In my fishing life I am yet to land a salmon. There are reasons why, that I will not speculate on here, but that certainly will not change the fact that I have (so far) been unsuccessful. It is the case that like so many other places, the rivers, and lochs I have access to are in steep decline. Looking at old catch returns, the excesses of years gone by seem extraordinary. Sadly, the chance to catch a wild Atlantic salmon on a Club water is gradually reducing. Perhaps if I ever catch and safely release such a fish, I should content myself with targeting more plentiful fish instead?
The week before the season ended, I was trying to get out on the river as much as possible at times when the water was fishable. The river, a tributary to a better-known system, had not produced anything beyond finnock and an odd sea trout for several years. This reflected the dwindling numbers fishing, but in recent times this still beautiful river seemed devoid of the salmon it previously held.
I was having a final go before picking up my youngest from school and the light was starting to fade. The water dropping, was still high and dirty as I went onto one of the previously prolific pools. Despite my lack of success, I have surprised myself with the small flame of hope I have carried this year. I covered the water carefully with an Ally Shrimp of my own but with no response. I decided to have a few final downstream casts to cover the tail and centre of the pool.
The take came from the deep and turbulent water, powerful and shocking. In a split second the rod tension lessened then increased again, then a feeling of something breaking against a greater power. The lightening thread disconnected leaving me feeling numb in the moments before the painful inquest would become stuck on repeat. Alas the discovery of the broken hook kickstarted my regret and disappointment about what should, could or might have been.
Footnote.
It took a few days for me to rationalise these events to find positives. I had persevered and found what was probably a good salmon. It had been tempted by my own fly. I had come close. Yes, I agonised over the hook, the declining opportunities, and the final score but there was enough to keep the small flame of hope alive for next year.
Argyll Trout Fisher 