Shooting Times & Country Magazine
If you fix it they will run
Are sea-trout returning to spawn in the Midlands? James Tusting goes in search of a fabled fish
The beautiful River Welland meanders quietly along the bottom of a wide valley, running for long stretches through the Burghley Estate. From its source in the Hothorpe Hills in Northamptonshire, it flows gently for around 100km to the Wash on the east coast. The run varies from slow, deep pools to faster-flowing riffles across gravel beds and all the while, banks are grazed by livestock and the water is often overlooked by willow trees.
It has been a little project of mine since I started working at Burghley a few years ago to explore and fish the entire length of the estate’s river. Many evenings have now been spent searching out fresh pools and hunting for the spots where some of the large brown trout like to lie up. I spent three evenings through the mayfly season this year stalking the same fish in the same pool. Try as I might, it wasn’t interested in anything I had to offer and it beat me on all three occasions.
Run to the river
Just over three years ago, the estate was approached by the Environment Agency about the possibility of them installing a fish pass on the River Welland. Naturally, the estate was keen to help and after a few months of hard work from the Environment Agency, the fish pass was completed just below the village of Barrowden. I was keen to hear and understand more and it turned out that this was part of a much larger project encompassing large stretches of the Welland. A partnership was formed between the Environment Agency, the Welland Rivers Trust, the Wild Trout Trust and the Guash Fishing Club, aiming to restore the sea-trout run to the river and to improve habitats and biodiversity.
In order to re-establish this seatrout run, barriers to fish movement were removed to encourage movement from the sea up the river, to areas suitable for spawning and other stages of the trout’s life cycle. The cynic in me was yet to be convinced about the possibility of a sea-trout run in the Welland; especially around Stamford where the river is so far from the sea.
But, over the course of my exploration of the Welland, I began to hear more and more stories of people catching sea-trout. My friend, Russ, whose garden stretches all the way down to a lovely little run of the Welland, was certain he had caught a sea-trout accidentally whilst fishing for pike at night. Other stories began to emerge, including one fisherman telling me that, although he
couldn’t be sure they were sea-trout, he had caught quite a few “big, silvery trout”.
Rob Mungovan from the Wild
Trout Trust enlightened me further. He explained that whilst they were upbeat about the possibility of seatrout running the Welland, they needed more fishermen to take scale samples from fish they thought might have been to sea, and send them to the Environment Agency to be tested. Far too many sea-trout, he hypothesised, were either being taken home for tea or put back without being recorded.
My telephone call with Rob finally convinced me that it was worth spending a night out on the Welland in search of a sea-trout.
I met up with keen local fisherman Richard Gould on a darkening Thursday evening, and spent a short while scoping the river, looking for what we thought would be a good spot and to learn the terrain before we stepped out into the river in the dark.
I spent a few minutes casting at some rising fish in a pool just where the river Guash flows into the Welland, swapping flies a few times. With no luck I put a damsel fly nymph on and a couple of casts later had a little perch on the line. Even though it was small and not the species I was after, it still gave me that fizzing feeling all the way through the line into my fingertips.
At one end of the weir, a deep pool brings the water almost to a standstill in a back eddy.
Whilst we still had a bit of light, we explored the pool to get our bearings; the last thing I wanted when it got dark was to step out into a deep patch and fill my waders. With our recce complete, we sat on the soggy bank and waited for night to draw in.
Last summer, I fished for sea-trout in Devon and had been given some pointers on the best technique: keep the retrieve at a consistent speed and don’t let the fly stop; vary the speed of retrieve on different casts and put bigger flies on as you get later into the night.
So this is what I tried to do. Without being too ceremonious or precious about the presentation of the line, I flung the fly out across the pool and began the retrieve. Cast after cast went out, changing the angle and working my way down the pool. Once I reached the bottom of the pool, I would carefully pick my way back to the top and start again. Richard, perhaps more sensibly, had decided
“It erupted in the water in front of me, and as it did, all I saw was a flash of silver”
to cast from the bank on the other side and was able to cover a large area without having to worry about the footing.
After an hour I was cold, wet through and pretty disheartened. Maybe I was on a fool’s errand after all. Another few minutes passed and the rain, having soaked through the hood of my coat, was dripping down my neck. All of a sudden, I heard a triumphant yell from the darkness on the other side of the pool.
I quickly wound my line in and raced across the river towards where Richard was fighting his line. The fish erupted from the water in front of me and as it did, all I saw was a flash of silver as the fish caught the ray from a street light some way away. I was excited beyond words – this was it, a sea-trout for sure.
I crossed to the bank and waited in the water with a net for Richard to bring the fish under control and draw it in towards me. As it came closer though, I saw its true guise: a 5lb pike, looking resolutely menacing, slid into the outstretched net. I was heartbroken. For a couple of short minutes I had felt victorious. Now, utterly defeated.
The pike was returned to the water and we discussed what to do next. Part of me wanted to carry on late into the night but a larger part of me had lost confidence. The rain certainly wasn’t helping. In the end we settled on another half an hour fishing another pool slightly farther down the river, before heading home.
Richard and I held a debrief a few days later. We couldn’t help but lament the pouring rain and the way it dampened our spirits, making the whole evening quite an arduous affair. The theory of there being seatrout in the Welland still seems more than plausible.
We agreed to try again, but with a bit more research on some likely spots and techniques. Perseverance will be key. If the thrill of seeing that flash of silver is anything to go by, I think catching a sea-trout would be the pinnacle of my fishing career to date. Better luck next time, as they say.