Catching it, cooking it and eating it.

www.adventureflyfishinguk.co.uk

Hi All,
I have managed to escape to the Welsh Mountains for a few days. I try and get up there every year, generally on my own or with Loops the spaniel, this time however we were able to synchronise diaries to such an extent that my better half - Debs was able to come along. Now, those of you that read these blogs know that I like to travel deep in to the areas I explore, carrying everything I need with me, limiting the creature comforts I can pack. That doesn't really do it for Debs:

Adventure Fly Fishing UK does Glamping! Note the Scooby doo pillow in the tent...

It is fair to say that Debs is at most an 'occasional angler' but she holds dear very similar values to me - fishing in beautiful, natural environments and respect for the quarry. And so I am able to occasionally tempt her to come fishing with me with the promise of a great location and a fishy meal at the end of it. 

Fantastic location sorted, now where are the fish?

The fishing was slow, a bright day with a strong gusty wind, didn't help but I enticed plenty of splashes, swirls and tweaks and perhaps half a dozen small brownies to dries and then pulled wet flies. Debs plied her flies unmolested by such things for much of the day. Pressure mounted as we headed towards the close of the day with the prospect of nothing to add to our camping rations. A reversion to 'shock and awe tactics' by Debs, the most ridiculous, large and fluffy creation to be found in the deepest recesses of my fly box (she had long since exhausted all of the options from her boxes) and of course - instant success:

The smile of somebody that is not going to go hungry tonight

This was swiftly followed by another fish and a better one.

This fish was 'crunchy' to the touch. I have felt this many times before where trout (it seems in my experience to be mainly lake brown trout) have been gorging on snails and when you hold the fish you feel and hear the shells rubbing together. On this occasion though it was tiny clams, not something I have seen before:

Making the decision to kill fish is something I don't take lightly, I feel that when I kill one I accept the responsibility to respect the fish by creating from it a special meal. By 'special' I don't necessarily mean cordon bleu or something intricate from the final of masterchef, I mean one that is savoured by friends and family. In this case with fish in top condition and as fresh as it is possible to be the recipe was simple and stunningly tasty:

Salt, pepper and olive oil. Can you guess which one I caught?