As we gear up for exciting new fishing adventures in 2025, we invited members of the Farlows team to reflect on 2024 and share the standout fishing moment that made their year truly unforgettable.
TOM CLINTON, RETAIL MANAGER
In August I set out on something of an adventure with my better half, to a remote archipelago in the Arctic Circle called Svalbard. Governed by Norway and mostly known for its vast reserves of high-purity coal, this amalgamation of islands hosts a population of around 2500 humans and over 3000 polar bears. Of course, as a passionate angler I thought there must be something I could chase on the fly so in the weeks running up to our departure I set about researching every option I had to try to catch something while visiting. The only visible and easy option was to book onto one of the tourist charters to go deep-sea jigging for cod but, as a fly addict, I wanted something else.
Were there some arctic char? Yes, but only found in more remote lakes to which it would require a boat to travel. Perhaps some wayward sea trout or salmon along the coast? Not a single positive response from any of the companies to which I reached out (including the governor’s office!). Almost unanimously, the response was “you must be crazy, we don't fish here for fun, we fish here for food.”
As an eternal optimist, this didn't dissuade me, so I packed my trusty 10' 7wt Sage Method with an assortment of reels and lines and figured I would ask some locals when I got there. The main issue I identified was polar bear protection. It is strongly advised that, as a visitor to the Svalbard, when leaving the town limits of Longyearbyen, one is accompanied by an armed guide. Indeed, on several of the official nature hikes that we took, the guides were sporting all manner of rifles from modern, polymer stocked .308’s all the way back to original Mausers! This might pose a problem for me wanting to just go for a coastal hike and cast a fly - the last thing I want is to be mauled by a hungry polar bear!
On arrival in Longyearbyen, after depositing bags at the hostel, the first stop was one of the hunting stores in town, where I received some encouraging information. I wouldn't need to hire an expensive armed guide to escort me out of town to maybe catch a fish. The bare (bear!) minimum one needs is a flare gun, which could be rented on the spot from the shop in question. Sold! I rented said flare gun and strapped it to my hip, promptly leaving town with my kit and girlfriend in tow (she assumed it was for her company but it was actually for my protection) to stroll down the coastline, past the coal-mining ports, to a smaller marina that we had spotted out of the plane window on the way in.
Standing on a rocky promontory, I rigged up an intermediate sinking line with a small brown-trout coloured streamer and sent out my first cast. Four strips in and I felt a tug. 'FISH!' I yelled. A short and uneventful fight later, I pulled in my first ever cod caught on fly. I had previously taken a trip to the Isle of Skye to fish for pollack, mackerel and coalfish, but never found any cod so, despite this fish being about a pound, I was over the moon! Another species ticked off, on the fly, against all advice or recommendations from the locals. Clearly I had struck gold as I ended up landing somewhere between 20 and 30 of these little scrappers over the course of the evening (in 23 hours of arctic summer sunshine, I was fishing at about 8pm but it felt like noon).
Smugly, I returned to the hunting store where I had rented the flare gun to return it, unused, and the chap behind the counter proclaimed that he thought I might be the first person to catch a cod on fly gear from the shore in Svalbard. I didn't believe him, but it would be pretty cool if it were true.
LUCY BOWDEN, MARKETING EXECUTIVE
To many people’s amazement in my 30+ years of going fishing I’ve never caught a salmon. Whilst salmon fishing has never been ‘my thing’, I’ve also never had the time (or patience!) needed to dedicate to it. However, in July my husband Howard and I were lucky enough to be invited by a friend to fish Lower Floors on the River Tweed in Scotland. The day planned was a Monday and, as luck would have it, this followed a spell of very heavy rainfall – we knew we were in with a chance.
Unfortunately, Howard took ill the day before our trip and spent the day in bed. It later turned out he had a severe bout of covid and I was convinced our Monday trip would called off. After much deliberation and chat about me going alone the morning of the trip (no chance was I going to catch what could be my first salmon without him there) he dragged himself out of bed with no plans to fish, knowing I was in with a good chance. If that isn’t love, I don’t know what is!
We met Lower Floors Head Ghillie, Jonathan Mackereth, around 10.30am – much later than planned but Howard was so unwell there was little chance of getting there any earlier. We enjoyed a cuppa in the fishing lodge before driving to the first beat where Jonathan set me up.
A little rusty at first, it wasn’t long before I got back in the swing of using the double handed rod again and was personally quite impressed with my casting. My confidence was then confirmed when Jonathan said I wasn’t a bad caster at all! The weather was overcast and Jonathan and I chatted as I cast, took a step, cast, took a step, covering as much water as I could.
We fished a number of different sections of Lower Floors throughout the day, breaking for lunch to sunny skies and wind… not great. Just before 6pm we ended up fishing the Income Stream pool which was my last chance of a fish. Jonathan put a micro tube on and, after a few casts, the weather changed. The wind dropped and the drizzle started… definitely time to think about going home. But something kept me going and I chucked out again – not my best cast, but good enough. For anyone reading this who believes in signs, a large white feather floated past me about a rod length out and I smiled.
Suddenly, a tug and my heart was in my mouth. That felt different. And again, tug. Fish on! I couldn’t believe it – I’d persevered all day and, just as we were about to wind in, I had a fish on! “Don’t strike, don’t strike” I whispered to myself and with no Jonathan or Howard around I did just that – I didn’t strike. Instead, I steadily lifted into the fish and held on shouting “fish on, fish on!” I couldn’t believe it – I’d hooked into a salmon! Now the question was could I get it to the net. The boys came running, Jonathan grabbed the net and waded out to me shouting instructions. Howard was grinning from ear to ear – he was so proud.
Jonathan guided me in playing the fish for ten minutes around sunken boulders and back eddies. My arms ached and I shook, it was raining by this point and the adrenaline was pumping. Suddenly a flash of silver – for a trout angler she was HUGE!
Jonathan netted her and took the rod from me. I held my head in my hands and fought the urge to cry – I couldn’t believe I’d caught a salmon and wow, she was a beauty! A clean, fresh hen fish which Jonathan estimated her at around 10lb – just a nice size for my first salmon.
Next – photos. We knelt down and Jonathan carefully lifted her just out of the water and Howard took a couple of snaps. It was then my turn and I repeated exactly as Jonathan had done before carefully lowering the net and off she went. Incredible– my first salmon!
A huge thank you goes to Howard Croston and Jonathan Mackereth. What a day!
SIMON TILBURY, GROUP HEAD OF MARKETING
Fish of the season can sometimes be the biggest, the trickiest or even the weirdest. And it can also be the most magical or memorable. Sometimes it’s not even the fish that make it special, but the experience itself.
I spent my 50th birthday on my local little chalkstream. Most of April it had rained. But on that day it didn’t, and the sun peeked out. The river was high, fast but reasonably clear. My usual season opener visit had resulted in two tiny fish prospecting with a nymph (it’s never been stocked), while the week before my birthday I’d blanked. So I wasn’t expecting much from the day in that regard. Nevertheless, there was a smile on my face of course, as I stood in the water breathing it all in, with hours to leisurely fish and enjoy. Given it was a little warmer than usual, I’d opted for a little black Klinkhammer, my proven dry fly weapon of choice for this river, but not much happened in the first hour as I waded upriver.
I saw a few rises as I approached a favourite pool (see above), so stealthily got myself into a decent casting position. Boom! 3 beautifully marked wild fish in as many casts. Same thing 100 yards upstream, then 2 from another little pool and then 2 more just below my regular lunch spot. 10 brownies in total to the net, all ranging from 1/2lb up to 1lb, in just over an hour. Plus about the same amount hooked and lost. All on the same size 16 dry fly. On my 50th birthday.
I sat on the wooden seat in the river eating my sandwich. Everything was perfect. The river gods had on my special day looked upon me most favourably. After lunch the sun didn’t come out again and the wind picked up. I caught no more fish. But it didn’t matter. And I still had a lovely dinner in a fancy restaurant with my wife and kids to look forward to. It’s the most fish caught there in a day by both myself and the other rod I share with. I didn’t catch another fish on the river all season with a dry fly, nor did I manage more than 2 fish a visit.
So this is my fish of the season for 2024 (I’ve been slightly generous using “fish” in its plural sense). I’ve had 50 birthdays and many of them I don’t remember. 18th April 2024 is one I’ll never forget.
ASHTON POHL, SENIOR SALES ADVISOR
This year’s fish of the season came as quite the surprise. Rarely does one encounter a 20lb+ pike, but to have the opportunity to catch a pair, both within a few hours of each other, is truly something I would never have imagined to come to light. Of course as fly anglers you never know when those red letter days might reveal themselves.
It was an early start for Henry from Meade fishing and I as we set off for a day’s trout fishing, and after having some success with a few rainbows and a good size brown trout we drifted towards a large shadow in the depths.
The lake we were fishing is not very deep so there is a lot of sight fishing. We realised that we would soon be approaching a large pike positioned to ambush its prey. Luckily we had a 9wt rod setup with trace and fly just in case we came across such a pike. There was slight panic on the boat as I was scrambling for the rod but we managed to stay calm enough to get the fly in the water after few false casts, before we knew it I was in!
The pike took right off attempting to breach the water almost coming right out, Henry was able to capture this on video and it was clear that neither of us could contain our excitement, nearly getting wrapped around the anchor rope, applying enough pressure but not too much, the silence as we steered the large pike into the landing net followed by an explosion of words not to be repeated.
We could not believe what had unravelled before our own eyes! We managed to weigh both pike, the first at 29lb and second at 27lb. Exceptional specimens and often overlooked when the trout and salmon seasons come to a close, great sport and to think that we nearly didn’t pack the 9wt pike rod!
RUPERT D'OYLY, SALES ADVISOR
I was fishing a Northumberland river in early October, it was late morning in the taking window. There was cloud cover and a grey light - my sixth sense told me there was a chance of a fish. I walked upstream above a known lie, focusing under the trees on the far bank in a deeper channel where the salmon swam upstream.
I watched and waited for a while as I had caught salmon there before. Then to my delight, there was a boil under the trees. So carefully I waded a third across the river so as not to send ripples downstream and disturb other salmon.
Using my favourite Sage 14ft #9 rod, my trusted Tibor Gulfstream fly reel, a RIO Scandi outbound line, a 5ft slow sink tip, 15lbs Maxima Chameleon and a small red Francis fly I gradually lengthened the line each cast, having marked the salmon boil against a certain tree. I anticipated a take at any moment, then a solid pull and the salmon was on.
After a strong battle running downstream then upstream, I was able to tail the salmon and remove the fly whilst it remained in the water. A lovely hen salmon of about 16lbs, which splashed water over me with its tail when it took off!
It’s always satisfying to see a salmon released and bolt off upstream, even more so when it’s been sight-stalked.
RICHARD MIDGELY, SALES ADVISOR
It’s not often a trout will take off like a shot and run you into your backing but, if or when it does happen, you’ll never forget it.
In over 26 years of fly fishing for trout, it has only ever happened to me twice, the first time involved an overwind, a crow’s nest of backing and some hand lining, I’d rather not talk about it. This time, being much more experienced, I handled it like a pro, or so my 11-year-old son assures me.
We were fishing our favourite little reservoir, which unusually for a stillwater, can have a prolific mayfly hatch. With much excitement we launched our little rowing boat early that morning, my weapon of choice: a fast 9’ number six, loaded with weight forward floating gold. My son had his bright green minnow stick, 8’ number 5 also loaded with gold. We caught nothing all morning, broke for lunch and caught nothing all afternoon and not a single damn mayfly in sight.
Then suddenly as if someone had flipped a switch, mayfly started to hatch… everywhere. It was early evening now, the wind had backed off and the water had glassed off, conditions couldn’t have been be better, still we caught nothing. Eventually I tied on a size 12 Connemarra and shot it out towards the mangrove-like bank - a perfect cast and perfect presentation, ask my son he will vouch for me. Boom! A rainbow poked its head out of the water and inhaled the fly. From then on we couldn’t stop catching fish, it went from being a day you’d rather forget to one we’ll remember forever.
As I tightened into one particular fish, it made a powerful turn towards our imaginary 'mangroves' and I certainly didn’t want it getting tangled up in there. Carefully I managed to turn it and still with the fly line in my hand, I coaxed it back towards the boat. As soon as it saw the boat it shot off parallel to the gunwale, past the bow and didn’t stop swimming! For a few nervous moments the fly line bounced and bent between my fingers, shot off the deck like a coiled spring and became a dead straight line from my rod tip towards the middle of the reservoir. It kept on going.
Now when I’m fishing - I like it vivid, I’m not one of these stealthy types, I’m for the full sensory load, I like to feel it, I like to see it, but above all I like to hear it and my vintage Hardy Marquis didn’t disappoint! That thing rattled off like hail on a tin roof, a chainsaw at full throttle, a Harley on the high street… you can choose the metaphor, I can tell you it was loud! I have few favourite things in life, and a screaming reel is one of them! At this point my son and I were just staring bug eyed at the reel in disbelief. Eventually, after what seemed like an eternity the rod bucked in my hand as the braided loop snagged on the guides, looping along the blank as it went and just as the first few centimetres of backing started to pour from the tip guide… the fish just stopped dead.
Frantic winding ensued; I hadn’t realised quite how tiny those little marquis handles are. More bumps and snags of loops through guides, this time going in the opposite direction and almost as fast as it had gone out! I was now confidently retrieving line. It wasn’t long before my able net boy scooped a surprisingly modest sized rainbow out of the water. What a tail it had on it! I posed for a quick pic, then gently released the fish. “He who fights and runs away, lives to fight another day.” You’ll never forget a trout that takes you into your backing! Amen.
