Marching northwards to tackle some trout

Mad as a March hare, or so they say. Mad as a March brown, I say because this fly frequently hatches in awful weather conditions.

To fly fishers, the March brown can be a cure for the cabin fever that afflicts us as a new fishing season approaches. On stony rivers, especially in the North, this big, brown fly, fluttering down the breeze is often the first sign that the aquatic world is waking up.

The first real highlight of my season is a mid-April return to the river Spey.

Hide Ad
Hide Ad

The March browns should be hatching in force, and I now know that there are some mighty wild brown trout that are awaiting the arrival of this spring-time treat as eagerly as I am.

I am promised access to a private part of the river, allegedly full of trout, which has not seen a proper angler for years. A few salmon fishers, perhaps, but not a proper angler. Most salmon anglers, you see, appear to regard the brown trout as unworthy of their attention. I am hoping that I can change that perspective for a small handful of them. My task, for one week, is to kindle a regard for the brown trout among a group of friendly salmon fishing addicts.

So, I'm in planning mode. I learned from my visit last year the hatch of fly is often short lived, starting around noon and finishing in less than a couple of hours. As soon as the hatching flies disappear, so do the trout. However, they don't go far. For every fly that hatches successfully, there are dozens of others that don't make it. Some drown before they have the opportunity to draw breath, others are washed back into the tumbling water before they perform lift-off from the surface.

Having accounted for the floating flies, the trout turn their attention to casualties below the surface. So, my band of intrepid anglers must learn, first to deal with the fish that rise to the surface. When that action ceases, they face the more difficult task of engaging them when they feed sub-surface.

Hide Ad
Hide Ad

This is where the March brown spider will make a triumphant entry. This is the fly to imitate those half drowned tangles of wings and legs; the body made from the fur of a fox, caught in the act of chasing a mad march hare. My team of tyros will have to learn how to present this concoction of fur and feather in such a way that it fools their quarry.

Trout do not grow big by being stupid. You might want to look away for a moment because I'm going to have a quick rant. Some boring old buffers try to persuade me that the most demanding, and therefore correct, way to fish a fly is to use a fly that floats; a dry fly. Expletives, say I!

The natural presentation of a sunken fly is extremely difficult; you can't see when it's acting abnormally, like you can with a dry fly. Grant us the right to use our experience in order to get on with fishing in the most appropriate manner. Encourage us to adapt to conditions. Do not hinder us with ridiculous, outdated rules that originated in the south of England anyway. Right, you can look back now.

I hope that all these theories work; I'll let you know later in the year. And what of those dedicated salmon anglers who fail to appreciate the challenge of brown trout fishing? Mad as hatters if you ask me.

Flies dressed by Stephen Cheetham. 0113 250 7244. www.fishingwithstyle.co.uk

Roger Beck 01439 788483. www.beckfisher.co.uk

Related topics: