in the opposite direction to all the end-of-half-term traffic heading back to London and going past Stonehenge was one of the most amazing sights I've ever seen there. Unfortunately the traffic was too busy to stop for a picture (they don't call that dodgy junction hertz corner for nothing, it's a hire car mortuary...). You'll have to make do with words.

Those of you who know the area know that the henge sits up on a slight hill away from the a303. The fog was just starting to form as I passed and it was rolling, like a river, down the hill in a layer some 3' thick and crossing the road. It was exactly as if it was dry ice, all spooky and dramatic. A real once in a lifetime sight with the stones as a backdrop and the fences covered by the layer of the fog, I was transported back a thousand years or so. Well, apart from the endless stream of traffic heading east that is...

All in all though, just a thoroughly pleasant day :)

~ malcolm

facing away from the view

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2007-11-03T08:43:26+00:00

I sometimes think I'm the only person that thinks in the odd way that I do. Yes even I think from time to time although I find it a dangerous pastime and avoid it whenever possible. So anyway, a couple of weeks back, I'm standing on a hillside in the Lake District with a group of colleagues. Behind me is wild cat island, the amazon river, beckfoot and holly howe. Magnificent peaks stretch out, orange in the autumn morning light up, up, up all the way to distant kanchenjunga (swallows and amazons for ever!).

The entire group of us however have our backs to the view, we are looking into a cess pit. This has been a pattern I've repeated over the last few weeks, I've visited all manner of fantastic locations with the new job and looked at Grease traps, cess pits, composting toilets, chemical stores, oil tanks, asbestos and falling down buildings. You know what though? I really don't care. My abstract (maybe optimistic?) thinking has me seeing refurbished, environmentally aware buildings and for the most part, I'm not noticing the current smells.

With the end of the trout season passed and days shortened by clock changes my fishing has been curtailed somewhat although tomorrow I'm off to meet a bunch of people by the river and pretend to fish for grayling. In actual fact what we'll be doing is gossiping, drinking tea and having a good laugh. That's what fishing was invented for. An excuse to leave the house and experience peace, tranquility, solitude, company, laughter and friendship - all rolled together.

Oh, and of course, I may have my back to the view, but I couldn't not take the camera along...

~ malcolm

Decaffeinated

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2007-10-21T16:13:04+01:00

It's a perfect October weekend. The rivers may be closed for trout fishing but a walk along them early in the morning brings a zen like calm to the soul. Mist from the river surface coiling skywards with smokey snake-like fingers, interspersed by faint splashes as tumbling bars of orange and gold are loosed by bankside arboreal guardians. The ground crunches underfoot as our first proper frosts of the year arrive and all seems peaceful.

As the day warms up, the noise of people stirring from their duvets intrudes on the peace of the day and soon the pealing bells of the valleys assorted churches begin. Beckoning the faithful (joyful and triumphant?) to church. Being the open minded guy that I am, I followed the noise of the bells into Salisbury. Straight past St Pauls, past St Marks, past the turning to the Cathedral, straight to the church of coffee where I prayed to the god of Starbucks for a cosy half hour. Tucked up safely with my hot chocolate and my muffin I pretend to read the paper as I watch people scurrying about. It never ceases to amaze me that at 10:00am on a Sunday morning that there is a queue of people desperate for a double espresso AND a latte... Me, I'm decaffeinated these days, unless you count the odd cup of tea that is the only real companion for a fried breakfast. Paper finished and excuses for sitting in my corner running out in my head I decide it's time to make a move and mosey on home.

I'm hoping to head out for a shot at some pike one morning this week, lets hope my fingers remain intact this time. The small jack last week gave me a bit of a slice from it's gill covers as it writhed and leapt to get back to it's murky home. Justification, I guess, for me disturbing it's day.

Anyway, going to move logs, think it might be a lit fire kind of night tonight.

~ malcolm

Dorset

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2007-10-06T22:22:21+01:00

Now, I've been to allot of different parts of the world. I can't say I'm done seeing new things, don't think that's possible, buuut, there is nothing, and I mean NOTHING to me that can beat the views in West Dorset. Perhaps it's having grown up there, having seen it in hurricane, snow, downpours, beautiful sunshine and pretty much everything in between. Whatever it is, it just can't be rivaled.

Click on the picture below for a bigger version, it'll open in a new window so you may need to hit your back button to come back to this page. I'm making no excuses for the shoddy photomerge on the shot by the way, I know it's shoddy and I'm still putting it up as to my mind the view from White Sheet Hill across to the coast is worth it.

Started the new job and so far it's simply fantastic. Met great people, visited some amazing properties already and within a week feel at home in the job. I never believed people when they said that things happen for a reason, now I'm not so sure. If someone up there wants to see good people go through the crap I've been through in the last 2 years they have a really screwed up sense of humour. As the Depeche Mode song goes, 'I don't want to start any blasphemous rumours, but I think that god's got a sick sense of humour, and when I die I expect to find him laughing'. That said, if I was by some tortuous route supposed to end up at this place and time I probably wouldn't change a thing. On the whole life is pretty peachy. Nothing finding a yummy 20 something archaeologist with a penchant for balding fly-fishing snowboarding guys wouldn't cure :)

Anyways, it's late, it's been a busy week and I've just got the usual couple of photies for you all. Enjoy

~ malcolm

pikeys!

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2007-09-25T18:20:55+01:00

No, my title doesn't mean the gypsies have moved in, although they have been camped on Hudson's field, hence the Woodford Valley has seen an increase in poaching over the last few weeks. No, in this instance I'm referring to the fact that Pike fishing season started on the 15th September. This and the lovely cold foggy mornings meant that I got a call suggesting a visit to the Avon after the toothy buggers.

With fingers of mist rolling around the Avon I set out in the early morning, accompanied by a lost Kiwi that appears to have adopted the Wiltshire rivers as his second home (hey Mark!).

After so many months of tying size 16-18 flies onto 6x tippet at the maximum and fishing lightly it comes as a real shock to break out the 10# rod and flies that are the size of many of the trout I'd been catching over the summer. That said we had a thoroughly pleasant few hours wading the stretches of the Avon just upstream of Salisbury centre. The technique was wade into the river about a rod's length from the reed beds/snags and cast a good distance downstream/across. Then jerk the fly past the reeds/snags a bit and watch for the sharking takes. I only managed to land a lonely 2-3lb jack pike, but missed a fair few and missed something pretty damn big 3 times in the same spot (I'll be back for you!). Mark had a bit more success with a few different sizes from Jack's up to something I'm guessing was 6-7lb-ish. The photo below is one of the smaller ones, but this one actually deigned to hold still long enough to get a photo, the others refused to participate.

The trout season may not have quite finished yet, but I've had to give the pike another go since Mark's visit. Faired a bit better but still no monsters to report. The winter's looking promising!

Last gasp fishing

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2007-09-22T09:49:30+01:00

Some of you, if there is indeed any 'you' out there, will notice that I got rid of the first page on the site. I've been looking at what pages people visit and, well, that old home page didn't really do much so it's gone the way of the dodo.

Despite the temperatures being considerably down on the last month now and the tendrils of autumn steadily creeping their way in I've spent a bit of the last week, in between work, fishing. Mostly on the Nadder here in Wilton as it's so close. With yellowing leaves falling like snow around you (although if it was yellow snow falling around you it's time to get indoors) and our fishy friends stocking up ahead of the leaner winter months it really is a splendid time to get out on the water. Much as the middle of the day is the time to fish, from say 11 until 3, it's the morning that is most magical. There's something otherworldly about the light on the river before breakfast, greens are brighter, browns more earthy and subdued. Spiders webs glistening like pearls on gossamer threads and perhaps something that comes from moving with the slow deliberate care of the fisherman combined with the eye of a photographer, nature being less aware of your presence. This morning I saw voles, an otter, a heron and plenty of fish. One of these days I'll invest in a zoom lens so that I can get photos of these morning encounters, until then you'll just have to take my word for it, it's a great way to set you up for the day.

I was flicking through the TV last night, aimlessly looking for something other than a property, cooking or reality TV show when it struck me. Phil and bloody Kirsty have a lot to answer for. Relocation Relocation Relocation my arse. If I see one more show where smug city dwellers who's property values have tripled in 4 years decide they want a city pad and a country home I'm going to go postal and head out with a scalding latte and a toasted panini and smack any of the posh arses I can find. If Phil and Kirsty want a real challenge why don't they try to find a young couple who work in the local market town on a joint salary of around £25k (an arbitrary figure but it's got to be about right for many people) and find them a house in the country? Why not? Because it's bloody impossible, that's why not. Now I've had my argument with people over the years about incomers and the money they bring to the countryside but I'm afraid to say I think that's a big pile of horse poo. Half of these houses become weekend homes, or worse, holiday homes and the fleet of range rovers coming down the M3 loaded up with Waitrose bags from Battersea is testament to how little money these people actually bring to the rural economy.

So, you and your girlfiend/wife work maybe in Plumbase, or in town in Boots, what can you afford to buy in Wiltshire?

Ahhh living the rural Idyl...

that first whiff of autumn

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2007-09-13T10:15:42+01:00

We've had our first whiff of autumn this week. No, I don't mean that manure being spread on the fields as they give up their golden hues and return to freshly plowed brown, although thinking about it, it really does pong if you drive along Devizes road out of Salisbury at the moment - Poooh, quite literally. What I'm talking about is the single digit morning temperatures, the fog lingering until about 9am, cobwebs glistening in the dew. Even though by 11am it's back being summer again, for those few hours you can picture wooly hats, big jumpers and sunday pub lunches sitting by a roaring fire.

As a snowboarder this time of year is always marked by looking longingly at Burton snowboards catalogue, hushed conversations with friends about how you can get away to the mountains as many times as possible and daydreams of last frontier heli-ski. Maybe it's the drop in temperature, maybe it's the leaves starting to turn, but there is something in the air that makes you begin to prepare for Winter.

Another short update for me today, working too much as I'm in the last two weeks of my old job now. Off to pastures new (well, pretty old actually as I'm joining the National Trust) on the 1st of October. Somewhat daunting after nearly eight and-a-half years at the Building Research Establishment but I'm really starting to get excited now.

Photo's below are from a brief walk along the Nadder at Wilton this morning.

~ malcolm

dog days and salad nights

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2007-09-04T08:45:05+01:00

Next year I really must remember to forget about fishing mayfly time. I always get excited in late May, but invariably it seems, the weather turns and duffers fortnight trickles into a fickle fishing, cold, soggy early summer instead. Late summer though. Ahhh, to my mind it's always the best fishing of the year. Particularly on the Nadder. The water is running crystal clear, there's a good flow this year (although still down on the LTA - see rainfall and flow info), the weed is gently wafting in the current and the weather has been really good for a couple of weeks. I've gotten a fair bit of fishing in over the last few weeks, in fact I spent an hour or two the other day lying in the vegetation on the river bank, letting a pool rest as it had just been fished, just watching the world and letting it all sink in; The cows munching in the field, the kingfishers swooping past, swallows (or swifts, I'm no twitcher I'm afraid) wheeling overhead like some avian battle of Britain display, the light catching the flies as they buzz the waters surface casting reflections like natures own disco ball. It all seeps into your conscious, replacing what we mistakenly think of as the real world; Mortgages, jobs, relationships, smashed wingmirrors (bloody yobs!).

I'm by no way obsessed with the subject of time although I do seem to think and write about it more than occasionally. I read an article on BBC News the other day, OK, quite a few days ago now, but it's remained in my thoughts. (here) There's allot of self help, management mumbojumbo that I really don't agree with, some that shows a huge ignorance of Einstein's work but inside all that is a real nugget of an idea that fishermen, I think will really get. We've all noticed that time on the riverbank disappears in a flash. What you think of as a quick hour spent fishing is all too often actually four hours in 'real' time. Holidays as a child were full of discovery and experience, focussing on seeing and doing, much as when fishing you are focussed on the environment;

What are the fish doing? What sort of fish is that? What sort of fly is that coming off? What's the weather doing? How far away is that line eating tree behind me? Can I get this piece of fur and feathers 15m upstream, under a bush without snagging on the branch or spooking the lovely brownie you spotted sitting in the shadows?

Your mind is full of the world, you are observing the minutiae of life. No longer thinking about all those mundane 'real world' issues. If you follow the theory you are slowing time by being more aware of everything in your surroundings.

So what else has been happening here apart from my meandering thoughts about the nature of time? Well, it's been a good summer for me and Joe. Lot's of play, lot's of outdoors, lot's of scrapes and bruises (but isn't that what little boys are supposed to do?). A couple photo's can replace a few more thousand words of waffle from me, so here goes!

Incidentally, I snapped my favorite little 6' Orvis rod the other day. A quick phone call to the nice chaps at Orvis in Andover, 20 minutes in the car and I had a nice shiney replacement. Although they don't make the 6' one anymore I just wanted to use these few words to say thank you. Great customer service as always. ~ Malcolm

order from chaos

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2007-08-12T09:06:35+01:00

The countryside around here, up until a couple of weeks ago was looking decidedly ruffled. Corn fields were slightly beaten by wind and rain and it really did look like crops were going to rot if they stayed wet any longer. Two weeks of good weather however has changed the face of the fields. Contractors working through the night, a constant rumble of large machinery towing grain trailers around, combine harvesters slowing down traffic, dust streaming off fields; it's all meant that in record time the fields have been tamed.

Man's stamp has firmly, once again, been put on nature. Parallel lines of cut fields give way to towers of straw bales or the somewhat haphazard arrangement of round bales. It doesn't feel like it'll be long this year until the smell of earth and the noise of gulls will signify that ploughing has begun.

I took off for a couple days and went up to North Devon over the weekend. Got in the sea at 6am, surfed until 9 or so, avoiding the ravenous hordes. Then spent the rest of the day on Crow Point fishing for Bass as the tides allowed. Caught several small bass, some wrasse from the rocks on baggy point and a pollack, but what is it with sea fish? I mean, they either have armour plating, spikes, razor sharp gill covers, or... all three! I'll stick to my nice safe trout and grayling I think...

the amusing thing is, and I haven't surfed for a few years so was out of shape a bit (I think I've been hanging round with tubby fly-fishers too long), that some things never change. Surfers are either bloody minded or eternally optimistic, who else would paddle out and then sit for 30 minutes waiting for a wave that just may come? Oh, actually that reminds me of fishing a bit, oh...

aiightt

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2007-07-24T20:34:38+01:00

I got sent a link to a new online fishy magazine the other day. Expecting nothing more than another boooring publication I was really pleasantly suprised by turning up to www.thisisfly.com

Cracking stories, lovely modern layout. Reminded me of the days I spent trawling through transworld skateboarding/snowboarding and thrasher magazine not that many years ago (although it feels like a lifetime...)

It set me to thinking though, my fishing just isn't 'street' enough.

I've been trying to think of ways of upping the bling of the nadder but I'm struggling. I tried hollering 'izzle mo shizzle' at the top of my voice when I hooked a 8" dace but the sheep a field away seemed really unimpressed. I tried making gang signs but it's hard to retrieve line when your fingers are doing hand twister. I've tried baseball caps; back to front, inside out, sideways, nothing... I tried some phat necklaces but they just get caught on my lanyard and tangled in my net and gink isn't reccomended as a silver cleaner anyway.

I've been thinking about helping the nadder look more urban, a shopping trolley or two, some black bin bags you know, something a bit 'cooler' than this rural idyl i'm forced to endure day after day. I'm thinking of spraying tags on some of the sheep or maybe cutting the vegetation less so it's a bit more like a dark alley instead of a country lane.

Try as I might, I just can't make fishing these waters 'extreme' or 'gnarly'. It seems in this day and age, exploration, adventure and that overused much maligned 'xtreme' word are all that matters. Despite the fact that 99% of people will only ever experience a nice safe packaged version of those worlds safe in the knowledge that their guide or tour operator is bound to have sorted out the little details for them. So, sorry to dissapoint, I've come to the conclusion that although I still skateboard, snowboard and otherwise live life to the 'pepsi-max' my chalkstreams are not extreme. They're by turns relaxing, theraputic, beautiful, calming, terribly unashameably British, enlightening, often frustrating; Just not extreme.

Trouble is the 'street' is somewhat ingrained after so many years eating tarmac so the next time your fishing the chalkstream and you hear someone shout BOOYAHH it's probably me, sorry. I apologise in advance.

wet wet wet

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2007-07-05T10:47:17+01:00

No, the title isn't an obscure reference to 'wishing I was lucky'. I'm talking about the weather (as us Brits love to do). Over the last few weeks the UK has gotten a bit of rain, you know, nothing biblical (unless you live north of the watford gap), but putting it in my bestest understated manner, it's been a tad damp. The Nadder is up, it's up and over the bank in parts of Wilton. It's darker brown than Green & Blacks organic chocolate ice-cream (yummmm by the way) and as I stood by Bullbridge watching the river sort of flow like a landslip underneath I saw the white sticky uppy legs of a dead sheep bob past. As you can probably guess, it's not fishing terribly well at the moment.

Somewhere on the headwaters of the Wylye however...

Funny how a 'true' chalkstream can weather changes much better than areas affected by runoff. I know the Nadder is actually a spate river, but even lower down the Wylye and on the main stem of the Avon they are coloured after the recent rains. I think it really does show the effect that runoff from houses, concrete, drains, ploughed fields etc really has on our rivers. Google sustainable urban drainage and see how more appropriate management of runoff could improve things (I haven't checked what you get if you do google it, so if you get some crazy russian porn site don't blame me...).

The afternoon spent on the headwaters of the Wylye was magical for many reasons. It was a beautiful spot, the river was completely wild and untamed, it was stuffed full of nice 1lbish wild broonies and although it was very tough to fish and I didn't connect to a single fish I felt very happy to just be there. In fact I felt very happy to just be, something that the riverbank really encourages I think.

Crawling through the watercress to cast to a likely spot where I could see fish rising I was delighted to find a moorhen nest, even more delighted to hear a chirp-chirp and see the first tap-tap-tap as a chick poked it's beak out into the big wide world for the first time. Life, never ceases to amaze me, sometimes words can't convey an experience fully.

And one last thing, I had 55000 hits last month on the site, something like 6000 individual visitors. Really quite amazing for me, although hard to get my head around sometimes. You'd think with that many visitors to the site that someone from Orvis, Simms, Hardy/Greys may have said 'hey, Malcolm. Could we put an ad on your site?'. I might say no, I might say yes. Who knows. What I do know is that I need new wading boots, terrible what happened to this pair of Wychwood ones, after only one seasons wear...

No need to carp on about it!

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2007-06-21T19:38:22+01:00

I've just finished reading 'how to fish' by Chris Yates. A thoroughly enjoyable read, in quite a large way it was re-runs of a passion for angling, the BBC2 series featuring him that inspired me to write and photograph my piscatorial adventures. If you by some miracle ever read this blog/diary/call-it-what-you-will Chris, thanks for all the fish. This one's for you.

Anyway, he puts coarse angling into a whole new, stalky, wild, mobile manner and he describes the river and it's environs in such a way that no outdoorsy person could fail to be motivated and transported from armchair to river bank within 2 chapters. I agree wholeheartedly with his derision for stillwater trout fishing, I just personally don't enjoy it and I was honoured to read that "...proper trout fishing with a fly rod on a small wild river is a worthwhile occupation...". There, I'm doing something worthwhile! My mum must be so proud ;)

So, I'm all fired up to go and try this coarse fishing lark so I load the car, I trundle down towards the new forest and I get my gear out at a small little nicely tree lined pond.

I have a cheapo float rod but feeling rather silly I decided to use my 9' fly rod instead as the carp were quite happily sunning themselves, mooching round the pond without a care in the world. The occasional SLUUURRP as they sucked in some tasty morsel sounded hugely loud in such a quiet tranquil setting, mingling with birdsong, trees rustling their deep green coats and the occasional clip-clop as horse and human cargo passed by on the nearby track.

I'd heard horror stories about how tricksy carp are to catch so I was all prepared to be frustrated and as a trout angler, you know, a worthwhile one on a wild river ;) I'd have been happy to connect to a single fish. Welllll, it didn't quite work out that way. I put a small bit of breadcrust on the hook and just lobbed it out about 10' under the branches shown above. SLUUURRP was followed very rapidly by an explosion of water and leaves and a reel that was screaming like it was about to fall apart. With the rod bent, quite litterally double, I brought my new fishy friend out from under the bush where he/she then began to swim in deep slow circles getting smaller and slower and finally, with a lavish last run, into the net. I must just mention the ludicrously large net, after years of a trout net slung on my back this felt like wielding a trampoline cover or hot air balloon on sticks. So anyway, carp returned safely I repeated the process and after a couple of calm minutes, SLUUURRP, CRASH, SCREEEAM, off again. Now there are quite a few shots so I'll keep them small-ish.

SLUUURRP, CRASH, SCREEEAM

SLUUURRP, CRASH, SCREEEAM

SLUUURRP, CRASH, SCREEEAM

SLUUURRP, CRASH, SCREEEAM

SLUUURRP, CRASH, SCREEEAM

SLUUURRP, CRASH, SCREEEAM

SLUUURRP, CRASH, SCREEEAM

SLUUURRP, CRASH, SCREEEAM

SLUUURRP, CRASH, SCREEEAM

SLUUURRP, CRASH, SCREEEAM

Now I didn't take photo's of every fish as I like to get them back into the water as quickly as possible, but I stopped counting at about 15 or so. Think I had around 25 fish between 6pm and 8:30, all from the same area of the pond, all on breadcrust on the surface. I know these aren't exactly 40lb'ers or nice old wild fish but honestly, I thought it was supposed to be hard? maybe I was lucky this day? I do know one thing though, I have a bruise on my ribs tonight where I had to hold the rod against me for leverage, they really do scrap on a lighter rod. For scale reference, the net is a 28" one.

Was I fly fishing for coarse fish? Nah, I think I was coarse fishing, I just happened to have a fly rod in my hand, I wasn't using any natural imitation, I wasn't even casting, just plopping bread out under a tree. Was it fun? It was sort of, after about 10 fish I began to wonder where the challenge was, I kept going to see just how big these great slabs actually got. Would I do it again? Hmmm, I think I need to find some small wild ponds and have a shot there, fishing where the fish are so concentrated (see below) seemed to smack too much of trout fishing a dayticket stillwater to me.

There's only one other thing about my first experience of coarse fishing that I want to share, and I'm racking my rather frazzled brains to find a way that I can say it without sounding class-ist and tarring all coarse anglers with the same brush. In my two-and-a-half hours at the lake I recovered around 6m of nylon line, including 2m from a branch in the car park (how they could tangle in a car park and not retrieve it is beyond me). I collected about 10 empty beer cans, 2 glass bottles and to my mind worse of all, I removed several hooks from foul hooked fish.

I know it can't be helped sometimes to be broken off on a fish but bearing in mind I was only there a short time and saw this sort of thing several times something says things aren't quite right in the tackle or methods people are using. I didn't lose a single hook in the time I was fishing, how come so many other people not only managed to lose hooks, but managed to lose them in the flanks of fish?

Sunny June

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2007-06-13T21:01:55+01:00

Had a couple days off work to take a visitor from sunnier climes fishing on the local waters. Had a great time, always nice to meet new people that you share an interest with.

A morning start in the Woodford valley drifted lazily into an afternoon on the Nadder, nothing terribly exciting to report apart from a good mayfly hatch on the Nadder this evening, just before the rain arrived.

Some of you are stuck in offices in small boxes watching nothing more than a computer screen and a telephone so I thought I'd just rub salt into them there wounds and post some piccies of just how purrrdy the rivers are looking at the moment. Sorry!

hehe ok, no I'm not. I'll be sat on the M25 in traffic tomorrow so I feel justified in gloating on the last couple of days fresh air.

I love my bank!

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2007-06-08T21:41:26+01:00

They caved in and refunded 6 years of bank charges! :)

As a result I bought a few new lenses for the camera, for those who know, I got a canon 50mm f1.4 prime, 85mm f1.8 prime AND a 17-40mm f4, phewww. All I can say is WOW, what a difference good lenses make.

Nothing more than an excuse to gush about my new lens really...

Publish and be damned

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2007-05-30T12:15:42+01:00

I'd scribbled the words below in my notebook while I was on my way to a meeting, whiling away the Salisbury-Cardiff line lost in recollection and memory. I had toyed with the idea of approaching some magazines or something to see if I could get it published, but then I thought, hell, I'm getting somewhere near 40,000 hits a month, I may not be being paid, but I'm writing and it's being read. So here it is, I guess the first attempt at a fishy article, instead of the usual meandering, type-as-you-think words.

Malcolm

The Journey

It’s early summer on the nettle-laden banks of the river Nadder in Wilton. I’m sat with the setting sun warming my back, rod in hand experiencing the sort of inner calm that only a day on the riverbank seems to deliver. A brisk breeze rises and sends a flurry of blossom tumbling to the waters surface where it whirls and roils it’s way, Salisbury bound on it’s journey to the English Channel. It’s the sort of experience that sends an overactive imagination like mine to faraway places; funerals in exotic lands, only experienced through dusty dog-eared copies of the National Geographic leafed through in desperation in doctors surgeries.

Watching the blossom disappear from view on it’s journey I can’t help but wonder at the choices and disasters that have led me through the last 36 years to end up sitting on a river bank watching the world go by.

If I trace my fishing career back far enough I can remember a friend of dad’s from the pub taking me off to Chard lakes for a day where I caught, if memory serves me well, nothing but Eels. None of my family fished, in fact I remember my mother trying desperately to entertain me in my early fishing career, by throwing line, float and bait gracefully at the alders on the far bank. Needless to say I didn’t take that well, and there, at the age of 13 my family and my fishing career parted ways.

A day upsetting the Eel population in Chard morphs in memory into the endless summer days of childhood, trotting worms, cheese and most of my packed lunches under trees and bushes on the River Axe, just downstream of Seaborough. My quarry had evolved into the beautiful, multi-hued, spotty wild trout that at that time seemed plentiful and of good size. Memories of the trout population of that part of the Axe are for me, ever enshrined in those glory days, before a farmer near Seaborough repeatedly polluted the river and killed off just about everything, anyway, I digress. In between terrorising the trouty population by fishing with garlic sausage and anything that came to hand I can vividly remember my fellow poacher Julian and myself peering out of our hiding places in awe at the bent old figure of the local rector, who we spied fishing from time to time. We hid in the willows, alders, reeds and other dark spots that as a child you believe confer some kind of invisibility cloak, especially to ‘honest’ poachers like ourselves. Looking back on it, this old rector undoubtedly knew we were there hiding and watching him, but with his cane rod, his creel slung over his back, wearing his black shirt and dog collar and with his methodical, almost reverent approach to the river and his feigned ignorance of our observations he changed my fishing world forever. To my eternal regret I never plucked up the courage to talk to this solitary fly-fisher but simply seeing this new way to fish planted the seed that has shaped years of my life, and god/allah/gaia/George W Bush willing, will continue to shape many more to come.

The opportunity to learn fly-fishing didn’t present itself until a couple of years later, but as luck would have it, occurred twofold. Project week at Beaminster school came round in early summer and I took the opportunity to learn to fish for a week with our Biology teacher, Mr ‘Lethal’ Letham. As deterred as I was by Mr Letham’s fearsome reputation, I couldn’t pass up the chance of learning to fly-fish. So I spent a week learning to huck a gaudy lure as far as I could across Cheddington lakes, dragging it back through the water in the hope that it would pass the nose of a curious trouty resident. Some time after this, Giles, a family friend started taking me fly-fishing with him, notably I remember fishing Knights-in-the-Bottom lakes with him learning knots, watercraft and to cast in a somewhat less erratic fashion. There’s a balance to casting a fly line between power and delicacy, most beginners err on the side of power where in reality delicacy is the aim. Trout, more often than not, aren’t on the opposite bank; they’re in the margins where the food is.

Knights-in-the-Bottom and Cheddington became days fishing Sutton Bingham Reservoir a much bigger body of water, and a much longer trip from Netherhay. Even if only as a taxi service, my family once more became embroiled in my fishing life. The pull of the small wild river Axe near the house was ever present but as a teenager my attention was drawn to the reservoir and the homecoming glory that would ensue by encountering one of it’s leviathan sounding 3lb plus fishy residents.

Girls, trouble, skateboarding, music and cider; They all played their part in taking me away from fishing for many years, although not necessarily in that order. After all fishing was hardly deemed ‘cool’ in the way that grazed knees, tattoos, bruises and missing teeth are.

I picked up a fishing rod again at the ripe old age of 22 when I found myself studying in Newton Rigg, Penrith. The remote, high Lakeland tarns and stony shores of Ullswater became my backyard and provided me with many harsh lessons in ‘wild’ trout fishing. I began to realise that fly-fishing wasn’t as un-cool as I’d initially thought, and could even be integrated into a ‘normal’ lifestyle. To this day I don’t own a tweed suit or a four-wheel drive and know many fellow members of the so-called ‘xtreme’ generation who are now avid fly-fishers.

Moving back to the South of England I quickly became more and more involved in fly-fishing, in particular fishing on Wiltshire’s crystalline veins, the chalk streams. I was lucky enough to become a member of the Salisbury & District Angling Club who provide a huge variety of fishing to members at prices that provide access to waters that would normally be out of my reach. Time moved on and I started working as a volunteer bailiff on the River Nadder, spending more and more time learning about the river environment, carrying out maintenance work and developing something of a bond with the river. I still carry on with this work on the Nadder but somehow now find myself as a committee member of the club.

The journey from small boy catching eels in Somerset through to being on the committee of one of the largest Angling Club’s in the country has been nothing short of enlightening. I have a good career, working in a fantastic field, but at night I dream of nothing more fancy than a beaten up old landrover, cutting weed by hand with a scythe and feeling the wind on my face.

When I meet Neville out on our clubs waters, an 87 year old, fishing twice a week on his own I am filled by an incredible optimism. As long as the riverbank continues to draw a diverse range of people who through their passion, commitment and energy fight for the continued health and well being of one of our most precious eco-systems, I'm sure that our rivers, fly-fishing and my own piscatorial journey will thrive. I’d encourage even the non-fishing reader to look at the work of the Wild Trout Trust for example, a truly inspirational group.

The river bank is one of life’s great levellers, I can hold work party days on the river to have people from all walks of life turn up sharing a belief and passion that I’ve never encountered anywhere else. Judge, plumber, student, banker, old or young, black or white the river really doesn’t care, it doesn’t judge and if you let it, will transport you away to another world. One where regardless of who you are, or your station in life you will be given the opportunity to be a part of something bigger and as old as time itself.

The river Axe of my youth still pulls at my mind and may well have recovered sufficiently these days for there to be a healthy trout population again. I can no longer fish with the impunity of youth however, so daren’t sneak back to have a look. I like to think that that old rector still haunts the banks and that he may encourage the sort of passion for our rivers in others that by simply turning a blind eye to my fishing transgressions he has enshrined in my own nature.

Just a few shots from a side-trip I took to the beautiful River Monnow last week. A truly magnificent, if under-rated river system.

Rainy Day

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2007-05-21T18:20:03+01:00

So, working too much the last week or so, not much to report. Well not much you'd be interested in anyways. Days in the office, days in London for meetings. Falling asleep on trains, bottled water, rush hour tubes and pre-packaged sandwiches; These are a few of my least-favourite things.

Was back in London today for a meeting but actually got there early (blame the train for not being delayed!) so had time to dawdle along the river from Waterloo and have a coffee in *$ (a cunning reference to a coffee chain, you work it out). I ought to sort out my rambled thoughts about dreary rainy London days and make an articulate story but in my spirit of tired-ness I'm going to plonk them down here in no particular order and let your imagination take them and put them into a story.

- Perfectly dressed coiffured women who then forget that it looks really really dumb to be huddling under a yellow jacket made out of bin liners supplied to them by the bus company.
- Families smiling like they feel that they SHOULD be enjoying themselves despite the weather whilst wishing that someone had warned them that rain was a possibility in London in May.
- Optimistic fathers trying to gee up the kids with encouraging sayings like "It'll be fun", "the rain won't last", "you're skins waterproof" and "tough, get over it". (Incidentally I remember holidays like that as a kid, thanks dad!)
- Armies of umbrellas marching long Westminster bridge, whirling, twirling colours looking for all the world like some kind of low budget olympic games opening ceremony.
- Dodging said umbrellas as you walk through like a martial arts training excercise, making it to Westminster with both eyes intact getting praise from the umbrella sensei 'Your skills are strong my son, ready for the next level you are. Prepare to meet australian backpackers and polish folk musicians on the northern line! Ha"
- The odd local marching through the rain, head down, feet splashing through puddles. Unconcerned by the gaze of Big Ben or the London eye. Not noticing the way the rain changes the colour of the stone or the increasing saturation of colour as the light pokes through the clouds.
- Pikeys accosting american tourists hawking some 'lucky' heather. Lucky my arse, theres probably one of their friends nicking your wallet while theyre selling you the heather.
- Teenagers in rain splashed jackets, baggy jeans dragging along the ground. Waterline rising up the back of their trousers from shoe level, a barometer of how cool it is to be unconcerned by the weather.
- Police officers sheltering under the awning of a tat stall, plastic union jacks and silly hats relecting off their wet high-vis jackets.
- The sort of stickiness that you only ever find in London. Muggy, wet, clammy but with a cold wind that just never seems enough to cool you down properly.

anyways, that's enough rambling mutterings from me. Something more riverine next time, I promise...

Reasons to be cheerful, part 1

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2007-05-01T17:44:46+01:00

Snoozing in the day, a warm breeze billowing the curtains
Dappled sunlight in Bluebell woods
Blossom on car park floors
Worn out playground equipment
Dandelions
Curly ferns
Cool doors
Blister in the sun by the Violent Femmes
Opportunity knocking
Evenings fishing
Smiling
Sparkly eyes
Sand between your toes
Realising your waders aren't tall enough too late
Blue skies
Cloud watching
Tea & cake
Cottage pie

Wild Trout, theory and practice

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2007-04-23T17:12:32+01:00

Saturday and Sunday last weekend were the Wild Trout Trust days at Langford Lakes, I won't say too much about it other than to say that it was a really good weekend. I met some fantastic people, Charles RW was a thoroughly nice chap, indeed I now have a signed copy of his book (I tried to get him to not sign it incase it was worth more on ebay that way!). There were really good presentations from a number of sources, plenty of food for thought and then an afternoon looking at bugs and rivers. Ok, Ok, there was slightly more to it than that but you get the general idea.

A very good meal then followed, with good banter around the table, finished up with a charity auction which I stayed firmly out of. I think I can blame the fact that I'd only had a glass of wine whereas the bidders had mostly consumed bottles. Always amusing to watch someone pay £101 for a pork pie and a days pigeon shooting, not sure what the MET officers will think of tweed clad gents in Trafalgar Square 'I said shoot the pHeasants Tarquin old boy, Silent H you know'.

Next day dawned bright with a bit of a breeze and I was all lined up to do a bit of guiding on SADAC waters. A bloody good day transpired where I met some really decent people, from all walks of life and as I sat in the watermeadows in the Woodford Valley, Buttercups around me, the sound of cows munching on grass behind, the sun on my back it really did feel that the world was at peace. I can't say the fishing was easy, but then it never is this early in the year, but one of the things that non-fishers often miss (and thanks to CRW for this) is the anticipation, the disappointment, the connection to the natural world that comes from being out in this environment. You can get a certain level of connection to the natural world by walking or cycling about, but fishing, really can draw you entirely into the natural world. I mean how many people that don't fish do you know who will be actively engaged with what's happening under the surface of a river? There may be the odd crazy botanist type who can identify a hatching olive, but the chances are that anglers are more likely to be on the front line of noticing declines in river ecosystems.

It's my birthday today, so not going to ramble on and on, have better things to do, like drink cider in the bath. TTFN

Malcolm

It really was dark when we finished on Sunday night! Apologies for the smudges, I couldn't see enough to clear the lens

reflection

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2007-04-06T20:10:16+01:00

I'm going to try to express something without coming off sounding morbid or morose here so please, stay with me a sec.

Driving back from sunny Watford the other day I heard an interview with the lead singer of a band called my chemical romance. He was talking about his art teacher at school, who rather cheerily i thought, told him that he had to learn to be happy with his own company. At some point, he said, we all end up alone. So pootling down the A303, the sun setting slowly as I neared Amesbury I got to thinking, was he right? Had I just got to the alone part quicker than some others?

I got into the house and flicked the TV on as I made some dinner, it was still on channel 702, Cbeebies, from when Joe had been over the day before. I was just about to flick over to something else when I realised that a) it wasn't showing some derranged plastic eejit singing 'I'm a little teapot' or flying a spotty plane to landfil sites to look for a dog (trust me, I liked that one) and b) it had reverted to BBC 4 as kids really ought to be in bed and not watching TV at this time of night. Anyway, there is a point here honestly, BBC4 was showing a documentary about Wainright (he of lakeland hill walking fame). Now Wainright it turns out was a bit of a recluse, escaping from a loveless marriage by exploring the fells and writing up his exploits in a series of books that became huge successes. When walking he wouldn't even say hello to other people. There was a man that was happy (if you can call that sort of escapism happiness) with his own company. Now I'd never put my ramblings and messy life in the same league as Wainright but there were defintiely elements of his life that I could identify with and his ability to use the natural world as source of joy and escapism is definitely one. I may have ended up roaming rivers instead of fells but the feeling is the same.

Now taking the 'everyone ends up alone' idea, Wainrights self enforced seclusion and bashing it around in my head I begin to feel like I can understand myself a bit better. There is definitely value in being alone, the peace, the self reliance, the independance, the ability to stop and look over a bridge or at a view without people nagging you to get a move on. But, and I'm pleased to have worked this out, although I'm happy with my own company, I can't stand crowds of people, the term 'general public' makes me shudder I am definitely not Wainright. I love to chat to the odd person I meet on the riverbank, I'm lucky enough to have a family that I actually like, I have friends that I'd do anything to help and the most fantastic son in the world (sorry other dads, you're wrong, I'm right!). The only thing life is missing is the soul-mate, and Wainright didn't meet his 'til old age, so there's plenty of time for me yet.

Like the rivers I spend so much time enthusing about, people drift in and out of my life (or do I drift in and out of theirs?). Some stay a while, some stay for longer and sometimes, things you think are permanent and rooted in bedrock are washed away by a flood. Doesn't mean that there are no more people being washed down the stream into your life in the future, just means that the person downstream of you has to deal with your old detritus as it gets caught in their hatches.

A friend from London drifted downstream to stay with me this weekend, and as it's now trout season for me we did the only decent thing, and went fishing :)

The rivers are high with a good flow, the weather was a lovely 19 degrees or so, there was barely a breeze and I blanked. You know what though, it was just a lovely day. It felt good to be alive and as I sat on the bankside at one point I just let the Avon play over my fingers and wondered what things I could look forward to drifting my way in 2007.

Hey Mr Orvis, would you like to buy this photo? Or maybe just slip me some stuff :)
I realised today that my wading shoes are ripped right across the top, the felt soles have dissapeared over time as well and that my polarised glasses are held together with sticky tape. I'm beginning to become a trout bum...

PS I fixed the photo gallery finally! take a look

Nadder Nigella

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2007-03-27T08:44:19+01:00

Take one stretch of the Nadder that hasn't been touched in 20 years+

Add a handful of victims, uhmm I mean, volunteers.

Mix in a dash of bowsaws, axes and rope.

Season with brute strength and ignorance.

Stir, shake, mix and basically throw about vigorously and leave to simmer for 5 hours.

Remove from the oven and leave to settle for a while before fishing.

Another work party this weekend gone, a good turnout and a very satisfying work. I think we only got through maybe 1/4 of the water but it becomes immediately obvious a) how good this fishery could be, and b) how much work is involved...

The usual happened; People got wet (thanks for making me smile Jozef), People ached the next day, Mark used saws underwater (we have proof) but in the main, people went home happy. Another 3 work parties and I think we have a great fishery here, still hard, wild trout fishing, still needing a small rod, still needing an ability to cast through branches, but a good fishery nonetheless.

I'd personally like to thank everyone that turned up, it's one thing for me to organise these things, it's another for people to actually take their valuable weekends to come and help. Thanks guys, see you in a month for the next? :)

So as you can see, we went against modern fishery management practice and removed large wooden debris! To be fair, we left a considerable amount in the stretch but it was so overgrown and choked with Alder that it really really needed some of the log jams, dams and fallen trees removed. What we achieved I believe is to let some more light into stretches and still leave enough cover and features to keep it 'interesting' and 'wild'.

Almost Here

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2007-03-21T17:33:54+00:00

Trout season is almost upon us here in the Salisbury area. Our rivers open to us on April fools day, an auspicious day to begin I find.

Moving slowly on from my winter of discontent I decided today was a good day to go back to the river and take a sneaky peak at how things were looking for my upcoming summer of solitude.

Walking the banks of the Nadder at Wilton, daffodils blowing crazily in a stiff breeze, clouds scudding overhead I was reminded of last year when we thought spring was on the way only to be brought up short by snow. Well the forecast is for a hard frost here tonight followed by, yup, snow...

Putting the possibilty of frozen extremeties aside (yes we're soft southern jessies) the rivers are in the best shape that I've seen them in years. High water levels, a good flow and even the Nadder is running clear (for now). There is more weed in the water than I've ever seen on this stretch, I think this year will definitely be a cutting year.

That's all I wanted to say today, just thought the photo summed it up quite nicely. Clear water, good ranunculous (was going to say good weed, but thought you might get the wrong idea) and blue sky shining through. Ahhh

Happy Snapping

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2007-03-11T08:39:00+00:00

I've just got back from another week playing in the snow. There really is nothing quite like it for raising the spirits and although as soon as you get in that queue for the plane the real world comes crashing back (crash, hehe clever huh?) the freckles and the happy smile stay with you for a while afterwards.

I'm only putting up a few snaps today, just wanted to add something and then get on with getting on.

Malcolm

Jack Frost Missed...

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2007-02-12T14:36:51+00:00

The rest of the UK suffered from 'extreme snowfalls' if you believe the newspapers and TV, from what I could see, it amounted to a few inches of snow coupled with idiots that cannot comprehend the fact that flooring the accelarator, wildly swinging the steering wheel and liberal use of brakes is NOT the best way to drive in snow and ice. Having lived in Whistler BC and Chamonix I've actually seen proper snow, and what the UK gleefully closed schools and airports down for was not 'proper snow'. I think I'm slowly turning into Victor Meldrew...

So while everything north of the M4 slowly ground to a halt the westcountry had a lovely old couple of days, the sun shone, the snowdrops and daffodils have started to appear and the grass has begun to take on that neon green hue of new growth.

I went for a very muddy walk to check on a few stretches of the Nadder over the weekend and found that in a testement to the work of the volunteers last year, that the rivers were in very good shape. No downed trees, no significant problems to report. In a rare occurence for me, as I am normally photographer, fisherman and writer all rolled into one, I met someone on the banks who took a photo of me. Probably as I looked somewhat comical in my waders lying in the mud taking photo's of snowdrops...

One thing I was very suprised to find was that at the top of one of our stretches there is a tremendous pool, in previous years it has had a nasty tree growing in one corner that really limited the ability to get a fly into it. Well on walking to it this weekend it appears that nature decided the tree was in the way too, it's now gone, rootball and all.

It was right here in the bottom left of the photo. Who moved it!

And half a mile downstream....

Oh, there it is.

So the sun has been out (although it's been tipping down again all day today) the countryside is beginning, slowly, to wake up and the idea of trout season doesn't seem quite so far away anymore. I've even appeared in the Wild Trout Trust auction this year, so dig deep into those pockets and you can buy a day guided on Salisbury Club waters by little old me. Ok, more like you can buy a day on Salisbury Cub's waters and I'll come along and pretend I know what I'm doing. But I can guarantee you nothing less than an adventure round some of Wiltshires most overgrown fishing if that is your bag.

As usual some pretty pictures to close with. This time Salisbury.

Oh and I've just switched hosts for the site, working on a new version but it's taking a while what with doing everything else. If you notice a change in performance on the site could you drop me an email please so I can keep an eye on it?

Ta

Malcolm

Blatant Escapism

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2007-01-26T22:01:01+00:00

Nothing quite like running away from your problems to be guaranteed not to fix any of them. It can mean a week of actually smiling, a week of rubbish food and too much beer, it can even mean a week of stress not acting like a tourniqet with your Crohn's. So in the spirit of all things temporary, I ran.

The forecast for Chamonix was for a good snowfall during the week, so the bags were packed, the board was serviced and off I trotted. Having learned from the Gatshit experience of the summer I flew Bournemouth-Geneva for the porta-cabin airport experience.

The weather for the week turned out to be a real mixed bag. Fog, heavy cloud, blue skies, freezing rain, heavy snow. You name it, we seemed to have it. I spent my time with friends hanging in a small bar/gite on Routes Des Gaillands called Le Vagabond(Le Brevent) which was somehow aptly named. Happy hour actually lasted two, the menu was small, cheap and very very nice. All in all, a lovely place if you need somewhere cheap to stay in Chamonix.

On Tuesday night I sat with my back against a condensation heavy window with snow falling like burst pillows outside. The bar was full of a mix of Brits, Aussies, Irish, French and a token American (put there I believe for humorous value) and I sat and chatted, made friends, bought a few rounds and watched as the cigarette smoke swirled around the bar, seming to collect like some kind of crazed scientific experiment in the upside down glasses hanging above.

Wednesday dawned quicker than anticipated but I still made the first couple of lifts up to the top of Flegere where I had 30cm of fresh snow and first tracks down a bunch of the gulleys at the top of the little Poma lift. An awesome day, cut short by a sudden drop to 10m or so visibility at about 11:00. Undaunted I retreated to the bar.

Thursday was a picture perfect blue sky powder day, feeling a little shaky on my legs not being young anymore I headed up to Le Tour at the end of the valley for some skate inspired fast-as-balls-out-yeeehaaw riding down the river gulleys. I also snuck in a few hikes up to small stashes, 15-20mins of walk with the cold biting at your lungs can seem like hard work. As soon as you point that board downhill every ache and breathless muttered curse fades away from your lips, leaving you with a smile on your face that hurts your chest.

A picture perfect day to end the week and having ridden from 9:30-3:40 or so with nothing but sugar laden fizzy drinks and a couple of mars bars I was beginging to feel just a tad shaky on my feet.

A trip anywhere wouldn't be complete for any wannabe riverman without a bit of peering under bridges and into pools and I finished of the trip by wondering whether to take the rod back in the summer. The little river is probably a torrent come springmelt time but something tells me it may be a fantastic hike with a small fly rod...

Malcolm

Stormy Weather

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2007-01-19T23:24:40+00:00

Another update with no other excuse than having taken a few photo's in Dorset. I keep doing this lately, maybe I'll write something one of these days... Still, day after the latest storm seemed like a good excuse for a walk at West Bay.

Actually, one small thing. Checking the web stats for the diary I'm getting hits from the UK, Ireland (hello Pete), Canada, the USofA, Australia, and GUAM.... Who the plums is reading this in Guam? Where is Guam? Please, please, email me and let me know. No, not where Guam is, I can figure that one, but please let me know how on earth, I mean, why, I mean, oh hell, I just can't get my head round it. I'd love to hear how some of the non UK guys found out about my ramblings though.

Malcolm

Nothing like a bit of trauma

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2007-01-11T16:26:22+00:00

It's true, there appears to be nothing like a bit of personal trauma to attract people to read something. In the 11 days since January began my site has had over 14000 hits. Take away the auto crap that the internet seems to delight in generating, bots, search engine crawlers etc and i'm still left with over 1000 people that have taken the time out to read about my funny old life. Quite amazing really, or at least it is to me. Interestingly, the number of people spending over 5 minutes on the site and looking at multiple pages has increased dramatically. Now if I could just find someone who would donate me some tackle in exchange for a link or something. Don't want to raise money from this site but I wouldn't say no to helping do some r&d on some tackle (hint hint).

I wanted to take you back to the river today and away from my messy life, which keeps on getting messier. (on the plus side I had a coffee with the estate agent this morning and as I don't normally drink the stuff I've been buzzing around on some sort of crazed caffeine high all day)

I took a walk out along the Nadder at Wilton this afternoon. Just to check how it's holding together really. Dodging the rain showers I sploshed my way through the fields poking my head into every back eddy I could find, looking for tell tale fishy signs. Only the trusty Barbel were in evidence, although I won't tell you where they are, it's a secret!

The river was high, almost to bank height again and flowing well. Things are looking good for this spring if we can just keep the water in this catchment instead of being shipped off to flush toilets in the Bath/Bristol area. The economies of piping clear chalk stream water all that way elude me. I cannot for the life of me see why it is necessary to ship water around the country when they could just fix the bloody leaky infrastructure or encourage people to reduce the amount they use in the first place. Plain crazy.

I was beginning to think that it was getting a tad breezy as I was buffeted so much I nearly slipped. I thought it'd be ok for a few more minutes, just another photo or two, then, BANG. Got hit on the head by a branch. Nothing too big, enough to make me think it was better to get home to the safety of my apple mac.

Just a couple photo's for those of you who have emailed me with messages of support and offers of hit men. Thanks guys, nice to know someone reads this.

Malcolm

leisure

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2007-01-04T19:57:23+00:00

What is this life if, full of care,
we have no time to stand and stare.

No time to stand beneath the boughs
And stare as long as sheep or cows.

No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.

No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night.

No time to turn at beauty's glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance.

No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began.

A poor life this if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.

- William Henry Davies 1871-1940

Happy 2007, no really, I mean it. Have fun

2006

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2006-12-31T16:33:12+00:00

2006? As a year, it can piss off.

No really, I've had enough of this year now. Of course, it's new years eve so my timing couldn't be better for a bit of a retrospective of what has turned out, undoubtedly, to be the worst year of my life.

I was uhmming and ahhing about writing anything here about personal life but then I figured why not, it's my site, it's my life. I'll try to keep the negativity to a minimum as noone likes a whiner (weiners on the other hand are crap-tastically tasty sausage type thingys from the states and I've heard fatties just can't get enough of them).

So, negative points out of the way in a short number of sentences, but boy are they big negatives...

1) Began the year by being diagnosed with Crohn's Disease. Better than the many alternatives that were being floated past me by the medical fraternity, but still, an incurable, hard to manage life changing illness. So by turns over the year I've been flat, depressed, physically ill and sometimes cranky (I know, hard to believe!). This must have been hard to live with but after all, I've only know about it for 12 months so I can't be expected to be ok with it all right away can I? Well, this leads me onto point 2.

2) In a shock move my year ended by my wife leaving me and having an affair with her boss (just not in that order).

So on a more positive note, Like my boy in the picture below I'm going to be pegging it towards 2007 as fast as my feet can carry me. Onwards and upwards as they say. I mean, seriously, it can't really be any worse can it? At least I'm going to get alot of fishing in this year.

If you know any single 30 something females send em my way :)

So as I sit here nursing a glass of cold cider, about to go out to some friends for new years eve, I wanted to wish you all a good 2007. May it be full and happy.

Malcolm

Phototastic

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2006-12-21T11:50:02+00:00

I know, 2 updates in a week, something must be up!

This update is nothing more than a way of showing off a couple of pictures. New camera is working well, just really need to get a tripod so I can get on with capturing some more detailed shots. Got to get that aperture number higher and my hands just arent that steady. But anyway, photo's below. Enjoy

Thanks to the wonder that is ebay I'm now amassing a bit of photography kit... Got a rather beaten up but still in good shape EOS5d the other day, full frame really is rather spiffy! Incidentally, new camera can print up to A2 so if anyone would ever like to buy a print let me know. Might even be a way of making up some of the cash for hosting this site or buy me a tripod :)

muddled and befuddled

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2006-12-18T19:11:36+00:00

So, with one thing and another that's been happening in my life of late I'm fairly morose company. When I woke up this morning to a cold drizzle with heavy clouds in the sky the weather was really matching my mood, the only difference was that a perfect match would have been towering thunder clouds and torrential rain.

Being once again signed off work because of Crohn's disease I couldn't face another day of sitting in the house staring at a computer screen so I threw my stuff in the car and headed down to the New Forest. I was determined to wet a line, whether that be through fishing or it raining on me while I walked a small stillwater Salisbury Club control called Leominstead.

As I drove through the forest my spirits matched the dreary music on the car's CD player and the forest seemed to agree with me. Everything was soggy, brown and subdued. The cloud was sitting at just about tree height, giving everything the impression of being stuck under a very damp duvet. Even the sounds were muffled as I got out for a quick cup of tea from my flask on a sodden picnic bench.

I got down to Leominstead at about 11:00 and found one other man fishing, he soon decided that I was disreputable company and left for the day. It was probably the fact that my first cast of the day got stuck in a tree behind me...

The weather started to clear somewhat and by 1:00 it was a lovely, if somewhat overcast day. The sun cheekily poking it's head through the clouds from time to time and not a breath of wind ruffling the lakes surface. Being outdoors is, I find, always a tonic for the soul and today was no exception and by the time I packed up at 2:30 I was feeling much more at peace with the world. More at peace, not entirely at peace... Trouble still looms as I get back to Wilton and the trip is fading from my memory as I write this now, but enough gloom, the day was a great success. A testement to the power of fishing on ones phsyche and a tribute to the relaxing nature of becoming more attuned to nature. Even a somewhat contrived, packaged nature of the sort found at stillwaters.

Fishing a small black gold headed thingy about 30 seconds down, floating line, 9' leader on a very very slow figure of eight retrieve resulted in 3 lovely rainbows being caught and returned. The tell-tale head banging being a sure fire indication of whats on the line long before the silvery flash just sub surface confirms it.

I could see fry being corraled and picked off in a deep corner and switching to a small white fry type pattern I crawled through the bushes a bit and flicked the fly out, having removed it from the undergrowth twice (I wouldn't want to give any illusion of casting ability here). The fly plopped into the water about 10' from the bank, but in the area where the fry had been panicking minutes before, so I left it to sink. After the 25-30 seconds were up I slowly started to bring the fly back, it must have been quite close to the lake bottom, when I felt a thud on the end of the line. The line shot off and I could tell straight away that it didn't feel like a rainbow, I could also tell that it was pretty big. I know, my epxecations of 'big' aren't really that much from fishing the Nadder most of the time, but this felt like a good fish. After a few hard and fast runs I brought the beauty nearer to my net, no way to unhook in the water here, I couldn't get close enough. Just as it approached the net I got a big fin break the peaty coloured surface, followed by a flash of dark brown. I'd done it! I'd been hoping for a brown from this lake for ages, I'd finally connected to one. And a beauty too...

The picture does no credit to the actual weight of the fish, for some reason it was just, dense. Not a fat fish, just one that was really really solid. It must have weighed, and this is complete guess work, over 4lb. I slippped it back into the water and it shot off, with a contemptuous flick of it's spade like tail. Back into the murky depths, back to terrorise some more fry.

Ahhh, the great outdoors, I love it.

Rain Ho!

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2006-12-01T08:42:23+00:00

So the last week has seen some fairly heavy rain, or as it's known in Northern Ireland, light drizzle. The rivers are still up days after the rain, springs that have remained dry for 3 winters are actually running and all in all it's nice to see some real flow going through the rivers. The weather looks set to continue in the nice wet, miserable pattern for the next 5 days at least. Time for me to break out The Smiths and The Cure and sit in my darkened room for a while. Failing that I can be cheered by the reported sightings of large salmon moving up the Avon, that Christmas isn't far away, and perhaps more importantly, that means my snowboarding can't be far off either.

When we did the most recent work party on the Nadder we piled up some pretty large trunks of trees in an out of the way part of the river, good animal cover etc. I went back a couple of days aferwards and staked this wood in place just in case. Uhmm, well, we seem to have lost it. The water level is still very high so maybe I just can't see it, but I have a sneak suspicion that the spate tore it free and all that wood went spiraling off down the river. Hopefully I'll find it caught up somewhere on our stretch but I'm not holding out much hope seeing as how high and fast the river has been running.

Rudeness

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2006-11-18T11:08:11+00:00

In my last updates I'd been pondering at the leaves stubbornness to change colour propoerly and to finally succumb to gravity and drop. Well, the weather broke in the week, windy, colder and heavy downpours; The leaves finally gave up, donning their stunning autumn coats and dropping, swirling like orange snow to the ground. Driving down the Avenue from Devizes Road towards Wilton was a truly amazing sight, the air full of leaves, looking for all the world like a miniature kite festival as they played on the air currents as the traffic whizzed through.

I organised another work party on the Nadder last week, with another stirling effort being put in by SaDAC members spending a day clearing up overgrown stretches. In line with fishing buzz words, we added a significant amount of 'large wooden debris' in spots around the water while at the same time clearing some stretches to allow light to reach the water. Over the spring/summer I'll transplant ranunculous into these newly cleared stretches and see what happens. It's only the 2nd work party I've ever organised so theres alot to learn still, one thing that really did suddenly make me think was the health & safety and insurance angles. With volunteers using tools provided by the club what happens if there's an accident? Well, there was no accident this time (thankfully) and now the issue has been raised we will have a better understanding of what we can and can't allow volunteers to do in the future. One thing I'm sure of though, there WILL be more work parties. They've proved to be a huge amount of fun, satisfying to actually achieve so much on oft-neglected stretches of river AND realy help the club to maintain it's enourmously varied fishing.

Over the months that I've been publishing my ramblings here I've seriously begun to think about how I could get an article into print, not only would it potentially help me buy a proper camera but I'd really like to start writing creatively instead of all the technical papers and reports I publish at work. So where to start? Well, I e-mailed the editor of two of the country's leading fishing magazines and a couple of 'expert' writers just to ask their advice on how to start, I inlcuded a link to the blog so they could see that I was serious and at least could string a sentence together. What response did I get I hear you ask? A polite sorry I'm too busy, some sage advice from a seasoned pro? NOTHING, not a bloody sausage. Honestly I can appreciate that it's a tough thing to crack, getting into print, I appreciate that they're probably extremely busy but 3 months since I emailed them my inbox remains as empty as a can of special brew in Glastonbury. I just find that somewhat unproffessional to be honest. I'm busy at work but still always find time to email back to the string of students trying to get information about sustainable construction and the research field in general. I just feel it's common courtesy to respond at least. I'm just suprised at these 'professionals' in the fishing field. Perhaps I'm not as good at this as I think I am?

Anyway, enough ranting from me, see you next time.

Malcolm

First Frosts

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2006-11-03T09:25:04+00:00

The last two days we had our first proper frosts of the year, -2 to -4ish, not hugely cold, but a lovely feeling to go out to the river, steam gently rising off the water and have the grass crunching under your feet as you walk. If anything, today's update is an homage to the start of winter. The wooly hat is out, the scarf has been found from the back of the cupboard where it has lain uncared for all summer long and yesterday morning I shifted fifteen hundredweight of logs ready for the cold nights.

I spent a few hours early morning on the Nadder in Salisbury where it winds its way, unnoticed behind the Churchfields industrial estate, in search of toothy critters. There's something quite surreal about fishing behind somewhere as bustling and noisy as Churchfields. The lorries beeping as they reverse, people shouting, to-ing and fro-ing and generally being very busy, then there's me, an island of calm just outside of it all. An observer of the hustle of modern life without being directly involved, to be honest the river was more interesting after 5 minutes anyway. Turning my back on the modern world I worked my way downstream from the boathouse pool, casting some garish monstrosity on the end of my fly line in the hope that it looked remotely fishy and thus attractive to pike. In the following 2 hours I caught and returned 2 small jack pike, a fair sized perch and 2 pink visitors to the river, on their way upstream. The Avon used to be famed for it's spring salmon run, the only salmon I've ever caught or seen from the catchment have been in October/November, out of season... Returning the salmon carefully back to the water is a pleasant experience however and watching them power back off, knowing that they are fine gives a great sense of satisfaction. More pike action soon I hope, as the weather gets colder.

For now I leave, as usual, with a few photo's. A picture paints a thousand words so they say.

Another year over

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2006-10-23T16:27:49+01:00

Well the trout season drew slowly to a close for me a week ago, I slipped in a couple of lazy sunny afternoons on the Nadder. Warm sun on my back, grayling, trout and chub all willing to grace me with their presence and the leaves finally starting to turn. It's always with some sadness that the season draws to an end but this year it really felt like the season was finishing too early, call it climate change, call it a hot year but the river hasn't spated properly all summer, October still felt like August/September.

The annual electro fishing on my stretch of the Nadder was booked in late last week, it's always a good way to get through the river, see what fish are actually in there and move a few of the bigger pike if necessary. This year however the weather had different ideas. Driving back from an evening meeting in Watford on the Thursday night the weather was getting progressively worse and I knew things were really getting heavy when I saw 2 cars that had aquaplaned across the countess roundabout on the A303. Well knowing how quickly the Nadder can rise I wasn't holding out much hope for the morning and as I walked the stretch at Wilton on Friday morning I was struggling with a mixed sense of dissapointment and happiness. I was dissapoined as there was no way electro fishing would work in those conditions but I was happy to finally see some water moving through the river. 4 days on from the torrential rain and the Nadder is still running coloured and very high, so here's to a bloody wet winter!

Growing up in the countryside and being involved with farms and animals my entire life sets you up with a solid understanding and handle on death.

The 'wild' can be a rough place, animals die and sometimes it's a kinder path to put an injured wild animal out of its misery - so taught my grandad, a gardener by trade, an outdoorsman by nature.

I had noticed a swan had moved onto my stretch of the river and, although I'm not a fan of swans as a rule (look at the damage 60 juvenile swans can cause to a river) I was pleased to see one drifting about on the river. However, it soon became apparent to me that this particular swan wasn't in good shape, it was only by virtue of the dog barking at it that I got to see the problem. the poor girl couldnt walk properly. I called out the wildlife rescue to have a look at her and after catching her and giving her a thorough check there was nothing visibly wrong with her, no broken bones, no fishing line. The most likely reason was that she would have just shed all her flight feathers and as such be extremely low in calcium and a bit out of sorts.

Well, we agreed to leave her there and keep an eye on her, the most likely outcome of a visit to the vets would have been fatal anyway. 2 days later she was still there, she was feeding on the water, seemed happy enough but still couldnt manage to walk properly and in the increasingly muddy river banks this was looking like it might cause problems. I decided that the next day I would call out the wildlife people again and get her taken away. I was actually quite upset the next day to see her lying belly up in the mud on the river bank, neck under her body the next morning. There were no injuries, no fox attack, nothing visible. Just a slightly muddy beautiful bird.

I duly reported it to the bird flu helpline, well, you never know, and was informed that they arent attending dead swans in Wiltshire. Hampshire and Dorset yes, but no need in Wilts it seems. In a rare moment of sentimentality I returned her to the river, one last journey for the beautiful old girl. I know she'll be a million organisms dinner in no time but for that short time, she was once more graceful as she set off down the river, like some kind of viking longship burial.

Anyway, the autumn arrived in force, the temperatures dropped to 10/11 degrees in the daytime, misty mornings, evenings that make you wish you'd ordered the logs by now. I'll be out chasing some toothy crtitters over the coming weeks and will report how I get on.

Malcolm

And now, the end is near

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2006-10-11T09:40:26+01:00

and so I face, the final curtain.

Or at least that's how October normally feels. The looming close of the trout season weighs heavily on my mind, the nights draw in - getting dark before I get home from work and the river is normally running coloured and high. This year however, nature seems to have taken a break, the leaves are only just donning their high visibilty jackets and the river is still running low and crystal clear despite recent rains.

I recently took a week or so holiday in Crete, not normally my cup of tea, but SWMBO really wanted a warm beachy type of break so off we trundled. Once again I faced certain undeniable truths at the airport;

No matter where you stand in a queue people will always try to get through right in front of you, not behind, not 3 people up the line, always right there, so you have to move all your bags to let them through.
Airport staff are trained to remove any sense of humour, either that or there is a conspiracy taking all children who have no sense of humour by the age of 13 and putting them into security training at an early age.
Airport food will always be over priced, taste like crap and have a high salt content, just to make sure you need to drink lots and are suitably dehydrated ready for 4 hours in an airconditioned environment. I've also a theory that the ban on taking liquids through security has nothing to do with security, it's a blatant attempt to increase sales in the duty free shops. Now instead of taking a 70p bottle of water onto the plane, you are forced to pay £2 for a bottle in the departure lounge.

anyhow, we managed to survive the Gatshit experiece (why I ever listen to people and fly from anywhere other than B'mth, Soton, or Bristol is beyond me) and then drove from somewhere with a funny name, to somewhere with a funnier name in Crete in the dark. I can't really say too much about the roads, I'm still in shock, suffice to say that after driving for a week there I need a holiday... We arrived at the villa and as the sun came up the next day I was very pleasantly suprised to see unspoilt mountains on one side and unspoilt coast on the other. Not the high rise megalopolis full of english breakfasts and fat pink northerners I had been half expecting.

A blissful week of swimming in crystal clear waters, eating cheaply in tavernas tucked away in the mountains and generally having fun with my little boy went a long way to removing the memory scars of Gatshit and the hellish Crete roads. I was extremely suprised to find that not only do people ski on Crete in the winter, but that there are some beautiful little rivers running down off the mountains. I spent some time exploring and looking back, really should have packed a travel rod. The rivers were crystal clear, full of billowing weed and I have to hope, stuffed full of fish. Next time I'll find out :)

remember, only dummies mix alcohol, swimming and nighttime... but it's so much fun ;)

Well, apart from sharing a lovely holiday there was a point to my ramblings, no honestly, now if I could just remember what the point was. Oh yes, Autumn.

I had imagined that by the time I returned autumn would be in full swing, trout fishing would be over for another year and that would be that. Imagine my suprise to find that the rivers were still really alive, the leaves hadn't changed and although we were into autumn in name, we had avoided it so far in practical terms.

I spent a couple of hours yesterday on the Nadder and have to report it was one of the best afternoons fishing I've had all year. 6 good Grayling, 3 chub, 2 brownies, all on the dry. The river looked beautiful and there were rises absolutely everywhere I looked. I shan't type much more as although we had thunder and lightning lst night, it's starting to clear up outside and I think I'm going to get another hour or two in this afternoon. I'll leave you with the view on the Nadder yesterday morning. Enjoy.

Stirling Effort

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2006-09-19T10:42:54+01:00

I organised Salisbury & District AC's first work party this weekend just gone. Arranged for people to turn up and get wet, bruised and stung for a day on the Nadder just outside of Wilton. To my great suprise six people turned up and set to strimming, felling, clearing, strimming, strimming and uhmm some more strimming. One of the group even decided that a swim was in order, before he started work!

Obviously I'm not in the photo but I was there, at least for some of the day! I took a bit of grief from the 'workers' as I ended up going back and forwards into Wilton in the truck more than once, a visit for chainsaw oil, a visit to the chemist for some "ouchbuggeritI'vebeenstungbywasps" medicine. But the real chaos came bacause as I was feeding Mark the night before, who'd come down from London village to help with the clear up, the rising main inside my house broke. I'm amazed how much water could come out of the pipe in the 2 mins it took me to get to the stop cock and get it turned off. So Saturday morning when I should have been doing 'macho gardening' on the river bank I was sorting out plumbers, ripping bits of ceilings out and lifting floorboards to get at the leak.

Anyway, by lunchtime I was back on the river and we all cracked on. By 4pm we were all aching in places many of the older guys had forgotten ever existed and decided to head for a swift half in one of the local pubs. The river looked amazing as we left, still wild definitely, but tamed a tad. It's still not a fishery for the faint of heart, it's still a long walk from the car park, but the hard slog of all those that turned up has improved this fishery enormously.

As the main recipient of the improved fishery, well I do live very very close to it, I'd like to thank them all for improving 'my' fishing ;)

Up until this weekend, those verges were all head high. You can thank someone used to trimming the verges on the test as his day job for sorting that part out. Enough cover to crouch behind but low enough to be able to cast over and see fish now :)

Moving Home

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2006-09-06T09:24:16+01:00

I've a theory, and maybe this is more noticeable on the Nadder, that fish are alot more mobile than we normally think. As the Summer temperatures soar and the water warms the fish definitely abandon most of the river and hole up in the biggest deepest pools. You'd have been forgiven for thinking that 90% of my local stretch at Wilton was devoid of anything but coarse fish during July/August. Well, with the cooling of temperatures experienced in the last week or so, the fish have suddenly re-appeared in the shallower stretches of the river.

I was having a bad day yesterday, loads of work to be done and my Crohns disease was making me grouchy, miserable and distracted (or more so than usual!). So by 2pm I'd had enough and threw on my waders, grabbed the rod from its hooks on the wall and ambled the 50m or so up the street to the river. Within 15 minutes my entire mood had changed, I felt at peace just being there, kingfishers flitting up and down the river, fish rising, flies buzzing and the modern world dissolved into the background. I only stayed out for an hour and a half and then went back in to finish the report I was working on but it really amazed me how such a short space of time on the river can have such a positive impact on me. People wonder why I live 100 miles from my office and work from home as much as possible, well I can't explain it to many people as they just wouldn't understand, but I have to think that without the ability to just switch off for an hour or so Crohn's would make any stressful day in the office unbearable.

Once again I'll leave you with a couple of photo's to help you unwind if you're unlucky enough to be stuck in that office... I feel for you, I really do.

It's amazing how close you can get to a fish without spooking it if you go really slowly, this one I think must have been blind as I could have reached and touched it from this distance.

Hows that for an action shot! A Nadder brownie decides that cdc & elk really looks like dinner. BAM

If I didn't know that the river hadn't been stocked in a while I would have sworn this was a pellet fattened fish, in reality it must just be an extremely greedy fish. One too many trouty McDonalds I think. Half an hour later the same fish was taking from the surface in exactly the same spot.

Winds of change

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2006-09-01T16:33:15+01:00

So summer had lulled me into that comfortable slow stupor. The weather has been calm, hot and dry for a long long time. We've had the odd bit of drizzle but on the whole it's been a long hot summer in Wiltshire.

Walking murphy along the river this week I was so busy looking backwards at the signs of summer I didn't notice autumn creep up on me and 'SLAP'. I can't prove it but I think it was autumn that thwacked me round the head while I was looking the other way. I have reason to believe autumn caught my suprise on it's Nokia. It's probably doing the rounds of seasonalhoodiethug.com as we speak.

I often wonder how all those millions of people living in cities feel about seasonality. Is it just the thing that marks the change of clothes in the shops? The inconvenience of strawberries going up in price at the Chelsea Budgens? August's paralel lines marking the freshly harvested fields, the symetrical stacks of straw bales and fields dotted with round bales are now fading, I saw my first ploughing this week and the march of the seasons continues apace in the countryside. Perhaps it's just because I'm out in the natural environment alot that I notice these changes, perhaps it's a country thing to notice them, all I know is that the changes in season are always welcome. Every time the seasons change here I find myself thinking ahhh this is my favourite season. I think this year I said it in spring, mid summer and now autumn. Trout season may only have a short span left but I have piking, grayling fishing, snowboarding holidays, warm jumpers, coats, scarves and wooly hats to look forward to. The smell of an autumn bonfire, a pint of ale next to a fire in a good pub. What's not to like and look forward to?

I'm fairly convinced I'm the only person around wishing for a wet miserable winter though. Seeing the state of the rivers I'd ask you all to raise a glass with me and toast:

'Here's to a bloody miserable winter. May it rain solidly for 5 months'

Testing

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2006-08-15T18:19:26+01:00

Dear Nadder

It's been two weeks since we saw each other for more than ten minutes before and after work. Things haven't been quite right between us for some time what with your low flows and untrimmed bankside growth, I just haven't had the courage to talk to you about things. Well, you see, the thing is, I've been seeing someone else. I've only seen her once and didn't exactly get on great with her on that day but I can't quite shake from my mind how well matched we were.

You see I recently got given a day in the Test valley, my first ever experience of those hallowed waters. Although I was only on a carrier of the main river I was somewhat awed by the drive through Broadlands Estate alone. I meandered down private roads, through number coded gates until I at last got to the Test.

The detailed map, was to my mind a little too detailed, it somewhat reminded me of evenings in my youth driving round Somerset in a convoy of cars looking for that elusive party that someone 4 cars ahead claimed he knew the location of. Invariably these evenings actually consisted of hours of driving finally followed by 3 hours in a muddy field listening to music that on reflection sounded like a thousand drums falling down a flight of stairs.

Anyway, I digress, I had the number code to get ino the famous Nissan Hut on the banks of the main river so stuck my nose in for a look around. Dusty sepia coloured photos of men in tweed suits holding aloft huge trout and salmon really do adorn the walls, and as I sat in the chairs outside the hut you could really become taken with the whole sense of occasion and glamour that pervaded the area. I've never fished anywhere before that just felt quite so, right and well, fishy. All those years spent dreamily reading T&S as a kid (no thats not an acronym for some top shelf mag!) and I finally found myself sitting in the middle of it all.

So, we've had one of the hottest, driest summers that I can remember. I'd been looking forward to this trip for months and guess what, I woke up on the Sunday morning to find that the skies had greyed out completely, the temperature had dropped to 16 degrees or so and there was a howling south westerly wind. Bloody typical.

I had invited a friend from Salisbury & District AC along for the day and the fishing can be summed up in one word '*^!!*$£' or another 'bugger' or even 'frustrating'. We could see large Rainbows clearly in the water but they just were not in the mood to feed, at all. Nothing couldnt tempt them to come to the surface and nymphs plonked right in front of their noses had no effect whatsoever. Over the whole day I managed one 8" wild brownie, 2 palm sized grayling, a 3/4 lb chubb and a handful of dace. Speaking to others who have fished the stretch it is normally a very prolific fishery, perhaps sometimes too easy. Well, it certainly wasn't for us.

That said I will be going back, well, I will if I get another invite that is!

If Mrs Nadder doesn't object too much I think I've found my bit on the side, a dalliance with clear water, wafting weeds and a sense of history. Theres a scene in a film called Waynes World where Mike Myers kneels in front of a Fender guitar and vows that 'she will be mine'. Well, the Test, she will be mine, oh yes, mine I tell you. muahahaha

Oh and imagine my suprise looking up at a tree on a stretch that I would assume was fished mainly by purists and people with sensibilities over fly selection to find out that Dennis(ScotFly) must have been there first! It has to be his, no-one else would tie, let alone fish something like this and I know he has a deep dark trout popper secret...

Posh Totty, guns and 4x4's

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2006-08-01T18:41:56+01:00

Thats right, it was the CLA game fair at Broadlands this last week. For the first time I decided to go and have a look and see what the fuss was about.

Well, after hearing horror stories about travel to Broadlands I set off from Wilton at around 7:15am, I was going to go earlier but decided to spend a couple hours on the Nadder before I went.

So a couple of brown trout after waking up I arrived in a large field somewhere near Romsey only to find myself surrounded by the most clean 4x4's I've seen since I got lost in Clapham driving into London once. There was enough kerb weight on show here to perhaps tip red ken over the edge and send him into fits of hysteria... Ban them Ban them Ban them, I can hear it now...

What can you say about the fair apart from oh my god, it's bloody enormous! Admittedly I was only really interested in the fishing village I did take it upon myself to at least see some of the rest of the fair. Faced with hordes of tall middle aged posh blokes wearing red courdroy trousers and brogues and fine young fillies in tweed suits carrying shotguns I retreated back to the relative sanity of the fishing village in no short order. I had a lovely chat with John Wilson who was somewhat bemused to find that he was supposed to be demonstrating trotting on the Test which was looking beautiful, but was only about a foot deep and had almost total weed cover. All in all I was somewhat dissapointed with the show but that could be because I had to leave to get some work done as most people were turning up for the day. Don't get me wrong, it was a great place to just meet fellow fisher-people (how PC am I? ;) ) and I think I'll probably go back again but it did seem a bit off to be charged to go into a shopping village...

So, hows the Nadder you ask? Ok, I'm imagining that people actually read this site here, perhaps I'm being naiive.

The Nadder is fishing beautifully at the moment, just a pleasure to wander along it at any time of the day. The very hot temperatures forced fishing into the shady pools but I really dont mind that at all.

I leave you as usual with a couple photo's just to use up some bandwidth and make you feel all revved up and raring to get out to the river.

Hot Hot Hot

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2006-07-18T23:04:17+01:00

So the temperature officially hit the 'bloody hot' mark today, somewhere around 36 gazillion degrees or so. I'm told that people don't fish when it's that hot, fish don't feed or some such stuff. Well, I decided that standing in the water was a better idea than sitting indoors sweltering and headed up to my shady pool for an hour this afternoon.

I slowly crept up to the tail of the pool, dropped a size 16 orange klinkhammer just into the shadows and 'SIP' the fly dissapeared with exaggerated slowness. I forced myself to wait for what seemed like minutes but was only around 2-3 seconds and tightened hard into a lovely brownie.

The rest of my short trip passed relatively uneventfully, with one more brownie and a small dace taking the fly, funnily enough the palm sized dace hit the fly like a rocket while both trout were barely detectable takes.

Just goes to show though, it's always worth heading up the river, regardless of what convention tells you regarding fishing conditions.

Nadder Brownie in action

And the same brownie returning to the slightly slimy, silty depths...

Lazy Days

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2006-07-15T14:42:52+01:00

Lovely lazy summer days, blue skies, light breeze and in the late 20's temperature wise. Popped out onto the Wilton Nadder today for an hour just to wade in the cool water of the main pool more than in anticipation of catching any fish.

The water level seems to really have dropped on the Nadder inside the last week or two, the bottom of several areas that were exposed late last summer are beginning to peek out again and we have months of summer left to go. Really not good news.

Still, I had a lovely hour in the shade, felling the tree that laid across the pool over the winter has paid dividends as I can now cast a line to the far side without having to skim the water surface anymore. 2 lovely brownies graced me with their company so I came home to mow the lawn with a suitably happy face :)

Now you see what I meant by shady pool!

A quick trip to the Avon

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2006-07-08T20:58:41+01:00

Popped over to the middle Avon tonight, near Lower Woodford, and fished a nice sluice pool that I know. Was only there for about an hour and a half but had 11 brownies in that time. All but two were returned to fight another day as I had a rare bbq request for some fish. All of the fish were taken on a cdc+elk fished in the surface film.

If you fish the Nadder alot it's sometimes quite nice to head over to the Avon for an afternoon just to remind yourself that:

a) you can cast
b) you can still catch fish regularly despite the harsh lessons that the Nadder can dole out, and
c) it's not normal to loose quite so many flies each outing

A lovely fish, don't normally take them out of water to photograph but I landed him quickly and he went back in a splash after a quick photo session.

The two BBQ invitees

And another, just before being relieved of a cdc & elk and returned

The Photo Issue

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2006-07-05T20:52:40+01:00

Sometimes you forget just how beautiful the rivers and watermeadows around here actually are, then every so often it hits you and you are gobsmacked by how lucky you are to live in the middle of it all. This entry is nothing but a few photos to remind those of you who arent living in the middle of it to get on the train or in the car and come enjoy it yourselves. I'm not selfish, everybody should be able to experience this for themselves!

Just how high can those grasses grow??

Trusty ol' muphy stalks imaginary sheep

The pool of frustration... Not a single fish from this likely looking lie in over 3 yrs of trying

If Laurie Stokes ever gets to see this, thats the weed you planted all those years ago! Good job.

A stretch of the Wylye thats owned by the council and is free to fish. If you can find it!

A beautiful Nadder brownie comes to hand. A good size for the Nadder too

The Wyle as it runs through Wilton

Silly Season Over

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2006-06-21T11:26:57+01:00

Well, I've been kind of quiet on here for the last month. I can blame work to a certain extent but probably more so is that it's been a long extended duffers month across the Avon catchment. It's been a frustrating mayfly season however as the fish have been extremely fickle this year, I've found myself having to change fly after every rise to a pattern to keep any interest and the attention of the fish seems to have firmly been on nymphs/emergers rather than on the surface.

The Nadder hasn't really delivered a full on mayfly hatch for me, I've just had fly drifting off lazily without the trout particularly being interested in them. I had reports of good hatches around the Barford/Compton Chamberlain stretches of the river but I guess I just missed them. I thought having semi-retired as a surfer due to being so far from the sea I'd have gotten away from the 'you should have been here yesterday' taunts...

Having been busy most evenings with other stuff I've taken to doing dawn patrol on the Wilton stretch of the Nadder, at 6am it really is beautiful out there but imagine my shock when I came across someone else fishing one morning, 6am and he'd already been out an hour! good effort :)

I'll leave you with the sentiment that the Nadder is probably looking in the best shape out of all of the Avon catchment rivers, it may not be fishing the best of them all and is always fairly slow until mid-late June but as the shot below shows, boy does it look puurrty.

Summer postponed

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2006-05-19T06:49:21+01:00

We had summer, at least for a couple of days in May. The river started to warm up, I even saw some signs of fish moving.

Then May decided that enough was enough and skipped straight to November.

Still, it's not like we couldn't use the rain, but did you have to go all cold and windy just as mayfly starting to hatch with vengeance on the Avon???

The Nadder has still been fishing pretty slowly, even during the warm weather we had over recent weeks. A few good hatches of small black flies, I'll refer to them as 'gnats' provided some sport on the warmer evenings, especially further up the Nadder above Barford.

But on the Avon.....

MAYFLY!

wheeee :)

It's only a start, the fish only just turning on to the danica and only sporadic hatches for now. The next couple of weeks (weather dependent) should be excellent fishing and it's that once yearly chance to target those big old wary trout that lurk in amongst the roots and overhanging branches.

So there's something to look forward to but for now it's back to the view from my world...

Warming Up

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2006-04-28T17:25:37+01:00

Call me odd but there definitely comes a point each spring where I suddenly feel as if I've connected with the river. All the cold grey winter has passed, the river starts to come alive and the fish begin to behave in a way that I actually understand. Not for me the lush vegetation and still evenings of summer, I'll take the new-ness of spring any day. Days feel full of promise in late April, safe in the knowledge that winter is far far away. Hedgerows are alive with Blackthorn and Hawthorn, the mix of the apple white blossom and bright green foliage is probably one of my favourite visual delights of the year.

I could definitely point to this week as the turning point, as if we just crested the top of a hill and are now coasting towards summer, with a marked change in the weather in the Wilton area. The sun has been shining (well at least some of the time), the bankside vegetation has gone wild, flies have started hatching in a meaningful way and of course, the fishing is improving. Daytime temperatures have been between 16-18 °C and there have been decent hatches of a variety of flies from around 3pm onwards. I fished the other day for 40 minutes at about 5pm and had 4 beautiful small wild brownies, all on a size 16 dry GRHE. My 3yr old by now thinks that I am a very poor fisherman as he always looks somewhat dejected when I don't bring him home a fish for tea, I've tried explaining that the small ones go back so that they can grow into big ones for next year but at that point he asked "which finger did it bite?" whilst wiggling his little finger on the right... I gave up at that point.

yes, yes, I know that's not Blackthorn OR Hawthorn but it is pretty after all :)

Slow Start

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2006-04-15T07:32:03+01:00

Well, it's been a peculiar start to the season. The weather for the most part has been dry and cold with fairly strong winds. There have been a few rainy days and a few still ones but it's been quite slow fishing.

The Nadder always seems to struggle at this time of year and while walking a stretch near Wilton yesterday I saw my first rising Nadder fish of the year.

I've been over and fished the crystal clear waters of the Ebble a couple of times and to my delight caught my first Ebble trout over a pound. This river is hard fishing; gin clear water, no bank side vegetation at this time of year, very wary wild trout. Great fun though!

Things appear to be warming up slowly, yesterday saw an enormous Grannom hatch over the River Avon in Salisbury City Centre, fish didn't seem to be taking them but it's the first big hatch of the year so I guess they just are still a little sleepy ;)

Anyway, just a short update, as an American, somewhat right-wing ex actor (I use the term loosely) now-politician is famous for saying 'I'll be back'. Wow I really need to get a catchphrase! Suggestions on an email to....

Malcolm

Opening Day

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2006-04-02T15:34:41+01:00

Well, the rivers opened for trout fishing this year on April fools day. Some people took a look at the weather forecast and decided to stay home, others decided it's the first day of the year and went out regardless.

I fell into the latter camp, in fact I'd arranged a rare whole day of fishing.

I started the day by meeting some fellow practioners of the art of angle at ye-olde "friar tucks" cafe in Amesbury, after a solid dose of fried food, cups of tea and much swapping of tales (and flies, many thanks for them by the way, saved a trip to the store) I decided to go and take a look at a stretch of the Avon near Durrington.

The day was bright, hardly a cloud in the sky but there was a raw westerly wind supressing the temperature, thinking that it would be best to get out of the wind I headed for a sheltered stretch and got fishing. Out of the wind it was so hot that the jacket had to come of, I was fishing in a long sleeved shirt, on April 1st! Three weeks ago there was snow on the hills...

The water in this part of the Avon was running gin clear, the bottom doesnt appear to have had a decent flow all winter as the gravel is rather silted still and there are still signs of the blanket weed that affected the river late last summer. It's good news for early season fishing but it really doesn't look good for late summer, if we don't get a large dose of rainfall I really wouldnt be suprised to see some of the chalkstreams running dry by August/Sept :(

After returning two lovely small brownies to the water, both taken on size 16 GRHE's, I wandered back to car and drove down to Middle Woodford to see how the Avon was faring lower down. Well, the cloud had come in, the wind had picked up and the water was a tad on the coloured side. What a difference a few miles can make! I struggled with the wind for 15 minutes and gave up, succumbing to the call of the Nadder.

Arriving in Wilton I stepped out of the car, collected my gear and BANG the heavens opened. April arrived with it's famed showers. Drenched but undeterred I wandered up a stretch of the Nadder for the rest of the afternoon. I was joined by a friend, mike, and between us we proceeded to blank until the cold wind made us retreat to the local hostelry for a relaxed pint. Sitting in the comfort of the pub it was good to look back on a varied and encouraging opening day. Sure, I blanked at a couple of stretches, but it's not always about catching fish. The day to me will be looked back on with fondness because I had a great breakfast, met new people, fished different parts of different rivers and then had a relaxed pint to finish it off. I don't honestly think it could have gone any better.

Incidentally, standing on the banks of a heavily coloured Nadder I was amazed to see a large silvery shape cruising up the river right under my feet. Just distorted by the coloured water enough to not be able to identify it acurately but definitely in the 6-7lb region, I'd guess a salmon heading up to the spawning grounds following a week of heavy rains. It's those moments that I really treasure and hopefully are things I will continue to experience in years to come.

I happened to see an episode of 'A passion for angling' on TV the other night, the one where they visit Redmire and fish for carp. One of the things that was said got me to thinking. They talked about how there was never enough time in life to do everything and how time seems to pass very quickly when fishing. Changing their mind they then said that time didn't seem to pass at Redmire, it collected. It seems to me that although the rivers are a natural window for the seasons and you can see life passing you by any time you sit by one, time really does collect on a river. Everything else, all the pressures of life, those work deadlines, the car failing it's MOT all the stuff that stores up in your head when you are anywhere else simply don't matter to the river. It's as if the river is wholly unimpressed by your day to day worries, its burbling simply easing away your thoughts and adding them to its collective experience. How small and petty my worries must seem to it after it's thousands of years of existence, but I am ever glad to let it steal away my thoughts and time...

BOING!

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2006-03-28T09:54:18+01:00

I have just returned from spending some time in more wintery climes, getting my fix of clean cold air, avalanches, heavy snow and French cooking. Let me tell you, I'd rather take the avalanches than the strange Savoyarde stews any day but if anyone was to offer me a belouga burger from Chamonix I'd probably bite their hand off (you have to have had one to understand!).

Avalanche Debris. The actual slide stopped 50m to the left of the photo, the downed and broken trees are solely from the force of the air in front of the slide... The snow stopped about 2m from five houses in a small Hamlet. Lucky Lucky Lucky!

Yours truly enjoying the fresh air and wishing he was anywhere but walking through a major avalanche zone

Much more relaxing... Joseph and me stop for a while to check out the ladies :)

Now on my return from France imagine my surprise when I saw that spring had sprung, BOING, in my absence. The daffodils are out along the river, looking a little beaten from yesterdays gale force winds and rain, catkins adorn the hedgerows and the Nadder has finally got a half decent flow. Perhaps it was just actually being away from England a while that made it appear more obvious but I'm really beginning to feel like spring is firmly on its way.

Of course heading out to buy my Rod License has helped and knowing that this Saturday is a fishing day is subtly focusing my attentions on the river and fishing (subtle like a brick to the head...).

I also recieved a lovely parcel from the USA today courtesy of www.burfish.com - My new tiny tiny rod for the Nadder! A 6' 2# rod, I fished most of last year on a 2# rod but it was 8'6" long. This new rod feels so tiny in your hand I feel like it might break as soon as I hook a 2lb fish but I'm assured that they are robust and anyway, it has a no-fault warranty... I'll let you all know how it gets on after the weekend, I'm hoping for a nice calm opening day, otherwise its back to the heavy rods :(

First Update for 2006!

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2006-03-09T14:37:58+00:00

It’s the first update for 2006, in fact its my first update since I put my ramblings online.

Winter has reared its head again, there’s snow sitting on the hills over in the Chalke Valley and the daytime temperature is around about the bloody freezing mark in my official temperature gauge. It’s hard to feel like the trout fishing season is just around the corner when I look outside today but having looked carefully at the calendar I am confident that spring is not too far away. This update was really just intended to add some more content and allow people a bit more information about what to expect from the site.

I have arranged for information from the EA regarding rainfall and water flow to be sent to me weekly so I will publish this here along with some more subjective fishing reports throughout the summer.

I have the entire river from Salisbury to where the Sem enters upstream of Wardour now in detailed maps from 1926 that I will be redrawing to emphasise the river course and adding to the site once I can find an A3 scanner in Salisbury.

Anyway, more to follow soon, I promise! I might even correct spelling and grammar errors at some point ;)

Blue Skies & Wild Fish

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2005-08-30T14:32:27+01:00

We're slowly slipping towards autumn in Wiltshire, walking the dog at 6:30 am now has a distinct chill to it. This morning the water meadows were shrouded in a light mist, spider webs glistened like pearls from every reed and only the sound of the odd cow munching on grass kept me and my border collie, Murphy, company.

I get to walk along the banks of the Nadder and the Wylye during my walk and with steam rising from the early morning waters there was a nice rise happening. Sleepy anglers beware, the trout have noticed that you don't get to the river until 11:00 and have started feeding early. They can then go and have a kip while you whip the water into a frenzy with your casting...

By 10:00 however it's back to being summer. Not a cloud in the sky, 25 degrees, shockingly low water levels and slow flowing low oxygenated water trickle along the river. Much of the Nadder is slightly coloured after a few downpours over recent days but unfortunately this doesn't seem to have been enough rainfall to spate the river properly and clear some of the weed and silt.

Despite the lack of flow a couple of hours spent in the middle of the day today provided ample entertainment. Time spent on the river is NEVER wasted in my humble opinion, there's always something to see or learn. The old faithful Klinkhammer worked it's magic again, with todays flavour of choice being a tan size 16. Three beautiful wild fish, none over 3/4 of a pound were released to fight another day along with a number of small chubb and dace.

Summer Monsters

malcolm@nadder-diary.net — 2005-08-04T14:25:44+01:00

With the low water levels and high water temperatures in the river at the moment it seems that most fish have left their usual lies and moved into the deeper shaded pools along the water.

Spent two hours today in glorious sunshine, gently casting a small black Klinkhammer to rising fish that were sitting tight under trees and in amongst roots. To my surprise instead of the usual small wild fish that come from the stretches of the river I tend to fish I was battling with the Nadder equivalent of Nessie, subsequent stalking found me battling her chums.

Nessie was just under 3lb and her friends hit the 2 1/2lb, 2lb and 2lb mark. All but nessie got returned to fight another day and nessie fed the whole family once the bbq was dusted down.

I apologise for the quality of one of the photo's, Blame the phone camera i was using.

Alternatively you could blame the amount of rubbish in my pockets that scratched and dusted the camera lense...