The Continuing Adventures of the Fluff Club, Episode 35
The names of the
Fluff Boys (members of the Fluff Club) are pseudonyms, the rest is factual.
"I never go to rivers to kill trout,
I go to un-kill parts of myself that otherwise might die"
-Nick Lyons, 1974
A Fab Four of us turned out to John O'Gaunts trout fishery, probably missing at least three stalwarts away vacationing, it’s that time of year after all. We visited this fishery in blog episodes 20, 23, & 32; previously we came here a few times before I started this blog, including once when we were mob-handed and collectively camp-cooked an English breakfast. Note that I didn't say 'full English' although we were, actually. Full, that is.
Still hot. Bloody hot. I reckoned it would be best to start as early as possible, before the water warmed so much the fish would lie doggo down in the springs, so I was first to arrive, just after yer man unlocked the gate at 08.30. It was already 19 degrees C and climbing. The main lake looked murky, as it always does, and apparently was just not fishing despite a good head of trout, but in any event, I had planned to fish Simms because of the clarity and the springs. I bought my ticket, Foggy arrived as I walked over to said Simms, and a short while later the Professor turned up with Dell-boy as passenger. The water was clear but holding a definite greeny-yellow tinge. I could see plenty of fish moving, although no risers. Most fish appeared to be staying in the areas where there were springs below.
Earlier in the week I'd been at the vice for some feather and fluff fiddling, resulting in two ties to try. Years ago, my fishing buddy and I used to do well here with Dawson's Olive variants and also CW variants made with olive marabou tail and wing plus a body of an olive/gold chenille, a certain Glissen Gloss Madeira Estaz 023. When I spotted this stuff in my chenille box I was struck by how much this colouration reminded me of Sticklebacks, so I decided to tie up some in the CW style with a tungsten bead head plus wing and tail from a tan/brown cock pheasant's marabou, that’s the feathers plucked from its nether regions. Yes, I have been known to be a feather plucker. I tied three at the vice, I won't repeat that old tier's adage, and also tied up some DO variants utilising green straggle string for their bodies. I was confident that these two patterns would work, but had some Corixa flies with me just in case the trout went down into the springs.
I knotted on the DOv first. Two taps in three casts, but both expertly missed. I fan cast around trying to avoid that summer peril, the floating lumps of slimy blanket weed. Another cast, another pluck, I struck and made contact for the briefest moment. A longer cast towards the deep area out near the islands and the line tightened, I was into a trout! The Rainbow battled hard but I won through in the end, the priest did its Sunday best, thus I had completed half of my ticket.
The DOv was snipped off, on went my Stickleback CWv, to do its level best. Once wet and being pulled it certainly looked the part. As it happens, its best seemed pretty good indeed: I spotted a couple of follows, bumped off another fish on the strike, then the fly was taken on the drop, and my second three-pounds-plus trout took off as though it was reared on steroids and cocaine, although it fought in vain. Delighted that these two retro patterns had worked so well, proving their worth in under an hour, I walked round to where Dell-boy had just hooked a Rainbow on a damsel pattern where only one small stub of blue flash material remained. Further along the Professor had already taken two fish, and while I chatted with Dell-boy he hooked a third, using a nymph/streamer pattern with rubber legs, for all three. He was christening a new St Croix rod he brought back from Canada, where it only cost him $250. He was also sporting a big, new Stetson. I decided not to ask him if it was free with the rod.
Foggy joined us on Simms and had a take second cast; he had tried the main lake, and could see fish, but they had simply ignored all he had to offer. I don't know which fly he was using but if pressed would guess at either a BFD or a beaded buzzer sort of thing he uses at Chiphall Lake.
Dell-boy said his health is still not exactly great, but I steered the conversation away. I pointed out there was another angler fishing opposite who was a dead ringer for the absent Admiral, standing square like he does, of the same build, and even wearing a similar brown, trilby-sort of fishing hat. Dell-boy thought he was an "impersonating impostor" adding a mumble which finished with the word "bustard" or something I couldn't quite make out.
Interested to see if the Stickleback would work a second time I offered one to Dell-boy, then tied it onto his leader after adding some tippet, while Foggy came over for the craic. Dell-boy's first three casts over that ledge into the gloom of the deeper water all resulted in following fish. His next cast produced a lightning take, much too quick for Dell-boy, but the next cast was taken as soon as the fly splashed down, and he soon banked his second following a spirited fight.
The heat was getting to us all. In total nine anglers had turned out this particular morning, surprisingly high considering this heatwave. I had carried my fishing vest rather than wear it but even so I was sweating profusely. When I checked my watch, it was just after ten, and already 24 degrees C, so I decided to leave them to it and headed for home to clean my fish and put away the gear before it was too hot to do anything much. Oh! And I wanted to call into a certain fly-tying stockist to see if they had any marabou of a particular tan/brown shade.
Until the next time.
"Well, they say as we get older
We get wiser
I don't know if that's true
But I know a fog's been lifted from my eyes"
-Gov't Mule
"I never go to rivers to kill trout,
I go to un-kill parts of myself that otherwise might die"
-Nick Lyons, 1974
A Fab Four of us turned out to John O'Gaunts trout fishery, probably missing at least three stalwarts away vacationing, it’s that time of year after all. We visited this fishery in blog episodes 20, 23, & 32; previously we came here a few times before I started this blog, including once when we were mob-handed and collectively camp-cooked an English breakfast. Note that I didn't say 'full English' although we were, actually. Full, that is.
Still hot. Bloody hot. I reckoned it would be best to start as early as possible, before the water warmed so much the fish would lie doggo down in the springs, so I was first to arrive, just after yer man unlocked the gate at 08.30. It was already 19 degrees C and climbing. The main lake looked murky, as it always does, and apparently was just not fishing despite a good head of trout, but in any event, I had planned to fish Simms because of the clarity and the springs. I bought my ticket, Foggy arrived as I walked over to said Simms, and a short while later the Professor turned up with Dell-boy as passenger. The water was clear but holding a definite greeny-yellow tinge. I could see plenty of fish moving, although no risers. Most fish appeared to be staying in the areas where there were springs below.
Earlier in the week I'd been at the vice for some feather and fluff fiddling, resulting in two ties to try. Years ago, my fishing buddy and I used to do well here with Dawson's Olive variants and also CW variants made with olive marabou tail and wing plus a body of an olive/gold chenille, a certain Glissen Gloss Madeira Estaz 023. When I spotted this stuff in my chenille box I was struck by how much this colouration reminded me of Sticklebacks, so I decided to tie up some in the CW style with a tungsten bead head plus wing and tail from a tan/brown cock pheasant's marabou, that’s the feathers plucked from its nether regions. Yes, I have been known to be a feather plucker. I tied three at the vice, I won't repeat that old tier's adage, and also tied up some DO variants utilising green straggle string for their bodies. I was confident that these two patterns would work, but had some Corixa flies with me just in case the trout went down into the springs.
I knotted on the DOv first. Two taps in three casts, but both expertly missed. I fan cast around trying to avoid that summer peril, the floating lumps of slimy blanket weed. Another cast, another pluck, I struck and made contact for the briefest moment. A longer cast towards the deep area out near the islands and the line tightened, I was into a trout! The Rainbow battled hard but I won through in the end, the priest did its Sunday best, thus I had completed half of my ticket.
The DOv was snipped off, on went my Stickleback CWv, to do its level best. Once wet and being pulled it certainly looked the part. As it happens, its best seemed pretty good indeed: I spotted a couple of follows, bumped off another fish on the strike, then the fly was taken on the drop, and my second three-pounds-plus trout took off as though it was reared on steroids and cocaine, although it fought in vain. Delighted that these two retro patterns had worked so well, proving their worth in under an hour, I walked round to where Dell-boy had just hooked a Rainbow on a damsel pattern where only one small stub of blue flash material remained. Further along the Professor had already taken two fish, and while I chatted with Dell-boy he hooked a third, using a nymph/streamer pattern with rubber legs, for all three. He was christening a new St Croix rod he brought back from Canada, where it only cost him $250. He was also sporting a big, new Stetson. I decided not to ask him if it was free with the rod.
Foggy joined us on Simms and had a take second cast; he had tried the main lake, and could see fish, but they had simply ignored all he had to offer. I don't know which fly he was using but if pressed would guess at either a BFD or a beaded buzzer sort of thing he uses at Chiphall Lake.
Dell-boy said his health is still not exactly great, but I steered the conversation away. I pointed out there was another angler fishing opposite who was a dead ringer for the absent Admiral, standing square like he does, of the same build, and even wearing a similar brown, trilby-sort of fishing hat. Dell-boy thought he was an "impersonating impostor" adding a mumble which finished with the word "bustard" or something I couldn't quite make out.
Interested to see if the Stickleback would work a second time I offered one to Dell-boy, then tied it onto his leader after adding some tippet, while Foggy came over for the craic. Dell-boy's first three casts over that ledge into the gloom of the deeper water all resulted in following fish. His next cast produced a lightning take, much too quick for Dell-boy, but the next cast was taken as soon as the fly splashed down, and he soon banked his second following a spirited fight.
The heat was getting to us all. In total nine anglers had turned out this particular morning, surprisingly high considering this heatwave. I had carried my fishing vest rather than wear it but even so I was sweating profusely. When I checked my watch, it was just after ten, and already 24 degrees C, so I decided to leave them to it and headed for home to clean my fish and put away the gear before it was too hot to do anything much. Oh! And I wanted to call into a certain fly-tying stockist to see if they had any marabou of a particular tan/brown shade.
Until the next time.
"Well, they say as we get older
We get wiser
I don't know if that's true
But I know a fog's been lifted from my eyes"
-Gov't Mule
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