The Continuing Adventures of the Fluff Club, Episode 5
The names of the
Fluff Boys are disguised and the venues un-named, to protect the innocent!
At the preceding tying evening seven of us put up hands for a breakfast start to the latest trip, and uncannily seven actually turned up. Are we making progress as a group or was this a fluke? Our organisational abilities and arithmetic seem to be on the up.
Having fed and watered we assembled our gear and ambled off, enjoying this fine spring morning, listening to a brace of feuding Woodpeckers with their guns set to rapid fire, and some Chiffchaffs trying to make up for their lack of melody by turning the volume up to 11; the sun shone through in spells, and there was just a light breeze. Gorgeous.
During the breakfast craic most had decided to elect for just 2-fish tickets, apart from two fool hardies who had each gone for a 4, yours truly being one. The Lumberjack asked me if I was at all confident, and I replied my intention was to try for a fish from each of the three ponds. The Lumberjack immediately pointed out the error in my maths:
"Why pay for four if you only want to catch three ?"
I couldn't fault his logic, but I didn't think the fishery did a 3-fish ticket, but I'll be sure to find out the next visit.
I alone stopped at the first water, the others passed it by, probably because it was the colour of strong, milky tea. I started fishing. From time to time there were one or two slashes from trout and some splashlets from small coarse fish, but after an hour I had nothing to show, despite several changes of fly and using a salmon-fisher-like approach of step six feet then re-cast, which meant I had covered most of the pond’s length, up towards the shallower end.
Turner came by and stopped on his way back to his car; he had caught his brace inside an hour. The first came to a blue-flash damsel, as advised by fishery staff, and the second on one of his own patterns; a small pearlescent buzzer on a curved hook with a small gold bead-head. The Admiral stopped by too, he was making a round of the Boys, taking a few photographs and hoping to capture some action shots. We called after the departing Turner:
"If you earn too many brownie points by getting home this early, you can always give us any spare ones!"
"We need all we can get our hands on!"
The Admiral continued on his artistic mission, he'd caught one trout already and was in no hurry to try for the second yet, so the camera work was a handy filler.
I moved up to the second pond, where all but the Lumberjack were fishing, he was over on the third water, but that was cloudy too, and was proving difficult to all that tried it.
It's funny how the cycle of the year changes things. The last time we were here (episode 1) there was a shoal of trout holding in a particular corner. Now that the sun was higher in the sky, heading back to us for the summer, the corner proved to be much shallower than it had seemed. Nevertheless, there were still a few fish patrolling around. I tied on a black and green fritz CW variant and cast towards the island, just started to retrieve ... and I was in! A stockie of about a pound and a half scrapped like a terrier, all the way to the net. Looking to experiment I took that fly off immediately and put on a Cormorant variant tied as a pearly mylar body with a palest pink marabou wing. In the latter half of the retrieve I could see the fly coming through the clear water. Trout seemed interested and were following, but without a positive take. Letting it fish deeper and out of sight, I got a series of tiny knocks and plucks which I couldn't connect with. I mentioned this to the Admiral, to my right. Beyond him Dell-boy was fishing, and he remarked he was getting a bit frustrated with these un-hittable knocks too. 'A bit frustrated' is the polite version of what he actually said. It was good to see Dell-boy fishing with us again. He's not been in the best of health this past year, and the last time we fished this venue he got a soaking through his waterproofs which laid him low for a fortnight.
The day before our trip I'd seen a pattern called the 'Clifton' illustrated in TFF magazine and when I read that it was actually around long before the Cormorant appeared I thought I'd better tie some to try today. The usual three, per the ancient fly-tier’s mantra "one to lose in a tree, one to catch a few fish with, and one to give to a friend". The third cast with the Clifton and I hooked my second trout, the same length as the first but hump-backed. I think the hump made it half a pound heavier! By now the Admiral had caught his second, Dell-boy had one, I think the Professor might have had one, Lumberjack too, but Jackdaw was up to three, all from the same swim. I was convinced that Jackdaw's hat with its exotic plumes and feathers was proving to be his secret weapon, luring fish towards him, inquisitive to get a closer look at this strange bird of paradise.
I moved to the third pond, where some barley straw bales had been placed around to try to combat the cloudiness. Over on the small promontory on the far side I side-cast to my right under the branches of the alder, drawing the fly back parallel to the mass of the sunken root baulk. Second chuck and the Clifton scored it's second! I moved around to where my back was to the river, and fan-cast around but no joy. As I was using a midge tip line I even tried letting the line bring the fly round in an arc, utilising just the surface drift. Alas to no avail, I think this would have better suited a buzzer approach.
As it was closer to noon now I went back to the middle one of the three ponds and dug out a new fly from my 'specials' box. I've tentatively called this 'Alf' (Alien Life Form), but don't actually know if this name is already in use. It's difficult to describe the 'fly'. Think of a Frankenstein laboratory experiment which crossed an Apps variant with a Squirmy Wormy and you should get the picture. It's basically a length of squirmy material hanging from the kook bend, and above that are six flexi-floss legs spread out akimbo from the shank. There is no added weight, and I had tied two prototypes, one chartreuse, the other pinky-red. I don't know if 'variant' is the correct word, 'deviant' might be better.
I had in mind that they would be best fished bobbing about under an indicator, allowing the movements of the water column to add enticing wiggles. I knotted the chartreuse version to the end of my longish leader, but no indicator, and cast out, paused for a countdown, and started a slow figure-of-eight twitchy retrieve. When the fly hove into sight I was gratified to see that even tiny jerks made the fly kick and pulse rhythmically. A trout appeared out of the gloom to my left, and I placed a short cast ahead of it. It seemed to inspect the sinking fly but circled away, the fly sank a little further, and when the fish was facing the right way again I gave the line two tiny tugs, the fly fluttered and the trout engulfed it. I lifted into it and shortly netted my last, and best, fish of the day, nudging three and a half pounds.
The wonders of Ikea were calling, so I told the guys I'd see them next Tuesday, and headed off, leaving them fishing happily, basking in the bright spring sunshine and the pungent aroma from the adjoining pig field.
I don't know yet whether to tie any more Alfs. Catching just one fish could be a complete fluke, so I'll need to try them out again on different venues to see if this is an effective pattern. On the other hand, the Clifton is tried and tested, but I would be interested to know it's history and age, and whether it spawned the Cormorant. Maybe someone out there knows?
At the preceding tying evening seven of us put up hands for a breakfast start to the latest trip, and uncannily seven actually turned up. Are we making progress as a group or was this a fluke? Our organisational abilities and arithmetic seem to be on the up.
Having fed and watered we assembled our gear and ambled off, enjoying this fine spring morning, listening to a brace of feuding Woodpeckers with their guns set to rapid fire, and some Chiffchaffs trying to make up for their lack of melody by turning the volume up to 11; the sun shone through in spells, and there was just a light breeze. Gorgeous.
During the breakfast craic most had decided to elect for just 2-fish tickets, apart from two fool hardies who had each gone for a 4, yours truly being one. The Lumberjack asked me if I was at all confident, and I replied my intention was to try for a fish from each of the three ponds. The Lumberjack immediately pointed out the error in my maths:
"Why pay for four if you only want to catch three ?"
I couldn't fault his logic, but I didn't think the fishery did a 3-fish ticket, but I'll be sure to find out the next visit.
I alone stopped at the first water, the others passed it by, probably because it was the colour of strong, milky tea. I started fishing. From time to time there were one or two slashes from trout and some splashlets from small coarse fish, but after an hour I had nothing to show, despite several changes of fly and using a salmon-fisher-like approach of step six feet then re-cast, which meant I had covered most of the pond’s length, up towards the shallower end.
Turner came by and stopped on his way back to his car; he had caught his brace inside an hour. The first came to a blue-flash damsel, as advised by fishery staff, and the second on one of his own patterns; a small pearlescent buzzer on a curved hook with a small gold bead-head. The Admiral stopped by too, he was making a round of the Boys, taking a few photographs and hoping to capture some action shots. We called after the departing Turner:
"If you earn too many brownie points by getting home this early, you can always give us any spare ones!"
"We need all we can get our hands on!"
The Admiral continued on his artistic mission, he'd caught one trout already and was in no hurry to try for the second yet, so the camera work was a handy filler.
I moved up to the second pond, where all but the Lumberjack were fishing, he was over on the third water, but that was cloudy too, and was proving difficult to all that tried it.
It's funny how the cycle of the year changes things. The last time we were here (episode 1) there was a shoal of trout holding in a particular corner. Now that the sun was higher in the sky, heading back to us for the summer, the corner proved to be much shallower than it had seemed. Nevertheless, there were still a few fish patrolling around. I tied on a black and green fritz CW variant and cast towards the island, just started to retrieve ... and I was in! A stockie of about a pound and a half scrapped like a terrier, all the way to the net. Looking to experiment I took that fly off immediately and put on a Cormorant variant tied as a pearly mylar body with a palest pink marabou wing. In the latter half of the retrieve I could see the fly coming through the clear water. Trout seemed interested and were following, but without a positive take. Letting it fish deeper and out of sight, I got a series of tiny knocks and plucks which I couldn't connect with. I mentioned this to the Admiral, to my right. Beyond him Dell-boy was fishing, and he remarked he was getting a bit frustrated with these un-hittable knocks too. 'A bit frustrated' is the polite version of what he actually said. It was good to see Dell-boy fishing with us again. He's not been in the best of health this past year, and the last time we fished this venue he got a soaking through his waterproofs which laid him low for a fortnight.
The day before our trip I'd seen a pattern called the 'Clifton' illustrated in TFF magazine and when I read that it was actually around long before the Cormorant appeared I thought I'd better tie some to try today. The usual three, per the ancient fly-tier’s mantra "one to lose in a tree, one to catch a few fish with, and one to give to a friend". The third cast with the Clifton and I hooked my second trout, the same length as the first but hump-backed. I think the hump made it half a pound heavier! By now the Admiral had caught his second, Dell-boy had one, I think the Professor might have had one, Lumberjack too, but Jackdaw was up to three, all from the same swim. I was convinced that Jackdaw's hat with its exotic plumes and feathers was proving to be his secret weapon, luring fish towards him, inquisitive to get a closer look at this strange bird of paradise.
I moved to the third pond, where some barley straw bales had been placed around to try to combat the cloudiness. Over on the small promontory on the far side I side-cast to my right under the branches of the alder, drawing the fly back parallel to the mass of the sunken root baulk. Second chuck and the Clifton scored it's second! I moved around to where my back was to the river, and fan-cast around but no joy. As I was using a midge tip line I even tried letting the line bring the fly round in an arc, utilising just the surface drift. Alas to no avail, I think this would have better suited a buzzer approach.
As it was closer to noon now I went back to the middle one of the three ponds and dug out a new fly from my 'specials' box. I've tentatively called this 'Alf' (Alien Life Form), but don't actually know if this name is already in use. It's difficult to describe the 'fly'. Think of a Frankenstein laboratory experiment which crossed an Apps variant with a Squirmy Wormy and you should get the picture. It's basically a length of squirmy material hanging from the kook bend, and above that are six flexi-floss legs spread out akimbo from the shank. There is no added weight, and I had tied two prototypes, one chartreuse, the other pinky-red. I don't know if 'variant' is the correct word, 'deviant' might be better.
I had in mind that they would be best fished bobbing about under an indicator, allowing the movements of the water column to add enticing wiggles. I knotted the chartreuse version to the end of my longish leader, but no indicator, and cast out, paused for a countdown, and started a slow figure-of-eight twitchy retrieve. When the fly hove into sight I was gratified to see that even tiny jerks made the fly kick and pulse rhythmically. A trout appeared out of the gloom to my left, and I placed a short cast ahead of it. It seemed to inspect the sinking fly but circled away, the fly sank a little further, and when the fish was facing the right way again I gave the line two tiny tugs, the fly fluttered and the trout engulfed it. I lifted into it and shortly netted my last, and best, fish of the day, nudging three and a half pounds.
The wonders of Ikea were calling, so I told the guys I'd see them next Tuesday, and headed off, leaving them fishing happily, basking in the bright spring sunshine and the pungent aroma from the adjoining pig field.
I don't know yet whether to tie any more Alfs. Catching just one fish could be a complete fluke, so I'll need to try them out again on different venues to see if this is an effective pattern. On the other hand, the Clifton is tried and tested, but I would be interested to know it's history and age, and whether it spawned the Cormorant. Maybe someone out there knows?
Until the next time.
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