The Continuing Adventures of the Fluff Club, Episode 37
The names of the
participants are disguised, all else is factual, (but you should know that by
now).
Life is not about finding yourself
Life is about finding fish
RANT: Just back from a two-family holiday in north Devon and here is a new fact (based on driving both ways) - it now takes much longer to drive one-hundred-and-sixty point something miles cross-country than it did twenty years ago. Progress? I think its more a case for the phrase containing the words 'handcart' and 'hell'.
Six fully paid-up members of the Fluff Club duly arrived at the very excellent Chalk Springs in Arundel, all keen for the fray; this venue last appeared in this blog in episodes 17 and 26. There were good numbers of other anglers present including a complete family group and a few dad/son combos; its always great to see youngsters getting involved and learning. The 'Fishery Full' sign went up in short order.
The Sailor and I were already tackled-up when the rear-guard pulled into the car park, the Professor with Dell-boy, the Admiral next, then Jackdaw. The Sailor is still not 100% health wise and after two blanks on his last fishing outings he was not exactly ebullient. We both headed down the track to East Lake, walking towards the far end before starting to cast. Scanning around whilst making several casts suggested that I had not picked the right spot so I crossed a little footbridge to South Lake. The rest of the Fluff Boys were up at North Pool or on the first half of West, for the time being. Water quality was excellent, almost an extreme clarity, so it did not take long to realise all the sighted fish were just not interested in my 'Kicking Kennick Killer' presented on my intermediate line. I switched to a green 'Muskins' which produced the odd sideways glance from passing trout, but nowt else. Back over to East went I, to the narrow end where a few fish lurked, swimming underneath a fairly scummy and littered surface. I managed to bump one and the commotion it made scattered its companions. I was soon fed up with pulling scummy bits of weed and detritus off my fly and leader after every cast so I moved to a clearer spot where I could see two springs on the bottom. I noticed the rib on the Muskins was now a bit bent out of shape (I like to think it was fishy teeth rather than poor tying) so I changed to a black one. There was some faint interest before the big Willow lurking behind me simply could not resist and gobbled up the fly as though it hadn't eaten for a while. A switch to B Beckwith's 'Phuzzer' didn't work on these fish so for the next change I delved deep into my fly-vest to get another green Muskins. I covered a Rainbow as it hove into view from my left and watched it take the fly on the drop. The spirited two-pounder was soon netted and I had that nice feeling of relief that comes with the first fish when nobody else appears to have caught anything.
The day was a mix of sun and cloud, still warm, reaching a high of twenty-two degrees C. There were several young water fowl doing their thing around the 'lakes', presumably second broods for the year but I was most surprised to see a Coot sitting on eggs in a newly constructed nest, she can't have looked at the calendar lately. I could see that the fish were occasionally feeding on something in the water, but too miniscule to make out what it could be, obviously I needed to try a smaller fly. I pulled a #16 glass-bead-thorax Spider from my fly-patch and covered a fish a few rod lengths out from my bank, it took on the second or third twitch-pull of my retrieve. Cool! Another Rainbow, this time two-pounds-three. By now I had noticed some other fish being caught around the fishery but nobody seemed to be doing consistently well, reinforcing my impression it was going to be one of those days when you needed to work hard for every fish. The Sailor, nearby, hadn't had a touch yet. The Admiral came along and told us he had caught one on a gold bead PTN, then confessed that the fish had actually taken the fly while he was reeling in his line, preparing to move.
I noticed that two or three of the fisher-folk had the air of regulars and it was these that I had spotted catching most, they prowled around the banks constantly, using a stalking approach. I thought I should give it a go, so knotted on a #14 cross between a WAEF and a Buzzer, which consisted of lead wraps on the shank secured with superglue, a tiny orange SLF thorax above, and white floss 'bow-tie' at the hook eye. One cruiser completely ignored the fly as it sank past its nose but its companion turned one-hundred-and-eighty degrees to snaffle it. Three up, midday approaching, but before I walked to the car to fetch my meagre lunch I decided that there was one more tie to try, a weighted Corixa pattern. At each cast the fly landed with a distinct 'plop' but none of the trout were fooled; I thought some of them might investigate to see if it was a trout pellet, but perhaps it was too heavy and just didn't sound right?
On my way to the car I checked how the rest of the Fluff crew were doing. Dell-boy was sitting on a bench, looking disconsolate. He told me he had just recovered from a bout with the Norovirus, leaving him tired and feeling weak; he had lost his fly on a snag and was undecided whether to continue or not. Nearby, Jackdaw told me he had some follows but nothing else. Now at the top end of East Lake, the Professor had so far bagged two of his four. We compared notes, so to speak; his fish had come to garish lures, he hadn't had any interest when using smaller, more natural patterns, whereas my own fishing had been the very opposite. He added that his first fish had fallen for the charms of his crimson fritz-tailed Zonker-like pattern and had actually hit while he was reeling in his line! I told him the Admiral had used that very same method.
Dell-boy and I sat at the picnic tables in front of the brew hut, sipping our free coffees whilst watching Jackdaw fish, standing about three metres away. He began to reel in to join us when half way in his line tightened into a trout! I helped with the netting because he'd left his net on a different bank. He dispatched the fish and put it onto his stringer, then turned around only to find his rod doubling back over his shoulder: he'd forgotten to unhook the fish on the stringer! Cursing, he chucked the rod into the grass and made toward us again, only to stumble. "I'm caught up in something else" he said to Dell-boy and I, both chuckling. While he had been playing his fish, an abandoned fly attached to several feet of nylon had hooked itself into the sole of one shoe while the discarded line had somehow loosely hog-tied his feet together. Despite the mirth, it was lucky he hadn't actually toppled into the water.
The Sailor arrived to take a break, relating that he had hooked a good fish only for it to "let go" when he was reaching for his landing net. The Professor and the Admiral joined us for lunch and we sat in the sun chewing the fat for a while, all in agreement that despite the fishing being very challenging we were enjoying our day. After my second coffee I thought I should 'show willing' and left them to it, heading for the far end of South Lake where I had no success early doors but knew there were still fish there.
Whilst eating I had decided which fly to try, a #16 grub hook sporting a fine, black thread rib and head, over a Hends number 17 dubbed abdomen and thorax, more like a buzzer than a grub because of its slimness; I don't even have a name for it yet. I made a cast towards a cruising trout, saw the white flash of its mouth as it ate something and I tightened into my fourth and last. I thought it might go three pounds, but then we all know what thought did.
I hit the road for home at about 13.30, so I didn't know the final scores until our subsequent tying evening. The Admiral, Jackdaw, and the Sailor all made their braces, the Professor, late on, added two three-pounders to make his four, so the Best Brace and Best Fish trophies will go to him for the next month. Alas, Dell-boy didn't catch, but then you really do need to have a fly in or on the water in order to catch a trout.
Isn't it remarkable that the 'reel retrieve' accounted for three of the Fluff Club's haul? That works out at 21%, definitely food for thought!
Finu a a prossima vota.
Life is not about finding yourself
Life is about finding fish
RANT: Just back from a two-family holiday in north Devon and here is a new fact (based on driving both ways) - it now takes much longer to drive one-hundred-and-sixty point something miles cross-country than it did twenty years ago. Progress? I think its more a case for the phrase containing the words 'handcart' and 'hell'.
Six fully paid-up members of the Fluff Club duly arrived at the very excellent Chalk Springs in Arundel, all keen for the fray; this venue last appeared in this blog in episodes 17 and 26. There were good numbers of other anglers present including a complete family group and a few dad/son combos; its always great to see youngsters getting involved and learning. The 'Fishery Full' sign went up in short order.
The Sailor and I were already tackled-up when the rear-guard pulled into the car park, the Professor with Dell-boy, the Admiral next, then Jackdaw. The Sailor is still not 100% health wise and after two blanks on his last fishing outings he was not exactly ebullient. We both headed down the track to East Lake, walking towards the far end before starting to cast. Scanning around whilst making several casts suggested that I had not picked the right spot so I crossed a little footbridge to South Lake. The rest of the Fluff Boys were up at North Pool or on the first half of West, for the time being. Water quality was excellent, almost an extreme clarity, so it did not take long to realise all the sighted fish were just not interested in my 'Kicking Kennick Killer' presented on my intermediate line. I switched to a green 'Muskins' which produced the odd sideways glance from passing trout, but nowt else. Back over to East went I, to the narrow end where a few fish lurked, swimming underneath a fairly scummy and littered surface. I managed to bump one and the commotion it made scattered its companions. I was soon fed up with pulling scummy bits of weed and detritus off my fly and leader after every cast so I moved to a clearer spot where I could see two springs on the bottom. I noticed the rib on the Muskins was now a bit bent out of shape (I like to think it was fishy teeth rather than poor tying) so I changed to a black one. There was some faint interest before the big Willow lurking behind me simply could not resist and gobbled up the fly as though it hadn't eaten for a while. A switch to B Beckwith's 'Phuzzer' didn't work on these fish so for the next change I delved deep into my fly-vest to get another green Muskins. I covered a Rainbow as it hove into view from my left and watched it take the fly on the drop. The spirited two-pounder was soon netted and I had that nice feeling of relief that comes with the first fish when nobody else appears to have caught anything.
The day was a mix of sun and cloud, still warm, reaching a high of twenty-two degrees C. There were several young water fowl doing their thing around the 'lakes', presumably second broods for the year but I was most surprised to see a Coot sitting on eggs in a newly constructed nest, she can't have looked at the calendar lately. I could see that the fish were occasionally feeding on something in the water, but too miniscule to make out what it could be, obviously I needed to try a smaller fly. I pulled a #16 glass-bead-thorax Spider from my fly-patch and covered a fish a few rod lengths out from my bank, it took on the second or third twitch-pull of my retrieve. Cool! Another Rainbow, this time two-pounds-three. By now I had noticed some other fish being caught around the fishery but nobody seemed to be doing consistently well, reinforcing my impression it was going to be one of those days when you needed to work hard for every fish. The Sailor, nearby, hadn't had a touch yet. The Admiral came along and told us he had caught one on a gold bead PTN, then confessed that the fish had actually taken the fly while he was reeling in his line, preparing to move.
I noticed that two or three of the fisher-folk had the air of regulars and it was these that I had spotted catching most, they prowled around the banks constantly, using a stalking approach. I thought I should give it a go, so knotted on a #14 cross between a WAEF and a Buzzer, which consisted of lead wraps on the shank secured with superglue, a tiny orange SLF thorax above, and white floss 'bow-tie' at the hook eye. One cruiser completely ignored the fly as it sank past its nose but its companion turned one-hundred-and-eighty degrees to snaffle it. Three up, midday approaching, but before I walked to the car to fetch my meagre lunch I decided that there was one more tie to try, a weighted Corixa pattern. At each cast the fly landed with a distinct 'plop' but none of the trout were fooled; I thought some of them might investigate to see if it was a trout pellet, but perhaps it was too heavy and just didn't sound right?
On my way to the car I checked how the rest of the Fluff crew were doing. Dell-boy was sitting on a bench, looking disconsolate. He told me he had just recovered from a bout with the Norovirus, leaving him tired and feeling weak; he had lost his fly on a snag and was undecided whether to continue or not. Nearby, Jackdaw told me he had some follows but nothing else. Now at the top end of East Lake, the Professor had so far bagged two of his four. We compared notes, so to speak; his fish had come to garish lures, he hadn't had any interest when using smaller, more natural patterns, whereas my own fishing had been the very opposite. He added that his first fish had fallen for the charms of his crimson fritz-tailed Zonker-like pattern and had actually hit while he was reeling in his line! I told him the Admiral had used that very same method.
Dell-boy and I sat at the picnic tables in front of the brew hut, sipping our free coffees whilst watching Jackdaw fish, standing about three metres away. He began to reel in to join us when half way in his line tightened into a trout! I helped with the netting because he'd left his net on a different bank. He dispatched the fish and put it onto his stringer, then turned around only to find his rod doubling back over his shoulder: he'd forgotten to unhook the fish on the stringer! Cursing, he chucked the rod into the grass and made toward us again, only to stumble. "I'm caught up in something else" he said to Dell-boy and I, both chuckling. While he had been playing his fish, an abandoned fly attached to several feet of nylon had hooked itself into the sole of one shoe while the discarded line had somehow loosely hog-tied his feet together. Despite the mirth, it was lucky he hadn't actually toppled into the water.
The Sailor arrived to take a break, relating that he had hooked a good fish only for it to "let go" when he was reaching for his landing net. The Professor and the Admiral joined us for lunch and we sat in the sun chewing the fat for a while, all in agreement that despite the fishing being very challenging we were enjoying our day. After my second coffee I thought I should 'show willing' and left them to it, heading for the far end of South Lake where I had no success early doors but knew there were still fish there.
Whilst eating I had decided which fly to try, a #16 grub hook sporting a fine, black thread rib and head, over a Hends number 17 dubbed abdomen and thorax, more like a buzzer than a grub because of its slimness; I don't even have a name for it yet. I made a cast towards a cruising trout, saw the white flash of its mouth as it ate something and I tightened into my fourth and last. I thought it might go three pounds, but then we all know what thought did.
I hit the road for home at about 13.30, so I didn't know the final scores until our subsequent tying evening. The Admiral, Jackdaw, and the Sailor all made their braces, the Professor, late on, added two three-pounders to make his four, so the Best Brace and Best Fish trophies will go to him for the next month. Alas, Dell-boy didn't catch, but then you really do need to have a fly in or on the water in order to catch a trout.
Isn't it remarkable that the 'reel retrieve' accounted for three of the Fluff Club's haul? That works out at 21%, definitely food for thought!
Finu a a prossima vota.
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