FISHING never seemed like a hobby that I would take to. I had visions of chaps in anoraks sitting under umbrellas, numb with cold, as they wait for something — anything — to happen. Heli-skiing and trying to hone the topspin backhand are much more my idea of fun. But when asked to fish “the junction”, a magic spot in Kelso where the rivers Teviot and Tweed meet, and where the salmon hang about, it seemed churlish to turn it down. After all, “the junction” is, I am told, a legendary place for which certain people happily hand over £18,000 for six rods for a week in high season — which makes it only the second most expensive salmon fishing spot in the world.
Not far away, at Sprouston, weeks in October cost £22,000 for just two rods, and availability is like waiting for “dead men’s shoes”. Sprouston is booked up for years ahead. As Andy Murray, the world-class caster who is to be my maestro, puts it: “There are many more millionaires in the world than there are salmon.” If you are as ignorant as I was, you will need to know that this is fly-fishing, the sport of kings, the sport that Claudius Aelian reported seeing among the Macedonians (very strange he thought them, trying to catch fish with bits of material instead of worms, and one can see his point).
But first, like Richard Hannay setting out on a new mission in The Three Hostages, I needed to pay a visit to Harlows, the fishing-tackle people. At one time, Harlows was a made-up combination of the House of Hardy and Farlows, the two pre-eminent fishing-tackle providers of the day — these days they are both owned by the Miller family and gear made by the House of Hardy can be bought at the Farlows shop at 9 Pall Mall, London SW1. Breathable chest waders with attached built-in wellies (£199), a fly-weight wading jacket (£59.95), thick socks (£11.95), a cap to look the part (£9) — nothing too showy — and we are off to “the junction”.
I am to be shown the rudiments of the roll cast, the exact angle of body to river, arm to body, and the right moment at which to give the all-important flick. It turns out to be extraordinarily absorbing, like trying to perfect a piece of music, except that you are doing it outdoors in a spectacular river, with a greyish sky overhead and green all around.
Then comes the overhead cast, and again timing is all — flicking the rod up, over the head and that vital tap forward. Leave it too late and it is a mess; do it too early and you don’t have as good a line as you would wish.
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Then, finally, the spey cast — a circular movement which is useful where there are trees that might otherwise catch the line, or if there is a strong headwind. If you have watched A River Runs Through It and seen those long, flashing lines being artistically cast across the river, this is not what happens when you are out first time. It may look easy but, let me tell you, it ain’t. That is the lure. When you get the timing right it is the same thrill as when you hit the tennis ball in the sweet spot — you just want to go on doing it.
Did I catch a fish? Don’t be daft. Did it matter? Not a jot. The great thing about fly-fishing is that you are always busy, which is not what I had imagined at all. None of this sitting about getting cold. You have to “work” the river, casting in a geometrical progression (if you can, that is) so that you rhythmically cover the water and move gently up (or is it down?) the whole day long. And rivers are beautiful things. Whether it be the Spey, the Tay, the Tweed or the Teviot, the scenery is often spectacular. “The junction” is not the most beautiful fishing spot — it is too close to Kelso and, while it has ravishing views of Floors Castle, it has less than ravishing views of the road. But the salmon make up for that.
If you want to find out if fly-fishing is for you, the Arundell Arms (01566 784666, www.arundellarms.com) in Lifton, Devon, has 20 miles of fishing rights on the Tamar, two fully qualified instructors-cum-river-keepers, and it runs courses for beginners and experts.
A three-night, two-day weekend with long days on the lake or river, tuition, dinner and breakfast cost £465, while a four-day course costs £705. Farlows will also teach you to cast at Syon House, Highgate Ponds or Wimbledon Common. And it is worth remembering that even my splendid teacher admits that women are, on the whole, better at the sport. “They cast within their range and so often catch the fish that are lurking at the sides of the river while the men are busy trying to outcast each other,” he says. For the record, the biggest salmon caught by rod in Britain was hooked by Georgina Ballantyne, who landed a 64lb salmon on the Tay in 1922. So go for it.
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IT IS odd how tastes change. Here I am longing for a shiny, glitzy watch and it was a mere nanosecond ago that something understated and quietly classic was the watch du jour. Watches all lit up with diamonds, you will remember, were strictly for the wide-boys and a big no-no for anybody with any pretensions to chic or style. Now they are on the most fashionable of wrists.
Even Zenith, that most refined and sedate of horological houses, has sensed the mood and come up with its first diamond-embellished watch. There they are, lots of little diamonds, shining away on the bezel around the big fat face (so very now). It comes with a moiré face, a silver lizard strap and, tucked away inside, the El Primero movement, one of the finest, most accurate in the world.
All this glitz and technology does not come cheap — they are £6,000 a time and are just landing in the shops now. Find them at Watches of Switzerland (020-7493 5916).
Lucia’s last word: Helen Kaminski’s straw hats, £109, from 174 Westbourne Grove, London, are smart as well as chic
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LUCIA VAN DER POST