our first visitors, I heard the green woodpecker

Then the sheer joy of what was about to unfold hit me. As quietly as possible I dressed, made my way downstairs and boiled the kettle. Everything was ready; I had ensured that the night before, but it still didn’t stop me going through all of my gear again. Once the flask was made, that was it, into the car and off.There was a hint of light in the East, but no more than a hint. The roads were as usual for this time of the day, deserted. I reached my appointed spot and found no other car there yet! A good way to start, as you can be sure that finding someone else in the area that you intend starting the season bad enough, never mind the exact spot. The birds were now eagerly encouraging me in my efforts to hurry up. I have often wondered if it is because they are higher up than we are that they sing so loudly and so early!I had decided what flies to use the night before, but doubts now entered my mind. What if the insects were not as far advanced, as I believed them to be, bearing in mind the lovely mild weather we have been having? What if it had been too cold last night and the fish were put off feeding at all? What if?What if? Such a short question, but one that an angler spends so much of his time asking. No, I stuck with the small jungle-cock viva on the point, the black buzzer on the middle and the diawl bach on the top. All of the textbooks tell you to make your first casts from well back from the water’s edge. I did as I should have, but met with the usual response – nothing! I shouldn’t be too critical of this tactic, for I can remember some early morning sessions when the trout have been in patrolling the marginal weed, but those occasions have generally been in mid summer. I lengthened the cast. The anticipation grew by the minute. The morning was now light. Not a sight of a trout moving. Should I have opted for a faster sinker? – No, that would have been silly in water of this depth! The minutes turned into an hour, and only a couple of tugs from the fresh shoots of weed from the bottom. Surely it was not going to be a waste of a trip, one so keenly anticipated. Suddenly, I lifted into a fish. I don’t know what made me react. There was not a rod-wrenching pull, merely an increased weight on the line. Yet I had done all of the right things. I would like to claim that I was concentrating like mad and that I was watching the little bow of line at the end of my rod tip, and that I anticipated brilliantly! I cannot tell a lie! I honestly don’t know how or why I caught this fish. However, I duly landed it and dispatched it. I know that I should have cast straight back out, as the best time to catch a fish is when you have just landed one, but I was now, I realised, desperate for a cup of tea, and I wanted to admire the first fish of the season!I fished on and happily caught a few more fish. I didn’t catch a “limit”, I didn’t catch a monster, or even an over wintered fish. I did however have a great day. I saw the sand martins – our first visitors, I heard the green woodpecker – so aptly named a “yaffle” by countrymen of old. I watched the water birds confused by the sudden appearance of so many strange people waving their arms about. I met a few old friends and chatted about past opening days – like the one when we had to break the ice that had formed for the first five yards from the bank, or that trip when everyone caught except me, as I had refused to use one of those gaudy yellow things!

Best of all though was the thought that this was the start of yet another season of trout fishing, with those lovely warm summer months ahead, full of the sights and sounds of trout sipping tiny insects trapped in the surface film. Dreams! Often the dreams are better than the reality, but not when the trout are up on top, and the light is fading and you have to strain every muscle to see or hear where that last fish moved. Roll on season – but not too fast!