Frustration, perseverance and swearwords.

Bloody flyfishing. What sort of ridiculous pastime (actually a labour-of-love) is this to have to do?!

Three fairly useful anglers; ten hours fishing; every pattern going; a river rising and falling faster than any Welsh spate stream; hundreds and hundreds of casts and the grand total was one trout that took my offering and promptly snapped my line.

Bollocks.

On the upside of things it was another beautiful day in a spellbinding setting. It hurts (it seriously hurts) to catch nowt after effort given... but...

... it's nature. I'll forgive her capricious wants.