The Continuing Adventures of the Fluff Club, Epiode 12

The names and places are disguised to protect the innocent.

Brrr! Cold morning. The preceding week had seen some frosts at last, still, some colder nights to come before it's supposed to get milder again. There was a lot of frost on the road in, I wondered if any of the Fluff Boys would actually turn out, suspecting an hour's drive plus the cold weather would deter many of the posse.
This is a completely new fishery to me: four 'lakes' making plenty to go at. The usual clientele are a membership basis, but there are occasional day tickets available in the less busy parts of the year.
The facilities are superb, it's very nice to pull on your outer layers in front of a wood burner, with quality (free) filter coffee to hand for warming the insides. The guy who manages the fish farm made me welcome, informing that 'natural' flies were working best at the moment rather than the usual winter lures approach, but Damsels still seemed to be working too. He indicated some places to try from the map of the fishery, and I set off out, rigged with a five weight and a floating line with a three-metre midge tip. Heading down the lane from the farm there is one pond to the right, the other three are on the left, stretching away down the vale. I decided to fish the first one first.
I suppose it was the cold and low sun, but the water seemed glassy and a deep green. There were Coots, Dabchicks, and Moorhen, all keeping busy. Little sign of any fish, then I had an unmistakable bang on the fly but alas, no connection. The next cast to the same spot took longer to sink, some of the tippet still visible on the surface, then it twitched, I struck and saw a flash under the surface as the fish bumped off and was gone, a missed take 'on the drop'.
My fishing gloves, only the tips of the thumbs and index fingers are exposed, were keeping my hands warm, but the droplets from retrieving and casting the line coupled with the cold drizzle began to make my gloves wetter so the cold wouldn't be far behind. The very fine drizzle started freezing and the tiny ice crystals were landing faint but audible, ticking onto the frosted leaves lying beneath the winter tree skeleton beside me. There was no-one else in sight and for some unknown reason my spirits began to sink. Perhaps the new water and missing my only offer was getting the better of my confidence? I don't know how nor why, but sometimes you get an inescapable feeling that the magic isn't going to happen. I idly wondered how I might look to someone else right now: I've seen others starting to look despondent, desperately casting into the dark depths, despairing.
Stop it, I thought, go and warm up, have a coffee, get a grip, have a think, then start over again.
On my way back to the club room I came across three of the Fluff Club stalwarts : the Professor, the Admiral, and the Inspector were rigging up at their cars. Four of the Fluff Club wasn't so bad, considering the distance and weather forecast.
The warmth from the woodburner was seductive and my jacket was drying quickly, when a glimpse through the window showed the drizzle ceased and sky brightening. I finished my coffee and set forth for another attempt, heading to the largest of the 'lakes'. Mein host had said the first bay was always worth a go and always popular, but nobody was in residence so I thought I'd try it. I fished an Apps variant, and a couple of casts in there was a tug on it, but no more. A couple of casts later there was a swirl at the surface so I altered my angle to cover it, and as I started to straighten the tippet before commencing a retrieve there was another swirl so I strip-struck and momentarily felt resistance but the line went slack so I retrieved line quickly to astonishingly find I was connected to a trout which was running towards me! It gave a fair account of itself but at around one-and-a-half pounds it soon slid over the rim of my net on its way to meet its maker. The first of the day is always a high.
The Admiral had been fishing across from me on the far side of this bay and came over to ask what the successful fly had been. While I had been playing my trout, there had been a couple of nearby swirls made by another fish. I told the Admiral there were fish here, but I was going to try the far side of the lake where three or four of the fishery’s members had set up stall. I had noticed one of them, a lady, already depart with a brace on her stringer.
At that far side I had the craic with two of the membership who were taking turns with one rod.
They already had around five fish between them, one of which looked around 6 pounds. The taller of the two told me they were fishing buzzers, and it seemed they were catching when changing from one colour to another, then nothing until they changed again, yet the fly had to be either olive or black or the fish didn't want to know at all. You can guess of course: my buzzer box was a long way away! I moved past them to the third pond; the fourth was behind me in the bottom of the vale, it looked too cold down in that dip for my liking.
The bird life on this ‘lake’ was prolific to say the least: Dabchicks, Coots, Mallards and Moorhens busy everywhere, with Teal zooming overhead on fly-pasts. No sign of fish moving though, but I went through several patterns hopefully.
Coots have a universal call but amid the myriad here there were two deviants. I've never heard the like before, but one was yapping like a small dog, and another was mewing like a Herring Gull. I idly wondered how these two were going to fare in the breeding season, potentially there was a bit of a surprise waiting for both of them in the courting stakes! If you hear of a twitcher having a fatal heart attack don't be too surprised!
Eventually a lack of action made me move back to the main water. The two members caught two more fish from the peg to my left, but where I chose I only had one pull, which I missed. Beyond these two I saw the Professor move round, coming into sight from up at the bay where the Admiral still fished. I hadn't seen the Inspector since earlier, when our paths had crossed on his way back from a cursory inspection of the fourth pond for a fish to stalk.
Fishing a ‘limit damsel’ I had a savage tug but no hook-up. Hope again renewed I fished on, then noticed the Professor had a nicely bent rod. When I glanced next he was rinsing his landing net. My very next glance along the bank and his rod was hooped over again. Meanwhile, a tree had crept closer un-noticed, and pulling hopefully only snapped off the micro ring tippet connector, so the enforced pause in my fishing gave an opportunity to walk over to the Professor to see what he had been using; he was packing away having made his two-fish ticket. He told me both his fish had taken a black buzzer of the latest Grafham form, under an indicator at precisely six feet deep. The two member guys had also caught in the first few feet, and remembering my fish earlier and the one I had bumped off I twigged that I had probably been wasting my time counting down and had fished too deep despite it being so cold.
It was after noon now so I headed to the club room for a warm up and another java, to find the other three Fluff Boys and four of the members already ensconced, doing what I intended. We chatted but it didn't help, the black dog (Churchill's expression for depression) had sniffed me closely and I wasn't going to fish on unlike the Inspector and the Admiral; it was one of those occasions when your gut feeling dictates.
Later I discovered I had left my Orvis felt hat behind, I expect it won't be there the next time I am.
Ho hum, so endeth the lesson. A strong focus and a positive mental attitude were the order of the day, I hadn’t brought mine.