I had a really nice evening on a club stretch of the river yesterday evening..
I spent the morning tying some flies, deer hair and CDC emergers, red tag variants (hot pink tag), treacle parkins ans a couple of Klinks, my youngest asked if she could make me a fly, after looking through a few of my books and me vitoing the jock scott and the green highlander as unsuitable
she made me a red tag...
As i drove to the river i was a little disappointed that i had elected to fish today instead of yesterday, the weather wasn't as fine, the air was thick and muggy and the bruised sky promised rain.
I rounded the final corner on the way to my favorite beat, there is always a little moment... is there anyone else there.... i passed the little row of shops and the river came into view.. empty, my heart leapt at the prospect of having the place to myself. I parked up and got into my waders and tackled up, now i was sworn on pain of death to fish with the red tag, i was told she tied love in it and it would catch me a fish and so it was that the red tag was tied on before i had a good look at the water.
The water was truly gin clear and very thin, as i entered the water i was surprised that the water that usually comes up to my knees was struggling to cover my wading boots.
I stripped some line from my reel, the sound of the ratchet pawl echoed strangely under the canopy of the overhanging trees on the far bank. I had a good look around, nothing rising but there seemed to be a steady mixed hatch going on, nothing prolific but bits and pieces of most things you would expect to see at this time of the year.
I flicked the redtag out into a likely looking channel close to the far bank, put a small mend in the line and within 10 seconds i was into my first fish using little pimps red tag, as i took some line in the fish rolled over on the surface revealing a buttery golden belly and bronze flanks dappled with vermillion and peppercorn spots, within a minute the first Itchen brown trout of the evening was sliding over the lip of my scoop net, a fish of 12 oz and in beautiful condition, considering the time of the season no surprise.
I worked my way up the river roll casting as i went, i had a couple more brownies rise to the fly, i connected with them but they managed to throw the hook.
I arrived at the bottom of one of my favourite pools, i have taken big trout here with reasonable regularity, i had an idea of the tactics needed though i had never tried with so little water in the river. I swapped the red tag for a deer hair emerger, i started working the tail of the pool fishing over the deeper channels (or rather what were once the deeper channels) and under the overhanging trees, as the fly swung over a deep hole it was taken savagely, it was a Grayling, i knew instantly, the trout on this beat never take the fly with such ferocity, the Grayling took off up the pool i moved the rod tip to steer the fish back down stream so that it would not spoil the rest of the pool by spooking any other fish that might be there, as i coaxed the fish to the right everything went solid as if i had a bin liner on the end, i saw a silver flash, the fish was kiting, using its dorsal fin and the current to put up the biggest fight it could, the fish tired and came to the surface, its saw toothed doral fin looked like stained glass window with hughs of red purple and black. The barbless fly slipped out easily, i held the fish in the current for a few moments watching the the rhythmic pulses of its mouth and gills, i felt the strength returning to its body, with one kick of its tail it was gone.
I returned to the business in hand, washed the slime from my fly, dried it and reapplied floatant, i noticed a fish rise upstream of me ad rollcast the short disstance to cover it... nothing, i repeated the cast another couple of times to see if the fish could be tempted, as i was fishing from behind me i hear a voice say one word...
"Poetry"...
I turned around to see an old chap stood on the bank watching me.
"I'm sorry ?? " i asked..
"watching you cast its poetry.."
"My casting has been described as many things, poetry isnt one of them" i laughed, "A dirty limerick is as close to poetry as it gets"
The old lad laughed and we got talking, it turns out he was born and bred in the area, he had fished the river all his life, it was only in recent years that the fragility of old age and failing eyesight had stopped him.
"What you using ?" he asked,
I showed him the CDC and deer hair emerger i was using, he commented on how it had all changed, he said that if he had been in the river at this time of year he would have had a kites imperial on, i told him it was a favourite of mine we discussed flies and the river , he told me how the area had changed in the 80 odd years he had lived there.
As we were chatting i was still flicking the line out over the pool and keeping half an eye what was happening, i got a rise and connected with a trout of around 10 ounces, fin perfect well spotted and still sporting its parr marks, the old fella had a look at my catch, he smiled a smile that spoke a thousand words, a fisherman's smile, reminiscence of a life time of catches, that heart thumping moment when you connect with a fish and the pleasure of watching your quarry swim away. The Gentleman thanked me for the chat and said he must be on his way, i told him to stop and say hello if he saw me again, he assured me he would.
The light was fading fast, the air was thick with caenis and olives, a hatch so prolific that it would not have been out of place in the book of Exodus. there were lots of small splashy rises going on, but out the back of the pool i could just make out a couple of bigger fish sipping off the surface, making potholes in the glassy surface of the water as they sucked down their entomological banquet.
As i looked through my fly box i was lacking inspiration, the inky blackness of night was quickly taking over, it was getting harder and harder to see, this would be the last fly of the evening.
I decided on a change of tactics, i tied on a partridge and orange spider, i though i couldnt see the fly anyway so why not give it a try.
I started off by casting the spider upstream and fishing it as i would a dry, tracing the assumed path of the fly with the rod tip and lifting at any rises that were in the vicinity of where i thought my fly might be. It wasn't long until i was into another trout around a pound in weight, he carried a scar on one flank that looked like he had had a narrow escape from a heron in the past.
I wa 2/3rds of the way up the pool , i hear a couple of rises down stream of me, i have never fished across and down before, but by this time it was dark, and it was pure guess work i though it was a good time to try... i cast upstream and let the fly dead drift but then as the line passed me instead of lifting off and recasting i lifted the rod tip to 45 degrees and let the line drift down stream and start to swing around, i wasnt really sure what i was doing or if i would know when i had a bite, i have read in various books about fishing downstream, but as it was virgin territory i just wasnt sure what to expect, the fly line settled downstream and the fly lifted... nothing, i thought to myself, a couple more casts and i will call it a night. I recast repeating what i had done last time, as my fly reached 45 degrees down stream of me i felt a solid thump on the line, i tightened up and felt the kick of a good sized fish on the end of the line after a good fight i brought to hand a trout odd about a pound and a half. enthused by my new found skill set i continued to fish, i had a couple more bumps that i connected with but that kicked free of the line, in the next half hour i managed another four fish of about a pound.
Things went dead, the bites just stopped, i wandered if i had lost my fly, i pulled in my cast and found a bare hook, a good time to stop. It was cold and the exotic aromas emanating from the Indian takeaway close by reminded me i had not eaten.
I left the river with
that feeling, relaxed, satisfied, grateful... i am not sure what it is but you guys know what i mean dont you ???
Poetry....
it turned up last friday... brilliant book, was a little disapointed with the quality of the images so i printed off the plated from the PDF version i have on a colour laser printer then glued them over the top...
Linear Mode
