Gone in a lifetime

I caught my first salmon back in 1981 a time when salmon seemed to be present in abundance. Forty years later these majestic silver tourists are threatened with extinction.

Vivid memories of bountiful silver

A world of lush green vibrancy

I remember a day in June thirty odd years ago; I pulled into the Fisherman’s car park grabbed my rod, tackle and hastened to the river. It had rained heavily the previous day and I could hear the rivers roar as I descended the steep path. The paths perimeter was decorated with the vivid yellow of wild poppies. Droplets of water glistened all around in a world of lush green vibrancy. A fresh damp aroma filled the morning air, it was so good to be alive.

There were other anglers on the river too; eager to reap nature’s harvest of silver bars fresh from the sea. In those days following a summer spate anglers would travel from far and wide to sample the amazing sport on offer.

*Sharing the triumphs in an angling community*

Days of plenty

The river tumbled over boulders mist and spray rising as shafts of morning sunlight broke through the clouds. The water was the colour of pale ale; perfect for salmon fishing. I do not recall what I actually caught that day but I am sure I took home my permitted brace of salmon during such conditions it was expected. What sticks in my mind was that in the first half an hour I hooked five salmon. The fish were all hooked on worm tactics and all came adrift after a short tussle in the tight pools giving a tantalising glimpse of their silver flanks before winning their freedom. Such drama was not uncommon in those days of plenty.

*A Lyn salmon from Vellacott's Pool in the 1980's*

The fishing commenced at 8:00am and by this time many anglers would be stood poised heron-like beside the river. Keenly trained eyes focusing on the salmon stationed in a familiar holding lie. At 8:00am sharp or a second or two before the lightly weighted worm would drop a couple of feet above the fish to drift tantalisingly towards the salmon. With a fresh run fish, it was not unusual for the salmon’s mouth to open as the fish flexed momentarily in the current. The line would tighten and all hell would break loose as the hooked fish powered off, rod hooped over reel protesting. These battles were generally short frantic affairs with the fish held on a tight line to dart around the confines of the pool. If a fish got the upper hand a treacherous chase would often follow over slippery rocks the river raging past. Sometimes the fish would break free or come adrift leaving the angler a trembling wreck. More often the fish would end up safely within the net.

Vibrant hue of life drained away

I remember clearly that mixture of emotions having caught a salmon. The elation born of success, the beauty of the fish, its silver flanks iridescence radiating that remarkable sheen of life. Then a feeling of guilt and sadness after extinguishing the fish’s life and seeing that vibrant hue of life drain away. Carrying the fish from the river later in the day the satisfaction of fresh salmon cooked with new potatoes and a nub of butter

I also remember walking the river out of season and seeing spawning salmon a plenty cutting redds in the gravels. Sowing seeds for seasons to come and giving hope of more spring and summer days in pursuit of silver.

At the time I guess we all assumed that things would all stay the same and that salmon would ascend our rivers throughout our lives as they had done for many thousands of years.

The East Lyn still tumbles and dashes through wooded valleys to meet the sea. Plenty of wildlife still thrives; the dippers and wagtails still weave and bob across mossy rocks. The grey heron fishes stoically on and brown trout thrive within the clear waters free rising crimson spotted feisty fish that are a delight on the dry fly.

But when I walk the river banks I cannot help but feel sadness at the demise of those magnificent runs of silver salmon and sea trout that were once so abundant. The fishery is now 100% catch and release to try and protect the salmon and sea trout that remain. There are many factors that have contributed to the decline of the salmon in the Lyn and on many other rivers throughout the land. Whilst anglers may have had some impact on stocks this is certainly not a significant factor.

Their demise is surely a symptom of a great tragedy that is unraveling.

The fisherman’s paths are growing over now, many of those familiar lies fading from memory as the brambles and trees reclaim their place. The community of anglers that met upon the river are growing older a generation slipping away with those vivid memories of bountiful silver. The salmon have gallantly fought their way up the Lyn for thousands of years. It is so tragic that their numbers have dwindled so alarmingly in such a short time relative to nature’s longevity. Their demise is surely a symptom of a great tragedy that is unraveling. This generation could be the last to see salmon in many of England’s rivers. After the last angler has cast his line who will care so deeply for the magnificent silver salmon?

The world’s climate crisis and the many issues that we read of in the media often seem remote and difficult to comprehend. Whilst scientists warn of impending disaster’s I find myself baffled by science and confused by the many arguments and contradictions from politicians and colleagues. The decline of salmon and the natural world I see as I fish are all too easy to grasp and from this perception it is perhaps easier to see the bigger picture.