RH Fly Fishing

  Many who read this will already be aware of the Angling Trust and what they stand for. For those that don’t, they want to be the voice of angling (all three main branches of the sport), and a strong right arm, here in the UK. Some will have heard of the successful prosecutions of polluters, and/or the lobbying they carry out on behalf of the fishing fraternity. They were also responsible for getting fishermen out of lockdown much earlier than other sports, and deserve our thanks. The AT continues to grow in importance year on year and is worthy of our support, because their focus is entirely upon our interests. Their work is funded by membership subscription, and in return there are other benefits, such as discounts, tackle insurance, competitions and overall promotion of, and education about, our sport. By now we should all be cognisant of the importance of getting the UK’s youth involved. My first year’s subscription provided me with a credit in the same value, to spend at Glasgow

  The Wild Trout Trust auction is one way you can get onto first class fishing, and like today’s trip, it’s also how you can get yourself some prime time with an exceptionally knowledgeable guide! This particular Lot gave my buddy and I two day-rods on the River Yealm. This urgent, tumbling river drains off Dartmoor, and once formed into a proper river runs seven miles to the sea. A century ago it was a well-known Sea-trout and Salmon fishery, and although there still are silver visitors, most of the fishing is for truly wild Brown Trout, usually six to eight inches, with the odd bigger one turning up. I was guided by Geoff Stephens, while my buddy Brian was guided by Paul Kenyon, whose name may be familiar to you. Both of these inestimable gents have probably forgotten more about fishing wild rivers than I will ever learn, and both know the Yealm like the back of their own hands. They are also acquainted with many of the ‘top’ fly fishers, past and present, work with Snowbee from time

  A Dawson's Olive variant A good number of Fluff Club members turned out today, John O’Gaunt has always been a popular venue. I was last to arrive, joining the Professor, the Admiral, Moneypenny, Foggy, Rodney, Threepio, Galilee and the Sailor! It was fantastic to see the Sailor again, still battling the big C, out with his wife, Angela, who does the driving now. She told me his latest misfortune was to suddenly go deaf, virtually overnight, although he can still make out what you say if you’re close enough that he can lip read to supplement his hearing. That man is just not having much luck this past couple of years. They’ve both been ‘shielding’ so this was their first trip out in a long while.   The drizzle cleared before I started fishing, leaving an overcast morning with light winds from the north. Foggy had brought a pal and they both fished the main lake. In fact, it was Foggy who was first to complete a brace, before 11.00; his second, and best, took a size 20 beaded buz

Back in Ed 4 'To do or die', there was that poignant picture. How different the river can look in mid-summer! Those nutrients, eternally, do their work without any help from man.

  That horrible hiatus officially ended a few weeks ago, and the Fluff Club soon arranged a trip which I unfortunately had to miss, due to the impending arrival of another grandchild, the handsome Rufus. Water under the bridge now, but I made it to this one … and what a one it turned out to be: some awesome fishing!   A while ago we formed a fledgling competition faction within the FC ranks, the reason being that four of us thought that the competitive spirit is a good and natural thing, and that taking part in flyfishing competitions can only improve our standard and knowledge. Our ‘match secretary’, the Inspector, coined the name ‘Wessex Flyers’ and since then entered us in the Guild’s Spring Bank competition and two John Watts’ Trophy ones. We felt we were improving, a degree at a time, but still a very long way from the top! This year we booked two teams of two into the Scierra Pairs heat at Chew; then postponed by the plague until now! Fifty percent of us, however, have never

  The first fishing trip after the cursed Covid’s lockdown? Just had to be a river. The peace and delightful intimacy of standing mid-stream, half immersed into that other world where our quarry lives, has no equal.   I confess to being rusty, but it wasn’t too long before my erratic casts began to improve, although those marauding trees and rushes, etc., found me an easy target as they snuck up on me from behind. It took a while to catch the first wild, brown trout, a little shorter than my hand’s length, a glorious jewel-creature nevertheless. Fishing size 18 and 20 barbless nymphs upstream makes it almost inevitable that I’ll drop a few off, and being out of practice meant I missed or dropped many more than I netted, but it didn’t matter one tiny jot. It was real bliss, even though I get cross at my own ineptitude at casting and tying knots, and having to re-tie my cast. I managed to lose at least seven flies, in un-noticed foliage.   I didn’t fish the whole beat, taking t