Running in a fairly straight line from the Bay of Biscay in the east to the Mediterranean Sea in the west, the Pyrenees Mountain Range is sandwiched between Spain in the south and France in the north, with Andorra making up the garnish in the ‘pancito’ or ‘baguette’ -depending on which side of the border you’re standing on. I spent five days in July last year fishing both the rivers and lakes of the central and western region of the Spanish Pyrenees, a mere stone’s throw from the French border, and a mere amble from Andorra, and if the truth be told, I really didn’t know what to expect.
Now it must be said that when it comes to beautiful scenery, I am a bit of a polygamist, and a pretty shallow one at that. I just can’t help myself, I seem to fall in love at the drop of a hat, and I’m afraid that for me, looks are everything, especially when it comes to rivers. Lead me to a river that is discreetly tucked away amongst majestic, snow-capped mountains, its banks and foothills sprinkled with wildflowers like hundreds-and-thousands on a fairy cake, its waters running as clear as mountain air over a freestone bed, and the first exciting throes of a new love-affair will instantly render me useless for anything that isn’t fishing related. Go one step further and reveal to me the spectacle that is a hatch of mayflies, and a suitably rising trout, and I am as good as infatuated.