Steffan reflects on a couple of memorable encounters with sea trout – one that got away and the one that did not…

I am using artistic licence and given that both encounters surround sea trout, then my most memorable fish is still the same, just different stories.

I have been besotted with sea trout from my first encounter with them some thirty years ago. I remember the fly (dunkeld) I remember the pool (tail of the Rhydygalfe flats on the River Teifi) and I remember who was there, watching over me. There is something special about a first fish, no matter what the species. However, we then move on to other memorable fish – no matter if they are landed or not, as quite often the take and / or fight make them as memorable (if not more so) than if they were actually landed. That long-lasting intrigue of what monster was lost.

Thankfully (touch wood) I have not lost many big sea trout, none that have left a lasting scar anyway. There was one special fish though, the type of fish that gets you trembling at the knees once hooked and the type of fish that makes you forget everything you learnt about good practice in playing fish.

That one that got away. I remember the rod; an old Fenwick. I remember the fly; a Hugh Falkus Sunk Lure. There was deep pocket just above a bunch of trees. Between me and the pocket was a rock ledge. You would get a short but productive sweep through the pocket before having to strip like mad to miss fouling the ledge.

Peter, my mentor and someone I owe a great deal of gratitude to, was fishing above me in a well-known spot aptly named ‘the stile’ as there was a stile behind the spot that one would often catch as the night drew on and the casting arm got weary. Fish were present and some good ones among them too – there is a large, deep gorge up above that holds a lot of fish and many of these drop back into the main pool as the night progresses.

Peter would leave me a in a safe spot, but a productive one, of course. I kept covering the pocket to no avail. However, fish drop back and new fish move in, so it was sometimes just a case of perseverance.  Soon enough everything went solid. Was it the rock ledge? One way to find out. A firm strike and my line starts fizzing up the pool – I can honestly still remember the sound to this day. The fish ran up to opposite where Peter was fishing and bumped straight into the rock wall. It then turned and headed for Peter, before thinking better of it as the water became shallower. The fish then slowly moved down the middle of the pool, came to rest and the hook pulled out. At the time I was devastated, of course. However, in hindsight it’s just a pleasure to hook and experience such a fish. Definitely a double figure fish, just how big? We will never know.

Sometimes the gods are against you and sometimes the stars align and you get the rub of the green. The one that did not get away…

During my early days of exploring Tierra del Fuego I would spend weeks at a time travelling around and exploring new waters – very much a trout bum. During hosted weeks I would always spend a few extra days at the end with the lodge team just relaxing and sharing some fun time on the river. There was one such day up on Cameron Lodge waters on the Chilean side of the Rio Grande.

It was a bright, sunny and windless day. A good day to have fun with friends, but not the type of day where expectations of a fish are high. Messing around, I decided to just fish with a single hander and small double – a size 12 green butt with a bit of blue added for good measure. I was fishing my favourite pool – ‘Estaca’. Half way down the pool and there was a firm pull on the fly. A lift brought a silver torpedo lunging from the depths. Not only that, but it was big, very big…

I had the utmost confidence in my knots, leader strength etc. so I was confident in landing the fish. Until, that is, my reel fell off…

Now, you would think ‘easy enough, keep calm and reattach the reel’. Oh how I wished it was that simple! The foot of the reel had actually come loose from the reel, which meant there was absolutely no way of reattaching it. So, there I am, rod in one hand, reel in the other, running down the Rio Grand after a very angry 20 lbs + sea trout…

There was nothing anyone could do, it was left to blind luck and trying to get my little legs to match the turn of speed of a big, fresh sea trout.

Carrying the reel became impractical, as I could not strip in the line. As such, the reel was eventually stuffed down my waders and then I just had to hope that I had enough free line handy to equal any run the fish was likely to make.

Trust me when I say, the last thing you want at this stage is for the fish to start furiously talk-walk across the pool…

Eventually the fish tiered and it was played out into the shallows. I don’t bother weighing the fish as the memory is enough of a prize. Needless to say, it is one that I will never forget.

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