The Continuing Adventures of the Fluff Club, Episode 32
(In which the names
are pseudonyms but all else is factual)
"It was a beautiful day, the sun beat down
I had the radio on, I was drivin'
Trees flew by, me and Del were singin'
Little Runaway,
I was flyin' "
(Tom Petty)
The keener readers amongst you may have wondered why it’s been so long since the last FC blog entry? The reason was 'The Return of the Beast from the East', … our last trip was cancelled.
A famous five turned out today, again just five; it seems numbers are our weakness, dwindling at our weekly tying evenings too.
"It was a beautiful day, the sun beat down
I had the radio on, I was drivin'
Trees flew by, me and Del were singin'
Little Runaway,
I was flyin' "
(Tom Petty)
The keener readers amongst you may have wondered why it’s been so long since the last FC blog entry? The reason was 'The Return of the Beast from the East', … our last trip was cancelled.
A famous five turned out today, again just five; it seems numbers are our weakness, dwindling at our weekly tying evenings too.
In many ways
today's fishery is my 'spiritual home' in the fly fishing sense; we were last
here in episodes 20 and 23.
John O'Gaunt was one of the richest men of his era, and his legitimate descendants include Henry IV, Henry V, and Henry VI. Amidst his colourful, busy life and his great affection for the name Henry, he found the time and had the foresight to excavate the two lakes of this beautiful put and take fishery set deep in its quiet valley, many centuries ahead of today's demand for small stillwater trout fishing venues. Cheers, John!
After bumping and grinding the car down the track I saw that the Professor, the Sailor, Dell-boy, and Snowy were already present, along with eight or so other anglers. People who visit know it is not the facilities that attract (!), it's the fishing.
I set up a #5 sink-tip and a #6 intermediate, which made me the last Fluff Boy to start; I passed Dell-boy, the Professor and Snowy on the larger water, following the Sailor across to the smaller, ever crystal-clear 'lake' which I think is called Simms. He's had health issues of late so it was good to see him fishing. We fished a Silver Birch apart, and listened to the loud, harsh challenges issuing from the assorted cock Pheasants hanging around and herding their hens jealously. I started out to pull a Limit Damsel on the glass outfit and dropped the fly onto the water's surface while drawing line off the reel for the first cast. Just when I was ready I saw a big Brown rise up from the depths, mouth gaping as it approached the spread marabou of the still-floating fly. Taken completely by surprise I struck with a bunch of slack line, causing the fish to boil before zooming back to the depths. "Drat and Bother" I said out loud. The Sailor laughed inaudibly, due to his voice box problem (which has improved just a little since we last spoke). I persevered with the pattern in the same spot for an hour because of this initial interest, getting several follows and the odd nip, but nothing I could connect with. A change of fly seemed in order so I switched to the sink-tip which bore a gold bead GRHE. The first cast elicited a take on the drop which turned out to be a beautiful Brown of two pounds six ounces and had a tail like the proverbial shovel, powering away on several strong, surging runs before I could best it. Happy, moi?
The day seemed immediately nicer, but a few minutes later Snowy came over to inquire what the successful fly was, just as I cast again. During the conversation I asked about his Helios 3, which according to the Fly-fishing Forum is just one of three of that species he now owns. I had contrived to be standing with my back to the water, rod over my shoulder while we spoke, with the fly still sinking. Inevitably, I felt the tug at the same moment the Sailor noticed my line was straightening. Ninja-unlike, I did a weird spin-around strike which found me fastened to the fish for only a few seconds before it spat the hook with contempt. Snowy walked away, shaking his head.
The Sailor and I had already noticed the Professor, fishing the very first corner you come to, had now caught three Rainbows there. On the opposite side two anglers, not FBs, had caught two each, including a cracking Brown, and despite a seemingly pointless, long and very loud conversation consisting of names of people they mutually knew. Now limits fulfilled they headed off, apparently heading for a pub to collect somebody's car. I followed the Sailor's example and moved to try a new spot; he was now over on the bank opposite me. After a few minutes some hen Pheasants appeared behind him, apparently focused on bathing in the ash from a recent bonfire. The cock arrived, proclaiming his vigour at maximum decibels, within six feet of the Sailor. The Professor called across "You'll be alright for pheasant tails to tie with!" The cock called again, I shouted " I think he wants you in his harem!"
I paused by the Professor with the usual enquiry, the answer was "PTNs, Hare's Ears, that sort of thing" and he told me he had lost three fish as well. Around the corner and at the next swim I cast back towards the end of the island that he was fishing towards, and my second fish, a Rainbow of three pounds three ounces, took on the drop then fought hard all the way to the net. I snipped off that fly and put on a KKK, just because it caught my eye, (rubber legs on a Kennick Killer make it a Kicking Kennick Killer). The fishery boss came along, having the craic and checking tickets, etc. Just as he got to me there was a savage tug and I was into another hard, close-fought battle, this time with a four-pounds four ounces 'bow. I complemented old FP on how very fit and fin-perfect these fish were and that it was great to see Browns around too.
To prolong my session to at least lunch time I walked over to the Sailor and offered him a go with the intermediate rig and KKK, as he was yet to catch and sounding a little down-hearted. His painful fingers didn't help him manage the line on the retrieve very well so he soon handed the rod back, the slowness of his floating line approach was better for him. We saw the Professor land his fourth, whereupon he headed back to see how Dell-boy was getting along on the other ‘lake’. Now Snowy caught a fish at that (usually hot) isthmus peg. He had moved swims at regular intervals all morning, putting me in mind of the (missing) Inspector's constantly roving approach. Snowy has a lot of faith in BFDs and CWs, but neither seemed to be much help thus far.
I decided to try a fly tied recently: a pink Squirmy Wormy featuring a shocking-pink metallic bead head, which I chose just because. I cast to an area where there had been some sub-surface swirling, and as the fly sank there was another swirl, I struck. Another super-fit fish fought hard, almost to the reel's backing at times, way above its weight. I could feel the strain on my wrist before I was able to net it to administer the last rites. This Rainbow was a leopard-spotted beauty of four pounds seven ounces, and best of the day.
Midday now, so I put the gear away after weighing up and filling out the catch return, wherein I was pleased to see that Dell-boy had completed his brace (of three-pounders plus) using just one change of fly, to a brown-tailed white-bodied lure of his own concoction. He and the Professor had already left for home, so I ate my lunch whilst idly watching a couple of other anglers. It began to rain. I walked back to Simms (?) where the Sailor was a tad despondent and about to pack up, so I bade farewell to him, then Snowy, before heading home for some of that well-earned domestic bliss.
Jouk tan kap vini an.
John O'Gaunt was one of the richest men of his era, and his legitimate descendants include Henry IV, Henry V, and Henry VI. Amidst his colourful, busy life and his great affection for the name Henry, he found the time and had the foresight to excavate the two lakes of this beautiful put and take fishery set deep in its quiet valley, many centuries ahead of today's demand for small stillwater trout fishing venues. Cheers, John!
After bumping and grinding the car down the track I saw that the Professor, the Sailor, Dell-boy, and Snowy were already present, along with eight or so other anglers. People who visit know it is not the facilities that attract (!), it's the fishing.
I set up a #5 sink-tip and a #6 intermediate, which made me the last Fluff Boy to start; I passed Dell-boy, the Professor and Snowy on the larger water, following the Sailor across to the smaller, ever crystal-clear 'lake' which I think is called Simms. He's had health issues of late so it was good to see him fishing. We fished a Silver Birch apart, and listened to the loud, harsh challenges issuing from the assorted cock Pheasants hanging around and herding their hens jealously. I started out to pull a Limit Damsel on the glass outfit and dropped the fly onto the water's surface while drawing line off the reel for the first cast. Just when I was ready I saw a big Brown rise up from the depths, mouth gaping as it approached the spread marabou of the still-floating fly. Taken completely by surprise I struck with a bunch of slack line, causing the fish to boil before zooming back to the depths. "Drat and Bother" I said out loud. The Sailor laughed inaudibly, due to his voice box problem (which has improved just a little since we last spoke). I persevered with the pattern in the same spot for an hour because of this initial interest, getting several follows and the odd nip, but nothing I could connect with. A change of fly seemed in order so I switched to the sink-tip which bore a gold bead GRHE. The first cast elicited a take on the drop which turned out to be a beautiful Brown of two pounds six ounces and had a tail like the proverbial shovel, powering away on several strong, surging runs before I could best it. Happy, moi?
The day seemed immediately nicer, but a few minutes later Snowy came over to inquire what the successful fly was, just as I cast again. During the conversation I asked about his Helios 3, which according to the Fly-fishing Forum is just one of three of that species he now owns. I had contrived to be standing with my back to the water, rod over my shoulder while we spoke, with the fly still sinking. Inevitably, I felt the tug at the same moment the Sailor noticed my line was straightening. Ninja-unlike, I did a weird spin-around strike which found me fastened to the fish for only a few seconds before it spat the hook with contempt. Snowy walked away, shaking his head.
The Sailor and I had already noticed the Professor, fishing the very first corner you come to, had now caught three Rainbows there. On the opposite side two anglers, not FBs, had caught two each, including a cracking Brown, and despite a seemingly pointless, long and very loud conversation consisting of names of people they mutually knew. Now limits fulfilled they headed off, apparently heading for a pub to collect somebody's car. I followed the Sailor's example and moved to try a new spot; he was now over on the bank opposite me. After a few minutes some hen Pheasants appeared behind him, apparently focused on bathing in the ash from a recent bonfire. The cock arrived, proclaiming his vigour at maximum decibels, within six feet of the Sailor. The Professor called across "You'll be alright for pheasant tails to tie with!" The cock called again, I shouted " I think he wants you in his harem!"
I paused by the Professor with the usual enquiry, the answer was "PTNs, Hare's Ears, that sort of thing" and he told me he had lost three fish as well. Around the corner and at the next swim I cast back towards the end of the island that he was fishing towards, and my second fish, a Rainbow of three pounds three ounces, took on the drop then fought hard all the way to the net. I snipped off that fly and put on a KKK, just because it caught my eye, (rubber legs on a Kennick Killer make it a Kicking Kennick Killer). The fishery boss came along, having the craic and checking tickets, etc. Just as he got to me there was a savage tug and I was into another hard, close-fought battle, this time with a four-pounds four ounces 'bow. I complemented old FP on how very fit and fin-perfect these fish were and that it was great to see Browns around too.
To prolong my session to at least lunch time I walked over to the Sailor and offered him a go with the intermediate rig and KKK, as he was yet to catch and sounding a little down-hearted. His painful fingers didn't help him manage the line on the retrieve very well so he soon handed the rod back, the slowness of his floating line approach was better for him. We saw the Professor land his fourth, whereupon he headed back to see how Dell-boy was getting along on the other ‘lake’. Now Snowy caught a fish at that (usually hot) isthmus peg. He had moved swims at regular intervals all morning, putting me in mind of the (missing) Inspector's constantly roving approach. Snowy has a lot of faith in BFDs and CWs, but neither seemed to be much help thus far.
I decided to try a fly tied recently: a pink Squirmy Wormy featuring a shocking-pink metallic bead head, which I chose just because. I cast to an area where there had been some sub-surface swirling, and as the fly sank there was another swirl, I struck. Another super-fit fish fought hard, almost to the reel's backing at times, way above its weight. I could feel the strain on my wrist before I was able to net it to administer the last rites. This Rainbow was a leopard-spotted beauty of four pounds seven ounces, and best of the day.
Midday now, so I put the gear away after weighing up and filling out the catch return, wherein I was pleased to see that Dell-boy had completed his brace (of three-pounders plus) using just one change of fly, to a brown-tailed white-bodied lure of his own concoction. He and the Professor had already left for home, so I ate my lunch whilst idly watching a couple of other anglers. It began to rain. I walked back to Simms (?) where the Sailor was a tad despondent and about to pack up, so I bade farewell to him, then Snowy, before heading home for some of that well-earned domestic bliss.
Jouk tan kap vini an.
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