The Continuing Adventures of the Fluff Club, Episode 43

(The names of the Fluff Club members are pseudonyms in an attempt to be inclusive to all potential readership, everything else is true).

"Accurately recalling an entire day of fishing is like trying to push smoke back down a chimney, so you settle on these specific moments" - John Gierach

The Fluff Club last visited Holbury Lane Lakes back in episode 38, before that in 3, 14, 19, and 24. Just like in one of the previous visits, a storm had blown through and the heavy rain had coloured up the River Dun and all four 'lakes'. This day, though, dawned sparkling apart from the stiff breeze which brought quite a chill. It is a modern day scandal that being a grandparent has demands that all our ancestry were completely oblivious of. As an adult you do not get any warning of what is to come if you decide to have children. To get to the point, I was supposed to be doing some mid-range chauffeuring in the post meridian, so (fishing) time was of the essence. The thing about HLL is that all four of the waters have distinctly different characters, and this being the case it is hard for me to not try to catch one trout from each of the four, so buying a four-fish ticket is personally a no-brainer: it just has to be done. I parted with the necessary spondoolicks, eliciting a broad grin from 'George'.
Fluff club visit to one side, I think this is Hampshire's (if not the south's) most picturesque fishery, and therefore the one I have fished most often, as a result I had a reasonable confidence about what might work best, given my time constraint. I decided to fish a #5I on a nine foot rod, there being no chance of sight fishing today. I really rate my Airflo Camo Lake Special line, to which I had rigged fourteen feet of tapered leader and five-pound breaking strain tippet. I headed straight for the farthest one, 'Willow', planning to work my way back through the fishery to my car at the lodge end, one 'lake' at a time. The wind was blowing down the length of the fishery so I had it in mind to fish the leeward ends of each water on the premise that Rainbows usually follow the wind, but on reaching 'Willow' I had the contradictory hunch to fish the inlet end of the 'lake' first, one of my favourite spots. The hunch was proved right by feeling a tug at the fly on only the third or fourth cast.
The first trout was delusional, obviously believing itself to be a Tarpon somewhere in the Caribbean - accordingly it gave a memorable fight, jumping clear at least five times, a brief bit of tail-walking, and ran so often and hard I was clamping my hand on the reel's spinning rim even though I had the drag set at around five pounds of pull. Seriously, I was both glad and relieved when I finally netted the Rainbow, and even had a pang of guilt at despatching such a noble and worthy opponent. I need not have worried, however, that the fish might spit the hook during our battle, as my 'Wossname' fly was firmly lodged in the trout's scissors.
Next stop, just over the footbridge to 'Long', casting straight into the wind now. A good swirl at the surface a little way out indicated there were fish here, and before long I was connected to my second fish, albeit at two-and-a-quarter-pounds this was half the size of my first, and correspondingly half as powerful.
The Fluff Club attendee numbers were low again: besides Whytee, the Professor had brought Dell-boy, and the Sailor had turned out too. The Admiral was on site as well, but with his GAIA chums, practicing on the green in front of the big barn. Snowy was in the lodge, but hasn't been fishing since a knee replacement has given him considerable gyp. Somewhat strangely, Snowy told me he hasn't even tied any flies since his operation; if I had a troublesome knee I would be running up hour after hour at my vice, possibly creating a world-wide shortage of hooks.

Time for 'Island', across the next footbridge over the meandering Dun. The prevailing wind blowing into the deep hole in the corner by said bridge, my next spot was only a few footsteps away from 'Long'. I spotted the Admiral walking towards me along the bank, just as I strip-struck, then bent the rod into my third 'bow; he guessed right, saying "Is that three from three?". With three-quarters of my target in the bag, literally, I headed toward the lodge for a coffee and a chat with Snowy and 'George', our host. By now the Professor had secured two of his four, while Dell-boy and the Sailor were still to catch. Draining my coffee mug I saw through the window that Dell-boy was into a fish on 'Pond', George popped out to give him a hand netting it.
Refreshed, I strolled through the door of the lodge, across the gravel to the near corner of 'Pond', where second cast my 'Wossname' was hammered (again). This 'bow was under two pounds, and looked like it was a faded 'sandy' variety, appearing quite pink, especially in the fins. Soon it was 'Job done' and 'Game over, player one'! My watch told me it was a little before 11.00, meaning I had hit my target in under two hours' fishing. I decided to try to help the Sailor to bag a fish; with his continuing health worries he can become a bit down and irritable when the fish aren't co-operating. I found him on 'Long' where I gave him the 'Wossname' I had used for my fish, soon suggesting we move further along the bank to a spot I've caught from in the past. He and I have a good-natured rivalry in Trout Fisherman's fly-tying Challenge. We were discussing patterns we've submitted when the first take came, from a plump Rainbow which gave a good account of itself, resisting being brought to the surface for quite a while before I was able to net it for him. The Sailor now switched to the pattern he entered for the recent 'autumn colours' round of the Challenge, and the fly was taken on the first cast, proof indeed that his Dabbler-styled fly is a fish-catcher. Now nearing midday we went to the lodge for a bite to eat and a brew. Dell-boy was in there already, warming up, having finished his brace on 'Pond'.

Before long we were joined by the Professor, having secured his four. Time for me to hit the highway, a one-hundred-and-thirty mile round trip to collect a brace of grand-daughters to be returned safely to the fold.
Az do nastepnego razu.