Magic in a tiny stream

The first catch is always thrown back and the fish are small by some standards, but little dappled trout are irresistible

- Arthur Oglesby

A light westerly breeze had the daffodils swaying gently. Towering cumulus clouds brought a hint of rain and an alternate mixture of sun and shade. It would be a cool, mean wind at 2,000ft, but down in the sheltered valley of a little treelined Yorkshire beck it would be comparatively tranquil.

The water would be running strong but with the remarkable clarity that only comes after the continued floods of winter have scoured the stones and cleared away the last remnants of rotting autumnal debris. The trout would be lean but hungry and would be on the lookout for any hatch of fly that might come their way.

The aquatic insects would be eagerly awaiting those conditions of water temperature and atmospheric humidity to induce them to emerge to the surface of the water, throw off their nymphal cases and commence that most fascinating stage of their winged life.

It was 10am before I got to the water and already the grass-lined banks were moist from a recent shower. The first buds of spring were tinting the trees with their initial hint of green and the birds had that zest for song so characteristic of an early spring day.

At first glance at the river, it was apparent that the trout were not yet active. The streamy heads of the little runs had a kind of gaiety as they bubbled over the stones into the smooth, gliding tail waters.