I first picked up a fly rod in anger on 1st April 1975. I’d already been fishing for 7 or 8 years by then, but this was a big deal as fly fishing was something I always aspired to. So, today is exactly 50 years to that seminal day….well bugger me!

These were heady days indeed, long before goretex, high modulus carbon, blobs, fluorocarbon, wiggly marabou tails, and much more. A time when waters were stocked only with small trout twice a year rather than monsters twice a week. But were they better times? Were they fuck! We may have fewer waters today (I’m talking specifically about stocked stillwaters here) than during the 80s boom but, mostly, the quality ‘wheat’ has improved and the worst of the ‘chaff’ has gone. We have better gear, better flies and better fish than ever before. Of course, not all is rosy in the garden. High prices, primitive put and take mentality and, frankly, poor average skill levels are all still with us. And because of this, the sport is in decline. Even at 62, I’m often the youngest bloke on the water surrounded by mummified octagenarians in old creaking Barbour coats and pvc thigh boots! Not a young thruster in sight.

But the biggest change I’ve seen in 50 years is in me! I’ve self-analysed three distinct stages in my fly fishing life. So, stage 1. When I started, I could barely afford the price of a day ticket. This meant I developed a ‘must get my money’s worth’ mentality. I became an aggressive cockwomble! Catching a limit was the goal, anything less was a crushing failure. I became super competitive and brutally efficient. I was kitted out with heavy shooting heads, self taught double hauling (at one point I could reach nearly 50 yards) and was fit enough to fish the banks of a reservoir for 10 hour days non stop. In only my second season on Arlington reservoir I made 30 trips and caught 30 limits….crikey, was I the dog’s doodahs, or so I thought!!

Onto stage 2. Gradually, with age came experience, increased maturity and a certain level of fiscal stability. It became more about the quality of the aesthetics. I embraced light tackle, imitative flies and a contemplative outlook. Unfortunately, this went alongside becoming a judgemental cockwomble! I would condemn those who, in my eyes, used inferior and crude methods along with flies of questionable ethics and dodgy casting ability. I was a ‘proper’ fly fisher….I was the best, or so I thought!!

Finally then we have stage 3. Wisdom really does come with age you know. Belatedly, I realised that only 3 things matter when you are fishing. Are you fishing within the rules of the fishery? Are you treating the fish and the environment in a responsible manner? Are you enjoying the experience? Answer ‘yes’ to all 3 and you’re there. That’s where I think I am today. I’ll happily fish anything from the tiniest dry fly to the most dastardly huge streamer, and I’ll enjoy both equally. I fish briefer sessions and take time out to enjoy the scenery, I have evolved and am no longer any kind of cockwomble, at least not when I’m fishing! I have to accept that I’m not as effective today, I can’t cast as far or fish as long as I used to, but that’s OK. Some of that old energy has been replaced with greater guile. I can still cut the mustard when I want to!

Finally then to mark this important milestone, a little gift to mark the occasion. In all my years of fly-tying (also 50 years), I’ve created a fair few deadly flies. In my fish-hungry days, I was a big fan of muddlers. I came up with my own version to more specifically imitate a baitfish. It’s lethal. Strip it, twitch it or just let it drift, it is still probably the most deadly fly I’ve ever designed and, like my fly fishing career, it’s 50 years old this year. I called it the ‘Fred’ as I didn’t want it to be specifically identified in the catch return book at Arlington! I’m now rebranding it the ‘Fred-5-0’ and making it public here for the first time. You’ll find the detailed dressing on the Fishing Tips page. Tie it, fish it, catch with it, and bless me!