The Continuing Adventures of the Fluff Club, Episode 20
(Names and places
are disguised to protect the innocent; however, the events are real)
The Fluff Boys have fished this venue before, but prior to the commencement of these Fluff Club chronicles. The Admiral was already in the hut paying when I arrived; shortly afterwards the Sailor arrived with his memsahib. While readying our kit we were joined by the Inspector, then the Lumberjack, Dell-boy, and Rodney arrived together in the Lumberjack's SUV. A better turnout this time.
We were all very pleased indeed to see the Inspector fishing once again - 2016 was tragic for his poor family, absolutely heart-breaking and horrid. How he and his wife bear their terrible misfortune is something I cannot even begin to comprehend.
Spring is here: day and night were into double-digit centigrade at last; thick cloud cover today but no rain expected. There was birdsong in the air and frogsong in the water margins.
The fishery has two 'lakes', the larger one is always a tad coloured, but the smaller one gin clear, both of them spring fed. We headed off separately, Whytee heading straight for the smaller pond's far bank. Apart from our magnificent seven there were as many other anglers abroad, a reasonable Sunday turnover for the fishery. I was keen to try out a new Damsel pattern I had tied which was originally devised for carp fishing in the USA; the pattern gleaned from a stateside magazine that the Sailor had lent me. The Lumberjack followed, to fish the left-hand bank as you approach. I made my first cast allowing leader and line to sink while I counted 15 seconds down, then started a variable retrieve ... tight line! Unfortunately, this fish and I soon parted company; this fly pattern fishes hook-point up, protruding through the wing of marabou and rabbit fur fibres, so I wondered if the hook point had been masked and couldn't penetrate sufficiently. The second cast saw the line go solid again but this time the Rainbow stayed on, fighting strongly for the few minutes before being netted. A satisfying start. Meanwhile the Lumberjack had taken a fish too, catching his on a small black lure. My two strikes did not necessarily prove the efficacy of the pattern, so I didn't change it. Another Rainbow trout soon followed t'other into the bass bag, but smaller than my first at just under three pounds. I moved across to the opposite bank, in transit noticing the Lumberjack netting his second fish. The breeze was ruffling the surface of my new swim so I couldn't spot any fish, nevertheless I cast towards the gap between the two islands. Shortly a trout of around two pounds fought me valiantly, a defiant struggle to the last. Three fish to the 'Ditch Damsel' had proved its worth to me, although sometimes this fishery can verge on 'easy' because of the relatively high stocking density. With just one fish left on my permit I headed to my car to change to a floating line and to grab some lighter tippet and a couple of dry fly boxes.
On my way I stopped to chat to Mr and Mrs Sailor on the larger water. Mrs S had just 'bumped' a fish whilst holding the rod for dearly beloved. I told the Sailor how the new fly had performed, and by the time I finished at the car he had banked his first trout, on the 'Ditch Damsel' once again, although his version was much slimmer than my tying. The Sailors followed me back to the clearer pond, where we found the Lumberjack had already been joined by Rodney and Dell-boy, both trying to get off their marks. The Admiral came along too, having one trout to his name so far. The Inspector, however, continued fishing the larger 'lake'; the Boys reckoned he had caught two or three on his usual buzzers approach. I hoped the peace and familiarity of fly fishing was providing some respite for him.
I ginked-up my leader and tippet then tied on a #14 'Midas' fly and started prospecting for a take. There had been just a few rises during the preceding two hours or so, but they were separated and sporadic, giving no indications of anything particular hatching. The Midas is one I have not used before, but found on YouTube, and it’s supposedly 'les nads du chien'.
To my left in the corner, I noticed a fish moving, then spotted a second, bigger one holding near the lake-bed beneath a shrubby silver birch. A couple of poor side casts later I managed to juxtapose the fly, although I couldn't now see either fish. Completely taking me by surprise, one rose and I pricked it on striking, a great splash then nothing. I probably said "Oh Heck" or "Bother", or something. The Sailor, fishing some yards to my right, just chuckled whilst tying on a size 14 Adams parachute. Before long he spotted a fish swimming his way from the right, covered it, and up it came! Classic dry fly fishing. Having nabbed his brace, his missus departed to read in their car while he walked around to chat and say his goodbyes to the other Fluff Boys before doing his catch return.
The Lumberjack, having bagged-up, started to barrack Dell-boy and Rodney as is his custom. Rodney at last hooked a trout but it escaped the ensuing tug of war, I think Rodney abides by the 'give 'em an inch and they'll take a mile' method of playing a fish. Next, the Admiral proved he hasn't lost any of his old skill by performing his speciality: the long-distance release.
I moved back to that gap between islands, now prospecting with a #16 dry midge pattern, but the surface chop was moving the fly quite quickly and at the same time hiding any sign of fish at the surface. The Sailor completed his circuit and we were chatting about different ways of 'mending' line when mid-mend there was a splashy rise to the fly, I struck and the fish tore line off the reel. As soon as I thought I had the upper hand the fish raced towards me whilst I reeled in as quickly as I could, but not quick enough and the barbless hook lost its hold. Would I get a third rise?
Dell-boy caught a fish next, much to Rodney's chagrin, so they exchanged pleasantries. Not long afterwards Dell-boy caught his second, stimulating Rodney to launch into a blue diatribe. (Thinks: Blue Diatribe would be a great name for a salmon fly!).
It seemed that each time I cast my dry to a new area there would be a splash in the spot I had just vacated: the Law of Sod flexing its powers once again. Next came a swirl at the fly the very second I was lifting it off for another cast. That was enough for me and I consigned the dry fly approach until another day. Veering straight to the dark side I knotted on a Biscuit Blob. The Sailor, standing beside me, shook his head, steadfast to the purer, naturalistic approach. I wet the fly, squeezed out the air, made a cast and let the Blob sink slowly out of sight, while the Sailor suggested FM Halford's posse would be burning me at the stake. Of course, I missed the take, striking too late. Undaunted I cast again, continued talking, but was suddenly interrupted by a smash-take which set the reel screaming until I palmed it. This fish fought as hard as its predecessors until I could slide it into the net, the Sailor acting as gillie. Lunch time, we all headed back to the cars.
The Inspector's four fish included a cracker at four and three-quarters. He soon departed, as did the Sailors, leaving Rodney still looking for his brace and the Admiral chasing his second; both resumed after the break. Rodney fished from the bank in front of the cars while the Lumberjack and Dell-boy watched him from the comfort of the SUV. The Admiral returned to the smaller 'lake' so I followed to see if I could be of assistance. Once the Admiral confirmed he didn't mind me sticking my nose in I asked if he wanted to try either the new Damsel or the Blob. He elected to try the Blob, never having used one before. I took the one off my vest fly patch and while tying it onto his tippet explained there were essentially three ways to fish it: the roly-poly, a very slow retrieve, or submerged and static. I cast it out to demonstrate a roly-poly and a big bow-wave formed as a trout chased after the fly, I had to pull very fast to outpace the fish to avoid hooking it. The Admiral took his rod, cast, and started the retrieve but it was a bit too slow and he fumbled the line a couple of times. Now he cast again to try the slow retrieve once the fly had sunk out of sight. Towards the end of the retrieve we could see the Blob, with a trout following closely. Upon seeing the rod’s tip it veered away; the Admiral cast in the direction the trout had taken and as the Blob sank from sight his line tightened ... fish on! Soon it was my turn to do the gillie bit. Job done!
Roll-on the next Fluff Club outing!
The Fluff Boys have fished this venue before, but prior to the commencement of these Fluff Club chronicles. The Admiral was already in the hut paying when I arrived; shortly afterwards the Sailor arrived with his memsahib. While readying our kit we were joined by the Inspector, then the Lumberjack, Dell-boy, and Rodney arrived together in the Lumberjack's SUV. A better turnout this time.
We were all very pleased indeed to see the Inspector fishing once again - 2016 was tragic for his poor family, absolutely heart-breaking and horrid. How he and his wife bear their terrible misfortune is something I cannot even begin to comprehend.
Spring is here: day and night were into double-digit centigrade at last; thick cloud cover today but no rain expected. There was birdsong in the air and frogsong in the water margins.
The fishery has two 'lakes', the larger one is always a tad coloured, but the smaller one gin clear, both of them spring fed. We headed off separately, Whytee heading straight for the smaller pond's far bank. Apart from our magnificent seven there were as many other anglers abroad, a reasonable Sunday turnover for the fishery. I was keen to try out a new Damsel pattern I had tied which was originally devised for carp fishing in the USA; the pattern gleaned from a stateside magazine that the Sailor had lent me. The Lumberjack followed, to fish the left-hand bank as you approach. I made my first cast allowing leader and line to sink while I counted 15 seconds down, then started a variable retrieve ... tight line! Unfortunately, this fish and I soon parted company; this fly pattern fishes hook-point up, protruding through the wing of marabou and rabbit fur fibres, so I wondered if the hook point had been masked and couldn't penetrate sufficiently. The second cast saw the line go solid again but this time the Rainbow stayed on, fighting strongly for the few minutes before being netted. A satisfying start. Meanwhile the Lumberjack had taken a fish too, catching his on a small black lure. My two strikes did not necessarily prove the efficacy of the pattern, so I didn't change it. Another Rainbow trout soon followed t'other into the bass bag, but smaller than my first at just under three pounds. I moved across to the opposite bank, in transit noticing the Lumberjack netting his second fish. The breeze was ruffling the surface of my new swim so I couldn't spot any fish, nevertheless I cast towards the gap between the two islands. Shortly a trout of around two pounds fought me valiantly, a defiant struggle to the last. Three fish to the 'Ditch Damsel' had proved its worth to me, although sometimes this fishery can verge on 'easy' because of the relatively high stocking density. With just one fish left on my permit I headed to my car to change to a floating line and to grab some lighter tippet and a couple of dry fly boxes.
On my way I stopped to chat to Mr and Mrs Sailor on the larger water. Mrs S had just 'bumped' a fish whilst holding the rod for dearly beloved. I told the Sailor how the new fly had performed, and by the time I finished at the car he had banked his first trout, on the 'Ditch Damsel' once again, although his version was much slimmer than my tying. The Sailors followed me back to the clearer pond, where we found the Lumberjack had already been joined by Rodney and Dell-boy, both trying to get off their marks. The Admiral came along too, having one trout to his name so far. The Inspector, however, continued fishing the larger 'lake'; the Boys reckoned he had caught two or three on his usual buzzers approach. I hoped the peace and familiarity of fly fishing was providing some respite for him.
I ginked-up my leader and tippet then tied on a #14 'Midas' fly and started prospecting for a take. There had been just a few rises during the preceding two hours or so, but they were separated and sporadic, giving no indications of anything particular hatching. The Midas is one I have not used before, but found on YouTube, and it’s supposedly 'les nads du chien'.
To my left in the corner, I noticed a fish moving, then spotted a second, bigger one holding near the lake-bed beneath a shrubby silver birch. A couple of poor side casts later I managed to juxtapose the fly, although I couldn't now see either fish. Completely taking me by surprise, one rose and I pricked it on striking, a great splash then nothing. I probably said "Oh Heck" or "Bother", or something. The Sailor, fishing some yards to my right, just chuckled whilst tying on a size 14 Adams parachute. Before long he spotted a fish swimming his way from the right, covered it, and up it came! Classic dry fly fishing. Having nabbed his brace, his missus departed to read in their car while he walked around to chat and say his goodbyes to the other Fluff Boys before doing his catch return.
The Lumberjack, having bagged-up, started to barrack Dell-boy and Rodney as is his custom. Rodney at last hooked a trout but it escaped the ensuing tug of war, I think Rodney abides by the 'give 'em an inch and they'll take a mile' method of playing a fish. Next, the Admiral proved he hasn't lost any of his old skill by performing his speciality: the long-distance release.
I moved back to that gap between islands, now prospecting with a #16 dry midge pattern, but the surface chop was moving the fly quite quickly and at the same time hiding any sign of fish at the surface. The Sailor completed his circuit and we were chatting about different ways of 'mending' line when mid-mend there was a splashy rise to the fly, I struck and the fish tore line off the reel. As soon as I thought I had the upper hand the fish raced towards me whilst I reeled in as quickly as I could, but not quick enough and the barbless hook lost its hold. Would I get a third rise?
Dell-boy caught a fish next, much to Rodney's chagrin, so they exchanged pleasantries. Not long afterwards Dell-boy caught his second, stimulating Rodney to launch into a blue diatribe. (Thinks: Blue Diatribe would be a great name for a salmon fly!).
It seemed that each time I cast my dry to a new area there would be a splash in the spot I had just vacated: the Law of Sod flexing its powers once again. Next came a swirl at the fly the very second I was lifting it off for another cast. That was enough for me and I consigned the dry fly approach until another day. Veering straight to the dark side I knotted on a Biscuit Blob. The Sailor, standing beside me, shook his head, steadfast to the purer, naturalistic approach. I wet the fly, squeezed out the air, made a cast and let the Blob sink slowly out of sight, while the Sailor suggested FM Halford's posse would be burning me at the stake. Of course, I missed the take, striking too late. Undaunted I cast again, continued talking, but was suddenly interrupted by a smash-take which set the reel screaming until I palmed it. This fish fought as hard as its predecessors until I could slide it into the net, the Sailor acting as gillie. Lunch time, we all headed back to the cars.
The Inspector's four fish included a cracker at four and three-quarters. He soon departed, as did the Sailors, leaving Rodney still looking for his brace and the Admiral chasing his second; both resumed after the break. Rodney fished from the bank in front of the cars while the Lumberjack and Dell-boy watched him from the comfort of the SUV. The Admiral returned to the smaller 'lake' so I followed to see if I could be of assistance. Once the Admiral confirmed he didn't mind me sticking my nose in I asked if he wanted to try either the new Damsel or the Blob. He elected to try the Blob, never having used one before. I took the one off my vest fly patch and while tying it onto his tippet explained there were essentially three ways to fish it: the roly-poly, a very slow retrieve, or submerged and static. I cast it out to demonstrate a roly-poly and a big bow-wave formed as a trout chased after the fly, I had to pull very fast to outpace the fish to avoid hooking it. The Admiral took his rod, cast, and started the retrieve but it was a bit too slow and he fumbled the line a couple of times. Now he cast again to try the slow retrieve once the fly had sunk out of sight. Towards the end of the retrieve we could see the Blob, with a trout following closely. Upon seeing the rod’s tip it veered away; the Admiral cast in the direction the trout had taken and as the Blob sank from sight his line tightened ... fish on! Soon it was my turn to do the gillie bit. Job done!
Roll-on the next Fluff Club outing!
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