Hook, Line, and a Whole Lot of Fun

Man, I still remember the first time I caught a wild brown trout on the Wear—that electric tug on the line, the way the morning mist clung to the water like cobwebs... hooked me for life, honestly. These days, I’m Stuart from The Durham Fly Fishing Company, and if you’ll let me, I’d love to share that same stupid grin I get every time a fish rises to a dry fly.

Look, I know fishing can seem intimidating—hell, my first cast wrapped around a tree so bad I had to leave half my leader up there like some kind of sad nylon flag. But that’s why I love teaching beginners. Last week, a guy named Dave nearly bolted when he saw the rod setup ("Looks like a wizard’s staff!"), but by lunchtime? He was landing grayling downstream of Finchale Abbey like he’d been doing it for years.

I’ll meet you where you’re at. Corporate team-building on Derwent Reservoir? Sure, though fair warning—I might sneak in a lesson about drag-free drifts between the sandwiches. Obsessed with Tenkara (that’s Japanese fixed-line fishing, basically elegant simplicity)? Let’s geek out over kebari flies. Or maybe you just want to know why the trout near Durham Cathedral ignore every fly except that one scruffy Adams pattern... yeah, I’ve got theories.What you’ll get is patience, terrible jokes, and—if we’re lucky—fish. What you won’t get is jargon without explanation or that weird pressure some guides put on you to perform. Rain or shine (okay, mostly rain—it’s Durham), we’ll adapt.

Oh! Almost forgot—bring snacks. I’m partial to pork pies from the market, but I won’t judge if you’ve got a hipster energy bar.

The rivers here? They’re magic. The reviews? Flattering, but really just proof people tolerate my tangents about mayfly hatches. So drop me a line (ha), and let’s get you casting where the swallows skim the water at dusk... or at least keep your flies out of trees. Mostly.