Meet the new boss

Followers of fly fishing periodicals will know that Fly Culture is no more, ceasing publication late last year. The editor, Pete Tyjas, was offered the editorship of Trout & Salmon when Andrew Flitcroft retired. Apparently a dream job for him, FC had to go. The new editor has made some changes to the format although these are relatively minor. Early editions under the Tyjas editorship flagged ‘new writers’ on the front page — new, that is, to T&S but typically those who used to write for FC, most of whom are guides. In the last issue I’ve seen (July), the majority of article authors are either guides or part of the T&S team. An old stalwart, Paul Proctor, regularly dispenses advice to the great river of incompetent anglers out there. Apparently ‘smoke literally pours from our ears’ when we get to the river, such is our fevered intellectual activity. Must remember to check my rear-view mirror next trip.

Pete has often presented his environmental credentials, though as I’ve observed before, he is not entirely consistent. In the July editorial he says he stops fishing when the water gets too warm on the grounds of fish welfare. A commendable attitude but at odds with his enthusiasm for faraway fishing trips. He gives space to an article on one of these by Brett O’Connor. Apart from being a fishing guide (with regulation beard), he used to help out with Fly Culture, but the day job is ‘executive creative director’ — i.e. highly paid ad-man. I point out the pay bit because that’s how he can afford all the foreign fishing trips he mentions in passing. The article in question is all about a doozy of a holiday, as the Americans might say (appropriate as the package is offered by an American holiday company).

Argentina is a long way, at least 14 hours to Buenos Aires sardined inside an aircraft with a head rest in your face. Mind you, Brett could probably afford corporate class. Cost is around $11,000 a bit over £8,000. That doesn’t include flights or overnight accommodation on the way there. Five days fishing for over ten grand and sharing a room with a stranger, probably an overweight American who snores like a warthog? Er . . . Then think of the flight’s CO2 emissions, something like a quarter of the average UK resident’s annual carbon expenditure. In case anyone’s forgotten, those emissions are the reason Pete and the rest of us have to curtail summer fishing. And all for a modest chance of catching an outsize chinook salmon, itself a foreign transplant to the region.

That’s the price, monetary and environmental, so what about the article? Well for a creative executive it’s not very creative. Patagonia is from writings and TV programmes a remarkable place. Yet O’Connor struggles to convey any of the scenery he fishes in, resorting to ‘breathtaking in its beauty’, ‘almost overwhelming’ — too overwhelming it seems to avoid ad-man’s copy. Glaciers are all around with ‘icebergs freshly carved [sic] from ancient glaciers’. One imagines a giant Gaucho riding into the mountains with a chisel. He means ‘calved’. Naturally he makes no mention of the reasons for all this calving, the fast-melting ancient glaciers caused by global warming. Pained fishing tackle is a staple of the fishing article and Brett spares us none of the suffering. When he latches on to a monster his ‘reel erupted’. Incidentally, in a précised version on the Orvis website, his reel ‘exploded’. I’d ask for my money back if I were him.

So it goes on, ending with the netting of an unfeasibly large fish, a kind of frankensalmon. On the web piece he calls it an Atlantic chinook. I thought that chinooks are Pacific salmon, but then I realised that these introduced fish now swim a river that empties into the Atlantic Ocean. So the fish-moving meddlers have created an Atlantic Pacific salmon.

I suppose the article is no worse than the usual fare that Trout & Salmon or other magazines dish up. But I have to wonder whether Brett O’Connor, while he’s flogging stuff to the consumer, or planning his next round-the-globe holiday in pursuit of an introduced fish that takes very many hours and very much money to catch, gives any regard to the real cost to our fishing, the planet and all its living inhabitants, most of whom have never heard of a king salmon. And I wonder whether Pete Tyjas has any sense of the contradiction between lamenting environmental decline and publishing articles on his mates’ activities that are helping to bring this about.

Follow @secretangler

Fishwatching amidst the bedlam

Another spring bank holiday, this time with amber heat warnings and a threat of record temperatures at levels once rarely seen in this country even in August. The kind of weather in which you want to sit quietly beneath the shade of a tree. Instead most people, especially the petrolheads, prefer to burn fuel on the roads, sports cars and convoys of helmets creating a deafening roar, and not only on the main routes. I’ve written before how the narrow byways of the Lake District and Yorkshire Dales are turned into homages to the internal combustion engine and illegal exhausts. Riverbanks are no sanctuary either. Blokes in shapeless shorts and printed T-shirts waddle along with little dogs, the aptly name shih tszus (correct spelling shitsu) and cockerpoounderyourshoes, yappy untrained pooches that jump up at you when not pissing on the pavements or crapping on the wild verges.

Where can the angler yearning for the peace of the waterside go? Not to the beach. The waters of the English Channel are usually too clear for daytime fishing. Besides, they are crowded with those who do love to be beside the seaside and give beach casters little room to swing a five-ounce lead. Then there are the floating versions of motorbikes, the jetskis ridden by tattooed lobsters with shaven heads, ignoring the local beach bylaws and boosting the skin cancer figures.

The coarse angler can seek out the deep gravel pits where the tench can seek out the cool depths. With a bit of luck there will be a tree to fish under. But even then you may not get a bite till evening brings some relief from the heat.

The fly fisherman has few options. There are the big reservoirs if you like that sort of thing but rivers are hot work and the trout don’t like warming water. At this rate the southern streams will be too warm to fish before we get to summer proper. Too many reaches now attract bathers and paddleboarders, rock-throwers and flea-treated dog washers, whether they’re allowed or not. No place for the delicate art of the dry fly.

Instead of fishing I went to watch fish from the footbridge over my local river. I spotted a pair of trout holding in the current, moving to the side every so often, sometimes coming to the surface. I can happily watch fish for ages. In this weather it seems the right thing to do to leave them alone. We all need a bit of peace.

Follow @secretangler

Design a site like this with WordPress.com
Get started