Fly Fishing in Burgundy

It's eleven o’clock on a Friday night, and we had been in the small car for about four and a half hours. Finally we had exited the autoroute and were winding along rainy country roads at breakneck speed. Michel Winthrop, piloting our careening compact, had said it would be only another twenty minutes when we left the autoroute. Of course, he’d also assured us that the drive from Paris to Morvan would take scarcely over two hours!

We were three. A colleague sprawled asleep in the back seat, and I rode shotgun, knees against the dashboard, elbow to elbow with Michel who had maintained an uninterrupted stream of conversation since we left Paris. I was ready for the drive to end. Now apparently we were close. I looked forward to arriving. To unfolding me legs. To getting a late supper. To getting to bed.

Then we were there, at l'Auberge de l'Atre in les Lavaults (Des Poissons si Grands, http://www.auberge-de-latre.com, Les Lavaults, 89630 Quarré-les-Tombes, 03 86 32 20 79), and we were quickly impressed. Regional cheeses, charcuterie and wine; roaring fire in the fireplace; entertaining conversation with Michel and with the Chef. Then off to bed in comfortable rooms, simply but attractively furnished, to sleep the deep, restful repose of the countryside.

We awoke early Saturday morning to get out onto the river. After a steaming shower and an ample breakfast of fresh baked goods, home made preserves, cheeses and hot chocolate we headed off to the Parc du Morvan. The mist was heavy over the land and clung to trees and stream as we drove deeper into the forest. Michel pulled up alongside a small bridge and we donned waders and vests and made our way down into the knee deep water.

I started just above the bridge and made my way slowly upstream, casting against the current as Michel had directed. Present the fly from the behind the trout, he had said. I could expect the fish to be facing upstream, and I didn’t want him to see the line. Permit the fly to float briefly in the current and then recast. I followed his guidance, working in small arcs, covering each of the slicks and riffles that seemed likely resting places for the wild trout.

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