The Continuing Adventures of the Fluff Club, Episode 31
Zut alors, the
Beast from the East is on the way. Today's fishery, Duncton Mill, is around an
hour's drive for most of the attending Fluff Boys. In the preceding days I was
concerned that we might be iced-off, however the fishery manager posted the
status quo via Twitter, early doors, so no need for plan B. There wasn't
actually a plan B, this is the Fluff Club after all. A famous five rendezvoused
in the well-appointed lodge, enjoying the excellent free coffee and lemon
drizzle cake in the warmth from the wood fire. Before we fell asleep in the
comfy chairs we managed to muster and tackled-up for the fray. It was very cold
with a clear blue sky but the returning sun offered some warmth provided you
kept out of the breezes the Russians were wafting our way.
One of the fishery's members had told me that of the four waters Alder Lake and Coot Lake were generally only stocked for summer and autumn, which meant we should concentrate our efforts on Rosie's and Birch. At our Tuesday tying nights Dell-boy often fantasises about Rosie's, but that's a completely different story altogether. Without conferring, the Admiral, Jackdaw, the Inspector, Lumberjack and Whytee picked spots around Rosie's. (No, stop it). The water was absolutely gin clear although gusts of wind ruffled the surface, swirling this way and that but prevailing from the east. A couple of the guys had decided not to come today because of the old adage 'wind from the east, fish bite the least', however, I don't believe wind direction alone can dictate a fish's appetite, preferring to rely on other reasons: a reasonably steady barometer and a half moon suggested to me that the fishing might be okay.
The fowl were out in force: Mallards, Goldeneye, Canadian Geese, Moorhen, and quarrelling Coots everywhere. In the morning a pair of Red Kites circled above us, masters of the sky. By afternoon a pair of Buzzards floated lazily around, causing me to ponder whether these Accipitrinae were sharing a territory?
The board outside the weighing room had suggested small flies fished deep should be the way to go, alternatively the ever-reliable BFD. A member of the syndicate who was fishing from the slight promontory along Rosie's west flank (stop it now) and casting into the wind was regularly getting his rod bent. In the NE corner another regular seemed to be catching a few too. The Fluff Boys, however, were not. When the first successful angler passed me, having bagged-up, I enquired what the successful fly had been, he replied it was a red bloodworm pattern. I bit my tongue, as there are bloodworms and there are bloodworms: for instance, a red hook pattern, red buzzer, or red Apps variant, are all described as 'bloodworms'; as are the things made out of red beads, red wool, red chenille, marabou, or all of the above! So, I asked if I could see the fly, he told me that a tree possessed it now but he could show me a black version of it. I would have called it a gold-bead-head leech, but maybe that's just me. Lumberjack came along later and informed me that the other successful angler had been catching on diawl bachs, as had the chap's wife who had been fishing nearby on Birch Lake and had caught three.
Using a camo intermediate I was counting down to gauge the depths but hadn't had even a sniff to a little BFD variant, Egan's Red Dart, an Egg fly, or a Cruncher. I moved a couple of swims along to the spot where the (absent) Professor had caught his brace on our last visit to this fishery, back in episode 12. Here the depth is around 20 feet, part of the deep channel that supposedly cuts across on a diagonal. I set up an indicator rig on a floating line, but still nothing transpired. By now, the Inspector had disappeared to Birch; by mid-morning Jackdaw and the Lumberjack headed there too. It wasn't very long afterwards that I heard the Inspector call out "Well done" to Jackdaw, which I guessed indicated that at least one of the Fluff Boys had managed to catch a trout. As the small hand neared twelve I switched back to the intermediate with an Apps variant #14 on the business end. After quite a few casts something pulled back so I struck. The trout jumped high three times before I began to have some control over a lively Rainbow somewhere around two pounds. I played it as I usually do but began consciously thinking that it would be nice to bag a second before lunch then try to get my remaining two from Birch in the apres midi. I looked across the lake to see the Admiral's rod bending into a fish from that promontory. At that precise moment my trout slipped the hook. Chickens and eggs spring to mind; another lesson learned the hard way! I cast (a little angrily) until lunch then headed for the lodge, unhappy with my efforts.
In the courtyard the fishery's extremely helpful gaffer asked the Admiral and I how we were faring. On hearing, he fetched a map of the lakes, pointing out the good places and indicating where he thought the fish were lying in Birch Lake. He also suggested we fish deep, using ultra-slow retrieves and small flies. At lunch the Admiral and I agreed, that considering the early morning Tweet, the coffee and lemon drizzle cake, the comfortable lodge and the mature lakes, also the manager's obvious desire to help, he was running a very good fishery here indeed; we understood why so many become members. Even so, day rods are available through the winter period (October to March) and seem competitively priced to me.
We five ate our packed lunches in the welcome warmth; the sit-rep was: one for the Admiral from Rosie's, three for the Inspector, from Birch (two on the Buzzer, one to the Snail), and two for Jackdaw using an unnamed thing featuring some red stuff amongst the superglue and glitter; meanwhile the Lumberjack and I were facing a skunking. Despite the cold we were all enjoying the ambiance of the fishery, were generally managing to keep out of the worst of the biting wind and in the thin sunshine, with the stunning back-drop of the South Downs in winter plumage.
At the dam end of Birch I started with the Apps variant and intermediate, now having to wait for an eternity to allow the fly to get down in the depths; the deeper the water, the slower the fly sinks. It's a little strange seeing your line hang vertically down from the rod tip while you are standing on the bank. To my right the Inspector hooked a good fish, fishing at ten feet deep with the snail pattern. The fish fought hard, boring back down into the depths several times. Directly opposite us, on the small island, the Admiral hooked a nice fish too, so a ' double header' was in progress. In due course I netted the Inspector's fish for him, while the Admiral was struggling to extend his landing net handle, but he soon managed to net his fish, clearly some way above three pounds. The best fish of the day, however, was the Inspector's, a cracking, fin-perfect Rainbow just over the four-and-a-half pounds mark.
The Lumberjack went back to Rosie's for the afternoon. I switched over to a floating line and an indicator approach, setting the stick-on foam seven feet up the tapered leader and adding eighteen feet of tippet to the micro ring, thus setting up to fish the fly twenty-five feet deep, this time putting my faith in a red tungsten bead-head nymph-cum-buzzer pattern. Although this area was supposed to be thirty feet deep I brought up some bits of weed, including blanket weed, so I knew I was down far enough. In a while my indicator dipped fractionally so I struck and felt that tug we crave. I played the fish carefully, very carefully. Of course, a leader that long below a foam indicator presents problems when it comes to getting ready to net the fish: the only solution was to hand line the fish at the finish, like a tenkara angler when using a line longer than his rod. One in the bag was a great relief, not least because our previous visit to this fishery (back in episode 12) saw me catch a solitary fish; I do like to progress if I can.
The Lumberjack hove back into view, he had caught on Rosie's, at last, and that one was enough. The Admiral, Inspector, and Jackdaw had already filled their tickets, so the four of them packed up to head for home; all bidding me farewell with "See you next Tuesday".
After a further twenty minutes down deep I thought I should work back up through the depths, so I moved the indicator to the micro ring so that I was now fishing at eighteen feet, and changed the fly to a #14 skinny, all-red holographic buzzer pattern. Time passed, I was getting around to wondering what to try next when the yellow indicator moved sideways an inch or two, dipping without submerging. I struck and was gratified to feel the fish resist, I played it carefully and even with the long leader/cast was able to net it, at full stretch with the rod held high up and behind me while my left arm and the 5' long net handle reached out to the trout, just. Two in the bass bag was a much better feeling. Three-thirty was later than I had intended to stay, but a third in those conditions would be admirable, so I tarried yet. Ten minutes later there was the third slight, 'Roach' bite of that day, pleasingly producing my third fish. I had manged to improve on the previous visit. All three Rainbows were the same size, the total bag only went four pounds and ten ounces, but I was very content at that.
Gis la venonta tempo.
"The solution to any problem - work, love, money, whatever - is to go fishing, and the worse the problem, the longer the trip should be"
- John Gierach
One of the fishery's members had told me that of the four waters Alder Lake and Coot Lake were generally only stocked for summer and autumn, which meant we should concentrate our efforts on Rosie's and Birch. At our Tuesday tying nights Dell-boy often fantasises about Rosie's, but that's a completely different story altogether. Without conferring, the Admiral, Jackdaw, the Inspector, Lumberjack and Whytee picked spots around Rosie's. (No, stop it). The water was absolutely gin clear although gusts of wind ruffled the surface, swirling this way and that but prevailing from the east. A couple of the guys had decided not to come today because of the old adage 'wind from the east, fish bite the least', however, I don't believe wind direction alone can dictate a fish's appetite, preferring to rely on other reasons: a reasonably steady barometer and a half moon suggested to me that the fishing might be okay.
The fowl were out in force: Mallards, Goldeneye, Canadian Geese, Moorhen, and quarrelling Coots everywhere. In the morning a pair of Red Kites circled above us, masters of the sky. By afternoon a pair of Buzzards floated lazily around, causing me to ponder whether these Accipitrinae were sharing a territory?
The board outside the weighing room had suggested small flies fished deep should be the way to go, alternatively the ever-reliable BFD. A member of the syndicate who was fishing from the slight promontory along Rosie's west flank (stop it now) and casting into the wind was regularly getting his rod bent. In the NE corner another regular seemed to be catching a few too. The Fluff Boys, however, were not. When the first successful angler passed me, having bagged-up, I enquired what the successful fly had been, he replied it was a red bloodworm pattern. I bit my tongue, as there are bloodworms and there are bloodworms: for instance, a red hook pattern, red buzzer, or red Apps variant, are all described as 'bloodworms'; as are the things made out of red beads, red wool, red chenille, marabou, or all of the above! So, I asked if I could see the fly, he told me that a tree possessed it now but he could show me a black version of it. I would have called it a gold-bead-head leech, but maybe that's just me. Lumberjack came along later and informed me that the other successful angler had been catching on diawl bachs, as had the chap's wife who had been fishing nearby on Birch Lake and had caught three.
Using a camo intermediate I was counting down to gauge the depths but hadn't had even a sniff to a little BFD variant, Egan's Red Dart, an Egg fly, or a Cruncher. I moved a couple of swims along to the spot where the (absent) Professor had caught his brace on our last visit to this fishery, back in episode 12. Here the depth is around 20 feet, part of the deep channel that supposedly cuts across on a diagonal. I set up an indicator rig on a floating line, but still nothing transpired. By now, the Inspector had disappeared to Birch; by mid-morning Jackdaw and the Lumberjack headed there too. It wasn't very long afterwards that I heard the Inspector call out "Well done" to Jackdaw, which I guessed indicated that at least one of the Fluff Boys had managed to catch a trout. As the small hand neared twelve I switched back to the intermediate with an Apps variant #14 on the business end. After quite a few casts something pulled back so I struck. The trout jumped high three times before I began to have some control over a lively Rainbow somewhere around two pounds. I played it as I usually do but began consciously thinking that it would be nice to bag a second before lunch then try to get my remaining two from Birch in the apres midi. I looked across the lake to see the Admiral's rod bending into a fish from that promontory. At that precise moment my trout slipped the hook. Chickens and eggs spring to mind; another lesson learned the hard way! I cast (a little angrily) until lunch then headed for the lodge, unhappy with my efforts.
In the courtyard the fishery's extremely helpful gaffer asked the Admiral and I how we were faring. On hearing, he fetched a map of the lakes, pointing out the good places and indicating where he thought the fish were lying in Birch Lake. He also suggested we fish deep, using ultra-slow retrieves and small flies. At lunch the Admiral and I agreed, that considering the early morning Tweet, the coffee and lemon drizzle cake, the comfortable lodge and the mature lakes, also the manager's obvious desire to help, he was running a very good fishery here indeed; we understood why so many become members. Even so, day rods are available through the winter period (October to March) and seem competitively priced to me.
We five ate our packed lunches in the welcome warmth; the sit-rep was: one for the Admiral from Rosie's, three for the Inspector, from Birch (two on the Buzzer, one to the Snail), and two for Jackdaw using an unnamed thing featuring some red stuff amongst the superglue and glitter; meanwhile the Lumberjack and I were facing a skunking. Despite the cold we were all enjoying the ambiance of the fishery, were generally managing to keep out of the worst of the biting wind and in the thin sunshine, with the stunning back-drop of the South Downs in winter plumage.
At the dam end of Birch I started with the Apps variant and intermediate, now having to wait for an eternity to allow the fly to get down in the depths; the deeper the water, the slower the fly sinks. It's a little strange seeing your line hang vertically down from the rod tip while you are standing on the bank. To my right the Inspector hooked a good fish, fishing at ten feet deep with the snail pattern. The fish fought hard, boring back down into the depths several times. Directly opposite us, on the small island, the Admiral hooked a nice fish too, so a ' double header' was in progress. In due course I netted the Inspector's fish for him, while the Admiral was struggling to extend his landing net handle, but he soon managed to net his fish, clearly some way above three pounds. The best fish of the day, however, was the Inspector's, a cracking, fin-perfect Rainbow just over the four-and-a-half pounds mark.
The Lumberjack went back to Rosie's for the afternoon. I switched over to a floating line and an indicator approach, setting the stick-on foam seven feet up the tapered leader and adding eighteen feet of tippet to the micro ring, thus setting up to fish the fly twenty-five feet deep, this time putting my faith in a red tungsten bead-head nymph-cum-buzzer pattern. Although this area was supposed to be thirty feet deep I brought up some bits of weed, including blanket weed, so I knew I was down far enough. In a while my indicator dipped fractionally so I struck and felt that tug we crave. I played the fish carefully, very carefully. Of course, a leader that long below a foam indicator presents problems when it comes to getting ready to net the fish: the only solution was to hand line the fish at the finish, like a tenkara angler when using a line longer than his rod. One in the bag was a great relief, not least because our previous visit to this fishery (back in episode 12) saw me catch a solitary fish; I do like to progress if I can.
The Lumberjack hove back into view, he had caught on Rosie's, at last, and that one was enough. The Admiral, Inspector, and Jackdaw had already filled their tickets, so the four of them packed up to head for home; all bidding me farewell with "See you next Tuesday".
After a further twenty minutes down deep I thought I should work back up through the depths, so I moved the indicator to the micro ring so that I was now fishing at eighteen feet, and changed the fly to a #14 skinny, all-red holographic buzzer pattern. Time passed, I was getting around to wondering what to try next when the yellow indicator moved sideways an inch or two, dipping without submerging. I struck and was gratified to feel the fish resist, I played it carefully and even with the long leader/cast was able to net it, at full stretch with the rod held high up and behind me while my left arm and the 5' long net handle reached out to the trout, just. Two in the bass bag was a much better feeling. Three-thirty was later than I had intended to stay, but a third in those conditions would be admirable, so I tarried yet. Ten minutes later there was the third slight, 'Roach' bite of that day, pleasingly producing my third fish. I had manged to improve on the previous visit. All three Rainbows were the same size, the total bag only went four pounds and ten ounces, but I was very content at that.
Gis la venonta tempo.
"The solution to any problem - work, love, money, whatever - is to go fishing, and the worse the problem, the longer the trip should be"
- John Gierach
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