We follow him up the valley, catching glimpses of the wide waters of the Dordogne between the poplars and wild acacias trees. It is lush, green and beautiful, but not wild in the sense of the landscape where my husband and I normally fly fish - on spate rivers that tumble down through miles of uninhabited bogland in the west of Ireland.
We stop at the pretty single-track bridge at Monceaux and peer down to see the condition of the river. It is clear and fast flowing, and as wide as the Thames. Beber says the water is higher than he would like but that today is the opening of the grayling season - grayling is a trout-like fish that has been introduced to this part of the Dordogne and seems to be flourishing in its cold waters – so we have a chance of some action.
The plan shapes up: we will have lunch first, in a pretty spot he knows, and then spend the afternoon fishing. Over lunch – a serious affair with wine, saucisses and paté - we inspect Max’s flies and Beber tells us about fishing etiquette: keep a distance of at least 50 metres from the next fisherman (in France, it seems, women anglers are rare), and always place yourself downstream so that you don’t create waves.
He also warns us about the canniness of the grayling, which in England is usually caught by coarse anglers, on the worm, but here in the Dordogne is prized by fly fishers more highly than the trout. Trout, he reminds us, are shy and elusive, preferring to stay near the bank of this wide river. Finally he informs us that our catch will be limited to five fish per person, two trout and three grayling, and we must release anything under 30cm.
Beber’s brother Pierrot rolls up and there are more discussions about where we should go. A spot downstream of the bridge is decided on and we set off.
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Already my husband and I are at a disadvantage as we only have thigh waders so even with our longest casts we can only cover half the water. The technique here is more akin to reservoir fishing: you stand still, wait for a rise, and then cast assiduously at it. And after a few flicks, and a few furtive glances at Beber and his brother, I realise that my casting is definitely not refined enough to fool these canny fish. Still, all fishermen live in hope and I continue, drinking in the scent of the acacia blossom and the sound of the crickets as I stand in my allotted spot.
The rises all seem to be just out of my reach so I just cast anyway. After a while my non-neoprened thighs feel icy – the water comes from the deep holding pools above the barrages at Argentat – and I decide to move on down to faster water where I can fish with a wet (submerged) fly and keep moving. But there too I run into trouble with the depth.
Time to explore further downstream so I clamber back on the bank and find myself at the edge of a grassy meadow where I stretch out and watch the artistry of our French companions as they unroll immaculately straight lines, far across the water. They have a patience that I sadly don’t share. But I expect that when eventually they do catch a fish, their sense of achievement is even more intense.
Suddenly there’s excitement. There’s a big rise close to where Beber, who is now taking stock on the bank, has spent the last two hours fishing. He gallantly invites Pierrot to go for it and within a minute, the line straightens, the rod bends, and the fish is hooked. Our friend Chris joins him with a net and they bring the fish in for us to admire: a handsome silvery grayling with a blue-tinged back, about 20cm long. Honour saved. I take a photo of the first grayling of the season, and they release the fish.
Villa holidays in France, with fishing trips arranged, can be booked through French Affair. The cost of permits varies according to the region, and number of days. www.frenchaffair.com or call 0207 381 8519.
Jardins de Marqueyssac www.marqueyssac.com 0033 553313636
