RH Fly Fishing

  “Roses are red   Violets are blue,   I’m schizophrenic   And so am I”   - Bill Murray     A couple of days after Storm Bella blew through came the last Fluff Club outing of 2020, Meon Springs. We were here approximately a year ago, as well as episodes 10, 27, 34, 40 and 59. Once more into (Tier Four) Covid lockdown, I could think of plenty of worse places to be, even with the sleet, hail, rain and day temperature of just two degrees C. I hoped the six degrees drop had been sudden enough that the water would not have cooled that much, because trout can get lethargic when it’s below five degrees. Yesterday, the barometer couldn’t get any lower, the only way is up, baby! Cold fingers crossed, I rigged up a six weight with an intermediate, checked in through the lodge window with Greg, before squelching off along Whitewool. The fishery operates a loyalty card scheme: nine stamps on your card and you get a free fish; today, I could pay for tw...

    This one goes back 14 years. We’d managed to put together a couple of days for a fishin’ road trip. Not that there were many miles involved, there’s no comparison between the UK and the USA,. To paraphrase Bill Bryson “In Iowa you’d think nothing of a two-hundred mile drive just to get pizza”, but this side of the pond, at least our trip involved an overnighter.   My fishing buddy and I started with a day on the Itchen, chasing Grayling, and were only partly successful: we both netted some out of season Brown trout, I managed a half-pound Grayling, plus a five-pound Chub. Next was a bit of a detour to collect a small antique B had bought on-line, then we turned for Gloucestershire. We had booked into a highly recommended Inn, The Plough, for the night. A very enjoyable evening ensued, copious amounts of Landlord before and after an excellent meal, really top scran! Comfortable en suite rooms too, my night’s sleep only disturbed by the electrical storms and heavy rai...

  “When I die, I want to go peacefully like my grandfather did – in his sleep. Not yelling and screaming like the passengers in his car” – Bob Monkhouse.   Time once again for the Fluff Club’s annual John Hardeley Memorial competition, (which the more discerning readers can see from their notes), took place previously in episodes 29, 39, and 50. In my previous scribblings I know I muddled Kingfisher and Spring at least once, so for the record Spring is nearest the car park, then It’s Kingfisher, followed by the Leat. The attendance was twenty percent up on last year’s (!) but notably absent was the Headmistress, prevented once again by the committee-designed human spine. All three ponds are smaller than most of our local fisheries, so I knew I wouldn’t be under-gunned with a #5 Geo, matched to a Pflueger Trion and camou lake intermediate line.   Overcast, wet, with a cold breeze; the rain kept stopping ... for just a minute at a time, a definite case of the dreich, (f...