It’s late August and I’m off work and off-grid for a couple of weeks for our family summer holiday. A road trip through the Peak District and the Lakes, stopping off a few nights here and there in handsomely haunted youth hostels, charming B&Bs and even a hotel with its very own cave.

Having spent many a marooned day in a rain-battered ’tent’ whilst holidaying in England, we know it’s a gamble, but this year we’ve been dealt a royal flush of perfect weather. For the most part we find ourselves under a canopy of blue sky, broken only by trout-shaped clouds shifting unhurriedly by a polite breeze. Under these conditions I maintain we live in one of the most beautiful and interesting islands in the world… And by some further good fortune a place that can be a fly fisherman’s paradise, given the diversity, accessibility and attractiveness of the rivers and streams embroidered across the majority of the British landscape, coupled with the tricky temperaments of the wild browns resident within.

This is not a fishing holiday, yet my rod and waders have earned a spot in a corner of the boot of the S-Max. Far from contraband, this is fully legit cargo. Some very grown up pre-arranged tit-for-tat sees Lucy going on a one-day wood carving workshop up near Greystoke while I take the kids on a day trip to Ullswater, earning me a day on the Eden in return. In reality, my dear wife (she reads this waffle), had given me a guilt-free pass (as she so often does) to enjoy a day’s fishing on our holiday (which turned out to be more) no strings attached long before any such reciprocal arrangement was made*.

In the weeks leading up to our trip I contact Matt Eastham, North Country Angler, Eden expert and incredibly nice bloke, to see if he’s free to meet up. Matt is the guy who was so generous with his time, and patient with his advise, in the face of a barrage of questions through debut episode on the Eden, so I’m delighted that Matt is free to meet in person and willing to show me the ropes on some of his favourite parts of the river up around Appleby. The prospect of new friendship, new water and new techniques fuels my anticipation.

Matt stealthily closes in on his quarry

Back to school: Wednesday, 22 August 2013

We’re staying in the lovely little village of Ravenstonedale at the Black Swan Hotel, which turns out to be pub of the year. I’m as smitten with their black pudding as I am their local ales, but it’s too early for a pint so I fill up on the delicious fried blood cake and poached eggs as I know there’s not going to be time for lunch if I’m to eke the absolute most from today’s Eden encounter with Matt. We plan to meet at 9am and have until just before 3pm when we need to finish up, and that includes driving there, driving back, tackling up and tackling down, so around 4-5 hours of fishing before I turn back into a pumpkin. To Muggles that probably sounds like a long time. But if you’re anything like me, you enter a perverse timewarp that performs reverse alchemy, transforming hours into minutes and minutes into seconds from the very moment you spy the water’s edge.

Lucy and the kids drop me off at a nearby truck stop at Tebay, where we meet Matt. When you’re meeting someone for the first time it’s a relief to have your impressions confirmed that they are indeed a very nice person who’s unlikely to murder you out in the wilderness. Likewise I hope Matt felt reassured that I wasn’t some Southern loony cruising fishing forums for my next victim.

Despite the unshakeably good weather we’ve been having, inevitably this morning is cloudy, breezy and drizzly. My anxiety is quickly quelled when Matt calmly explains that Tebay is an unusual and somewhat bleak spot, and that it’ll be fine when we get down to Appleby. True enough, as we approach the drizzle lifts and we’re greeted with a light grey sky, very little wind, and generally ideal fishing conditions.

Wadered-up we stride with purpose to the bottom of the beat, where I’m treated to an impromptu north-country-style nymphing masterclass. I attempt to contain myself, as this is a real treat for an apprentice like me. Plus, I’m getting to enjoy it on a marvellous stretch of water unlike anything I’ve fished before on the Eden, or anywhere else for that matter. Ideally I’d have a slightly longer rod for nymphing - I’m on my trusty 8ft 4wt Trout Bum - but again I’m reassured it’s fine and get straight into it. I learn that I’m better switching to a level profile leader of only around 8-9ft on this occasion given the length of my wand and because the wind is calm. Using a level leader means it cuts through the water more uniformly, so ideal for nymphing. I’d never thought about how a tapered leader wouldn’t penetrate the water as cleanly or evenly along its entire length. A simple, but one of many valuable lessons I learn today.

Right on cue a solid grayling is guided into the net

I pop on a weighted #14 Gold Ribbed Hare’s Ear (GRHE) and wade out across slippery undercut rocks behind Matt into a spot approaching the head of stellar pool just below a lovely riffle. The riffle joins the pool in a handsome arc and we fish up towards it with Matt taking the lead and demonstrating the required technique, which is promptly validated with a plucky grayling. It’s my turn, so I do my best to remember everything I’ve just been told and shown. Rod held highish off the water at around 45 degrees with a relatively short line, I’m in close contact with my fly and keep my eye on the tip of my line for any signs of a draw or check. Sure enough, within a few casts up and across, I notice the line check momentarily and lift to be met with slightest resistance. A tiny silver bullet breaks the surface and flutters across the rippled glass momentarily before wiggling free. We think it might’ve been a wee grayling. Shortly after there’s another draw and I’m into a wild brown trout parr. Between casts we wade up towards the riffle covering the water efficiently, enjoyably and fruitfully. This is another great lesson, as without this guidance, and if I’d been faced with tackling this same stretch of water solo, I probably would have flogged it for a good half hour plus, instead of the 5-10 minutes we spend on it. But before we reach the top of the pool I go to recast and lift my line out as if tightening into a fish. Matt tells me this induced movement will often catch you a fish at the moment when your cast has run its course and is drifting parallel with you. He’s right. This time my rod bends and I’m greeted with a handsome half-pounder - hardly worth noting by many folks’ standards, but I’m chuffed to bits. This is the first proper wild brown trout I’ve ever caught on a nymph in a river.

We try a couple of other spots that scream “nymph me”, but no joy. The great thing is that we’ve only spent a small amount of time in each stretch, and a few olives are now beginning to appear so it looks like some dry fly action could be on the cards.

This little stone-clinger does its best to scuttle up my sleeve

The night before I’d visited Warcop with Lucy and the kids to share with them the spot where I’d landed my first Eden brown, and turned over a few stones to see if I could find some nymphs. Something I’ve never done before, and I’m amazed that every stone is brimming with life and scuttling nymphs. One of which is a stone-clinger, and Matt tells me it’s the nymph of a yellow olive that flutters close by us today. We wade across to stunning glide, and on the way I slip on a rock and I’m shoulder-deep in the drink. Luckily I prop myself up with one arm so water doesn’t slide into my chest waders. I feel like a right clumsy plonker and just hope I haven’t frightened off the rising fish up ahead. Luckily we’re far enough away that my clownish tumble hasn’t put them down.

I stick on a CDC Stackwing Olive Dun, but it’s not cutting the mustard. Matt snaffles a small brown up ahead, but isn’t convinced they’re feeding on olives. We move on to another enchanting run and notice a thin cloud of black gnats hovering above our heads. As we carefully wade up, I slip again and get a second Eden bath of the day. It’s a subtle prat-fall so thankfully the browns remain ignorant of the ham-footed angler approaching them. As I attempt to wring the sleeves of my fleece dry we look at the foam lanes and sure enough there are quite a few black gnats on the water so I switch to a Griffiths Gnat and cast to a regularly rising brown that promptly glucks down my grizzle and peacock construction without hesitation. A short tussle later and I’m holding another beautiful half-pound Eden brown.

Matt generously works hard to spot a better-sized fish that he can put me onto, as he’s keen I experience the pleasure of deceiving and playing a proper Eden brown. He spies one feeding up ahead and can tell from the rise that it’s a good size, probably a couple of pounds. As we wade gently upstream he notices a rise no further than five yards from where we’re standing, just below where he is and parallel with where I’m standing. He reckons it’s a small one but for fun just drifts a dry over it to see what’ll happen. I watch mesmerised as a gorgeous and stout brown glides up to reveal itself before lifting its nose to gobble Matt’s fly. A gentle lift and he’s into a proper fish! It doesn’t matter that it’s his fish, as to witness the deception and Matt’s surprise at both its size, and the fact that it took at all, is a pleasure in itself. We laugh and Matt is almost embarrassed having caught such an ‘easy’ fish, but this is a testament to his modesty as if I’d have been able to deceive it, set the hook and land it as confidently as he does, I’d be grinning ear to ear for hours.

Matt nobbles a cracking brownie over his shoulder

Following our close encounter I get a shot at a few good-sized fish. They’re clearly still feeding on the large fall of black gnats that are filling the foam lanes so the Griffiths Gnat keeps its place. I manage to land a cast to my first aquatic adversary, tricking it, but I lift too soon, pricking it and putting it down for good. In the past I’d have tried it again and again, but Matt wisely tells me we should move on, as when you feel a fish the chances of it coming back for seconds is slim at best. Something I’ve experienced first hand in the past, but have been too stubborn to put one and one together.

As we wade across and up towards and other fine flat stretch of water I extoll the virtues of the studs I’ve added to my wading boots, and explain that despite my earlier slips the addition of these have really helped as my last Eden adventure had resulted in me slipping on every second rock. No sooner have I finished prattling on and I take my biggest tumble of the day, tripping on an undercut boulder that sends me swimming up to my neck. I roll on my back and point my feet down-river (as I’ve read you should do) and quickly find my feet. Matt can’t disguise his amusement any more. I’m soaked through, but am having a great enough time to ignore my soggy undergarments, and get on with the business of pursuing buttery browns.

My next attempt to bag a proper Eden brownie goes pear-shaped, as having deceived it, I recover some slack line and lift my rod high, only to be met with the twang of a break-off. We’ve only got a few more minutes before we have to head back to the car and I’ve got one final shot on another pool where a decent-sized fish rises regularly. Matt sits on the bank watching. No pressure. History repeats itself, with a take and then the brown breaking me off at the fly.

Final cast: I have a pop at good fish, but sadly get broken off

A little despondent I ask Matt if he noticed me doing anything wrong. He kindly tells me he thinks I’ve just been unlucky, but I nudge him for criticism and he shares a great final lesson. He tells me that he thinks I’m so focussed on trying to see my fly (which I am) that I don’t give my line control as much attention (which he’s very right about), meaning that I often have too much slack line between myself and my fly when fishing dry (which I do). This results in me having to recover a bit of slack line and lifting perhaps more sharply than I’m aware of, which could result in too much force when tightening into a fish. I need to stay in better contact with my fly, and that’s certainly something I’m planning to practise on my next outing. I learn I should never need to do more than simply lift my rod steadily and deliberately whilst simultaneously drawing my line with a single smooth pull of my left hand.

There’s a lot to think about and lots to of things to do at the same time, but I’m assured that it does become second nature with enough practise and experience. I’m discovering this as I develop as a fly fisherman, and absolutely love the process of learning and finding myself doing things that I never imagined I’d been able to do a year ago, such as even deceive a few proper Eden browns to take a fly I’d tied myself and to catch a couple of half pounders all in a single day. And what a great day it’s been. I’ve learned so much, I’ve made a great new friend, I’ve caught a few fish and the season is nowhere near over.

* Disclaimer: Any sucking up to my wife in this article is integral to the ongoing wellbeing of the author.

For some bona fide top-drawer insight on fishing northern rivers such as the Eden, and for a jolly good read, visit Matt Eastham’s blog North Country Angler . Matt also took the photo above, which makes me look like I vaguely know what I’m doing. Read Matt’s great write-up of our outing, with an equally great headline, Much ado about gnatting . For chatter and updates on the Eden system I recommend visiting this thread on the Fly Fishing Forums.