The continuing adventures of the Fluff Club, Episode 62 *

 

“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, (for our Scottish readers). Bacon or egg baguettes washed down with a hot drink lifted the mood of the assembled party. Once again we would fish with only six flies, in two sessions separated by lunch, the heaviest brace to be declared the winner. Whytee had neglected to bring waterproof trousers, and in no time at all had a wet @rse to match the legs!

 I had three ‘Wossnames’ in my little box, along with three ‘Nemesis’. I have never fished the latter before but was into a fish in Spring before a couple of the FBs had even started. Once the fish appeared to be under control I readied the landing net in the water, the trout made one last flip and came off the barbless hook! There were some hoots of derision, whilst I said “Lumme, bloomin’ flippin’ crikey, blimey!” – or something like that. It wasn’t too long, however, before I hooked another but smaller Rainbow, playing it carefully. Lumberjack asked if I needed his help holding the net, being pointedly size-ist (about the net and extending handle).

 Mission Control had told me, in no uncertain terms, that I was not to win the trophy for a third consecutive time, as she’s had several painful run-ins with its mass, therefore I vacated that swim and headed towards Kingfisher. There, as I passed the Admiral, he had a take and began to draw the fish towards the bank. While reaching for his net, the fish simply let go of the fly, but the Admiral didn’t seem to mind because it was a smallish trout. Casting towards the little island, Whytee was next to have a take, but this one didn’t stick either, off after less than a minute. Rodney caught next but released the fish because he had elected to buy a four-fish C&R ticket as it was £5 less than a brace-killed one. The Professor hove into view from behind the island on Spring, with a trout already on his stringer. Casting with the river at his back, he was soon into another fish, scrapping hard. This turned out to be a beautiful Brownie between three-and-a-half and four pounds. The fishery’s rules are that all Browns should be released, so this fish couldn’t count! Rodney, still on the far bank of Kingfisher was next to lose one, before Whytee nabbed a second, sadly smaller than the previous one. On Spring, the Admiral was in action again, but this turned out to be another Brown, going around three pounds and soon safely slipped back.

To pass the time, their race run, Whytee and the Professor headed down to the Leat. At the far end, on only his third cast, the Professor caught a diminutive Perca fluviatilis but it was the only sign of fishy life we saw while moving gradually back towards the shallow end, below Kingfisher.

 Our hosts, Sian and Jim, ably assisted by their eldest bairn, supplied an excellent Venison Bolognese and garlic bread, under the shelter. We weren’t even dry there, though, as the wind drove the rain in through the open sides, nevertheless, the hot food, followed by hot drinks and mince pies, proved very restorative indeed. Rodney decided to construct himself a skirt from an old, black bin-bag, to prevent water running from the hem of his coat into the open pockets of his bib and brace, thus dampening his spirits, amongst other things! We ribbed him unmercifully!

 Lunch over, the Professor, Whytee, Galilee and Jim stayed under the shelter, discussing this and that, while t’others returned to the fray. We half-watched them while chatting, before very long the Admiral was into a trout, and shortly afterward Lumberjack got one too. Galilee had been soaked in the morning session, but luckily had a change of clothes in his car. He was disinclined, however, to venture forth once more, for the afternoon session, so had put up his rod, skunked for the second trip in a row, and would leave before the end. Time dragged slowly on, Rodney caught a third fish, but reckoned that none of his would have made up a decent brace anyway, despite one being another Brown. Although the rain softened towards a steady drizzle, Rodney and Lumberjack packed up, chilled and damp. With nearly an hour left the Admiral carefully played-out and netted his second keeper. No-one else was still fishing so we headed for the hut and the waiting scales, three braces in the reckoning. Using the traditional ‘reverse order’: in third place, the Admiral, with three pounds dead. In second, Whytee, on three pounds twelve ounces. And in first place, (suitable dramatic pause here), winning the trophy for the next twelve months, the Professor, scoring four pounds and nine ounces. Well done! Time for one last brew and a slice of delicious Victoria Sponge. Seuraavaan kertaan.

 

*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.