The 'Happy New Years' may still be peppering the conversation, but up here the 2012 season's under way again. I grabbed my cameras and, almost as an afterthought – I wasn't too fussed about fishing today in temperatures of -5°C – threw some fly tackle into the car, and popped up to Kenmore to witness the traditional opening of the Tay, where whisky (in the Square) was flowing, and Tobies (in the Hotel Pool) were flying.

After the speeches, the pipe band led the army of fishers down to the river, which smouldered eerily in the frozen air. Malcolm Flinn, owner of the Kenmore Hotel, duly flung the quaich of whisky over the bows of the first boat to launch and, on the first dip of the oars, a cascade of metal fishing shrapnel splashed into the river, as scores of anglers cast for the angling equivalent of the lottery ticket win – a springer on opening day.

I've attended many of these do's in the past, but I cannot remember any that has produced so many fish so quickly. Within the first few spins of a fixed-spool reel, three fish were being played on the far bank. I guessed that the first was a rainbow as it splashed and jumped, and the furthermost too, but that fish in the middle was a bit beefier ... could it be the first salmon of the season? The net bulged, there was much applause, lots of photos, much cheering and plenty of hearty congratulations after the fish was released. The crowd on our bank clapped. The season was underway with a sonorous boom – an 18lb fresh springer.

It's strange how the sight of a fish can galvanise the angler's thoughts. Having been ambivalent earlier about making a cast in these freezing conditions, my mood changed suddenly. After all, the river looked perfect for a fly. It was in good ply and clear. And I'd already witnessed a fresh fish being caught. I'd better get down to our beat and make a cast or two, you never know ...

My mood turned to fever-pitch when, a few miles down the road, I realised mine was the first car to crack the ice on the track down to our pools. I couldn't be the first, surely? Usually half-a-dozen eager anglers have flogged the best pool on our beat mercilessly by the time I've covered the official opening and driven down. Empty, apart from a solitary heron.

Realising I was to be the first to fish this classic pool for the first time this season, I began to move fast, disentangling my hastily assembled gear, whilst pulling on my thermals. Where were my socks? What about my tube-fly boxes? Phew! they were still in the wader breast-pocket from last autumn. Fully kitted against the extreme cold I then set up my rod – a three-piece Mackenzie DTX. Three? Surely that rod is a four-piece? it is normally. The fourth piece was still at home in my cupboard. Be-wadered and fully insulated, I wedged myself back behind the steering wheel, spun round the car and set off bouncing down the track in an emergency run home.

By the time I returned, 25 minutes had drifted by and Bob Cunningham was there on the bank, tackling up. After hearing my story, he courteously let me have first run down the pool, after gently asking what it was I did for a living.

Was it worth it? Well, I did see the head of a rather large fish as it porpoised at the surface, but that first run down the pool was memorable for only one thing. It wasn't the fact that my rod-rings iced up (I've had that happen many times before), it was the fact that I had ice on my index finger when I climbed out of the pool. Brrr.