Getting motivated to fish, then being thwarted by stormy weather, had literally dampened my enthusiasm of late, finding myself with the prospect of a dry afternoon free of chores and no idea where I wanted to go. Standing in my fishing shed hoping for inspiration, my various items of fishing tackle were lined up ahead of me, all needing some sort of preparation, apart from my 7 ft 4WT fly rod. Already made up with my own Black Devil nymph tied on, it stood waiting next to the landing net, my waistcoat and bag hanging on the back of the door. In my mood, it was a no brainer, I was going fly fishing.

In minutes they were in the van and I was heading north to my very urban trout stream, the aim to get there and parked before the schools turned out, then to leave before the evening rush hour got under way. Enroute,  a road traffic accident blocked the road and police were instructing all drivers to turn round, a wide detour eating into fishing time and allowing the car parking spot to be full of waiting mums. I drove on upstream towards an industrial estate, squeezing the van into a gap close to the river, where it runs out between the factories.

Abandoning my waders, I gathered up my gear and walked along the road upstream to the next open stretch, where trout were visibly feeding on nymphs in the clean gravel runs. Beneath a tree, two large fish were actively searching out food items, but I failed to get my offering anywhere near them, finally approaching too close, only to see the 2 lb trout melt back into the leaf shrouded gloom.

Between weed beds a good trout was stationed and I measured out a long cast ahead of it, watching the Black Devil drift by the fish, which turned to chase it, the white lips opening, then closing on the buzzer imitation, setting the hook with a swift lift of the rod. A zig-zagging fight was soon brought under control and the netted fish placed on the bank under the nose of an inquisitive dog, it’s owners unaware that these shallow waters held such trout.

Measured at 13 inches, this wild brownie was soon swimming free and I continued upstream bumping a few more 6 inch trout, the Black Devil working well, the copper rib sinking the nymph quickly, while it was held above the bottom by the line greased to a foot above it.

The next fish took unseen, the line jerking forward, the strike revealing a flash of gold, before the trout dived deep into weed. Slack line fooled the hard fighting brown trout back into the open and an upstream run, that ended back at my feet and the net.

With the Black Devil just holding in the bottom lip, I was lucky to get this fin perfect fish out of the weeds, the fight belying it’s size.

These images bring a picture of a rural idle, but a busy main road runs feet from the bankside and casts have to be timed between passing cars. In this short stretch alone, I landed at least six more small brown trout, while tumbling others, my decision to come proving correct, but with the amount of traffic on the road increasing, I had to call a halt at 5 pm, my last trout being a plump 8 inch fish.