BRITISH FLYFAIR INTERNATIONAL 2008                                     Page 6
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This is our hostess, Beverly, who put this feast together.  What a meal, 21 veg soup with croutons, double yum yum, crumbed chicken legs, Venison pie, smoked freshly caught trout and very special spicy Barbecue cooked sausages, hot rolls, heaps of wine and simply more than we could eat.  It was all finished off with homemade éclairs with thickened cream and oodles of hot brewed coffee.  It truly was an amazing meal considering it was mostly done lakeside.  That is one talented lady.

In closing, I would like to thank my Sponsors for their continued support -

Tourism Tasmania -
Partridge of Redditch -
Whiting Farms -  
Jarvis Walker Australia & UK -
Enrico Puglisi -


How’s that for a parking fee in the town square?

The old Church dating back to Saxon Times 

Why did we make that mad dash all the way to North Yorkshire?  Because on the Thursday we were fishing with Britain’s legendary Spider Man (soft hackled flies), Oliver Edwards. 

Oliver won the day with his 1.5 pound Brown, Ole caught about 12oz and I got four small ones; two were only around three inches long and two others about 8oz each.  All of these were taken out of the same run.  I was using a gold bead headed flash back nymph and fishing a short line, just as I do on my home waters.  Then it was off to the ancient King’s Head for a taste of some local beers and a late lunch.  

I have said it before, ‘there is no rest for the wicked’ as once again Ole dragged me away from our late lunch as we had to travel south to give another talk, this time at the Congleton branch of the Fly Tiers’ Guild in the South East corner of Cheshire.  This is the home of my old mate Frank Moors, whom I first met on my initial excursion to the BFFI 2005.  The talk went off well even though someone forgot to get the projector but thank heavens we had Ole’s laptop.  What’s that old saying, ‘the show must go on’. 

The next day Ole and I parted company; he went off to some more work with Shakespeare and I stayed on with Frank.  Work over, it was time for a little R&R.  Frank and his friend Maurice Ratcliffe took me up to a little country pub high up in the moors called The Hanging Gate for lunch.  Great pub, great meals; I had Venison Pie and a side plate of double fried chips cooked like only the English can cook chips.  Apart from some touring around looking at the points of interest, Frank took me to an old Cathedral which had a very old Yew tree supported with posts to hold it up.  The story related by Frank was that Oliver Cromwell (Google that name to find out about this rascal) sat under this tree whilst watching the organ burn that he had had removed from the Cathedral back in the early 1600s.  He died of a diseased kidney and urinary tract in 1658 and was buried in Westminster.  But when the Royalists returned to power in 1660, they dug up and beheaded his corpse and hung it in chains.     

They make some great beers in Masham!

Cromwell’s Yew tree

And this is the type of body suit that they put him in; nice guys!

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R:  About a pound and a half wild brown  

Oliver up to his waist
R: A tangled mess we weave when using three flies!
R Below:  Ole setting up

The frivolity didn’t last long; Ole literally dragged me from the table and into the car as we were off again.  I think I slept most of the way back up to the ancient town of Masham in North Yorkshire on the River Ure.   Its main industries are brewing and cheese making.  The town is centred on an old market square which is over a thousand years old.  Even the old church at the end of the square is from Saxon times.  Now that’s old.