The one that got away (minus the missus)

Over the last ten years or so, I have spent a couple of weeks each year in pursuit of specimen brown trout in North Uist, Outer Hebrides. I feel that I am beginning to make some progress; I know where the big boys (and girls) live, it’s just a matter of catching them. I have been fortunate to catch some specimens in excess of four pounds in weight and have noticed that many of them disgorge handfuls of sticklebacks as they are returned to the water. I knew that I needed a fly to “match this hatch”.
By Roger Beck
Published 23rd Sep 2013, 12:05 BST
Roger and Philip basking in the sunshineRoger and Philip basking in the sunshine
Roger and Philip basking in the sunshine

In search of a stickleback lookalike I came upon a pattern by the late Steve Parton (the Grizzly Nobbler). I never met Steve, but had enjoyed a few telephone conversations with him. Steve always told it “how it is” and I admired him for that. He was an innovative angler and will be sorely missed. In preparation for the Hebrides 2013 expedition, I tied half a dozen pearly fry in the hope I might fool a stickleback scoffer.

As we docked at Lochmaddy, we were greeted by perfect holiday weather – overcast, not too warm, a gentle westerly breeze that was the harbinger of rain. Thankfully, the high pressure that brought hot sunny days had receded just in time for our arrival. In less than half an hour and in keeping with tradition we were seated in Philip’s kitchen, lemonade to hand, planning our piscatorial pursuits for the next couple of weeks. By the way, please do not run away with the idea that I completely neglect my dear wife during these pilgrimages to the Western Isles. I have always made it quite clear that she would be most welcome to accompany us on any of our forays. Indeed, it would be most helpful to have someone to manage the oars whilst we concentrated on the job in hand. You will be amazed, dear reader, when I tell you that all proposals have, so far, been declined.

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So, the following afternoon, Philip and I launched the boat alone; in doing so I opened proceedings by falling in again. Luckily, the water was shallow; I was togged up in chest waders so only my pride was damaged.

In these crystal clear machair lochs, I have learned that the leviathans tend to lie amongst the rocks on the downwind shore and simply ambush passing sticklebacks. I had tied the pearl fry to my leader and began casting as close to the rocks as I dared. I cannot remember if it was the third or fourth cast that the huge fish pounced on my fly. It was immediately airborne and I knew that I was attached to a wild brownie approaching five pounds in weight. The fish just would not stay in the water; time and time again it performed aerial gymnastics so I could not begin to coax it towards me. In my heart of hearts, I just knew that it would happen. As the fish crashed back into the water for the umpteenth time, my nylon leader snapped like cotton as it dragged over a sharp rock. We both remained silent for several minutes. The rest of the afternoon drew a blank.

Over the next few days, the sticklebacks accounted for some beautiful trout around the two pound mark. Very welcome they were too, but somehow there was always a tinge of disappointment as I slipped them back into the water.

Then catastrophe. The ridge of high pressure nudged away the front that had so improved the island weather. The sun shone, temperatures climbed back to the mid twenties. Not what I call holiday weather at all.

Flies dressed by Stephen Cheetham, telephone 0113 2507244. www.fishingwithstyle.co.uk