Another trout season has drifted away and autumn hesitates before winter and the shortest days. More memories, more flies cast, though for me most of them have been plume tips. Now, in November, I shall have to think about nymph again for these magnificent Eden grayling, though, it seems, not yet. Not just yet. Amidst the colossal leaf fall, on and in the flow, dark olives, blue winged olives and pale wateries are still hatching, joining the midges which always seem to be present, if unnoticed, and dry fly opportunities remain. I know the deep frosts will kill it all, and to glean anything from the steely winter flow we shall have to revert to nymph. I know, I really do; but when there is the opportunity for the grayling to take hatching up-wings, they will take them every time, and for people like me, who finally interpret fly fishing as being dry fly fishing (because, well, honestly, nymph fishing is tough; c’est dur pour moi), that is, at the very least, a blessing. The water is clear, and when the sun is on it you can still see the water crowfoot which is coming back in the upper reaches, and, here and there, trout redds; lovely pale patches among the stones, full of promise for the years ahead. The river lives, and even now, right before the long nap of winter, you feel its vitality. The trout also remain feeding for now – if not spawning – particularly when the olives are hatching, though this will dwindle, while the grayling feeding will persist, almost completely independent of the weather, other than flood conditions. There was a year, not so many past, when I determined, and succeeded, to catch a grayling on dry fly (plume tip) on every month of their season. I’m not sure I will manage it this time, but then you never quite know. When you think, by default, in dry fly, it tends to happen.