The Continuing Adventures of the Fluff Club, Episode 45

(In which the names are pseudonyms in an effort to be as inclusive to others as possible, in order to obtain the widest readership. I will be grateful for any comment the reader cares to make; alternatively, please complete the ‘rate this’ element of the page. Thanks.)

“… breathless and steaming from the endless uphill exertion that is my life.” – Bill Bryson, ‘Neither Here Nor There’

 Consider the amazing technological, science-driven advances of the last two-hundred years, leading to huge improvements in fishing rods and lines, (reels not so much), culminating where the artificial fly may be effortlessly cast, via an elegant loop, out over the quiet waters to deceive the quarry. A beautiful and inherently simple means with which to catch a fish; the very epitome of recreational skill and relaxed simplicity … until the angler takes up that rod and shatters the idyll, tearing down the illusion. Seven of such descended on Chiphall Lake fishery, the previous Fluff Club visits were recorded in episodes 6, 22, 25 and 33.

 A warmish morning, overcast but high cloud through which the sun would peek from time to time. A steady breeze blew down the ‘lake’ from the northern, inlet end, providing a tad of casting difficulty for those choosing to fish from the ‘duffers’ bank in front of the lodge. Mallards, Coots, Swans and Moorhen busied themselves hither and thither while the cheeky Dabchicks pretended to be trout rising in the centre of the water. Mayflies put in an appearance but only in ones or twos at a time; one or three fish seemed to be taking something at the surface amid the riffles, but this was something other than emerged mayflies. Martyn trousered the folding stuff while Georgina got on with the physical work. Plus ca change.

 Apart from the Fluff Boys, there were seven or eight others fishing, thus quite a busy morning for the fishery, following a Troutmasters fish-off the previous weekend, which actually featured two of the FBs: the Inspector and Whytee, respectively winner and fourth (loser)! All credit to the Inspector though, who knows exactly what to do here, having now qualified four times for the Troutmasters final representing Chiphall Lake. The fish-offs here do not feature any time bonuses, suiting the Inspector down to the ground, he likes to stalk the banks, peering into the depths, nooks and crannies, looking for better than average fish. At said fish-off he picked out a ‘Bow over eight-and-a-half pounds, a Blue over six-and-a quarter, plus two others each over three-and-a-half, the bag making him an easy winner, all caught on his inevitable Buzzers, this time slender green or yellow variants, fished like a stalking bug. Needless to say, the Inspector was very relaxed about the Fluff Club visit, nevertheless sticking to what he knows best, stalking the margins but this day the biggies didn’t show themselves, which is exactly what they did to me the previous week. Oh well, Whytee better get to more Troutmaster registered fisheries for any chance of getting to another final.

 The rest of today’s cast were the Professor, Jackdaw, Rodney, the Lion, and Foggy. Once ticketed- and tackled-up the day’s travail commenced. The Professor went onto the island, the Inspector and Whytee heading up the west bank, whilst Foggy and Jackdaw took up the two permanent pegs in front of lodge and car park, with the third being shared by Rodney and the Lion. This was the latter’s first time actually casting a fly rod, eliciting plenty of (largely useless) advice form the Fluff Boys, far too much to be helpful. During the morning, the Professor gave the Lion some tutelage with one of those ‘form practice’ miniature rods, then Georgina spent some time with him, as indeed did Rodney then Foggy. Despite their combined best efforts, the Lion’s stroke remained metronomic, no discernible pausing between ‘quarter to and quarter past’. In effect, pretty much how we all started. Later in the morning Rodney did hook a fish for the Lion to play and land, which he certainly enjoyed. Catching one on a fly tied by himself will have to wait, I’m afraid, because his fly tying and fly casting both have a lot of sorting out to come.

 Purely for fun, Whytee was fishing his Partridge cane eight-foot 4/5 weight and an Intrepid Rimfly reel, both from the 1980s era. I just love the ‘feel’ a cane rod provides, even though you have to adjust your casting stroke. This ‘retro’ approach went as far as the flies: a Damsel pattern (of course, it is that season) and a couple of Baby-dolls tied especially, although I have never fished them before, one a shocking pink/white, the other a brown, Shetland wool over a dark yellow. I started with the Damsel, soon converting follows into a solid take from a very feisty Rainbow. Happy and relaxed at half my brace, I took a leaf out of the Inspector’s manual and went wandering. The fishery rules state Brown trout must go straight back, so I tried to spot just such a fish up at the top end. Indeed, I eventually picked out two, but alas they both spotted me at the same time and respectively vanished, thwarting my attempts at bending the rules. Serves me right.

 After completing the first full lap I paused to watch Jackdaw, characteristically still at that first peg, near van and lodge; Foggy had caught his first fish so he was standing beside Jackdaw, passing the time. Earlier, while we were setting up, Jackdaw conspirationally confided to some of us that “they’re taking anything with white in it” but hadn’t disclosed his source. Now, with no polarised lenses, he couldn’t see much, and when Foggy and I chorused “there’s one following” he was oblivious and actually managed to pull his white lure out of a Brown trout’s maw! We pointed out the error of his ways then I went into the lodge to get a coffee. From the lodge’s veranda I witnessed Rodney catch a very fit trout which he landed despite giving lots of slack while reaching for his landing net. On the island the Professor also netted a fish, before moving onto the east bank to an area where he has often been successful. Jackdaw changed his fly to one of Foggy’s selection and caught on the very first cast. For the first hour and more, Foggy had tried dries, getting the occasional inquiry but no takers, however he knew better than to try to get Jackdaw to give a dry a try. That Brown cruised past them from time to time, those big, bold spots making it stand out from the Rainbows and one or two Chub.

 I set off on another lap, the brown/yellow Baby-doll knotted onto the tippet. When wetted there were some interesting hues, not unlike the background colouration of a small Brownie. The Inspector was fishing a new buzzer variation he had found on t’interweb, a ‘Poodle Sniffer’ (what the …), markedly different from those elegant, slim patterns he used the previous weekend. He had caught two so far, but was still looking for their bigger brethren. The word had obviously spread: there were four other anglers up fishing the top end. I came across a Rainbow’ just six feet out from the bank, circling in some shade from a small tree. It turned at the ’plop’ of the fly landing and took with a swirl as the fly sank. Despite being bigger than the earlier one this did not fight as hard, but the fight was still a joy with the cane in hand. There is no doubt, however, that my cane does not have the oomph of a rod made from carbon fibre or boron, and the fight with a big fish would take some time to conclude. I had purchased a two-fish ticket because, once again, I had somehow ‘volunteered’ for grandfatherly chauffeuring duties, but I still had half the morning left. I headed to the lodge to inquire if I could upgrade to a three-fish ticket, planning to give a dry fly a swim. Some moolah lighter I tried a Daddy, but the first area I fished  was scummy with weed and that white, fluffy stuff that comes off those scrubby Willow things in blizzards, I was convinced no fish would be able to find my fly and returned to try into the wind and chop, where a couple of fish had risen occasionally, however I had no interest in my fly whatsoever. I looked into the dries box, hoping for inspiration, thinking about flies that might have been used in the 1980s, and came to a line of Shipman’s Buzzers. My recollection was that Dave Shipman had come up with this pattern at the beginning of that decade, so I finally selected a claret one (with a UV rib, definitely not from the 1980s). It was difficult to pick out in the ruffled surface so I went looking for a more sheltered area. On the second cast the fly was sipped under the surface and I connected with my third fish, once again putting the cane through its paces. Cool.

 I made a last lap to say adieu to the Boys, and coming down the eastern side I saw Rodney catch two more fish in consecutive casts. It looks like he’s found his mojo again. Let’s hope he can hang on to it for a while this time. Time to head home where I needed to sort out my catch and get the fillets into a brine mix, preparing for a hot-smoking session in a day or so’s time. At out tying evening a couple of evenings later, it transpired that all had caught their limits, save for the Lion, but I’m sure he will get there in time. For once, the Inspector didn’t find any fish bigger than the three-and-a-half mark.

A hiki ka manawa e hiki mai ana