(^70) FLYLIFE
the banksides, fan casting or drop-
ping the fly anywhere near move-
ment. Trust me, if you land a hopper
anywhere remotely close to one of
these trout, they’ll charge it down and
chomp it. Hebe helped too: he has
acute hearing and often moves his
head quickly in the direction of a rise
— many a fish I’ve hooked because of
it. Hungarian Vizsla — not a bad thing
to be included in your tackle list!
I had now caught a couple of hun-
dred fish out of the lake, on all man-
ner of flies, and not one fish was even
close to 2 lb. Was I bothered? No, not
in the least — it just got better and bet-
ter. I was leaving my fly on the water
for merely a couple of seconds, more
than enough time for any cruising fish
to hurtle towards it, and I had learnt
to use ‘sloppy’ casts to make my flies
plop onto the water — the bigger the
rings from the fly, the more savage
the surface takes seemed to get. Hebe
learnt to watch the direction of each
cast and for the fly hitting the water,
knowing it was pretty likely that’s
where the next fish would come from.
We hit the lake night after night and
never failed to have top-notch sport.
Early December... I got the pot off
my leg and I was into a moonboot.
For those of you who’ve experienced
this, you’ll know how good it feels to
be able to stand on two feet again.
Although pretty painful to hobble
on, I could now see a rise and chase
it down without carrying a seat and
using my crutches too much. So, fol-
lowing surgeon’s and doctor’s orders,
I was keeping to level ground and tak-
ing things easy... Yeah right!
With Hebe on point and improved
mobility for me, my catch rate went
through the roof. Like any fly fisher-
man will tell you, if the fish are biting,
nothing else matters. This was the
case with my leg too. If I was stand-
ing at home talking to a friend, or
sitting in the pub chatting to some-
one, I’d feel it. I’d feel the pain, the
swelling, the aching, the bruising, the
stiffness — but put me on a lake full
of small rainbows that rise like there’s
no tomorrow, and I’ll wander those
banks until the bloody thing drops off.
Once into my boot I bought myself
a cheap automatic car, enabling me to
drive to a few different fishing spots,
but nothing compared to my lake. It
has made me so happy and I always
return to it. Thank you Lake Middle-
ton, you saved me! You kept me sane
through difficult times and maybe
introduced a few new anglers to our
beautiful sport. The lake is open all
year and I imagine the winter fishing
will be delightful too. I’ll definitely be
making it a regular spot from now on.
Great news... I’m now out of a boot
and looking forward to getting out
on the rivers and streams, hopefully
before the end of the season. Walk-
ing the banksides now, I realise what
I’d been taking for granted: all those
fish I’ve chased, the rocks scrambled
to land them, the deep river cross-
ings, the steep inclines and descents,
the drop-offs, the fences jumped, the
holes fallen down, the rock faces
climbed, the bags carried, the tightly
laced boots, the tiny pebble under
my foot — all of these effortless when
the body is fit. Be thankful that you
can conquer all these feats; there are
many who can’t.
Never ever forget just how lucky
you are to be able to live and fish
amongst some of the most beautiful
waters in the world. But most of all,
when you return home and sit down
after fishing, it’s not about how many
you caught or how many trophies you
landed — it’s where your legs took
you. So next time you’re debating a
trip up the river, or fancy trying a
small local lake you once shrugged off
as being below par, do it — it might
just blow your mind. FL
Nicky and Hebe release a plump Middleton fish.
Both waiting for it to show again.
Sam and Hebe in happier times. FL#85
Keeping Me Sane... continued
lu
(lu)
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