Small rivers on the edge of the precipice

A 22lb salmon caught on the Avon was the fish of a lifetime but such a catch will never be seen again unless we act fast, says Mike Swan

- Mike Swan

In March 1982 I struck silver. I was the new apprentice game adviser at the GWCT, a little over two months in post. My boss Ian McCall and I had just finished running our eight-day gamekeepers’ training course and we took a day off to go to the local guns and tackle auction. Having bought some bits of fishing gear in the morning, Ian and his friend were anxious to get away and try for a salmon on one of the great middle beats of the Avon. So I volunteered to collect and pay after the auction finished and drop off the gear in the evening.

By late afternoon I was back at the office to sign off some thank-you letters to visiting speakers, but then what? Well, why not lob a Toby Spoon across the office water? I might just get a pike or kelt — a salmon that has already spawned and is drifting back down to the sea — even if the risk of a fresh salmon was remote.

Ian had schooled me in the drill — cast downstream and across, allow the lure to swing gently to your side, then retrieve slowly before taking a long pace downstream to repeat the exercise.

On about the sixth cast, just as I was about to lift off and cast again, there was a boil and a savage pull, with a big silver flash and a faint hint of lilac showing as the fish set off down and across. The reel sang, and I guess it was 70 yards away when it stopped to swing gently across the river to my side. With big obstructions just below me, I could not follow and had no option but to progressively pump it back upstream.