After a troubled night, with the noise of more heavy rain drumming on my bivi bag, I awoke to a beautiful sunrise and enjoyed breakfast with the rare feeling of sun on my face. I had an appointment this morning with the guys at the Westcountry Rivers Trust at their office, some 25 miles away, so as tempting as it was to stay, I had to get moving. Today was the reward for yesterday’s grind up onto Dartmoor; a glorious freewheel for almost 10 miles off the moor and down through Tavistock.
Across the River Tamar and into Cornwall I very soon arrived at Stoke Climsland, the home of the WRT, to be met by the Director Dr Dylan Bright, Angling Development Officer Dave Chapman and the rest of the staff. Here, over a very welcome Cornish pasty and a beer, I learnt more about the work of the Trust. I am not going to go into the work that this charity does here, I will post seperately on the subject later, suffice to say they are a key player in much of what has happened to improve the watercourses and fisheries in the Westcountry since it's creation in 1995. Take a look at their website www.wrt.org.uk
Suitably refreshed I pushed pushed on for the finally few miles to the banks of the River Inny, a tributary of the Tamar. As I set up for the final onslaught I talked to the farmer who owns the beat, he told me about the numbers of sea trout and salmon that run the river late summer given a good spate. However, a good spate is something this river had not see for many months. It appears that Sunday's rain fell only on me. I hobbled down the steep valley to find the river running low and gin clear, 'about as low as I can remember seeing it' said the farmer.
I spent a few hours working my way gently upstream fishing the New Zealand rig or single dry flies, casting to free rising brown trout. I had hopes for a grayling today, alas they failed to put in an appearance. It was a fitting end to my 5 rivers adventure, obliging trout, beautiful surroundings and a warm sun on my back. I have no idea how many fish I caught, it's not important, I have no doubt that my reactions were blunted by 5 days of pedalling, but I do know that I savoured every last second on that lovely beat until it was time to wind-up and make my way slowly (very slowly) up the steep hill to my lift home.