The continuing adventures of the Fluff Club, Episode 66*

 

“Skill in fishing is a nebulous thing based largely on seasoned intuition, perhaps informed by a little knowledge, but catching a few fish now and then doesn’t mean you have it”. – John Gierach, from ‘Even Brook Trout get the Blues’.

 Not a cloud in the sky when I hit the motorway, an absolutely stunning day, bright sunshine illuminating every shade of green in the land. Being alive and surrounded by nature’s beauty is wonderful but it’s even better when you are going fishing! The temperature inexorably climbed towards twenty, by mid-afternoon we were forecast for twenty-six. One of those days you really ought to just fish very early or very late.

The Admiral was engaged elsewhere, carrying out orders from On High, but six Fluff Boys mustered, keen for the off. The Professor’s ‘phone had an evil gremlin, and took him an obscure route which included most of Wiltshire before he arrived at the fishery. The Inspector was a no-show although expected; turns out the broken ankle is still not one hundred percent and gave him some gip when fishing Rockbourne a few days previously, so he decided to rest it. Dodgy showed up too, he’s like a wannabe Fluff Boy, but I just can’t see him trying to tie flies anytime soon.

 Still experimenting with the ‘balanced fly’ and indicator approach/method, Whytee set up a five weight outfit to trial some ‘balanced Buzzers’ which fish horizontally thanks to the Eumer off-set tungsten bead [2.8mm]. Before I was even out of the car park, Foggy came back for his bass-bag: he had just netted a six-pounds-something Rainbow. What a start!

 Manor ‘lake’ held a tinge of colour, visibility appeared to be only two or three feet, and there was lots of lumps of blanket weed already surfacing, whilst the Willows and Poplars continually shed a snowstorm of that white fluff. Squires ‘lake’ is currently designated C&R, but apparently half of it is weeded at present so we set out around Manor, mingling with the other fishers. Just for the statistically minded reader, we were here in episodes 7, 13, 36 and 46. I strolled clockwise, noting everyone was ‘pulling’ in some form or other, nobody using dries, and just two or three who seemed to be stalking the overgrown, shaded areas close in. The lack of clarity made it hard to spot the serried ranks of subsurface weed, and for my chosen method to work I needed open water with a ripple to cause movement and drift my rig along.

 

The only riffling was intermittent at best, and a long way out near the islands, so plan A wasn’t going to happen, time for plan B: I shallowed up to fish about two feet beneath the indicator then searched for moving fish to cover. I caught two Rainbows on a copper-ribbed balanced Buzzer; spooning them revealed they had been recently stocked, running on empty. Changing to a black version with a gold rib elicited another take from a cruiser but it was lightly hooked and came off before I had any chance of netting it.

 Dodgy, off to my right, hooked a fish which also came unstuck mid-scrap. Moneypenny passed on his perambulation, reporting he had caught two so far, as had Lumberjack, Foggy was up to three, while the Professor and Threepio had also been busy. I had seen other anglers catching too, and idly wondered how long it would be before the water became too warm. I replaced the buzzers I had been trialling with the ‘balanced Damsel’  tried  in episode 65. I cast carefully to cover a sighted trout, only for a different fish to zoom up from the depths to smash the sinking fly! Another recent stocker, although this one contained an inch-long leech and a tiny brown corixa. Dodgy was getting annoyed at little plucks, causing him to strike but missing the culprit(s). I suggested he keep his retrieve going until he felt heavier resistance, then strike. That worked. It’s always a relief to safely net that first fish, Dodgy said “Just catching one is enough to make my day”.

 By midday it was HOT, and by now I had concluded what I was doing wasn’t right for these conditions, in fact I had wasted a good deal of the morning sticking to the trial when I should have switched to pulling flies or lures. I headed to the cars to change my rig, rehydrate, and eat some lunch. Foggy confirmed he had completed his four some time ago, since then he had been helping another angler. Lumberjack and Moneypenny had finished too, already packing their gear away, each with a bag of four to assorted lure patterns. Lumberjack and Whytee found a seat in the shade, soon joined by the Professor who had just given one of his successful flies to Dodgy to try. Talk of the devil: Dodgy limped into view, his completed brace in his bass-bag, on schedule to be away home to watch England in the Euros. The Professor asked if he had caught his last with the donated fly, to which Dodgy recounted he’d snipped-off his own fly and put it on his fly patch, then tied the Professor’s  onto the tippet picked up from by his feet, checked the knot, then flicked the new fly into the water, picked up his rod to cast it, only to discover it wasn’t his tippet at all, but a length someone else had discarded! When he drove off we noticed the hatchback of his SUV was only half shut, and speculated how far he would get before he noticed it, and also how much of his gear would have fallen out by then!

 Some of us couldn’t luxuriate in the shade all day: the Professor, Threepio and Whytee still had one fish to catch. I added some new tippet to my leader, chose a small nymph pattern to try stalking, and followed the other two down the left hand bank. They stopped in the areas they’d had action earlier and I moved on, carefully looking for a decent target. I soon grew despondent because more and more blanket weed was breaking surface while there was so much of that cotton fluff stuff that the surface at the far end was actually white; I couldn’t see any fish and even if chasing shadows you had to keep clearing all this gunk off fly and leader, every cast. Even worse, with no added weight my nymph could no longer penetrate the scum. The day achieved it’s hottest, melting away my motivation and resolve, to the point where there was no enjoyment. I turned towards my car. At the lodge, weighing-in for the catch return, I found Threepio and the Professor had indeed finished their limits, fair play to them. Threepio’s last came to a Montana variant, whereas all four of the Professor’s had fallen for a size 14 Cuive Chamois copper-bead-head with a hare’s ear collar hackle. Not a pattern I know.

 Lumberjack was just about to depart, delayed by having had to call-out the AA. His six month old Transit Custom’s system had told him “Key fob not detected” and would not start. All the AA guy had to do was put the key fob in the centre console’s cup holders and it worked! Apparently, that’s where the fob sensor is located. I drove home with all windows open wide, it was invigorating, especially knowing there was a cold one waiting!

* in which the names of the participants are pseudonyms in an effort to be as inclusive to others as possible, attempting to attain the widest readership. Please Like, Comment, or make suggestions. Thank you