The editor’s cast
As weather patterns shift across the world, fly-fishers must rethink their habits, writes Andrew Flitcroft
MY WIFE is loving this summer sunshine. The Patterdale isn’t, nor am I. The last thing a 14-year-old pooch and a salmon- and trout-obsessed fly-fisherman need is a prolonged heatwave, right?
I needn’t tell you we’re living through a climate crisis. We see it every day on our news channels: North America, Canada and Europe all suffering from extreme drought, devastating wildfires and record-breaking temperatures.
As I write this, some rivers in the trout-fishing heartland of Yellowstone National Park have, quite rightly, been closed, including the Madison, while fishing on many others is prohibited between 2pm and sunrise the next day to protect stressed fish. My local trout stream has been closed too, although that’s hardly an issue when hatches are suppressed and the trout are lying doggo in the shade.
It may seem insensitive to focus on the effects of climate change on our fish and fisheries when so much human and environmental suffering is unfolding around the world. But this is a fishing magazine, after all, and the consequences of our increasingly extreme weather are fundamentally changing how, when and where we feed our obsession.
We can no longer expect the fish to fit around our schedules; we must fit around theirs
Wherever you live in the Northern Hemisphere, there is little denying that temperatures once associated with the Mediterranean or the southernmost states of North America are creeping ever further north. This gradual shift is already reshaping ecosystems and having a profound impact on species that evolved in what were once reliably temperate climates.
Atlantic salmon are perhaps one of the most obvious casualties, with our southernmost stocks already under severe pressure. It is no coincidence that the further north you travel, the cooler the water becomes and the healthier the populations tend to be. Salmon are cold-blooded, after all, and their fortunes rise and fall with water temperature.
But what of our humble trout? Unlike salmon, few have the option of migrating to cooler seas before returning to spawn. Instead, they must endure increasingly warm, low rivers and lakes, simply doing their best to survive conditions that are becoming more hostile.
In England we have always had the dog days of July and August, when trout stop feeding as water temperatures reach around 20 deg C. The difference now is that these hot spells are lasting longer, arriving more frequently and pushing fish beyond their comfort zone for extended periods. As anglers, we must rethink our strategy. We can no longer expect the fish to fit around our schedules; we must fit around theirs. In truth, that has always been the approach of a successful fisher, but the window of opportunity now feels much narrower.
A stunning, early-morning Lough Corrib caenis-feeder.
Snatched from the darkness: a 12lb Welsh sea-trout.
My trips to fish the June caenis hatch — the infamous “angler’s curse” — on Lough Corrib in Ireland taught me that trout feed when it suits them, not us. There was a time when many anglers believed that, once the mayfly hatch had finished, Corrib’s trout stopped rising during the day and switched almost exclusively to feeding on perch fry in the depths. How wrong we were.
In the cool first light, before the cuckoo announces another dawn, Corrib can be alive with trout gorging on caenis in the surface. You’ll need flat calm conditions, 7X tippet and size 20 flies to fool them, but they can weigh 5lb or more. It is frustrating, exhilarating and utterly addictive.
If you are lucky — and just a little cunning — the caenis sport can last beyond breakfast. You’ll pass anglers arriving just as you’re heading back in. You’ll then enjoy a leisurely brunch before attempting an afternoon nap, though in truth you’ll be reliving every missed fish and every refusal in your mind. Then, despite your best intentions, you’ll set the alarm and do it all again the following morning.
So trout can, to a degree, adapt to changing temperatures. But can we? Will fisheries — particularly stocked waters — begin opening earlier and closing during the hottest part of the day? Will they reopen in the evening? Will the traditional nine-to-five working-day of the gillie become a thing of the past? And what of our fishing seasons? In the UK, the wild trout season usually runs from mid-March to the end of September, leaving little room for prolonged closures if today's weather patterns become tomorrow's norm.
Then there are those magical, dark, humid July and August nights spent chasing sea-trout. If increasingly warm water and prolonged drought were to silence those nights, that heart-stopping wrench on the line in the small hours could become nothing more than a memory. That would be a genuine tragedy.
I sincerely hope I am wrong. I hope the past couple of summers prove to be nothing more than an anomaly, that the evening rise returns with a vengeance, and that our trout once again grow fat in cool, well-oxygenated rivers. Anglers know better than most that one good, wet summer can quickly erase memories of the hard times.
Wherever you are in the world, I wish you woolly-jumper weather, cool rivers, and plenty of water.
