Listen up folks, the Morayshire grapevine’s rattling and the chat’s all about a new killer fly.

Valiantly casting aside my fair weather fishing principles in order to give you loyal readers first dibs, I donned the thermals and bombed up the A9 to find out more.

For the Cronart is a fly inspired, conceived and tested on the majestic River Findhorn.

And it’s the endearing story of two chaps, two Davids, whose paths fortuitously crossed.

David one climbing down to fish the Findhorn

David One is a local gent and Findhorn veteran.  David Two is an accomplished fisher who recently upped sticks from Lancashire to the Highlands.

Quickly bonding over their mutual passion, they pooled their resources: David One’s intimate, almost scientific, knowledge of this spectacular river carving its way through rocky gorges, and David Two’s fly tying mastery.

Fuelled by local malts, it took many an evening and several prototypes before they reached their Eureka moment.

And I don’t use the E word lightly either. Between them, they caught a whopping 64 Findhorn salmon on this remarkable fly last season.

The Cronart tied on bottle tubes

The original idea was based on the need to achieve depth quickly in the narrow, bottomless gorgy pools. With a very respectful nod to both the Willie Gun and Alastair, it’s tied on a heavy bottle depth to give it this rapid ‘sinkability’.

The tying is designed to give consistent body and shape to what is effectively a shrimp pattern. Furthermore, it’s dressed according to the month, sporting light summer attire and a heavier early season look.

Stunning as the Findhorn’s craggy landscape is, the novelty soon wears off after your fly has distintegrated having clattered off another solid rock face.  So the Cronart has been designed as the Land Rover equivalent: a robust fly that takes the rough with the smooth and ploughs on in all conditions; a real discovery, if you like.

Your intrepid correspondent, unaccustomed to wintry March conditions, was forgiven a blank few hours by his hosts. Too early, too low and too cold.

David two casting below

Should I ever be asked back in more temperate climes, there’ll be no excuses, I’m sure.

They say the female of the species is more deadly than the male, but when it comes to killer flies, I reckon the duo of Davids has got it nailed.

At the moment they’re tying for friends only, but ask them nicely at info@cronart.me and you might just get lucky.

Until next time…….

Will

P.S. Join Greig & Stan on Hooked UK for some opening day antics at Lake of Menteith

I like a man who uses pseudonyms. It suggests there’s more to him than meets the eye. Especially one who sparks off perhaps the bitterest dispute in fly fishing history.

George Edward Mackenzie Skues didn’t hold back, that’s for sure. When contributing to the sporting press he wrote under an eclectic array of names including: A Butt, Current Colonel, Simplex Munidishes, Spent Naturalist, W.A.G and Unspoiled Child. Marvellous.

GEM Skues, the second in our occasional series of legends, joins Hugh Falkus as one of the finest fly fishers and writers of the twentieth century.

Skues on his beloved Itchen

Born 1858 in Newfoundland, Skues was shipped over to his Aberdeen grandparents aged just three. It was whilst at Winchester College that his zeal for fishing came alive. With four and half miles double bank of the famed River Itchen, the Hampshire college has inspired many a fisherman (my octogenarian father-in-law included).

As the Oxford University Press chronicles: “Skues’s place as one of the greats in fly-fishing history centres on his discovery that trout in chalk streams feed largely on nymphs, even during hatches, and not on the adult, emerged flies. His dressings of artificial nymphs specifically to represent larvae were new and radical.”

He began exploring his theory on the Itchen, after noticing that trout weren’t taking the floating natural fly. These discoveries culminated in the publication of his first book, Minor Tactics of the Chalk Stream (1910).

The River Itchen at Abbots Worthy

This forward-thinking approach directly challenged the dry fly wisdom of Frederic Halford (pseudonym Detached Badger), the oracle of the day.

The Halfordian school claimed that upstream nymphing, although effective, was unethical and bad for the chalk streams, and in 1938 the ‘nymph-debate’ was staged at the Flyfishers’ Club of London. Skues valiantly fought his corner but with Halford’s dry fly doctrine reaching cultish levels, the club found against the new fangled nymphs.

The disillusioned Skues, at the age of eighty, published a final defence with his 1939 book Nymph Fishing for Chalk Stream Trout. Simultaneously, with his modernist thinking putting syndicate noses out of joint, he despondently switched his allegiances to the local River Nadder.

Dr Andrew Herd, the eminent British fly fishing historian, describes Skue’s impact on the sport: “He was, without any doubt, one of the greatest trout fishermen that ever lived. His achievement was the invention of fly fishing with the nymph, a discovery that put a full stop to half a century of stagnation in wet fly fishing for trout, and formed the bedrock for modern sunk fly fishing.”

The man himself, a forward thinker of his day.

Skues died aged 90 and his ashes were scattered on the banks of his beloved Itchen by his old friend William Mullins, the long-serving head keeper of the syndicate.

A modest and humorous man, he subsequently had the last laugh as his nymph techniques were widely adopted by trout fishers both sides of the Atlantic.

Skues even has his own Facebook appreciation page, click here to show your own appreciation.

With the Tay experiencing record spring catches, join Greig next time for some Tay talk.

And yes, before you ask,Will Holt is my real name.

Until next time….

Will

P.S. For this of you who have not seen our Hooked UK series, here is the link to the latest show from the River Helmsdale in Scotland where Greig discusses spring tactics and Ron Sutherland ties the Super Snaelda.

The sharp ones amongst you will have worked out that Greig, and esteemed guest bloggers, are the real deal: fanatics of the fly and sages of the salmon. You’ll also have noticed that I rarely talk about my own catches (ahem, funny that) but am happy to prattle on aimlessly about a myriad of subjects tenuously related to our fine sport. A bluffer blogger, if you like.

With that in mind, may I quickly introduce Hugh Edward Lance Falkus, as the first of an occasional, sideways glance at fly fishing legends.  Not that he needs any introduction, thanks to his 1984 book Salmon Fishing which has become a bible for a generation of anglers.

When it came to writing, the man was a fanatic, sitting up half the night, fuelled by huge slugs of whisky. He was zealous to the cause, always observing, never missing the minutiae.

As his Sunday Times obituary in 1996 noted: “Falkus went at life full-tilt. He caught his first fish when he was 4, learnt to shoot when he was 6 and was an expert helmsman at 15. By 18 he had learnt to fly, by 19 he was married and by 20 he was a pilot in the RAF.”

Hugh Falkus with Niko Tingerben. Image courtesy of Larry Shaffer/Chris Newton

The thrice-married gent was a renown author, naturalist, helmsman, marksman, actor, film-maker and TV presenter. Not only is the seminal Salmon Fishing still in print, but with his first volume Sea Trout Fishing (1962), he virtually invented the modern sport of fly-fishing for sea trout at night.

Oh, and he was a champion advocate of the Spey cast, refining techniques with carbon fibre rods and aerodynamic lines, whilst running his legendary courses.

On top of this all, his war exploits are totally Boy’s Own stuff: “One night he was scrambled to intercept enemy bombers and managed to shoot down two and damage a third before running out of fuel over France. He was taken by the Germans, who surmised that he must be a spy because of his kenspeckle dress . . . pyjamas under his flying suit. He was interrogated, beaten, and taken out to be shot.”

“As the firing squad raised their rifles, Falkus turned his back on them in a gesture of defiance and concentrated his attention on a trout rising in a nearby stream. The expected shots never rang out as, at the last moment, an English educated Wehrmacht major-general drove up and took Falkus away. He spent the evening drinking champagne with his saviour, but the following day was taken to a prison camp.”

The man himself working in his study. Image courtesy of BBC History.

“He suffered the horrors of four years in camps in France, Germany, and Poland but always there was his characteristic flash of spirit. He caught and cooked the camp Commandant’s favourite cat and added further insult by making himself a pair of cat-skin mitts. Naturally, he was in solitary confinement for much of his time, but when he mixed with his fellow prisoners, he worked tirelessly on methods of escape, including the famous Wooden Horse tunnel.”

Did the man ever have a stop-button? Let’s raise a glass of his favoured Scottish nectar (Speyside malt, anybody?) to the elder statesman of fly fishing experts. Times and techniques have moved on, but his presence is still felt by many an enthusiast the world over.

Tight Lines wherever you may be Hugh!

PS.  Hmmm, my riverbank inadequacies aren’t helped either by his mantra: “Whatever species you’re fishing for, the angler who cannot speycast can never realise his full potential.”  Where are you Hugh, when I need you?

Until next time,

Tight lines,

Will

P.S. For those of you who have not seen our 25 minute opening day feature on the Dee, here is the link below. If you like what you see then please subscribe to our channel. Hope you enjoy.

This post is a toast to our four legged friends. Fishing with dogs, whether bank or boat, has been a lifelong pleasure for me.

On the rare occasion I connect with something, they’re equally cock-a-hoop, and when I’m busy de-fankling or retrieving flies from a bush, they look on with resigned bemusement. Thank heavens the pooches can’t talk.

I always smile when I see a well-trained dog on the bank, following their master downstream.  You can almost smell the anticipation, the dog pricking its ears at a rise willing the fish to take.

And to be quite frank, a dog is a finer companion than one or two fishers I’ve encountered over the years; patient, hardy and not prone to bragging.

Nuka, my faithful old hound, is a veteran of many an outing. Sometimes shivering, eternally patient, she’s always been a wonderful buddy.

The ever hopeful Nuka surveys the scene (C’mon, c’mon, he must get one next cast)

There’s been the odd blip though.  As a puppy years ago, I took her on the early morning shift on the Oykel. With little sleep to my name, and after an hour or so breathing Macallan fumes on the water, the previous night’s excesses eventually took a hold, and I retreated to a particularly appealing mossy mound for 40 winks.

Drifting in and out of slumber, I heard a curious crunching sound, but thought little of it.  Big mistake.  I woke to find that Nuka had been breakfasting on the tip of my brand spanking new Bruce and Walker Norway rod.  The air was blue for quite some time, trust me.

Bizarrely, when I took the remnants into Nick at Gamefish in Edinburgh on my return, there was a fella there with a broken rod recounting how he’d just caught a bat.

And then there’s the late, great Dougster.  He belonged to an old pal Ed, our host on the Shin for many a year.

Wonderful dog, but when a salmon was on the line, he was in the water, barking and biting.  Anything for a sushi fix.

After the Oykel chewing incident, I was in a huff most of the day, until I hit a purple patch landing three splendid silver bars in sixty minutes in the evening light.

Dougster guarding the Falls of Shin

That’s as good as it’s ever been for me. Must be a moral in there somewhere.

Next time our trout man Stan Headley shares a few words on the leviathans that lurk in our waters, plus an interesting invite to join us catch them!

Until next time,

Will