The next day I fished a different river. I actually only fished about seventy-five yards of river, such was the quality of fishing. The main pool I fished was alive with rising fish. Most of the rises were small; the position I was standing in below the pool made it extremely difficult to see what was on the surface drifting past, due to the current speed; the river narrows from a smooth surfaced pool twelve yards across to a deep run only two yards wide. I had seen the odd small upwing hatching but I suspected that wasn't what they were rising to.
I went through a plethora of flies ranging from the minuscule to the humongous - in river fly terms - before finally seducing the first trout.
A size twenty sparsely dubbed JT olive proved to be the winning pattern. At the top of the pool some much larger fish were slashing and jumping, I made my up the pool towards them picking off fish as I went. The water clarity was unreal, all the fish I caught were seen and targeted. I had a ratio of 2:1 of fish caught to those put down. At the top of the pool again I found myself having to trawl through my fly boxes finding patterns that would get a response. A Moser balloon caddis caught one of the larger fish but the biggest of the day came to a Mohican mayfly - despite not seeing one all day - there was a larger fish still, but the commotion diminished all chances of hooking it.
I had forgotten the sun cream that day, by the end of the run I was beat and burnt. I still had another hour before I had to leave as I had to pick my daughter up, I left thoroughly satisfied having cracked the fishing.