The Continuing Adventures of the Fluff Club, Episode 3
Only the names and
places are changed, to protect the innocent.
For a while now, so that it has become a bit of a habit, I use the roof of my car when I assemble or take down my fly rods. Particularly because I once witnessed fake-Brian's brand new, first-time-out Sharpe's rod get smashed when a sudden gust of wind slammed shut the tail-gate of his Landcruiser.
This particular Sunday the Fluff boys were visiting a fishery with four ponds plus a stretch of river, one of the tributaries that feed into the River Test. It was mid-January and the temperature all day didn't get above 5 degrees C, but because it was very still it didn't feel too cold, except on wet, line-retrieving fingertips. Only four of the Fluff Club members had pitched up, about the same number as were here a year ago.
The ponds were a little bit coloured, and it appeared the fish had headed for the deeper parts, as nothing could be seen of them anywhere, a huge contrast from spring and summer when this fishery is all about sight fishing. It's a recurring niggle for me, because when I can't see the fish I can't gauge how they are reacting to my flies and/or tactics or retrieves. Even worse, when you can't see fish and there is no surface activity you are fishing blind.
Anyway, I usually go straight for a 4-fish ticket without hesitation to target one from each of the four ponds, all of which have completely different characteristics; it's good to have a challenge. Today though, on checking the catch book we noted it had been really tough of late, so given the conditions we elected to go for just 2-fish tickets each. In high hopes I put boxes of lures in my vest pockets and set off with the other three Fluff Boys.
We prospected around the banks, casting hither and thither, looking for a fish. We were soon separated, spread around the four waters. During the first hour-and-a-half four or five other hardy anglers turned up. Hard it certainly was!
Counting the seconds to get deep I knew I was near the bed when I dredged up a scrap of weed or two. Next cast, was that a knock from a fish or some weed? Next cast it kicked back: the Squirminator was taken by a rainbow of about 2 pounds which gave a lively account of itself. Feeling less pressured I changed flies, swims, and ponds more frequently, trying for my second fish.
True to his recent form, the Admiral practised his long distance catch and release technique, while the Professor was getting the odd take but failing to hook up. The Lumberjack and I, however, were not even able to buy a bite for the time being.
As late morning approached mid-day I found the Admiral and the Professor were on the third water, at the furthest end from the car park. Usually this is the least productive part of this fishery, and when the water is clear you don't see many trout here, although some big Tench used to appear around the weed beds from time to time. Fishing always has the potential to confound, and now it did exactly that: the Admiral took two nice fish on a PTN in short order; the Professor, at the same end, did exactly the same!
It was now closer to 1.00 pm and I had covered all my 'usual' spots without another touch so I reluctantly packed it in. Back at the car I started dismantling and got chatting to the 'boss' for the day, who had just retrieved an Otter-killed trout from one of the islands. Intrigued by what he was telling me about the otters, apparently a mother and a grown cub, he was suggesting that if they took just one fish a day that's a considerable overhead for a full year that the fishery has to carry. His wife managed a photograph a couple of years previously, early one morning, showing four Otter heads looking towards the camera. The fishery installed a low electric fence around the stock pond some years ago, but couldn't legally do much else, and it's not practical for anglers to have to negotiate electric fences around a fishery.
Packing away the last of my gear, the reel then my fishing vest, I said cheerio to the Professor, the Admiral and the Lumberjack who were coming back to the lodge for a hot cuppa with their lunch.
I drove out of the car park onto the lane, and pulled out onto the road. I heard a sound like a branch scraping the car roof and checked my rear-view mirror to see what I obviously hadn't noticed through the windscreen, only to see my Greys GRXI rod which had slid off the roof, forgotten! I pulled over, switched on my hazard flashers and walked back to retrieve it, just to see a car came around the corner and run-over the rod, crushing it in two places! I think I said “Bother!” or maybe “Drat!”.
To make matters even worse, the rod was a wedding anniversary present only three or four years ago, and this was actually our anniversary week. Mortified, when I got home I confessed to my idiocy, saying I was sorry not to have taken good care, et cetera. The reply :
"Well, you'll have to buy another one instead"
What an angel !
For a while now, so that it has become a bit of a habit, I use the roof of my car when I assemble or take down my fly rods. Particularly because I once witnessed fake-Brian's brand new, first-time-out Sharpe's rod get smashed when a sudden gust of wind slammed shut the tail-gate of his Landcruiser.
This particular Sunday the Fluff boys were visiting a fishery with four ponds plus a stretch of river, one of the tributaries that feed into the River Test. It was mid-January and the temperature all day didn't get above 5 degrees C, but because it was very still it didn't feel too cold, except on wet, line-retrieving fingertips. Only four of the Fluff Club members had pitched up, about the same number as were here a year ago.
The ponds were a little bit coloured, and it appeared the fish had headed for the deeper parts, as nothing could be seen of them anywhere, a huge contrast from spring and summer when this fishery is all about sight fishing. It's a recurring niggle for me, because when I can't see the fish I can't gauge how they are reacting to my flies and/or tactics or retrieves. Even worse, when you can't see fish and there is no surface activity you are fishing blind.
Anyway, I usually go straight for a 4-fish ticket without hesitation to target one from each of the four ponds, all of which have completely different characteristics; it's good to have a challenge. Today though, on checking the catch book we noted it had been really tough of late, so given the conditions we elected to go for just 2-fish tickets each. In high hopes I put boxes of lures in my vest pockets and set off with the other three Fluff Boys.
We prospected around the banks, casting hither and thither, looking for a fish. We were soon separated, spread around the four waters. During the first hour-and-a-half four or five other hardy anglers turned up. Hard it certainly was!
Counting the seconds to get deep I knew I was near the bed when I dredged up a scrap of weed or two. Next cast, was that a knock from a fish or some weed? Next cast it kicked back: the Squirminator was taken by a rainbow of about 2 pounds which gave a lively account of itself. Feeling less pressured I changed flies, swims, and ponds more frequently, trying for my second fish.
True to his recent form, the Admiral practised his long distance catch and release technique, while the Professor was getting the odd take but failing to hook up. The Lumberjack and I, however, were not even able to buy a bite for the time being.
As late morning approached mid-day I found the Admiral and the Professor were on the third water, at the furthest end from the car park. Usually this is the least productive part of this fishery, and when the water is clear you don't see many trout here, although some big Tench used to appear around the weed beds from time to time. Fishing always has the potential to confound, and now it did exactly that: the Admiral took two nice fish on a PTN in short order; the Professor, at the same end, did exactly the same!
It was now closer to 1.00 pm and I had covered all my 'usual' spots without another touch so I reluctantly packed it in. Back at the car I started dismantling and got chatting to the 'boss' for the day, who had just retrieved an Otter-killed trout from one of the islands. Intrigued by what he was telling me about the otters, apparently a mother and a grown cub, he was suggesting that if they took just one fish a day that's a considerable overhead for a full year that the fishery has to carry. His wife managed a photograph a couple of years previously, early one morning, showing four Otter heads looking towards the camera. The fishery installed a low electric fence around the stock pond some years ago, but couldn't legally do much else, and it's not practical for anglers to have to negotiate electric fences around a fishery.
Packing away the last of my gear, the reel then my fishing vest, I said cheerio to the Professor, the Admiral and the Lumberjack who were coming back to the lodge for a hot cuppa with their lunch.
I drove out of the car park onto the lane, and pulled out onto the road. I heard a sound like a branch scraping the car roof and checked my rear-view mirror to see what I obviously hadn't noticed through the windscreen, only to see my Greys GRXI rod which had slid off the roof, forgotten! I pulled over, switched on my hazard flashers and walked back to retrieve it, just to see a car came around the corner and run-over the rod, crushing it in two places! I think I said “Bother!” or maybe “Drat!”.
To make matters even worse, the rod was a wedding anniversary present only three or four years ago, and this was actually our anniversary week. Mortified, when I got home I confessed to my idiocy, saying I was sorry not to have taken good care, et cetera. The reply :
"Well, you'll have to buy another one instead"
What an angel !
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