The continuing adventures of the Fluff Club, Episode 59 *

 

 About nine months after our last visit, Meon Springs was showing her bones, the level appeared to be about three feet below normal; we really need some rainfall soon, especially the small streams such as the River Meon. Today was going to be sunny, cloudy intervals, and highs of 24 degrees C, an Indian summer again.

 Half a dozen noobs were getting ready for some tuition, and there were another eight anglers or so spread around.

Representing the Fluff Club were the Professor, Moneypenny, Foggy, Threepio, and Whytee, joined by Dodgy though not actually a member. After the first hour we were joined by Lumberjack, who had taken a diversion to Arundel on the way here, having got his Springs confused! Spreading around Whitewool the low, clear water made it easy to see where the fish were at – usually holding close to the several springs in the ‘lake’s‘ bed, enjoying the cool influx of well-oxygenated water from the chalk aquifer deep below. Foggy had gone up to Coombe for a look but decided to come back because it was so low, the proverbial ‘fish in a barrel’. Dodgy and I found a pod of trout in the middle, about two-thirds the way down towards the dam, quickly deciding this spot would be our best bet. First off, I tried a ‘Shuggie’ (aka Gold Humungus, courtesy of a Dave Downie YouTube video recently). This produced some inspections but no follows. Given the water clarity and copious weed beds, next up was a little olive Damsel, which was nailed second cast while ‘on the drop’, by a two-pound-something Rainbow, fighting like fury and generating plenty of anxiety approaching the broad weed-bed in front of me, but the long-handled net was a great help.

 I took the successful fly off straightaway, replacing it with a Pearly Cormorant Fry pattern; there seemed to be absolutely no interest whatsoever from the trout, and I wondered f that was because there were no fry present? I have to say I’ve never noticed any coarse fish here. After snagging some of the extensive Elodea I noticed the hook point had snapped off at the barb. This had been a brand-new hook, not one of the recycled ones following a knife session. My next choice was a Biscuit Blob to fish static while the glass line slowly sank it. Three, maybe four casts, and I was into a better stamp of fish, later pulling the scales to four-pounds-two-ounces. Another epic scrap put my rod through its paces, the fish making at least six screaming reel runs, before it tired enough for me to gingerly steer it through the weed.

 Wearing the wrong shirt soon made me hot so I took my fish to weigh and bag, to leave in the refrigerator at the lodge. While there I bought Dodgy and I a cold one each. Despite my Casio Fishing Watch indicating the complete opposite, a few fish were being banked, but I had a feeling that as the water warmed, being so low, the fishing was likely to become much tougher. Dodgy was next to catch, using a black/green lure. Afterwards, he decided to switch from his sinker to a floating line, as one or two fish were topping amongst all those false ‘rises’ caused by the Dabchicks. I kept with the glass for now, although tying on a floating, foam Daddy, which would stay close to the surface while I retrieved, but nothing came to it. On the opposite bank, the Professor caught a couple of fish before Moneypenny, on the next peg, matched him, before heading away. Lumberjack strolled over to the vacated spot. Down towards the dam end Threepio had caught, also along there Foggy had completed his brace. Three or four other guys had bagged-up, fishing close together, and now headed for the lodge to reckon-up. The Professor moved to the area they vacated, before discovering he was now without his Orvis priest, lost somewhere amongst his meanderings. Meanwhile, I managed to get my third, which took an olive Cormorant with hot-orange ‘cheeks’, this one a tad over three pounds. Time to change to a floating line, to see if I could get my last ‘off the top’, especially as fish would occasionally look at Dodgy’s dry offering, but not take.

 I tried that Daddy again but it didn’t do much until I gave it a tug as a trout swam close by: the trout took, I struck, but felt no resistance but saw the fish sucking-in and spitting-out the white poly wing it had pulled off, the remainder of the fly still attached to the tippet! Next, I tried a Yellow Owl Shuttlecock, which was thoroughly, pointedly ignored by my finny friends. I tried a Black Midge next, and was soon thinking about another change when three ducks passing close by suddenly changed direction and the rearmost one was snagged by my fly. I fought the duck for three or four minutes, both floundering on the surface and four times airborne, before the hook pulled free. That major commotion and all the accompanying frantic quacking made all the ducks, Coots, Dabchicks, and a Swan remain motionless for a short while, perplexed and wondering what on earth had just happened.

 Foggy was going from FB to FB, having the craic; Moneypenny had gone. Threepio had his brace and after a brew went down to the CnR beats below, for a look. I re-tied on a Wossname and first chuck hooked a fish which soon escaped, alas, after which that fly was again ignored. Time for a Tequila Blob, which happened to be loitering on my fly patch. Again, letting it sink with no retrieve I watched a fish take, struck into nothing, then watched the trout sucking-in and blowing-out the Blob just like a Roach with a tare, until the fly sank into the weed, out of sight.

 If I had been miffed about my poorly-tied Daddy, the badly tied knot to the Blob really, really vexed me! I even wished Rodney had come along today, he would have any number of bon mots for such an occasion. Only another fish could put this right, so I tied the Biscuit Blob back on, and the third cast brought another three-pound-plus Rainbow. Job done! Time for a bit of lunch before wending my weary way. Dodgy stayed put for ten more minutes, still trying for a second, before joining the four remaining Fluff Boys, bathed in warm sunshine at the picnic benches, socially distanced of course.

Jargmise korrani.

*in which the names of the participants are pseudonyms in an effort to be as inclusive to others as possible, in an attempt to attain the widest readership. I will be grateful for any comment the reader cares to make. Thank you.