RH Fly Fishing

(… in which the names of the participants are pseudonyms, in an effort to be as inclusive to others as possible, an attempt to attain the widest readership. Everything else is factual.) “The charm of fishing is that it is the pursuit of what is elusive but attainable, a perpetual series of occasions for hope.” -John Buchan   Chiphall ‘Lake’ looked cold. Banks frosted white, some ice formed along parts of the margins, very still, a little mist rising here and there, and deathly quiet this early hour. A few nights below freezing suggested to me that the fish might be deep, yet there were surface swirls and bow-waves that indicated otherwise. The odd Coot and Dabchick began to busy themselves, whilst four or five Mallards performed fly-pasts as we got ourselves ready. Only three Fluff Club stalwarts today: the Professor, the Inspector, and Whytee. Another car pulled in containing two more Fluff Boys, but the invalids Foggy and Jackdaw hadn’t come to fish, but to waste a little

Here's a poignant picture. a dead Salmon lying in 3' of water, probably weighing around 5 pounds. It's upside down, as you can see, a haunting version of the vital creature which ran through our oceans, before returning to the river of its origin. It's a sad image, but also a thing of gladness: it gave it's life returning to the river of its birth, to spawn a new generation, as its genes have demanded for years immemorial. Let us hope that it was successful, and has preserved their race for another millennium, although we might need to lend a hand. Keep it reel, keep the faith, <")))><

(… in which the names of the participants are pseudonyms, in an effort to be as inclusive to others as possible, an attempt to attain the widest readership. Everything else is factual.)   The Fluff Club’s final outing of the year saw just four Fluff Boys roll into the Meon Springs car park: the Professor, Admiral, Whytee, plus Threepio, our noob, who joined a few weeks back. Mucho cars were already parked and even more people arrived as we tackled up; this was going to be a very busy day for a Monday. Indeed, the churned-up mud of the sodden banks indicated plenty of footfall around the fishery since the rainy days packed it in.   The milkiness washed in by the deluges was clearing from Whitewool, although Coombe and the stock ponds still looked quite cloudy. Night temperatures have been the right side of five degrees C for some weeks, today was forecast to just hit double figures with mists and wintry sunshine. I checked I could use my loyalty card points (nine stamps earn a f