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Catching the bus..... but only just

Roger Young has fished Alphonse Island in the Seychelles a number of times, but he recently had an extraordinary experience there:

The giant trevally (GT) grows to be by far the biggest of the several species of trevally that swim in the waters of the Indian Ocean. For some, its scientific name (caranx ignobilis) is a bit of a mouthful and catching a big one has been corrupted to ‘catching the bus’.

Location: St Francois Lagoon, near Alphonse Island in the Amirantes group of islands in the Seychelles, Indian Ocean. End of October.


Dramatis personae: Etienne (guide), Donald (guide), Roger (fisherman), Crawford (boat partner), Dan (guide)

We knew the tides would not be ideal for bonefish that day, although we’d had an enjoyable couple of hours wading across the coral sand flats casting at both singles and groups of 3-4 lb bonefish running off on the falling tide. Earlier, the fish had been eager to take the lightly dressed size 4 Christmas Island specials we were using but as the tide fell further the last few fish were running fast to make the safety of the lagoon and were in no mood to feed. Now it was late morning, sight casting for bonefish was finished, the tide was out, the flats dry, there was no wind and the near equatorial sun was blazing down. With almost nothing to see but lagoon and sky your whole world is coloured different shades of blue. A stunningly beautiful place but it can be a bit bleak for fishing until the tide starts to make again and the bones come back onto the flats.

Donald, our guide, was undeterred and suggested we go cruising along some of the many coral edges looking for GT’s. We agreed and were soon motoring steadily across part of the huge St Francois lagoon. About 100 yards from a long coral finger the revs were cut for a silent approach and we slid quietly towards the edge.

Suddenly Donald hissed at me ‘you, up front, get ready, quick’. I hadn’t seen anything but jumped on to the front of the skiff, unhooked the fly and started stripping line off the reel, a few moments later seeing what Donald had seen 20 yards earlier, a dark male GT of maybe 40lbs swimming steadily a few feet down and a few feet from the coral. ‘Cast, cast’ there was no mistaking the urgency on Donald’s voice (even experienced guides get excited at the sight of a good GT). I cast, but very badly, as the fly landed too short and behind the fish. There was not enough line out to load the 11 wt rod. ‘Cast again, longer, quick, quick’. Some of you may identify with the fumbling semi-panic that hits you when your guide is urging you on, you are trying to rip more line off the reel, keeping your balance on the front of the boat, trying not to stand on the coils of line round your feet, watching the fish swim further away , …………

Anyway, I yanked off a few more yards of line, lifted off, one false cast and plopped the fly back hard about 10 feet from the fish. Two strips of a couple of feet, the GT saw the fly, half-turned and swam towards it. Yes, yes, yes, my very first GT was going to take. Two more short strips, it was 2 or 3 seconds from the fly but it did not take …… because a big silver fish we hadn’t seen rose from the depths, engulfed the fly, turned down and disappeared.

It happened so fast. No more than 5 or 6 seconds from the time of the fly landing to the previously unseen fish disappearing. I lifted the rod (a mistake) and struck. You are told that it’s much better to strip-strike big fish to set the hook, but by then the line was being ripped off the reel so all I could do was to handbrake the spool a bit, hit the fish a couple more times and then tighten the drag. I hadn’t really seen how big this fish was but as I screwed the drag down more and more it seemed make little difference. I believe it was Oscar Wilde who coined the shortest story about catching big fish at about six words ….’ It pulled, but I pulled harder’. This fish however was pulling so much harder than anything I had ever caught before on a fly rod. The first run of a big salmon, the lunges of a double figure sea-trout, the violent run of a good bonefish, these are all memorable, but this was like being connected to a tractor. And sure enough, with backing being pulled off relentlessly against a very heavy drag setting, the bow swung towards the fish and gradually it started to tow us.

Fortunately when I struck into the fish and the rod tip slammed over, the anglers on a nearby skiff saw what was happening and started to take photos. After a couple of minutes with a lot of backing out and more still pouring off the reel, I admitted that this fish was just unstoppable, so Donald started the motor and began a slow follow. A few minutes later, the backing suddenly angled down more steeply into the water – disaster – we were snagged round a coral head many feet down. I was told later that being cut off on coral snags is how a lot of big GT’s are lost. I tried holding the rod vertically downwards and moving it round the snag – no good we were still stuck. Backing was still being pulled off the reel and rubbing round the coral and I was waiting for the sickening feeling of being cut-off when the motor stopped and Donald jumped overboard, fully clothed, boots and all. Within a few seconds he had dived down and freed the line, which jerked straight, again. He surfaced, swam back to the boat, Crawford hauled him aboard, the motor was started and we resumed the slow pursuit.

After that amazing escape I remember thinking how lucky it was that earlier that morning as we were loading the skiffs, Etienne had spotted that the spool on the reel was loose in its cage. Had I not tightened it then it would undoubtedly have dropped out under pressure. Ten minutes or so later into the fight, more drama, as we were snagged again but this time the backing was around a much deeper coral head. Surely this was going to be the end. As I turned in mute plea to Donald he cut the motor and went overboard for the second time, diving down out of sight and several long seconds later resurfacing without success or so I thought. Actually he had freed the backing from the deep coral but now it had wrapped round the pliers on his belt. Crawford reached out to grab him, helped him untangle himself and hauled him aboard again, making the skiff rock suddenly, whereupon I fell backwards. It was chaotic but the line was free and the fish was still on. The brutal press of the GT had not altered and for the next 15 minutes or so Donald skillfully matched the speed of the boat to that of the fish. By pumping and winding, pumping and winding we started to make line back.

We passed very close to another coral head but luckily the fish swam straight on. With my right arm shaking from the strain we saw the near end of the fly line emerging from the water some 30 minutes after it had disappeared. A few minutes after that and you could just make out the grey outline of the fish still swimming directly away from us. It didn’t actually seem that big but then it’s very easy to underestimate the size of fish in the water. Up to now I had been able to hold the rod at a low angle to play the fish off the reel for maximum pressure and how glad I’d been for the Sage’s second fighting grip above the handle.

As we got closer to the fish I had to hold the rod up higher to cushion the fish’s heavy lunges and I was very aware that fly rods are not ideally suited to pumping heavy weights up through the water, but the rod coped brilliantly with this abuse. Nearly 40 minutes had elapsed when the fish at last turned sideways-on and after a few more minutes of slugging it out, turned over on its side. Donald had the big landing net ready when the fish suddenly lunged forwards a few more yards taking it right next to another coral edge – for the first time I was really nervous that I was going to lose it right a the end.

Luckily, Dan, another guide who had been shadowing us (and from whose boat the photos were taken) reacted very quickly, ran his skiff aground, jumped out and ran across the coral pulling on armored gloves. He reached down and at the second attempt grabbed the fish by the tail and beached it. I was aching, shaking and all I could think of to say was ‘waoooooooooooooooow’

After an alarm ridden 40 minute fight it was a beautiful GT – the fish of a lifetime on a 9ft single-handed fly rod. A magnificent, glistening silver female, 129 centimeters for length estimated at 80 lbs landed about 1.5 km from where it was hooked, with the barbless hook in the corner of its mouth at the end of a heavily frayed leader. After measurement and photos the guides took her back to the coral edge where after a few moments recovery she slid quietly away into the waters of the lagoon.

My thanks go to:-

- Etienne Quilindo for his sharp eyes spotting the reel was loose

- Crawford Jamieson for hauling Donald back into the boat twice and for not once saying ‘get a move on’ as I took an hour from his fishing day

- Dan Oas for his lightening quick reactions in spotting the final danger and landing the fish by hand

- Ray Reed for the photographs

- And most particularly Donald Loze. Without his extradordinary guiding and diving skills I would never have caught the fish. It is as much his as mine.

Returning to your roots

Like many fly fishermen I began life as a trout fisherman. It was not until I was ten or so that my family began to dabble with salmon fishing, and not until I started guiding at sixteen did I really find out what I was doing. Through all that time I have always been a trout fisherman whether it be fishing chalkstreams or lakes. Many of the skills I learnt stalking trout on clear flowing waters or hitting rising fish at range on a lake have stood me in good stead and translated easily to saltwater when I started bonefishing 12 years ago.


I recently moved into the Test valley, which has been a life long ambition, so I have moved to the home of fly fishing... to where it all began. These are the rivers that the likes of Halford, Skues, Hills and Barton refined our sport from blowing a live insect on long rods to the modern form of casting a fly and targeting individual fish. For those that have never read their books I would highly recommend it. Not only does it open a window on the history of our sport but also teaches you a huge amount. The advances they made at that time are still current and the amount of scientific detail that they learnt from observation is extraordinary.

Moving down here obviously has its benefits, and during this summer I decided to take my father to fish one of my favourite beats on the river where the Dever meets the Test. I booked this through Howard Taylor at Upstream Dry Fly who has access to a number of fantastic pieces of the Test, Itchen, and other prime chalkstreams in the south.


My father had only ever fished the Test once in his life as most of his chalkstream fishing is confined to Norfolk, so this was a real treat for both of us. We arrived on the beat early so that we could make a day of it, and as we arrived the mist was just clearing off the meadows. The weather over the previous week had been a little tempestuous, but we were relieved to see that the it seemed to be holding. As the two of us tackled up by the car the mist began to evaporate revealing the most stunning clear water of the Dever.

As I used to guide on these rivers a while ago I knew this particular stretch well, and we headed off down the bank eager with anticipation of the day ahead. It seemed like every lie and depression held a good sized brownie, and starting at the bottom we edged our way along hunting.. I small hatch of blue winged olive started, and there, suddenly on the edge of the next bend was the kiss of a rise. My father worked some line off the reel and lengthened his cast before gently dropping the fly on the surface. I watched the fish in the water, the fly was a little wide. The fish twitched as it went past, but did not make the effort to move too far out of its line.

"A little further to the left" I indicated. Again the line sang through the rings and the this time the angle was right. Almost as soon as the imitation CDC olive hit the surface the fish rose to the surface and sucked it down. He struck and the little Thomas & Thomas bucked as the brownie shot down past us. After a few short run he brought it to the net and I quickly released it. A lovely fish of about 2 lbs. We took a few more fish as we moved up the stretch until we came to the confluence of these two rivers.


A fish rose out in the middle of the main Test, quite a long cast up from us. I suggested trying one of Alistair Robjents' daddy long legs patterns that I have always found a killer here. These fish see so many Mayfly patterns they will often hit a terrestrial pattern rapidly. It always amuses me that it works so well, especially as J. Hills describes it as "rather common and not worth imitating". I tied one on and my father had to really punch a long line up into the middle of the stream. As he hauled the line you could almost hear the little 8'6" protesting about the treatment. I have always admired my father's casting as what he lacks in power he makes up for in finesse. I have never been a particularly elegant caster, mostly making up for my bad timing with power, so it is always a pleasure to watch him push his envelope a little. That fly sailed up the river, landing a good twenty to twenty five yards upstream.
A fish of about three pounds came bodily out of the water to try and smack the fly and in his excitement he struck the fly out away from the fish. Cursing. The fish had not been pricked though, so out flew the graceful arc of line again. the fly dropped, drifted for a yard and then disappeared as something large engulfed it. This time dad uttered an expletive as the fish tore line off the reel.... upstream..... The little rod was bent right over in a long curve, the little Hardy reel squealing its protest. I don't think it had ever really been tested like this, and I noticed dad was now palming the rim to prevent over run. there went the backing joint followed by ten yards and then twenty yards of orange backing.
"That is a serious fish dad!" I said as I went for the net. He grimaced as the pressure on that fine tippet began to increase. The line slackened, and I thought the worst had happened... but no, the fish was now heading down stream towards us. We stampeded down the bank trying to stay in touch with it as he reeled frantically. The large trout was now holding in the current above us, almost opposite where we had been standing as he hooked it, and I could clearly see the Robjents' Daddy sitting snug in the scissors. I inched my way down the bank with the net extended, muttering directions to someone who really did not need them. Habit I suppose, but quite annoying, so I quickly shut up. As I sank the net in the water dad began to pump the fish over towards us. To begin with he had very little effect, but slowly the trout began to tire and he moved slowly in my direction. As he moved over the net I raised the edge and he was ours. My father's face split into a huge grin, the pressure now over. I would never have let him forget it if he had lost it! My wife, who had been snapping pictures furiously, caught the moment perfectly. The fish weighed in a 6 1/2 lbs, and is his biggest fish from a chalkstream.

After a fantastic lunch at the Peat Spade Inn, the three of us hooked and released a good number more, especially when the evening rises really kicked off. I think I can say that it was one of the most perfect days I have had on a chalkstream. It is always a pleasure to fish on these historic waters and for me it is just great to be on the river, watching the world go by. My father and I have been fly fishing together since I was about seven. I remember scampering along the bank after him, learning about the creatures and insects that inhabited this environment, how they made up the trout's diet, or having him tie on my flies or untangle my latest mess. It is great to be able to return the favour.

Post Royal County of Berkshire Show, Newbury

The weather gods were shining on us this weekend and we had perfect conditions throughout. Morning mist would clear away as the moisture evaporated in the blazing sunshine. We only had a small stand for Newbury, but Charlotte and I kept busy through the two days and spoke to a good number of people.

What I found most interesting was that most who came to talk to us wanted to chat about the combination trips that we do to such places as Belize, Africa, Seychelles and South America. The combination of equatorial jungle lodges and fantastic fishing operation on the coast seemed to really strike a cord, so I am loking forward to organising some more of these itineraries for couples and famillies. Before any of you are wondering about the state of play after the various hurricanes have moved through the Carribean all the Belize Lodges were untouched.

We were also lucky enough to be located next to Chris Elliott from Animal Artistry, so I am already planning to cover the walls of the office in reproduction casts! Chris' work is outstanding, and I know of him by reputation from a number of clients who have had replicas done by him, so it was a pleasure to meet him face to face.

Again, thank you to those of you that came along to see us, we do enjoy hearing about your adventures and discussing potential plans for the future.

Royal County of Berkshire Show, Newbury

Having just about fought off the jet lag of Canada and caught up in the office we are off to the Royal County of Berkshire show where we will be exhibiting this weekend (20th & 21st September). For any of you who are in the vicinity we would love to see you! Our stand will be on Avenue K, no. 423 which is in the country Area near the Blue Circle gate. We will be on hand as usual to meet people and chat about any trips of interest.

Henry dissappeared off to Ireland immediately on our return and I know he has been smashing bass, for an update please have a look at his blog. I think that many saltwater fishermen's attention will be on our domestic bass in the future, and with this in mind we will be crafting some tailoured itineraries to Ireland next year to hunt bass with Henry. If anyone is interested then please drop me an email.

Charlotte and I are also finalising our autumn newsletter which is packed with new destinations for next season and we are really excited about it. If you are not already registered on our mailing list then you can easily do so from the website.

Miramichi River, Little Southwest River

Our last full day we were once again to fish from Upper Oxbow Lodge with Brett. Brett wanted to take us quite a long way up the river, so we left Country Haven Lodge with Axel bright and early at 0600. Again, after some coffee and much chuntering about Ford trucks we unloaded into Brett's Chevy and headed off. The light was just beginning to make it over the tops of the trees as we drove up the course of the Little Southwest. We left the main track and began to again crash through trees and undergrowth along a forgotten track than eventually popped us out on the banks of one of the most picturesque pools I have ever fished.

The pool is called Clelands, and is one of the most northerly pools on the river before the tributaries such as the North Pole Stream, and although it is a bit of struggle to reach is therefore not fished too much. To arrive on the fishing side we had to wade across the main river, which is a reasonably tough wade. This was made more so as we had to carry Axel's Dog Jake across the river. We took it slowly, crossing as a group before starting fishing on the upper pool. There are some huge boulders strewn along the river, and like the Little Sevogle it has a mountainous surrounding which make it stunning. They also make the topography of the river bed full of large boulders, swirling water and lovely looking lies. Almost as soon as we arrived a couple of fish jumped near the main lie.

Axel and I both fished own the upper pool a couple of times with various patterns, but could not get a touch. Axel took Jake (his dog) and headed down to the lower section to try his luck with a bomber as I fished the upper pool once more with something a little larger. There was a yell from down stream that Axel had rolled a fish on the bomber, and he took up station like a heron in the middle of the river continuing to persevere with various sizes and colours of bomber. Brett took his leave and said he would start lunch up by the truck. He had a real treat for us, a moose fillet which he was going to cook on the BBQ. As the meat sizzled on the open flames the smell wafted down the river and had both Henry and I salivating.

Shaking it off I decided to move down and join Axel on the lower pool with the dry fly. I saw where the large boil ricochet off the boulder and began to surreptitiously plant my green butt bomber along the seam.... The sun split the cloud and as I moved down the seam the sun spilled across it. In that instant the fly disappeared in a boil and I struck. The fish immediately left the water and tail walked across the lie before tearing off down stream. I was fishing with the single hander Miramichi style, so this was interesting! The fish shook its head frantically trying to dislodge the irritation embedded in its jaw. I could see the fly was hooked squarely in the scissors, so for once I had been fast enough on the strike.

Finally after another couple of swirls and a hairy moment by the beach the fish came to hand and I grabbed the wrist and hand tailed it. Not a huge fish, but a very welcome grilse, and a good scrap on a single hander. We got a few photos and then quickly revived the fish in the current before carefully returning him. Nothing gives me more pleasure than watching them swim away, hopefully to go and add to his race. At that moment the car horn sounded and lunch was ready. The smell of moose was too much to take and we all made the wade across the stream.... including Jake.

When we arrived at the truck it was obvious that Brett was a master of the stream side lunch. A table and chairs had been laid out with cutlery, the moose and vegetables were roasting on the BBQ and Brett offered us all cold drinks from the cooler. There is no messing around down here! Now Henry and I have been desperate to taste moose since we were here last year. Moose hunting is strictly controlled, and you can't buy it. You have to either shoot one yourself having had a license in the local lottery, or been given some by someone that has. The meat is much leaner than beef, and we had heard so much about it. Well, we were not disappointed! Utterly delicious.... for those of us who like meat that is.... I was going to need help out of my waders!

After lunch we fished one more pool before heading back to Country Haven for the afternoon session. Jeremy was waiting for us, and after saying goodbye to Axel who was heading home we went off to Brophy's pool on the main river. I know I keep saying this, but this pool was absolutely stunning. The main river splits around an island here, and with the help of a small old style canoe Jeremy punted us across to the island. John and Pat Brophy were brothers who were both guides, and John guided on the Miramichi for over fifty years... yet more history to soak up. As I fished down the pool fish moved here and there betraying their presence, but yet again I failed to tempt a hook up. This was mostly accompanied by comments from Henry about a rubbish fisherman etc... I was kind of used to this by now...

Salmon fishing is salmon fishing, but for me as the sun went down and I threw my last cast hoping to feel that shoulder jarring take I felt like I had really experienced something truly special. The Miramichi has a timeline and history all of its own completely independent of European salmon fishing stigma. Time to head home.....

Miramichi, Cains River and Little Sevogle River

As I have mentioned before the Miramichi system is vast. There are essentially seven primary tributaries, and each one would take you years to learn and understand to the depth that the river guides here do. This is also discounting the Main Southwest Miramichi. On Sunday morning Axel Lerche , one of our partners at Salar Enterprises, arrived early to whisk Henry and I off to the Cains River. The Cains is one of the tributaries that has a reputation for its fall run. The mouth of the Cains is only a 15 minute drive from the lodge and not far from Blackville. A four wheel drive vehicle is absolutely essential as the access us up a logging road that heads of 70 Kilometres into the Bush.

With Axel at the wheel we arrived in short order at Valentine Pool, and understood why everyone in New Brunswick drives around in a huge truck! The Cains is a beautiful little river, much smaller and more intimate than the main river and very much reminded me of many Scottish rivers I have fished in the past. The water is darker and more tea coloured than the main river, and this has made the strain of salmon originating here darker in appearance than those of other tributaries. The weather was not great, and constant rain made fishing a little tough. After the heat we had experienced over the days before though it was a little bit of a relief to be able to wear a wading jacket.

I started in at the head of the pool with a large orange bomber, and within four casts a sprightly cock fish rolled up and took it like a trout in a chalkstream.... I am really getting into this dry fly fishing for salmon, it is just awesome! He scrapped about a bit, but I subdued him with the 8 weight fairly quickly. He did make it into the backing though with his first run, and pulled hard. We fished another couple of pools on the Cains, rolled a few fish and saw more, but neither Axel and I managed to hook another. The problem with dry fly fishing is you have to be very quick on the strike, and as the line moves across the current sometimes this is not possible.

After lunch at the lodge the rain eased off and we drove the 30 minutes from Country Haven Lodge to the Upper Oxbow Lodge on the Little Southwest River. We stopped briefly at George's Tackle shop, which is a little bit of Miramichi history. George used to tie flies for Ted Williams, and he still runs his shop out of a shed. As he is now over 80 it was great to chat to him. What a character, and boy did he have some stories!

On arrival at Upper Oxbow we met Debbie and Dale Norton the owners, and Brett Silliker the head guide. Upper Oxbow is another fabulous lodge over looking the Little Southwest River. It has some wonderful rustic log cabins, but also a fabulous modern lodge complete with hotel style rooms, downstairs pool room and bar and a beautiful pool right in front of the lodge. From the lodge they access mostly the Little South West River and also the Sevogle Rivers. It was here that Brett planned to take us.

After a few derogatory comments about Axel's Ford truck we piled into Brett's Chevy Suburban and headed off into the woods along the logging trails. After beating our way through some thick undergrowth and on roads that only a truck like Brett's could get to (and obviously not Axel's Ford!) we arrived on the banks of the Little Sevogle. This river could not be further in character from the Main Southwest Miramichi. It is much smaller, easily fished with a single hander and runs through some staggering scenery and gorges. The first thing we did was peer off the edge of the cliff into the water and spot the salmon lying below. Always encouraging to see the fish before you start!

I clambered down the rocks and fished my way through the canyon, but could not make one of these fish move on Bomber, Green Machine and eventually a riffled hitch tube fly. Some time I hate salmon... Axel did roll another on a bomber a little above, but also failed to connect... tough day in the office. What an incredible place to fish though!