RH Fly Fishing

There’s no doubting this time of year is shopping-centric. My problem is I can’t be in a shop/store for more than one and a half hours before I can feel my spirit leaving my body, the defences fall, and the black dog gets his opportunity. Dearly Beloved is well aware of this, and went to perform the ‘big shop’ leaving me in the car-park, stereo kicking out tunes. I watched the punters coming and going. All of them looked haunted, harrowed, harassed, pressurised. There were no smiles, no signs of happiness. It got me thinking: Christmas used to be about the birth of Christianity, even though large chunks of it are purely pagan (e.g. trees brought into the dwelling, gifts/offerings, the winter solstice, magic i.e. Santa/elves/flying reindeer, and so on). It’s not like that now, the dark forces have won this day: avarice and greed, marshalled and directed by the high street corporates; Mammon once more looking for profits. It doesn’t seem as bad across the big pond, but then Christm

(… in which the names of the participants are pseudonyms, in an effort to be as inclusive to others as possible, attempting to attain the widest readership. Everything else is factual.) Fifty! The half-century … who would have thought that?! “Everyone should believe in something. I believe I’ll go fishing”. – Henry D. Thoreau. It’s that time of year again: Wessex FDG’s annual John Hardeley Memorial, held at Woodington Trout Fishery. When Whytee drove into the car park there were six inches of the River Blackwater flowing through it, into the field beyond. We’ve had a lot of rain recently, exacerbated by the rainstorm last night. Still, there’s no such thing as bad weather, just the wrong clothes. Like a good boy scout: I was prepared. The day actually turned out much better than the weather forecast, the showers went elsewhere and the temperature climbed into double digits for a change, just. Our hosts, Jim and Sian, were waiting for the Fluff Boys and Fluff Girl to ap

So, (my English teacher will be spinning in her grave after that start), my first serious attempt at Grayling fishing of winter 2019/2020 brings me to an Association water on the River Itchen, just south of Winchester. Now, several miles further downstream, on the Lower Itchen Fishery, there are some monster Grayling, even some members of the Grayling Society have seen them, yet none of the really big ones ever seem to want to play ball. Furthermore, about half a mile from today’s beat there is a carrier where I’ve seen some eye-widening Gs fleeing my clumsy footsteps – so hope raged in my heart, drowning out the traffic noise from the M3. I tackled up a ten-foot rod for an attempt at Euro-nymphing, heading downstream to fish back up; [Rule: single fly, upstream dry or nymph only]. Have to say it was a bit of an obstacle course, despite some clearance efforts in order to put up a new stock fence. Why is it that dog rose and brambles can be so hateful? When they’re not trying to

Brian, long-time fishing buddy, and I haven’t fished together much these past couple of years, the old enemy, stuff, always getting in the way. When schedules allowed this particular opportunity, it didn’t take long to decide the venue. John O’Gaunt trout fishery is our ‘spiritual’ home of fly fishing. It’s where I first cast a fly in England, and subsequently, where I first introduced B to the sport. That’s not the only reason: it is a very beautiful place, and apart from birdsong and the occasional splash of a fish, it can be absolutely silent. Mr Purse keeps the place tidy and almost manicured. Okay, there is very little in the way of facilities: the ‘gents’ is a patch of gravel screened by old fence panels, the water supply comes from a rain butt, and if you fancy a warm drink, you’d better have brought a flask. They don’t advertise, relying on word of mouth; Purse knows that if people have a good day, they will tell their mates about it. Good fishing for quality fi