The Continuing Adventures of the Fluff Club, Episode 34
In which the Fluff
Boys' names are pseudonyms, but all else is true.
"Fishing is a discipline in the equality of men...
for all men are equal before fish".
- Herbert Hoover
We hit Meon Springs Trout Fishery for six - by which I mean six of the Fluff Club fellows managed to assemble at the venue last visited in episode 27, (before that in 10). Whytee was first to arrive, closely followed by the Sailor. The Professor, Dell-boy, the Admiral and Jackdaw turned up after we two had actually started fishing. In addition, there were a number of other anglers, including two Dad-and-son combos plus one Dad-and-daughter. Great to see!
Walkers, runners and cyclists were also very abundant, probably because it was a beautiful summer's day. By 09.00 the temperature had reached twenty degrees C, and I expected the bright sunshine and heat could oppress the fishing from mid-day for at least a couple of hours. Not that I was going to be around: I had received strict instructions to be present at, and provide trout for, a barbecue for the three-year-old grandson, with effect from 13.00. Earlier in the week I'd had a long day, driving to Devon to fish three wild trout rivers, then driving back; approximately a 300-mile round trip. I caught just one stunning, wild Brownie, a little under one pound, then slipped it back. Was it worth it? Damn right it was! Back to Meon Springs though:
The water in 'Whitewool Lake' was four degrees lower than the air temperature, very clear and it looked like the new management (of about six weeks, I think) had been very busy with the weed; as a result, large numbers of trout could be seen, some forming into shoals. There were some larger four-pound-somethings visible here and there too, and one particular clonker (probably a low double) cruising a circuit slowly around in front of the lodge's decking. The Sailor and I commenced our operations along the bank towards the dam end, where the water widens. Dell-boy started in front of the lodge but the Professor and Jackdaw went up to Coomb to kick-off. I knotted on a brown Muskins but I could soon see the total indifference from the fish so I shortly changed to a skinny, black Damsel pattern with some (you've already guessed) blue flash. Second cast with it and a Rainbow outsprinted three others and latched onto the fly. Having landed the two-pound-something trout I snipped off the fly: my brownie points account is pretty good at present, I didn't need to be back home too quickly.
It being the season, on went an olive Limit Damsel. I moved a few yards along towards the dam and cast towards that big oak tree on the far side. After a couple of casts one fish obliged with a tap but was too quick and ejected the fly. On the next two casts I had follows but no takes, then two casts where fish turned towards the fly but didn't follow, but the next throw a bigger trout engulfed the fly as it passed in front of its nose. This one really pulled hard; weighed later it went three-and-a-half pounds. Thus far I was fully compliant with mission control's itinerary: one hour gone, with just one fish to go. Cool.
I moved onto the opposite bank, usually much less-fished because of the rowdy gang of trees and shrubs close behind which are always looking to cause mischief and mayhem. I was heading towards the lodge end to see if that big 'un was still hanging out up there. En passant, the Sailor had inquired what fly or flies had done the biz; I then called the same information across to Dell-boy once I had moved up. The big 'bow was indeed still about, doing its steady circuits, so I had chances to show it the Damsel several times, but it disdained. Dell boy had tried a few patterns at it too, but also to no avail. The Admiral had earlier tried for it with PTNs and the like but no good came of it so he had moved in the direction of the dam end where he caught a Rainbow on a gold bead-head Damsel pattern of his own. I had now lost sight of the target and waited for it to reappear, but it seemed it had chosen a new course for its patrolling. Still no sign of the monster, I began to get bored with waiting, fly in hand. I eventually spotted a goodish-sized, darker cruiser and covered it with a roll cast (as I was under a tree now, in some shade). A lesser fish overtook, chomped the fly, and number three was on. It seemed I would be banking some brownie points after all: two hours gone and mission accomplished.
It was hot now, so I bought a cold can before walking around to bid adieu to the others. The Sailor was still fishless and becoming a tad concerned, as indeed was Dell-boy. The Admiral was still on just one but was taking his time to complete his brace. Up on Coomb I found Jackdaw sitting on a bench and also fishless, although he had lost one earlier; now he was contemplating a move to the other lake to change his luck. He informed me the Professor had already bagged three; I joked that the Prof must have been fishing the stock ponds. I walked along to speak to our learned friend, and as I approached he hooked and landed his fourth. All of his trout had taken an orange bead-headed, leaded stalking bug with an orange tail, which he had been sight fishing to likely prospects.
I apologise that I can't tell you, dear reader, how the remaining Fluff Boys ended up after I left, but I dare say I will find out at our next tying session. Goodbyes done, I drove away along the narrow lanes, dodging cyclists and walkers throughout, car stereo set to stun and windows wide open to get my own back. What a glorious morning to be out fishing amid the rolling downs.
Seia o'o i le isi taimi.
"And it's hard to say
Who you are these days
But you run on anyway
Don't you baby?
You keep running for another place
To find your saving grace
Don't you baby?"
-Tom Petty
Post scriptum : here's the update … Dell-boy got his brace, the Admiral too, plus one to a dry on the C&R beats, but sadly Jackdaw blanked, as did the Sailor. For the latter that's three in a row, and a bit of a worry.
"Fishing is a discipline in the equality of men...
for all men are equal before fish".
- Herbert Hoover
We hit Meon Springs Trout Fishery for six - by which I mean six of the Fluff Club fellows managed to assemble at the venue last visited in episode 27, (before that in 10). Whytee was first to arrive, closely followed by the Sailor. The Professor, Dell-boy, the Admiral and Jackdaw turned up after we two had actually started fishing. In addition, there were a number of other anglers, including two Dad-and-son combos plus one Dad-and-daughter. Great to see!
Walkers, runners and cyclists were also very abundant, probably because it was a beautiful summer's day. By 09.00 the temperature had reached twenty degrees C, and I expected the bright sunshine and heat could oppress the fishing from mid-day for at least a couple of hours. Not that I was going to be around: I had received strict instructions to be present at, and provide trout for, a barbecue for the three-year-old grandson, with effect from 13.00. Earlier in the week I'd had a long day, driving to Devon to fish three wild trout rivers, then driving back; approximately a 300-mile round trip. I caught just one stunning, wild Brownie, a little under one pound, then slipped it back. Was it worth it? Damn right it was! Back to Meon Springs though:
The water in 'Whitewool Lake' was four degrees lower than the air temperature, very clear and it looked like the new management (of about six weeks, I think) had been very busy with the weed; as a result, large numbers of trout could be seen, some forming into shoals. There were some larger four-pound-somethings visible here and there too, and one particular clonker (probably a low double) cruising a circuit slowly around in front of the lodge's decking. The Sailor and I commenced our operations along the bank towards the dam end, where the water widens. Dell-boy started in front of the lodge but the Professor and Jackdaw went up to Coomb to kick-off. I knotted on a brown Muskins but I could soon see the total indifference from the fish so I shortly changed to a skinny, black Damsel pattern with some (you've already guessed) blue flash. Second cast with it and a Rainbow outsprinted three others and latched onto the fly. Having landed the two-pound-something trout I snipped off the fly: my brownie points account is pretty good at present, I didn't need to be back home too quickly.
It being the season, on went an olive Limit Damsel. I moved a few yards along towards the dam and cast towards that big oak tree on the far side. After a couple of casts one fish obliged with a tap but was too quick and ejected the fly. On the next two casts I had follows but no takes, then two casts where fish turned towards the fly but didn't follow, but the next throw a bigger trout engulfed the fly as it passed in front of its nose. This one really pulled hard; weighed later it went three-and-a-half pounds. Thus far I was fully compliant with mission control's itinerary: one hour gone, with just one fish to go. Cool.
I moved onto the opposite bank, usually much less-fished because of the rowdy gang of trees and shrubs close behind which are always looking to cause mischief and mayhem. I was heading towards the lodge end to see if that big 'un was still hanging out up there. En passant, the Sailor had inquired what fly or flies had done the biz; I then called the same information across to Dell-boy once I had moved up. The big 'bow was indeed still about, doing its steady circuits, so I had chances to show it the Damsel several times, but it disdained. Dell boy had tried a few patterns at it too, but also to no avail. The Admiral had earlier tried for it with PTNs and the like but no good came of it so he had moved in the direction of the dam end where he caught a Rainbow on a gold bead-head Damsel pattern of his own. I had now lost sight of the target and waited for it to reappear, but it seemed it had chosen a new course for its patrolling. Still no sign of the monster, I began to get bored with waiting, fly in hand. I eventually spotted a goodish-sized, darker cruiser and covered it with a roll cast (as I was under a tree now, in some shade). A lesser fish overtook, chomped the fly, and number three was on. It seemed I would be banking some brownie points after all: two hours gone and mission accomplished.
It was hot now, so I bought a cold can before walking around to bid adieu to the others. The Sailor was still fishless and becoming a tad concerned, as indeed was Dell-boy. The Admiral was still on just one but was taking his time to complete his brace. Up on Coomb I found Jackdaw sitting on a bench and also fishless, although he had lost one earlier; now he was contemplating a move to the other lake to change his luck. He informed me the Professor had already bagged three; I joked that the Prof must have been fishing the stock ponds. I walked along to speak to our learned friend, and as I approached he hooked and landed his fourth. All of his trout had taken an orange bead-headed, leaded stalking bug with an orange tail, which he had been sight fishing to likely prospects.
I apologise that I can't tell you, dear reader, how the remaining Fluff Boys ended up after I left, but I dare say I will find out at our next tying session. Goodbyes done, I drove away along the narrow lanes, dodging cyclists and walkers throughout, car stereo set to stun and windows wide open to get my own back. What a glorious morning to be out fishing amid the rolling downs.
Seia o'o i le isi taimi.
"And it's hard to say
Who you are these days
But you run on anyway
Don't you baby?
You keep running for another place
To find your saving grace
Don't you baby?"
-Tom Petty
Post scriptum : here's the update … Dell-boy got his brace, the Admiral too, plus one to a dry on the C&R beats, but sadly Jackdaw blanked, as did the Sailor. For the latter that's three in a row, and a bit of a worry.
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