Stoatin' reason for a Rotterdam

''I mean a large port or a small port,'' grinned Paddy.

We all laughed. In fact, we laughed a lot over the next three days as we fished the Spey day and night for salmon, brown trout and sea trout.

Paddy and Ollie are stockbrokers and, like most stockbrokers, they always keep an eye on the markets no matter how far away from the office they are.

On that first day, our motley trio re-acquainted itself with its dubious Spey casting technique. Instructor Bill Easton reminded us that we should form the cast in time to a one-two-three waltz rhythm. As he spoke the tranquillity was shattered by a curious, shrill beeping. Paddy stopped casting suddenly, dug deep into his waders and pulled out a small black box.

''Message from London,'' he revealed. ''Just checking how the FTSE is and whether I'm up or down.'' Then he hand-signalled upriver to Ollie, as if both were on the floor of the Stock Exchange.

Come close of market Paddy was down thousands of pounds and so was Ollie, and what is more none of us had had the merest tug or take.

Undeterred, Paddy, Ollie and I worked our way down the Boat Pool, one of the association's 15 named pools on its six-mile, double bank stretch of water.

Above soared Ospreys, and past us blew hundreds of thousands of Caddis flies, the Angler's Curse. Paddy waded ahead of me, obliviously humming an Irish waltz, but still we had no takes.

''It must be your waltz timing,'' suggested our instructor Bill, who'd sneaked out ahead of us earlier in the morning - 4.30am to be exact - and amazingly landed himself an 11lb salmon on his fourth cast.

The following day, further upstream, we fished Miller's Pool - traditional fly water - where salmon had earlier shown. As I worked down between two croys and into the middle of a pool, suddenly the water boiled and crashing up from the depths rolled a fine, clean salmon making to take my Ally Shrimp. My heart leapt, and after several nervous re-casts and expectant tugs on the fly, I bitterly accepted defeat and gave way to other anglers working downstream towards me.

That evening, back at the bar - above which hangs a 30lb-plus salmon - Paddy again enquired ''Rotterdam or Grimsby?'' A Rotterdam, without doubt this time. Around 10 o'clock that same evening I made my way down to the river to try my luck with sea trout.

One of Boat of Garten's local anglers had informed me that they had indeed made an appearance for the first time this season only last week.

By 11 o'clock I was fishing a dark, deep stretch of water along a far bank.

Overhead, dozens of bats circled, swooped and squeaked, adding to the already spooky, and at times downright scary, atmosphere.

Then it came, that unmistakable loud slap on the water's surface as a large seat trout made a fleeting airborne dash, breaking the night's silence and sending a tingle down my spine.

A few splashes later and it had disappeared, and then the bewitching Speyside silence returned.

Like many anglers, I consoled myself with the knowledge that a reasonable sea trout run has failed to materialise this year. Widespread concern has prompted calls only this week for the Scottish Office to step in to investigate the ''decimation'' of this migratory species.

Next morning, after a leisurely start, our luckless party ventured back onto Miller's Pool where - to the jeers and cat-calls of the others - I caught a six-inch rainbow escapee on my salmon fly.

After I had returned it, we made our way four miles or so upriver to fly-only water at Nethybridge. There, in a rather fishy-looking lie, in the shadow of an undercut bank, I deftly cast out a trusty Stoat's Tail.

Knock, knock went my rod. ''Yes! I'm into one,'' I whooped.

Then, as our instructor Bill made haste towards me along the riverbank, I plucked from the fathoms another tiny rainbow escapee.

''At least it's bigger than the last,'' Bill laughed, ''Come on, Rotterdams all round.''