16 Jan 2026

Winter Grayling

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Mid-January, a steely cold grey morning with rain pattering on the car windscreen as I navigate the winding road across the winter landscape of Exmoor. My destination is the River Haddeo a tributary of the Upper Exe just over the Somerset border.

I call into Lance Nicholson’s Fishing & Guns in Dulverton to renew my Dulverton Angling Association membership which at £35.00 is excellent value giving access to several beats on the Rivers Exe, Barle and Haddeo. Whilst brown trout are the predominant species there is also a population of grayling.

The Dulverton Angling Association AGM will take place on Thursday 12th February at 7pm, Anchor Inn Exebridge.

Our speaker is Pete Tyjas, whose new job is as editor of Trout & Salmon magazine.

Grayling are not native to Exmoor but have thrived since their introduction into the Exe in around 1896. These delightful silver ladies of the stream offer an excuse to visit the river in the depths of winter when the valleys have a certain atmosphere that contrasts with the vibrancy of Spring and summer.

After catching up on the latest river news with James in the shop I grab an apple and pork sausage roll from the Exmoor Deli and head to the Pixton Estate.

Frank McBratney a long time DAA member and Haddeo regular reflects on his experience below :-

“Fishing the Haddeo makes a lovely half-day or more in quiet moorland farming country, for it is private water, hidden from tourists and dog-walkers. It is often feasible to fish the Haddeo when there is too much water running off the moor, and the Little Exe and the Barle are in spate. The Haddeo usually fines down sooner than its sister streams after a storm. This is because floodwater from the upper part of the river is impounded and normally held up by the dam, and the lower part drains only its own small valley.  The converse of this is that the water level of the Haddeo can sometimes be lower than is natural, because of the dam. It is therefore not the best of streams to fish in a long, dry spell. However, there is a river-conservation agreement for “compensation water” to be released from the dam from time to time, and this invigorates the river and improves the fishing when it happens – not only in the Haddeo but all the way downstream through the Little Exe and into the Exe itself. 

I park up the car, make a fresh brew of coffee and bite into the hot sausage roll. Pheasants strut about eyeing up the visitor to the estate. In just a couple of weeks the shooting season will be over and the valley will descend into a peaceful lull before Spring. Though I’m sure there will be plenty of work clearing fallen trees and clearing up extensive winter storm damage.

I thread the line through the rings and tie on a couple of tungsten nymphs with which to search the river. I have chosen to fish the Haddeo in preference to the Exe as I suspect recent rain will impact upon the main river more than the Haddeo that is to some extent buffered by Wimbleball Reservoir.

This is my third visit to the Haddeo in search of grayling and is becoming a regular feature in my winter fishing diary. The river valley has its own charm and character offering a less formidable experience than that of the main river.

I negotiate the entrance to the beat wading under the stone bridge to enter a sanctuary from the modern world. The river is slightly up with a tinge of colour that will I hope make my presence less obvious to the grayling I seek.

Having fished the river before I know where to concentrate my efforts and start my search using tight line nymphing tactics. The river twists and turns with ancient fallen trees providing intriguing entrances to the riverside.

My initial probing of the water proves fruitless but as I work upstream my confidence increases and I settle into a rhythm of dibbling the nymphs to search the river. I have the heaviest nymph on a dropper with a light pattern with a flash of pink on the point. This ensures that both trip along close to the bottom where I anticipate the grayling will be lying.

Its starting to rain heavily as I approach a pleasing looking glide that speaks of fish as I read the water. The drift commences the bright leader tightens and a silver grayling gyrates in the water as the rod flexes. My prize slides over the waiting net and I admire her bright beauty that contrasts with the grey winter day. I take a quick picture before slipping her back into her watery home; and away as they say on ‘Gone Fishing’.

I hook another grayling on my next cast a bit bigger but it slips the hook after a few seconds. I’m not too bothered by this loss as I have caught my target fish and anymore will be a bonus.

I amble on up river content in success. Towards the top of the beat is a run in which I have caught grayling on each of my previous visits and I flick my offering with joyous optimism. The line tightens but it‘s an out of season brown trout that darts around the pool, flanks of warm olives and golds decorated with crimson spots. I slip the barbless hook free with the trout in the water and hope to catch it again on a warm summer evening.

I slowly work my way back down the beat searching the favourite lies again without connecting. Snowdrops are starting to emerge from the cold soil their white flowers offering promise of spring. A wren flits between tangles of bramble. A pheasants cry drifts through the afternoon valley and the sun is starting to show behind a thin veil of cloud. Wisps of smoke drift from country cottage chimneys.

I wade back under the old stone road bridge and stroll back to the car where I finish off a Luke warm coffee and cold sausage roll that I left unfinished in my eagerness to embrace the waters edge. As I un tackle I congratulate myself on returning at the days end with the same two flies. As despite one or two tangles I have denied the trees and river snags any offerings; a rare accomplishment for this at times inexpert dangler.

I drive home passing through Dulverton, resisting the strong temptation to peruse the second hand fishing books that are always waiting on the bookshelves within Rothwell & Dunworth.

   (Below) Winterstorms have left their mark. at the waters edge.

It is a often a dilemma as to clear or leave as woody debris can provide valuable benefits to fish and fauna.

20 Feb 2025

Grayling in a timeless Valley

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Trout Fishing for Beginners – with Directions for Dressing Flies for Trout and Grayling and useful Recipes

By Devonshire Fisherman ( Rev A Hughes)

The month of January is, unfortunately for the fisherman Artic in its conditions to tempt him to leave the fireside and pursue the gentle art: but February though it has well-earned itself the cognomen of “fill Dyke.” Is not always a wet month. There are many of its twenty eight days which possess a charm as fascinating to the piscator as the more genial breath of spring: when the fish are alert, and rise to the fly with exceptional readiness.

            “About the year 1896 grayling  were first introduced into the River Exe”. Five hundred yearlings.

Trout Fishing for beginners published in 1926 tells of the River Exe and its grayling.

The River Haddeo joins the River Exe a couple of miles downstream of Dulverton and has a character all of its own. This is probably in partly due to the influence of Wimbleball reservoir that has impacted upon flows reducing flooding as the dam takes the sting out of any heavy rainfall events.

            The Dulverton AA beat runs for about a mile upstream of the junction with the Exe and has a wealth of interesting features to explore. Grayling are a fish I have a fondness for part in due to the fact that they give an excuse to fish the river during the winter months when the landscape has a unique and beguiling atmosphere.

            I waded beneath the old stone bridge that carries the A396 to enter the peaceful Haddeo valley. Working upstream the left of the River consists of woodland and pheasant pens used by the local shoot. High above on the hill are the remains of Bury Castle believed to have been built by William de Say before his death in 1144. A google search for William de say brings little reward so the history just adds a bit of mystery to the valley. To the right is farmland with sheep grazing and young lambs already in evidence.

            The river is running clear and at a good height as I start to explore its pools and runs with a pair of heavy nymphs. Evidence of winter storms are all about with plenty of fallen trees and woody debris some of which will add to the rivers health and biodiversity even if it renders a few swims unfishable in the short term.

            I fished this beat in January of 2024 over twelve months previous so I already have an inkling on the best areas for grayling. It is remarkable how the river often seems devoid of fish during the winter months. During the late spring and summer wild brown trout are abundant darting for cover in the clear waters and rising for flies. I catch a couple of out of season browns during the day but I often wonder where the majority retreat to in winter.

            It’s an overcast misty day, cock pheasants, survivors of the shooting season strut arrogantly on the far bank eyeing me with suspicion. Snow drops add a welcome brightness to the gloomy day and foretell of the Spring days to come. A shallow pool is full of frogspawn a sight I have relished since a young boy fascinated with ponds and the life within.

            It is a joy to work my way slowly upriver allowing the nymphs to trundle close to the river bed. I watch the bright tip of my nymphing line intently lifting the rod each time it pauses feeling for a fish. After half an hour or so in a small pool I lift the rod and feel that wonderful life throbbing at the end of the line. The 3 weight rod bends pleasingly as I glimpse the silver flanks of a grayling its crimson sail like dorsal fin adding momentum as it holds in the fast flow. A pleasing fish of perhaps 8oz is soon safely in the net and slipped carefully back into the river.

 

            Catching that first fish of the day always brings a certain contentment for whilst it doesn’t really matter in the grand scheme of things it does bring satisfaction for when asked later about the day you can at least report upon a degree of success.

            I fish on upriver and eventually come to a deep lie from which I extracted a grayling on my visit last year. To some extent success always encourages that little extra perseverance next time you fish.  A fact that often leads to the belief that you have located a hotspot when you may perhaps have just had an extra drift or two because you believe. Anyway the line twitch’s just where I expect it to and the second grayling of the day is soon netted.

            A few yards upriver there is a tempting deep looking pit where I prospect carefully. The line again pulls tight and there is another pleasing tussle with a lovely plump grayling of 12oz or more. Whilst these Devon grayling seldom reach the weights of their fellows in Dorset or Hampshire they can only be judged on the rivers they dwell in and on light tackle they offer superb and challenging sport.

            Before starting to work my way back down river I pause to savour the scene. Country cottages across the valley woodsmoke drifting into the still cool air. An ancient oak tree stands beside the river its immense worn and weathered trunk testament to its age. It is fascinating to ponder for a moment or two on the history of this tree and what has transpired through its long life. Generations of anglers have fished this stream. Children from the village have undoubtedly caught trout here in days gone by drifting worms perhaps ignored and tolerated by the river keeper of the day. Poachers would undoubtedly have taken salmon from these waters during the late autumn and winter. Both types of poacher are seldom seen these days for children sadly seem to have lost the freedom and inclination to connect with rivers whilst the salmon are no longer there to poach in any number.

            These observations only relate to the past fifty or so years. The old oak could be four hundred years or more old dating from before the Industrial revolution and witness to the many wars and tribulations of mankind. I guess the reassuring ever rolling stream and majestic oak bring a certain grounding to ones soul as we fish these pleasing rivers of life. In his new book due to be released this spring Robert MacFarlane askes the question. “ Is a River alive?” .

https://www.sevenfables.co.uk/product-page/book-is-a-river-alive-robert-macfarlane-1

            Standing within these cool, enchanting waters the answer is surely yes and that its  life is long, unlike our own lives in the words of the rock group Jethro Tull,

“Life’s a long songBut the tune ends too soon for us all”.

I retrace my steps back down river as the afternoon light begins to slowly fade. Ancient trees towering in the misty landscape. I look forward to returning in a month or so when those crimson spotted brown trout will rise, spring flowers will decorate the river bank and birdsong will reverberate through this peaceful timeless valley.

 

20 Jan 2024

A Meandering Winter Stream

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       I joined Dulverton Anglers Association in 2023 intending to explore the waters of the Exe and Barle that wind their way through the wooded valleys around Dulverton. As is often the case ambitions are not always met and I failed to make a single trip to their waters in 2023. We do however visit Dulverton on a regular basis and generally call into Lance Nicholson’s Tackle and Gun Shop to talk of the river or buy a few flies.

       Having already sorted my 2024 subscription I was determined to start exploring their waters and pledged to pursue the grayling of the Exe and its tributaries as soon as conditions allowed.

       Grayling are true fish of the winter months and give a great excuse to visit the water. The South West is not known for its prolific grayling fishing with just a handful of rivers supporting stocks of these enigmatic fish often referred to as the ladies of the stream.

       The grayling of these Exmoor streams have been lingering in my mind for many years. Several decades ago, my wife and I attended a fishing event at the Carnarvon Arms. The Carnarvon Arms was a renowned Country Hotel that hosted many visiting anglers and country sports enthusiasts. A stand at the event was hosted by an elderly gentlemen who talked of grayling enthusiastically and fondly. Sadly, the Carnarvon Arms has now been converted into flats its legacy now just a distant and fading memory.

       Fortunately, time has been kind to these rivers and whilst the salmon are in steep decline there is an everlasting and deep character that still flows. Negley Farson waxed lyrical about the Exmoor waters in his classic tome ‘ Going Fishing’.

“ I think the best thing to call it is a certain quiet decency. This almost unchanging English scene, with its red and green rolling hills, holds a romance that wild rocks, and wild flowers, or snow capped volcanoes could never give you. It has a gentleness, a rich rustic worth, and an unostentatiousness that is like the English character. An imperturbable      scene which fills you with contentment.”

       These streams are still inspiring authors to this day with Michelle Werrett’s latest book ‘ Song Of The Streams’, maintaining a rich literary vein that links the past to the present.

       It was -5 degrees when I left home to drive across Exmoor. There was no hurry as I left home at around 9:30 hoping that the worst of the ice would have melted. The sun was well up in the sky as I drove across Winsford Hill yet the road glistened with white frost.

       I arrived at Dulverton at around 10:30 and called into Lance Nicholson’s to get detailed instruction where to park to access my chosen beat on the River Haddeo. I purchased a hot pasty in Tantivy’s; a shop and café that I assume gained its name from the late Captain Tantivy an old English squire who rode with the hunt as mentioned in Farson’s “Gone Fishing’.

       At the fishing hut I assembled my tackle whilst munching on a Cornish pasty and hot sweet coffee from my flask. I set off to the river unsure of the route to take. The Haddeo starts its journey high on the Brendon Hills its route punctuated by Wimbleball Reservoir that has become a mecca for Stillwater trout fishers.

       The beat I was to fish runs through a Private Country estate and walking across the frosty field to the water I heard the volleys of shots from the shoot. The convoy of guns vehicles were parked up in the field across the valley. The pickers and their dogs worked away further up the valley and a team of beaters were undoubtedly working the woods and cover beyond.

       The river was running fairly low and clear. I descended into the cold water carefully negotiating the barbed wire that will rip waders whatever the price tag!

       And so, the search began with two gold headed nymphs carefully flicked into the rushing stream. It is a delight to explore a new water especially if it is wild and characterful as this beat is.

       As I waded upstream a gamekeeper attired in traditional  tweeds wandered across the field and made a friendly enquiry as to my success. I explained that it was my first visit to the water and that I hoped to catch a grayling. I don’t know if he was a fisher but he gave me encouragement telling me that there were some lovely looking pools up through the river valley.

       I waded on clambering through the arch made by an ivy clad fallen tree. Icicles gripped the branches as they caressed the clear and icy water.

 

       The river tumbled over a stony bed meandering through the valley. The signs of pheasant rearing were all around and I caught the occasional whiff of cordite from the shoot drifting in the cold frosty air.

       I carefully made my way upriver searching each likely looking pool methodically. I was using a long rod adopting Euro Nymphing tactics. I focused intently upon the bright orange leader as it entered the water tightening the line each time it twitched as the flies bounced the rocky riverbed.

       Luck was certainly on my side for the flies came free each time they snagged the bottom. And even the trees failed to rob me of the expensive nymphs that were tied to gossamer thin 3.5 b.s fluorocarbon that tested my ability to focus through lens of recently prescribed varifocals.

       As I wandered the river bank I observed the occasional wren flitting through the branches and the ever present red breasted robin.

       A buzzard mewed above the trees and cock pheasants strutted arrogantly in the frosty fields safe for a few days now  and with just a week of the shooting season left likely to survive into the warmer days of Spring.

       I peered into the flowing water hoping to glimpse my quarry but the river seemed devoid of fish. I knew that grayling were present yet connection seemed less probable as the number of fruitless casts mounted.

       I flicked my flies into another likely spot struggling to see the leader as strong sunshine shone into my face. I perceived the pausing of the line and lifted the rod to feel the magical and delightful pulse of life. The grayling gyrated strongly in the water and I took a step downstream releasing the net from my back in anticipation. The prize was just a few  inches from the nets frame when the hook hold gave, the silver fish disappearing back into the clear tumbling water.

       Would this be my only chance? Grayling are shoal fish so I figured that there could be more in this small pool. I retraced my steps dropping the flies into the pool again. After a couple of casts, the line tightened and after a short tussle I netted a grayling of perhaps 8oz.

       I admired silver flanks and crimson dorsal fin, grabbing its portrait before letting it flip away into its home water.

       I fished on contentedly a blank averted and confidence restored so that I fished with belief and conviction. Covering some promising lie’s, I strolled until I came close to the top of the beat.

Woodsmoke drifted up from the chimneys of cottages across the valley. I savoured the rural scene as I worked my way back downstream revisiting promising pools. In a deep slowly moving pool the leader stabbed down and once again I connected to another grayling. This one was bigger than the first a fish of perhaps 12oz that was once again admired before slipping back into the Haddeo.

       As the sun began to sink lower into the sky I fished on down with no further action. I reached the bottom of the beat and clambered over a style that allowed access to the river beside an old stone bridge. I descended into the river and waded beneath the old bridge contemplating the cars above racing around the troubled modern world.

       I arrived back at the car poured hot coffee from my flask and reflected upon another perfect day beside a meandering stream.