As it getting toward the end of the season I thought I'd take advantage of the recent settled weather and make another foray into the jungles that are the lower Alyn (a bit unfair as this stretch is almost fishable using normal casting techniques - in places). Obviously a later start as sunrise was around 06:43 which in some ways is nice (longer in my pit) but in others isn't. It means I'm now fighting my way through the early commuter Grand Prix. What I hadn't appreciated is that the latest Govmint ules allow Liverpool commuters to break all speed limits and generally drive like bankers (sorry about the spell-checker). Anyway, I drive a black BMW and can hold my own with the white Audis and grey Mercedes. Also, I've been trained in all the black and ancient arts of Threadneedle Street - and that's the last convoluted money dealer pun or misspelling.

Anyway, a nice morning loomed over the river, softened by low lying mist cosseting the grassy banks and dimly lit by a great red eye peeping above the trees. Poetic ehhh? Nothing much hatching so out with the trusty #16 flash-back nymph - and a couple of slim but very feisty Ladies of the Stream.

The sun rose higher, the light dappled the water and the ladies sulked away to their lairs. But who cares, the fields are green, the air warm, the sun-dimpled crystal water exposes patches of golden gravel and sand and the chuckling music of a country trout stream sooths away any tensions that might be brought to this precious idyll. My old friend the kingfisher joins me for a spot of breakfast - he seems to be more successful than I've been for the last hour or so, but then, adding a jewel to these already sumptuous surroundings means that I'll forgive him anything - would be different if he were a fish-eagle catching 2lb trout of course. Oh, and I also saw a stoat (or weasel). By the way, do you know how to tell the difference between a stoat and a weasel? - A weasel is weasely recognised but a stoat is stoatally different.

Anyway, moving on I just fancied throwing some dries so started prospecting with something called a Jinglehammer (#14) from Peaks Fly Fishing. This is like a scruffy Klinkhammer and I have no idea what it represents but as there was nothing rising, why not? Anyway, fishing this along the foam edge of a fast run emptying into a deep pool produced two more Grayling, lithe and fiercely strong, so I'm not complaining.

So, probably time to go back but spotted two nice trout at the head of a pool, enticed one of them with a nymph but bungled the 'strike'. Maybe next time. But here comes the reason for the odd title to this post. As I was wading back to place where I could get out of the water, and passing a patch of aforementioned sun-dappled sand, I saw a flatfish! About 8 inches long and half that wide. I know dab inhabit estuaries but I had no idea they could get this far up into what must surely be fresh water. For those interested here is the What3Words location ///waged.reduce.cabinets.

So a curious end to a lovely day - if only I'd been just a little more skilful with that monster trout ... Oh and I forgot, one last cast of the nymph in a pool towards the end of my day produced either a young chub or a reasonable roach (must try harder with my fish recognition).