Obsession. A descriptive abstract(ish) noun that pretty much covers fishing in general. I think I have found a new one, a new obsession that is: sea trout. Now I have heard of folk being whisked away on a sirens call of the haunting from a lyrical silver beast, these be-finned water creatures that secretly slide into our waters in the cloak of the night.

I believe them.

Also, there is, and I have come to recognise the symptoms: Sea trout 'eyes', a zombie like state with eyes that sink into the skull and take on a far away state of, forever searching into another world. Mostly this is plain, abject, lack of sleep. But you can be haunted. You can become deeply captured by the grip of sea trout. A small while ago I was lucky enough to follow my son, Alex’s wadered footsteps and fish Testwood, thanks to an invitation from River Test guru, Howard Taylor. Of course, Howard knew I was a newcomer to sea trout and very unlikely to disturb the secret shapes from the sea. His cherished silver shards that appear to swarm up the river at that hallowed point.

Alex had fished brilliantly a few days earlier; coached by Hampshire’s sea trout arch magician, Alistair Robjent. Al landed four fine fish to 11lb: a fabulous haul for an utter tyro (or expert come to that). Nothing like a bit of patriarchal pressure.

The river is the diametric opposite you imagine a sea trout river to be. None of the regular lies; or the cast and swing, and get excited at the head or tail of pools …or the dub for that matter … stuff. Instead, sea trout can (and seem to be) almost anywhere. The series of angled hatch pools spout water and current swirling chaos in every conceivable direction. Nothing makes sense … well, not to me, it didn’t.

Apparently there are specific lies. Hmm.

The one thing that did ring true about this adventure is that everything changes come sunset and light fall. Short distances become an unknown, your mind plays measuring tricks, wide becomes narrow. If you have fished for sea trout you will know exactly what I mean. So, for goodness knows how many hours, I cast into the void hoping I knew what was happening: but knowing, of course, that I didn’t. The tide swept in – a huge spring that decanted itself over the surrounding banks and garden (the mill has such a thing and a lovely fishing hut (with beds?!)). That was the moment sea trout just danced into the night, whooping (well they might not actually whoop you understand, but as they knew I was there I felt that they did out of sympathy) and jumping for sea trout joy. Even in the dead of night and amid a backdrop as dark as mine shaft you can see them – flecks of silver. Amazing.

I still didn’t get one. Why should I? I hadn’t a clue. Nevertheless casting into the void brings about a certain unique, mad, pleasure. Then something: a brush from that same void grazed my line … a sensation, as opposed tangible, tactile feeling. I was, from desperation fishing a lie (or so I assumed) running along a wall, a place slowly being exposed by the ebbing tide. I just lifted: life: fish …. FISH!? Me? ME!

OK it wasn’t huge, but at 4lb I was deliriously relieved and oh! so happy as it folded into the net. It was indeed a sea trout. Midge (the dog) appeared to be mildly impressed, too.

That was it, I was gripped. The clock had hit 03.00 then 04.00 and I should have gone. “The last time I was up this late” I mused “Led Zeppelin … were stoking up Black Dog and grinding out When the Levee Breaks!”

Nothing. Still I flung my Snake (apposite name for the fly) into the nothingness. Then I hit some weed. I was warned about this, but Alistair Robjent (and Alex) warned me, too, that weed can also be a take from a large fish … Watching a double figure sea trout spiral aerially into the inky night sky and spit a hook back at you, makes one just smile. Frankly, I had no right to hook, play, and land a fish like that. I have some apprenticeships to serve first.

But come next summer! Bring on the obsession.