Travelled down to Nottingham last week to get the Textbook Tying shots, so called in on the Annan to fish for sea trout on the way back (the Sunday night). The problem with fishing for sea trout in Scotland on a Sunday night is that it is illegal, so you are forced to wait until one minute past midnight before you can 'kick off'.

My ever-inventive host, Anthony Steel, had made the journey's stop-off worthwhile, however, by offering me a game of cricket in the afternoon (he's always short of players!) followed by an evening meal and then some fishing. His idea was that, in the same vein as the sporting man's MacNab (bagging a grouse, a salmon and a deer in one day), I could attempt a MacCrick - this would consist of a bagging a run, a wicket, and a sea trout. By 7pm, I was two-thirds of the way there; all I needed was the sea trout. Achieving the elusive MacCrick was on the cards. However, it was at this time I met my nemesis in the form of Mike and Dave from Yorkshire, who were staying in one of Anthony's self-catering cottages. "You don't mind introducing them to the river, do you?" enquired my host, as we all enjoyed a pint in the local. Of course not. Mike and Dave seemed excited and keen would-be sea trouters, enthused by the talk of leaping silver fish in the summer darkness.

As I left them to enjoy their pub meal I told them I'd pick them up from their cottage at 11 o'clock, we'd go down to the river, take a look at the pools, set up, talk tactics, and then make our first casts on the stroke of midnight.

I thought it was odd that they hadn't made it to their cottage by 11pm, and when I eventually found them, I discovered why. Loose-limbed, laughing and loquacious, they were still in the pub. I decided that their sea trout fishing was already over for the night, but no. It's amazing how a few pints of beer can increase the bravado, determination, and distort logical thought. Before I knew it, they had loaded themselves and their gear into my car, and we were down by the river.

It was pitch dark, and whilst Mike marvelled at the stars in a cloudless sky, Dave somehow lost the torch he'd been using just three minutes previously. We looked for it everywhere, couldn't find it, and then I turned round to find Mike curled up in my dog's travel bed in the boot of the car. Apparently, he told me, he was having trouble tying on his fly ... and he had lost his wading boot.

So I ended up tying on his fly.

"What do you think of that sky, Mark? Isn't it wonderful?"

"Yes, it certainly is, Mike", I replied, for the twelfth time, possibly a little tersely.

If you've ever been a designated driver at a party and you're still there, waiting for your mates to go home at 2am, you'll know exactly how I was feeling at this stage.

"But Mark, that sky, isn't it wonderful?"

"Wonderful", I breathe.

"But, Mark, sea trout, at night, isn't it great?", declares Mike, for the ninth time.

"Mark, tell Dave how wonderful sea trout fishing at night is," he adds.

"It's great", I agree.

It's at this point that the words of the late great sea trout author, Hugh Falkus, impinge on my mind: "You must concentrate when you fish for sea trout in the dark", he wrote."Never, ever fishing with anyone else unless they are a mute".

Mike, in his current state, is far from muted.

"But, Mark, sea trout fishing at night - tell Dave how wonderful it is!", he implores for the tenth time.

I decide the only way to quieten Mike is to get him fishing, so I offer to lead him to the river. Within five strides, he's disappeared into the darkness. He has set off in the opposite direction, and is in the middle of a sheep field.

"No, Mike, the river's over here". I break the golden rule of sea trouting and switch on my head torch and point it directly at the river to show I'm not lying.

"Take care," I warn, shining the beam down the bank, "the wading's easy - it's flat gravel, and the water's shallow, but it's a steep drop down. It's difficult to judge the drop in the dark; I'll keep my torch on whilst you walk down".

One step and, illuminated in a pure, white LED spotlight, Mike performs a perfect aerial somersault off the bank, with a tackle bag on his shoulder, whilst clutching a fly rod, miraculously lands on his feet in two inches of water, and begins fishing. "See what you mean", he declares nonchalantly, as he works out his line, apparently unaware of his gymnastic feat.

I leave the pair 25 yards apart so they can chat (and look after each other) whilst I fish above them. I fish down the pool, but after an hour I get worried, as I can't hear them anymore. I return to find Mike sitting on the bank at exactly the same point I left him. He hasn't moved an inch. He tells me about a massive fish he's lost, but it looks as if he's been asleep to me.

Reassured that he's not going to get back in the river, I set off to fish another pool.

As dawn breaks we decide to call it a night. Mike has spent most of it asleep in the car with the dog. The river looms out of the grey dawn light and - now we can see it - I explain to Dave and Mike why I don't like to fish a river at night if I've never seen it previously in daylight.

"Yes, I see what you mean," agrees Mike, "last night I found the darkness so disorientating." I'm fairly certain the darkness had nothing to do with it.

And the McCrick? Well, that will have to wait until another summer's day. Next time, I'm going fishing with a mute!