The Continuing Adventures of the Fluff Club, Episode 24

(In which the protagonists' names are disguised, and the venue un-named, but all else is factual).

"There's a fine line between fishing and standing on the shore like an idiot" - Steven Wright

The Fluff Boys last visited this venue in episode 19, and a year ago in episode 14. I pulled in from the leafy lane to find the Admiral and Snowy talking to someone from the fishery. Next, the Lumberjack's car appeared, discharging himself, Rodney, Jackdaw, and Dell-boy. They were shortly followed by the Sailor, then finally the Professor, so a cast of nine, potentially as ornery and troublesome as a cast of nine flies. Not a bad turnout though.
Despite the hot weather we've experienced these past three months there didn't appear to be any shortage of water in the four ponds or the river that passes them. The day was cloudy, a high of 23 from the 17 degrees C of the night. The water appeared to be clear throughout. It was looking good.
The last time I challenged myself to catch 'four from the four' I had failed, nevertheless I relished another attempt at it so I purchased a four-fish ticket. The Professor did the same but the rest of the lads went for brace tickets each, except Snowy who has one of those multiple tickets that lets you fish as often as you want.
Whytee put up two rods, to fish a floating line and an intermediate, so as to increase the options. For once the Professor was not using his cane.
The fishery is once again 'under new management', I headed off to start at the farthest end, on the way noticing the stocking levels appeared to be as high as four managers ago: Rainbows, Blues, and Sandy trout visible in most swims. As I neared the end of the second pond there were at least five Blues clearly on the fin. It doesn't really matter what order the 4 from 4 is carried out I thought, so I made ready and cast a wire-bodied damsel pattern in front of the nearest Blue and it took without hesitation. True to type it went absolutely ballistic, performing six speed-leaps before I got any semblance of control and landed it.
Walking the river-side bank of the third 'lake' I spotted a very nice Rainbow in the shallower end and couldn't pass up the chance, but by the time I made the first cast it had disappeared. My fly, a 'Surveyor' variant (on L Egan's pattern) was snapped up mid-retrieve by a marauding Blue ... fireworks again! Meanwhile, further along the opposite bank, the Admiral practised his long range catch and release speciality, whilst the Sailor on my bank did the exact opposite, netting a very lively fish at almost the same time as I landed mine.
I arrived at the fourth water shortly, and spotted a nice Sandy trout in the flow from the inlet pipe, but it scorned the Surveyor and drifted away. From the same bank I cast out along the three mature willow trees, soon wondering why there didn't seem to be the customary pod of fish there. The reason became clear, the underskirts of all three trees have been cleared a bit so that there is casting room between them, presumably the resulting fishing pressure has forced the trout elsewhere. I headed up towards the other end, to where the deep hole is. It didn't take too long to add a third Blue to the bass bag; this was the smallest, a shade under two pounds whereas the average seems to be two-and-a-half. Three from three ticked, I headed back towards the car park for a coffee break and a bit of the craic.
Along the way the grapevine told that Rodney had broken his habit of a lifetime and had actually caught a trout! Not sure if this was kidology I continued along, finding the Professor had bagged a couple and that the Admiral, Snowy, Dell-boy, the Lumberjack, and Jackdaw all had caught fish as well. While pausing to chat to the Professor I noticed a Blue and a Rainbow circling and closely inspecting something near the surface, behind him. The mystery object moved and both fish charged,
"They're chasing that goldfish!" I exclaimed,
"Look, they're taking it in turn!".
The penny dropped, it wasn't a goldfish, it was the Lumberjack's orange lure, cast from further along the bank.
"You've just missed at least three takes" I said,
"I know" the Lumberjack replied, grinning hugely, "I'm after a bigger one that's around there somewhere".
In the lodge drinking coffee, I tried to interrogate our new host whom I knew from his working at a much more prestigious fishery in the same county, where he'd been for years. He was a bit cagey, if not evasive, and I couldn't get the background to the management changes at both fisheries, however, I did learn that there were some Tiger trout in the third pond, and that there were some big Rainbows and Browns that have been stocked. He also confirmed the stocking levels had been increased so word of mouth would increase footfall. My fishing buddy and I had noticed the decline in angler numbers over the last three or four years.
After a coffee I walked to the green in front of the barn where GAIA people and students meet once a month; I know two of the GAIA guys and hadn't seen them for a while. It was good to catch up. I headed back to my car to collect my gear and start the final leg of my challenge.
Rodney, some might be surprised to hear, had just completed his brace. He showed me the successful fly: a very slim, simple black body and tail behind a biggish pair of silver bead-chain eyes. Far too anorexic for a Humongous, but in that style.
The Sailor had completed his ticket with an emerger pattern he tied recently based on a pattern he picked up during his extensive USA trip, which included visiting more than a few fly shops and 'outfitters'. He confided that the Admiral, for whom I helped net a fish on my way back from the barn, had continued his long range catch and release practice at least twice earlier, also that the Professor was now after the last of his four fish. The Lumberjack strolled by to say he'd had his second to a yellow version of the 'goldfish' I had seen, then headed over to stir things up with Dell-boy and Rodney. They ‘rise’ much more reliably than any trout. Snowy had finished and was watching from the lodge porch, sipping his coffee or tea.
If I exhibited any smugness at being three from three it soon evaporated. Over-confidence often smacks you right between the eyes. I was fishing opposite Rodney and Dell-boy, they were joined by the Lumberjack, then Jackdaw and the Professor joined them too. The assembly witnessed me hooking then losing three fish. The takes came to a Cormorant, an olive Cruncher, and the biscuit Blob. You can imagine the commentary and barracking, one fish jumped three or four times: "It must be a flying fish" was followed by "Oh dear, it's flown away!".
The Sailor had joined me and witnessed the last two escapees while we talked of fly patterns and other stuff. Eventually he suggested I try one of his patterns, proffering a green nondescript thing,
"Just give it six casts before you hand it back" he said. Second cast, a couple of feet in front of a cruising Blue, and CHOMP! To make sure of this one I made a second hook-set when the fish turned away from me, and soon netted the fish. I cut off the fly and passed it back to the Sailor with thanks. He gave me the 'told you so' look, grinning. Words can be superfluous. The fly is simplicity itself, a curved nymph hook (#12 or 14), a few lead wraps, four or five strands of pearl/green Krystal flash for a short tail, bunch of green marabou tied in by the thin tips then twisted and wound up the hook, tied off at the eye with a neat thread head. The Sailor said a wire or Krystal flash rib is an option, but he hadn't bothered.
Why is it that simple things are often better than the complicated ones?.
Before lunch all of the FC posse had made their limits, a successful day all round. Is it our skills or our luck that’s getting better?
Finu a a prossima vota.