fishydreams

I wasn’t the first person to notice how good Carmelo is at spotting fish in the river. I imagine that most of his clients point this out to him. Carmelo and I were born within a year of each other and, being of a certain age, we might be expected to struggle somewhat in the eyesight department. This is certainly true for me, but it is not at all true of Carmelo. Few situations reveal deteriorating eyesight as clearly as tying tiny dry flies or attaching them to fine tippet, yet Carmelo can do all of this without the aid of glasses. When we discussed this, he pointed out that his mother, now 103, can still read the newspaper without spectacles. I guess it’s all in the genes.

The river we were fishing was the Pisuerga, which rises in the Cantabrian Mountains not far from Cervera de Pisuerga. Not even knowing its name, I first saw this beautiful river from the train while travelling between Madrid and Santander. For some distance the railway follows the river valley, and often the train and the river run close together. As the Pisuerga weaves through the landscape, it sometimes appears on one side of the train and then on the other, and I found myself moving from window to window trying to keep it in sight. One stop on this line is the city of Valladolid, where the Pisuerga, now broader, slower and more subdued, is within spitting distance of its confluence with the Duero. Yet, when you look into the river close to Cervera de Pisuerga, you see a shallow trout stream, and it seems surreal to think that these waters will eventually leave Spain, pass through Portugal and finally reach the Atlantic Ocean.

The Pisuerga and the other rivers around Palencia are where Carmelo cut his teeth as a fly fisherman many years ago. He was born close to Cervera de Pisuerga and, as we travelled to the river, he pointed out a small stone church and told me that it was where he had been baptised.

A storm was forecast to be heading our way and, over coffee in Bar Sevillano in Cervera, Carmelo suggested that we shouldn’t travel too far because it was difficult to know when it would arrive. In the event, the storm did reach us and the wind picked up, but thankfully we had already enjoyed a fine day’s fishing.

It is unusual for me to fish with a guide like Carmelo and, to be honest, I was a little unsure of the protocol. The last time I had a guided day’s fishing was with my brother Sean, more than twenty years ago. I hoped Carmelo would help me understand how to approach catching trout in rivers like the Pisuerga and others close to our base camp in Reinosa. I also hoped that I could apply what he taught me when I was fishing on my own. In this respect, Carmelo proved to be an excellent teacher as well as a guide. He was kind enough to say that, if I had any questions in the future, I should get in touch and he would be happy to answer them (he may yet regret having said that!).

As the day went on, I began to realise that Carmelo has thought deeply about fly fishing and has asked himself a question that we must all eventually ask: what is the essence of this activity?

His own answer has helped him refine his approach until only the bare essentials remain. He fishes dry flies exclusively. He does not fish nymphs, even though they can be extremely effective. He prefers not to fish during the fading light of the evening, despite the famous “evening rise”. Instead, any drama has to be seen clearly. He targets trout that are actively feeding in the middle of the day, often in bright sunlight, and presents them with tiny imitations of the insects they are already taking.

There are undoubtedly easier ways to catch trout. His approach demands accurate observation, careful presentation and good casting. It strips fly fishing back to its essentials.

So how did the fishing go?

It was a fascinating day and I caught quite a few of the river’s beautiful trout. They rose eagerly to the tiny CDC olives that Carmelo recommended. Time and again he spotted feeding fish that I had completely failed to see and calmly directed me towards them. For every trout I hooked there was another that I missed. Clearly, I need to improve my reaction speed!

The defining moment came with the final trout of the day.

It required an accurate cast so that the fly would drift naturally over a fish lying close to the bank beneath some low branches. When I finally achieved the drift I wanted, the trout took immediately and exploded away. Within seconds the tippet parted, but not before the fish revealed enough of itself to convince me that it would have been my largest trout for many years.

I have to admit that I felt gutted. Opportunities like that are rare, and who knows how long I may have to wait for another? As the trout disappeared, the wind strengthened and the storm clouds gathered overhead. My heart was a little broken then, and it was time to leave.

Carmelo could not have been more patient or encouraging throughout the day. After losing that final fish, I especially appreciated his kindness. He reminded me that there would be other opportunities. After all, we had already succeeded in many of the difficult parts of catching a truly exceptional trout: spotting the fish, finding the right casting angle, presenting a fly that it was willing to take, and placing that fly accurately. The only part that had escaped us was bringing the trout to the net.

I came away with far more than a tally of fish caught. I left with a clearer understanding of what I need to improve, and with many more questions to ask—both of myself and of the trout. I suspect those puzzles will continue to challenge me for as long as I am able to stand in a river.

Perhaps that is the very essence of fly fishing.

If you ever have the opportunity to fish these beautiful waters, I can imagine no one better to guide you than Carmelo. His knowledge of these rivers, his generosity in sharing it and his thoughtful approach to fly fishing made the day memorable in every sense.