The team went about trying different methods to see which were most consistently hooking fish and soon settled on a couple of solid options – dries (sedges and midges coming off) or colour alongside a couple of black hoppers on a tip line.

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Day-by-day the fishing got harder – there was no let up in the hot and bright weather, and the fish were getting fed up of being boated over!

 

Come match day, conditions were the worst yet – flat calm and the warmest day of the week. As we prepared ourselves, made arrangements with our boat partners, and finally made the walk down to the water behind the traditional piper, I think we all knew we were in for a tough day.

 

Finally, the moment had arrived – the horn sounded and we were off! I had been drawn with a member of the Irish team and she had first shout. So, for the first couple of hours she directed the boatman along reed beds and bays, none of which I had found fish in during practice. I went out on the tip line, but hadn’t had a touch by the time my session of control came around. I took us to a spot that had consistently brought fish during the week – nothing. My nerves started to bubble up – this wasn’t good. I moved us to another top spot from practice, and finally – we saw a fish move ahead of us. Despite this promise, still not a touch. It was time for a change – on went the dries.

 

Soon afterwards, my hope was restored – within 40 minutes, I’d brought a fish up to my fly and had a swirl from another. Then out of nowhere a fish broke the surface and my line went tight; fish on! It was only a small trout, but just like it’s big cousins it ran at speed! It darted left, then back to the boat, then veered right. I’d almost got it back to the boat when it stopped – actually stopped swimming – shook it’s head, and out came the fly. My line went slack and my heart sank. Still, this was good – some positive action.

 

It was time to hand control back to my boat partner, and she took us off the fish we’d just found. We boated around the lough to a couple of spots she wanted to try – no fish seen, no other boats. Time was ticking away.

 

Control for the final session came back to me – we travelled back down the lough and happened upon our captain, who signalled that we should pull in behind them – she’d found fish. We positioned ourself on the same drift and waited… and waited… and waited. No fish moving, nothing rising to our flies. Where were these fish?

 

My nerves gave out and I suggested we move – one last ‘hot spot’ had been consistently good late in the day, so I directed the boatman there. One other boat there, and a red England cap – thank goodness. I signalled that I’d had no fish to the boat, and to my shock the same signal came back.

 

We set ourselves up for a drift, but I wasn’t seeing the same activity we’d seen in the preceding days. I had one swirl at my fly in nearly an hour. In desperation, we tried another couple of spots close to the launch beach, anxiously willing a ‘lucky’ fish to show itself. Still nothing. All too soon, the time had gone. Only my second England cap and I’d blanked – I was gutted.

 

It turns out I was in good company – two thirds of all the anglers blanked on match day. To say the results were close is an understatement – as they were read out, time slowed. Ireland had come third with three fish. Everyone was on tenterhooks – which name would be read out next… England in silver position with 7 fish. Our hearts sank. The Scottish team exploded in joy. They had won by 1 cm (8 fish, totalling just a smidge more than our 7). We later found out that one of the Scottish team had put a Di5 on in the last 30 minutes and picked up a random fish on a blob in the middle of the lough – luck was certainly with them! For us, it was a bitter pill to swallow. I was personally full of ‘what ifs’.

 

Deflated but even more determined for next year, we’re now planning for 2026 – it’s our turn to host and come May we’ll be fighting it out on Grafham. Please do support the team in any way you can.