One of my favourite reference books, The Urban Dictionary, finds entomology rather dull and swotty. It comes close to apologising for any guilty pleasure that might be found in creepy crawlies. The entry reads: “Entomology – Noun – The scientific word for the study of insects. It’s bug research pretty much. I enjoy studying entomology. Really.”
This, by the profane standards of the Urban Dictionary, is remarkably demure language (if you don’t know the Urban Dictionary, look it up online – it’s fun, for a while). If I were a swotty entomologist I would expect the Dictionary to be obscenely hostile. But all is not what it seems. Entomologists have hidden qualities.
If you do a little digital digging, you’ll find that amidst the Dictionary’s aggressive smut, the swots and entomologists are an unexpectedly feisty bunch who give as good as they get.
For example, here are a couple of the Dictionary’s more printable definitions of “swot”. The first, appropriately, is written by a swot and it’s a zinger:
1) “Swot – noun – A word used by morons to insult a person of superior academic abilities. Morons believe being called a swot is a horrible, undesirable humiliation for the victim. Well, the morons can fuck-off now!”
The morons’ counter-view lacks flair and basic literacy, as our swot would have told us (if only we’d asked):
2) “Swot – noun – A swot is a person who excels in a subject or lesson, who never gets anythink wrong and is teachers pet.”
Although I rarely did well in exams and was teacher’s pet hate, I like the first definition. I’m sure you’ll agree that a swotty entomologist of the kind who tells the dullards to F-off sounds like good company. And I especially like the added emphasis of the Now! An extra flourish added just in case the first 2 words weren’t enough.
So, game on: Saturday night’s alright for fighting – and I’m with the entomologist. BUT, and it’s a big one, fists and fishing don’t always mix well on the bank. So what are these swotty, foul-mouthed fly fetishists for when we’re out there casting a line?
I’m going to declare an interest here. As an intellectually indolent teenager with a serious fly-fishing habit, I didn’t have much truck with entomology.
Instead, all my effort went into dropping a dry fly of indeterminant type on the nose of a rising trout that I could see. Presentation was everything and entomology was for grown-ups. Nothing much has changed since.
So as you can see, an entomologist might be someone I’d rather rub shoulders with after fishing. Why would I want to be on the bank with a new partner who calls me a moron and tells me to F-off just because my philistine ineptitude is a denial of their faith (and everything)? However, I think I will have to swallow my pride …. while I still won’t pay any attention to fly catalogues, I’m fascinated by entomologists and would like to go fishing with one. Really – and regularly.
Back in the day, my fantasy choice of fishing partner would have been Hunter S Thompson, author of the lost masterpiece Fear and Loathing on a Trout Stream (a frantic tale of sex, drugs and the evening rise). Thompson was a roiling bundle of provocation, and so is our entomologist. Like Thompson, he or she is happy to say F-off to anyone found to be insufferable. In Thompson’s case that was almost everyone he met, especially if the resulting brouhaha made good copy. I like to think my new entomologist friend could do this too, but more selectively. And, fingers crossed, that this would happen with less reliance on the fabulous intake of drink and drugs that kept Thompson in fighting shape. I’m getting a bit long in the tooth to go the full Hunter-S, so absent the great man himself, the entomologist sounds promising.
This is important because every-so-often life washes up people who deserve to be told to F-off now, and I’ll admit I’m not very good at confrontation. So hanging out with an attack entomologist might be useful. Not only can my new friend speak ill unto evil but, most importantly of all, he or she also knows exactly to whom and why it needs saying. And that is why entomology really, really matters. Even to a slouch like me.
It also means that I can be sure that if the entomologist really does do a Thompson and gets us into a fight, then it will be with someone who deserves the beating. And I’m hoping the entomologist will be better with their fists than me, because we’ll be in trouble if they’re not.
But there’s more to entomologists than bare-knuckle jeopardy. They’re a clever and well-educated bunch of people, usually with some paperwork to prove it. So, if you want to know about the impacts of sewage, climate change, industry or farming on a river, just ask an entomologist. And if you also want hard evidence to save your river from any of this, then you know who to turn to. I cannot stress enough how important, how essential and wonderful even the foulest-mouthed entomologists are. We should all honk-for-entomology. I want to see Hug-an-Entomologist t-shirts and Fuck-off Now! coffee mugs (this last item for Christmas presents please).
So forget matching the hatch – I’m never going to do it. But I will dabble in citizen science and count insects to give our pugnacious entomologist the data needed to take down polluters. And if that’s what entomology is for, and it sure looks like it is, then I’m a fan.
I’m also a fan because this is about more than science. Language matters and in this case it’s direct and Anglo-Saxon, the building blocks of good writing. So the Urban Dictionary is right: The morons who wreck rivers really do need to ‘F-off Now’, and they have to do it before it’s too late.
Until about 20 years ago river water quality in my part of the world, Britain and Ireland, was fitfully improving. Now we have a rolling ecological disaster and it’s getting worse. Much worse.
This isn’t a problem peculiar to a small part of North-West Europe. It’s happening just about everywhere people go fishing. So whether it’s raw sewage or farm slurry or some stinking factory or the over-heating redds that my new friend the entomologist identifies as the wrecking ball, then I’m with them on the barricades, bandana askew, Che t-shirt rescued from the attic and two fingers aloft.
They can all Fuck-off Now!
The River Bray flowed through the heart of a peaceful valley in early May with new born lambs frolicking on the riverside fields with bluebells and wild garlic abundant. As I drove to the river I tuned into Radio 4 with commentary of the Coronation of King Charles taking place in London. The pageantry and splendour was described in great detail and I was content that my wife Pauline would be relishing the spectacle in front of the TV at home.
The call of the river is strong and after several fruitless visits to the Lower rivers searching for silver I relished a sortie with lighter tackle in search of wild browns.
I parked the car and pulled on my waders, heading to the river with my 3 weight Snowbee https://www.snowbee.co.uk/fly-fishing/rods/snowbee-classic-fly-rod-3-4-4-piece-7.html
I tied a big bushy dry fly to a short dropper https://www.nigelnunnflies.com beneath this on the tip I tied a small copper John nymph.
The river had a tinge of colour following heavy overnight rain and I hoped this would make the fish a little less easily spooked as the river here is often crystal clear with the trout scattering in all directions as a clumsy angler like myself approaches the water.
I flicked the duo of flies into the streamy water. The dry fly bobbed under on the second drift and a tiny brown trout was swung from the water. I admired its beauty and shook it from the tiny barbless hook into the water without touching it.
I was soon totally absorbed in the tranquillity of the river valley totally focussed on the dry fly as it drifted down after each searching upstream cast.
I came to a deep pool and carefully flicked out the flies whilst knelt behind a tree stump. Moments after the flies alighted a good sized trout appeared from the deep water to seize the dry fly. I lifted the rod and made contact with the trout that took off downstream with power that surprised me. It soon became apparent that the fish was hooked in the tail. I had missed the fish as it took the dry, foul hooking it in the tail with the nymph. So, this fish really didn’t count despite it going for the fly and giving a great scrap in the fast water.
I waded on up river searching likely runs and tempting a couple of tiny trout with one or two other better fish throwing the hook.
A tumbling trout stream in late Spring is a pure delight as bird song reverberates all around and the lush green of spring abounds.
I prefer to search the faster deeper runs at the heads of the pools and it was here that I found the better trout. The dry fly disappearing as a fish intercepted the tiny nymph below.
The rod took on a healthy curve and the trout erupted from the river gyrating airborne above the water in one of those moments that are etched in the minds eye forever. I admired the pristine wild brown that was close to 12” before releasing it back into its home.
Fifty yards or so further up river I added another beautiful trout to the mornings tally its bejewelled flanks far superior to any created for his majesties far away in London.
I returned home in time to watch the Royal event culminate in the traditional gathering upon the balcony. As I watched the thousands cheer in celebration I reflected upon the jewels I had witnessed that morning beside a tumbling stream in the heart of a peaceful valley.
Later in the day we headed to Lynmouth to watch the Coronation Day parade of boats. Shanty singers, boats and flares brought cheer and smiles.
At the top of the tide huge numbers of mullet could be seen their sides flashing as they browsed on the rocks as mullet do. With big mullet abundant I couldn’t resist returning the following evening to find lots of tiny mullet and an absence of bigger fish. Every tide is different I guess and mullet always appear as if they would be easy to catch when you have left the rod at home.
As another Bank Holiday approaches and many head to supermarkets to prepare for the celebrations a timely reminder of the campaign to cease the disasterous farming of salmon at sea.
The 1st day of May heralds the opening of a glorious season for anglers, a time when an all-rounder like myself is torn as to where to cast next. With the countryside and nature bursting into life it is certainly a great time to be at the water’s edge.
On Mondays I fish a middle Torridge beat and with the river at perfect height and colour salmon were the intended target. I tied on a pleasing brightly coloured salmon fly that I felt confidence in and fished through all the known lies methodically. With conditions perfect there was that essential degree of expectation.
The line tightened a couple of times as wild browns intercepted the fly as it swam across the river. Beautiful spotted fish that I will target later when the river drops further making the pursuit of salmon even less hopeful.
I savoured the abundance of wild flowers on the river bank. Each year when I walk the beat rod in hand I witness these wonders of natures cycle.
Old rails assist the angler to climb from the water and I cannot help but mourn the loss of abundance within the river. The decline of salmon is surely a wake up that all is not well within our natural world?
Years ago, previous generations fished this river and on good days a horse and cart would transport the salmon caught from the river. The ghillies of the day would apparently limit the anglers to 3 salmon of between 15lb and 20lb as they couldn’t carry them up the hills! The taking of these fish would have impacted upon the salmon populations as would the netting in the estuary. This was not however the main reason for the salmons decline. Today there are multiple issues impacting upon the salmon mostly symptoms of a sick planet that has been plunged into an eco-logical downturn by mankind’s growth and greed over recent centuries. Sadly, our generation has witnessed one of the greatest collapses in the natural world. Is there hope? We can try and raise awareness but I fear the general populace cares little for the arteries of the land. Read the latest political agendas from councillors; how many have the health of the countryside at the top of the agenda?
On a positive note, there have been a couple of fresh run spring salmon caught on the lower Taw.
Gary Pearson was the worthy winner of Torridge Fly Fishing Clubs annual competition at their home venue he banked several trout using dry fly tactics.
(Below) Maurice Jones wins the Tom Bellew cup for heaviest fish . He also got a gift voucher kindly donated by Summerlands of Westward Ho!
My experience at Bratton Water has often been that several trout are tempted early on but wise up quickly when several anglers are fishing. The water was crystal clear with tadpoles abundant in the margins. I set up with a team of small buzzers and nymphs and commenced searching the water in the first available swim.
The occasional trout could be glimpsed cruising and a couple of trout followed the fly turning away at the last moment. I caught two small rudd and missed a couple of trout.
When fishing a small water like Bratton it is easy to keep an eye on other anglers and it was apparent that no one was connecting. When a swim became available in the middle spit on the lake I made a move. On the first cast I hooked a trout that shook the hook free. Several trout could be seen cruising a couple of feet below the calm surface. A good pair of polaroid’s prove an essential aid on small waters with clear water. Observing the trout’s behaviour will so often give a clue as to tactics.
I decided on a change of tactics. I tied a small gold head PTN onto the point a diawl bach on a dropper and a bright yellow Klinkhammer on the top dropper. The buoyant Klinkhammer acted as an indicator. I cast the flies into an area in which several trout were circling and fished virtually static. Withing seconds of settling the Klinkhammer darted under and I lifted into a hard fighting rainbow. The same tactics brought two more trout within ten minutes completing my bag limit for the morning.
I chatted with fellow club members noting that the trout were now starting to move about slurping down the occasional fly from the surface. Several anglers’ lines tightened around the lake and it seemed that the trout had switched on. I wasn’t sure whether I had found the right tactics or whether the trout had simply switched on. All part of this fascinating game.
I first visited Anglers Paradise over thirty years ago and at the time it was all very new and I wasn’t too impressed with the rather stark collection of large ponds and lakes. At the time I frowned upon the extensive commercialism that was creeping into angling.
Today when I visit Anglers Paradise I rejoice in the amazing transformation of the complex nestled deep within the heart of Devon the thirty plus lakes have matured along with the extensive woodland and wetlands that now provides a diverse habitat abounding with wildlife and fauna.
At the heart of the complex is of course Anglers Paradise the vision of the colourful character Zyg Gregorek. The luxury holiday destination for thousands of happy families over recent decades and famous for its wealth of fishing opportunities.
On this occasion I was visiting the Nirvana Trout lake with Snowbee Ambassador Jeff Pierce. Recent reports had hinted at some rather special trout residing in this 2-acre lake including specimen tiger, rainbow, blue, brown, golden trout and artic char. The lake is strictly catch and release with unhooking matts and rubber nets mandatory along with barbless hooks, single fly and minimum line of 10lb b.s.
We met up in the lakes car park at 9:30am and looked out to the lake across the grass meadow that was punctuated with hundreds of pale pink cuckoo flowers commonly known as lady’s smock. Wispy white clouds drifted high in the bright blue sky and bird song resonated all around. I passed Jeff a fresh jam doughnut and poured a coffee. A days fishing ahead life doesn’t get much better than this!
We both set up with light 6 -wt rods with floating lines and walked confidently to the lake. The water was crystal clear with tadpoles swimming in abundance along the margins.
We started fishing on the near bank both of us opting for damsel nymphs. After just a few minutes Jeff called out with his rod well bent and a good trout darting to and fro in the middle of the lake. I rushed over and did the honours with the net, thrilled to share in the moment. A fine tiger trout of close to 3lb was a great start to the day.
We fished on for half an hour but Jeff and I both eyed up the far bank where several fish broke the surface on a regular basis. The water was deeper on this bank. On just the second cast Jeff was again in action his rod hooped over and his reel singing as line was ripped from the spool at an alarming rate. Several anxious moments followed as the fish headed for the concrete overspill monk. Pressure from the rod soon told and a fine rainbow that must have been close to 6lb graced the net.
Being catch and release we had both elected to leave the scales at home and not give the fish a number. A quick release of the trout with an absolute minimum time out of the water is essential to maintain these valuable pristine stock fish.
The day progressed beneath the bright blue spring sky. Swallows swooped over the water and an early brood of mallards navigated the lake. The harsh strum of a woodpecker came from the nearby wood. We both fished hard and I glimpsed a couple of fish close to my flies but nothing actually connected.
The bright sunshine and light easterly breeze gave us an excuse for a slow day. Large numbers of hawthorn flies were blown onto the water and we assumed it was these that the fish were occasionally slurping down from the surface.
The morning drifted past all too soon and I suggested we head back to the cars where I fried up some sausages that were devoured with fresh rolls and ketchup. This wasn’t a healthy eating day!
With the fishing proving hard we discussed tactics and I elected to set up a second rod with a sinking line. I tied on one of Jeffs bead headed damsels and returned to the deeper side of the lake. We both searched the water and I eventually made brief contact with a powerful fish that threw the hook. After six hours without a touch my confidence was given a boost. Jeff had a good take from a fish that he glimpsed in the clear water before it too threw the hook.
It was now late afternoon and the prospect of a blank was starting to loom. I hooked another trout that again came off after a few seconds. Surely persistence would pay off? With very few fish now rising I was convinced that my best chance was to persist with the tactics of a deep damsel.
Suddenly a savage pull came through the line and I lifted the rod to feel a heavy fish pulsing deep down in the clear water. The loose line was quickly stripped through the rod rings and I let the fish run as I carefully applied pressure. After several tense minutes the fish was holding deep beneath the rod tip. I put the rod into a deep curve and we both peered into the dark water for that first glimpse. Jeff exclaimed “wow what a fish !” as the flanks of a large tiger trout appeared. I patiently applied pressure guiding the magnificent fish over the nets rim.
The barbless hook fell easily from its jaws and we admired the fish in the net before lifting it from the water for a quick grip and grin before slipping it carefully back and watching it swim away strongly with a flick of its broad tail.
I could have packed up then but I wanted to savour the moment and after all perhaps the fish had just come on the feed? Five minutes later my line once again zipped tight and another hard fighting tiger was secured and briefly admired.
At two all it seemed a good time to pack away for the day. Memories made and plans made for a return visit to Paradise next spring.
Prior to that I have a trip in search of the catfish of Eldorado during the summer.