The Continuing Adventures of the Fluff Club, Episode 16
(The names and
places have been disguised to protect the innocent)
The balmy, warm days of summer seemed a long time gone when I headed to the shed to get my gear for today's Fluff Club outing; it was grey, miserably colder and raining buckets. The fishery, however, would be a first visit for me as I somehow missed the FC's first visit in 2015. Gear stowed, post code typed into the satnav, I hit the highway.
We had agreed to meet for a breakfast RDV at the preceding tying evening; it was still pouring down when I pulled into the chosen cafe's car park. Already seated and eating I found the Sailor, Dell-boy, Rodney, and the Lumberjack; the latter informed me he had just received a text message saying the Professor had a mechanical malfunction so was awaiting vehicle recovery assistance. It seems his ATV Landrover is proving as unreliable as the Admiral's hook-holds sometimes are.
After finishing breakfast we headed out to the car park, the rain re-doubling its efforts to drown us, but before long our procession drew up outside the fishery to find the gate padlocked. Puzzled, we pondered, it poured. I was about to ring the fishery's number when a woman came out of the cottage and opened the gate so we could pull in off the lane. When I told her that we were expected she looked at us blankly, still befuddled from sleep, then went back into the cottage; moments later a tall chap came out and told us he didn't know anything about a booking today, had received no 'phone calls, zilch. I supposed there had been a communication breakdown, not entirely unheard of in the realms of the Fluff Club. He didn't look that pleased to see us, but took our money with alacrity, then disappeared back indoors.
I had promised some pickled trout fillets to a couple of people so went for a four-fish ticket, but the other guys each went for two's, … so no pressure then!
While we tackled up the rain became even heavier, causing Rodney to mutter darkly while donning his wet-weather gear. We squelched over to the pond; 'a chalk spring fed lake’ according to the web site. The water was crystal clear over lush, green water weeds but the squalls of wind and rain prevented us from spotting any fish. I told the Sailor that the weather forecast showed sunny intervals soon, he looked up at the sky, saying nothing, in obvious doubt.
The Lumberjack had set up on the opposite side from us, and soon hooked into a strong fish which ran deep into weed and the line went solid. He tried steady pulls, tweaks, tugs, and slack lining, but everything stayed solidly stuck until he pulled for a break, when happily he got the hook back, albeit fishless. The Sailor struck into a nice fish, first cast I think, that took him onto his backing trying to reach the solitary island.
"I think I'll need a bigger net" he said, finally regaining line and in control, so I walked over with mine. The Rainbow was a real cracker, solid and fin perfect, later to pull the scales round to 4lbs 1oz, the best fish of the day. The fly used was a pattern he brought back from the USA, called a ‘Ditch Damsel’: a golden olive marabou tail, slender two-tone wire-wrapped body, speckled hackle legs, short wing buds made from a thick olive silli-legs material, black glass eyes in a dubbed head, tied to fish hook-point uppermost. A really nice pattern, one of which the Sailor kindly handed to me so I could tie up a few copies. What a nice thing to do, and without me even asking! Incidentally, he bought the American magazine in to show me the recipe at the following tying evening, the fly was actually designed with Carp in mind!
The Lumberjack came around to the west bank and was soon into another fish by casting towards the island with a green fritz Damsel pattern. A few casts later he hooked another but this one came off. I thought it might be time to move to a spot nearer to his part of the lake, where other fish were occasionally showing, swirling on the surface.
As I picked up my net there was an almighty splash, a solitary Canada Goose executing a heavy crash landing. The resident pair of Swans didn't take kindly to this intrusion, so there commenced a game of hide and seek around the island, the Swans pumped and plumped up aggressively but failing to catch the goose because they occasionally paused the game to up-end and eat some water weeds.
In my new spot I soon had a take, a 3lb plus fish on my olive Limit Damsel. The rain at last paused, and when the breeze stopped for a moment we could spot several fish moving, we were in the right part of the fishery. I changed fly to the pinkish CW pattern and nabbed a second fish, 4 ounces under 4lbs, and at that point the sun came out.
Meanwhile, Dell-boy and Rodney had remained at the other end of the lake/pond and had seen only one or two signs of fish. Unlike the TV characters of the same name they are un-related, nevertheless they unmercifully pull each other's leg in the gaps between complaining about everyone else, the weather, the government, europeans, the fishing, and so on. Before long they too twigged the fish had followed the wind blowing towards the other end, so they moved up to the rest of today's Fluff Boys’ posse. It wasn't long before Dell-boy had a 3lb-plus trout on his Damsel pattern.
The Sailor had been making his session stretch by fishing dries and had some interest over near the island where it faced the cottage but no takes as such. A frisky tree eventually drove him off. I moved into the windward corner and managed my third 'bow, the twin of the previous one, this time using a 'fire and ice' Nomad. Next, I moved to the area the Sailor had forsaken, targeting the fish I noticed moving around the island's overgrown banks. In turn I tried a few new nymph variants, Hare's ear Diawl Bachs, and some different coloured Crunchers; there were three offers to a #14 olive Cruncher just as it sank, but I managed to bump-off all three in a display of inept mediocrity. "Drat" and "Bother" I exclaimed. The wind blew stronger, there was a series of showers followed by another bout of sunshine. The trees behind me became loutish and anti-social, making a real nuisance of themselves, and nicking a few of my flies.
The Lumberjack at last made his brace, then offered to sell his successful fly to the highest bidder. With no takers he asked Dell-boy and Rodney if they would like him to 'guide' for them "at the standard fee rate". Finally, he asked if either of them would like to hire his rod and reel for an hourly rate, strictly cash only, no credit. Rodney hooked a fish but it escaped while he was winding slack line off the grass bank. Dell-boy made his pair, saying "See, I don't need any help from the likes of you!" to the Lumberjack, then afterwards the two of them joined forces to 'assist' Rodney, around whom the air appeared to be far bluer than the patch of sky above. It got even bluer still when he hooked and lost another two fish in quick succession!
Meanwhile the Sailor finished off his brace, as I netted his fish I noticed something:
"Look" I said "your hook knot has come undone in the act of landing the trout" while pulling a Bloodworm pattern with no line attached, from the top lip of the fish.
"That's not my fly!" he replied, unhooking his little GRHE nymph from the other side of the trout's mouth.
There were still two or three fish moving around in the area where the Sailor had just caught so I moved over there, tying on a new nymph I've been developing which features tails and legs made from Gutterman Sulky 'Metallic' thread and sporting a grey synthetic quill abdomen. I fan cast the area, going right to left because of the wind and on about the sixth chuck there was a savage pull two thirds of the way through my retrieve. This fish turned out to be a very welcome and handsome Brown Trout weighing exactly 3 lbs, my smallest for the day, but it was a dogged fighter and a great way to complete my ticket. The Sailor, who wasn't going to linger much longer, wondered what it might have been feeding on, so I spooned it. Reflecting later, over a nice red, I wondered why I don't spoon fish more often, especially because I find sampling for the ARMI so absorbing, informative and rewarding. Anyroadup, the brownie's stomach contained nine brown snails and some tiny orange daphnia; go figure why it took my nymph pattern. I wandered over to the guys to show them the spoonings, Dell-boy shook his head
"How on earth are we supposed to tie a fly that looks like either of those food items?". Purely rhetorical.
I flicked the spoon's contents onto the water in front of Rodney, saying:
"Here's some groundbait, it might help".
He did manage to hook and land a trout shortly afterwards.
The Sailor and I packed up, glad to get out of our wet gear at last, and headed for the car park. The Sailor drove off but I had a thought and went to the back door of the cottage to see if this was still a Troutmaster water and ask if it might be worth putting in a card for this particular month. On being told the affirmative I was filling-in my card when the others appeared. When the Lumberjack heard that few people bothered to submit Troutmaster entries here, he decided to have a go with his 3lbs 1oz fish. the proprietor told us nobody had asked him for a card this month, before us. Adding that, in fact, last year there were only five who qualified for the water's fish-off heat, and none of them bothered to turn up to compete on the actual day!
Nowt as queer as folk, as they say.
A bientot.
The balmy, warm days of summer seemed a long time gone when I headed to the shed to get my gear for today's Fluff Club outing; it was grey, miserably colder and raining buckets. The fishery, however, would be a first visit for me as I somehow missed the FC's first visit in 2015. Gear stowed, post code typed into the satnav, I hit the highway.
We had agreed to meet for a breakfast RDV at the preceding tying evening; it was still pouring down when I pulled into the chosen cafe's car park. Already seated and eating I found the Sailor, Dell-boy, Rodney, and the Lumberjack; the latter informed me he had just received a text message saying the Professor had a mechanical malfunction so was awaiting vehicle recovery assistance. It seems his ATV Landrover is proving as unreliable as the Admiral's hook-holds sometimes are.
After finishing breakfast we headed out to the car park, the rain re-doubling its efforts to drown us, but before long our procession drew up outside the fishery to find the gate padlocked. Puzzled, we pondered, it poured. I was about to ring the fishery's number when a woman came out of the cottage and opened the gate so we could pull in off the lane. When I told her that we were expected she looked at us blankly, still befuddled from sleep, then went back into the cottage; moments later a tall chap came out and told us he didn't know anything about a booking today, had received no 'phone calls, zilch. I supposed there had been a communication breakdown, not entirely unheard of in the realms of the Fluff Club. He didn't look that pleased to see us, but took our money with alacrity, then disappeared back indoors.
I had promised some pickled trout fillets to a couple of people so went for a four-fish ticket, but the other guys each went for two's, … so no pressure then!
While we tackled up the rain became even heavier, causing Rodney to mutter darkly while donning his wet-weather gear. We squelched over to the pond; 'a chalk spring fed lake’ according to the web site. The water was crystal clear over lush, green water weeds but the squalls of wind and rain prevented us from spotting any fish. I told the Sailor that the weather forecast showed sunny intervals soon, he looked up at the sky, saying nothing, in obvious doubt.
The Lumberjack had set up on the opposite side from us, and soon hooked into a strong fish which ran deep into weed and the line went solid. He tried steady pulls, tweaks, tugs, and slack lining, but everything stayed solidly stuck until he pulled for a break, when happily he got the hook back, albeit fishless. The Sailor struck into a nice fish, first cast I think, that took him onto his backing trying to reach the solitary island.
"I think I'll need a bigger net" he said, finally regaining line and in control, so I walked over with mine. The Rainbow was a real cracker, solid and fin perfect, later to pull the scales round to 4lbs 1oz, the best fish of the day. The fly used was a pattern he brought back from the USA, called a ‘Ditch Damsel’: a golden olive marabou tail, slender two-tone wire-wrapped body, speckled hackle legs, short wing buds made from a thick olive silli-legs material, black glass eyes in a dubbed head, tied to fish hook-point uppermost. A really nice pattern, one of which the Sailor kindly handed to me so I could tie up a few copies. What a nice thing to do, and without me even asking! Incidentally, he bought the American magazine in to show me the recipe at the following tying evening, the fly was actually designed with Carp in mind!
The Lumberjack came around to the west bank and was soon into another fish by casting towards the island with a green fritz Damsel pattern. A few casts later he hooked another but this one came off. I thought it might be time to move to a spot nearer to his part of the lake, where other fish were occasionally showing, swirling on the surface.
As I picked up my net there was an almighty splash, a solitary Canada Goose executing a heavy crash landing. The resident pair of Swans didn't take kindly to this intrusion, so there commenced a game of hide and seek around the island, the Swans pumped and plumped up aggressively but failing to catch the goose because they occasionally paused the game to up-end and eat some water weeds.
In my new spot I soon had a take, a 3lb plus fish on my olive Limit Damsel. The rain at last paused, and when the breeze stopped for a moment we could spot several fish moving, we were in the right part of the fishery. I changed fly to the pinkish CW pattern and nabbed a second fish, 4 ounces under 4lbs, and at that point the sun came out.
Meanwhile, Dell-boy and Rodney had remained at the other end of the lake/pond and had seen only one or two signs of fish. Unlike the TV characters of the same name they are un-related, nevertheless they unmercifully pull each other's leg in the gaps between complaining about everyone else, the weather, the government, europeans, the fishing, and so on. Before long they too twigged the fish had followed the wind blowing towards the other end, so they moved up to the rest of today's Fluff Boys’ posse. It wasn't long before Dell-boy had a 3lb-plus trout on his Damsel pattern.
The Sailor had been making his session stretch by fishing dries and had some interest over near the island where it faced the cottage but no takes as such. A frisky tree eventually drove him off. I moved into the windward corner and managed my third 'bow, the twin of the previous one, this time using a 'fire and ice' Nomad. Next, I moved to the area the Sailor had forsaken, targeting the fish I noticed moving around the island's overgrown banks. In turn I tried a few new nymph variants, Hare's ear Diawl Bachs, and some different coloured Crunchers; there were three offers to a #14 olive Cruncher just as it sank, but I managed to bump-off all three in a display of inept mediocrity. "Drat" and "Bother" I exclaimed. The wind blew stronger, there was a series of showers followed by another bout of sunshine. The trees behind me became loutish and anti-social, making a real nuisance of themselves, and nicking a few of my flies.
The Lumberjack at last made his brace, then offered to sell his successful fly to the highest bidder. With no takers he asked Dell-boy and Rodney if they would like him to 'guide' for them "at the standard fee rate". Finally, he asked if either of them would like to hire his rod and reel for an hourly rate, strictly cash only, no credit. Rodney hooked a fish but it escaped while he was winding slack line off the grass bank. Dell-boy made his pair, saying "See, I don't need any help from the likes of you!" to the Lumberjack, then afterwards the two of them joined forces to 'assist' Rodney, around whom the air appeared to be far bluer than the patch of sky above. It got even bluer still when he hooked and lost another two fish in quick succession!
Meanwhile the Sailor finished off his brace, as I netted his fish I noticed something:
"Look" I said "your hook knot has come undone in the act of landing the trout" while pulling a Bloodworm pattern with no line attached, from the top lip of the fish.
"That's not my fly!" he replied, unhooking his little GRHE nymph from the other side of the trout's mouth.
There were still two or three fish moving around in the area where the Sailor had just caught so I moved over there, tying on a new nymph I've been developing which features tails and legs made from Gutterman Sulky 'Metallic' thread and sporting a grey synthetic quill abdomen. I fan cast the area, going right to left because of the wind and on about the sixth chuck there was a savage pull two thirds of the way through my retrieve. This fish turned out to be a very welcome and handsome Brown Trout weighing exactly 3 lbs, my smallest for the day, but it was a dogged fighter and a great way to complete my ticket. The Sailor, who wasn't going to linger much longer, wondered what it might have been feeding on, so I spooned it. Reflecting later, over a nice red, I wondered why I don't spoon fish more often, especially because I find sampling for the ARMI so absorbing, informative and rewarding. Anyroadup, the brownie's stomach contained nine brown snails and some tiny orange daphnia; go figure why it took my nymph pattern. I wandered over to the guys to show them the spoonings, Dell-boy shook his head
"How on earth are we supposed to tie a fly that looks like either of those food items?". Purely rhetorical.
I flicked the spoon's contents onto the water in front of Rodney, saying:
"Here's some groundbait, it might help".
He did manage to hook and land a trout shortly afterwards.
The Sailor and I packed up, glad to get out of our wet gear at last, and headed for the car park. The Sailor drove off but I had a thought and went to the back door of the cottage to see if this was still a Troutmaster water and ask if it might be worth putting in a card for this particular month. On being told the affirmative I was filling-in my card when the others appeared. When the Lumberjack heard that few people bothered to submit Troutmaster entries here, he decided to have a go with his 3lbs 1oz fish. the proprietor told us nobody had asked him for a card this month, before us. Adding that, in fact, last year there were only five who qualified for the water's fish-off heat, and none of them bothered to turn up to compete on the actual day!
Nowt as queer as folk, as they say.
A bientot.
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