The continuing adfventures of the Fluff Club, Episode 67 *

“If fishing is a religion, fly fishing is High Church” – Tom Brokaw

 Whytee missed the last Fluff Boys’ outing, so could hardly contain the wait for this one: we were heading for one of the ‘homes’ of small, stillwater fly fishing, the legendary Damerham Trout Fishery, which also just happens to be the origin of the Blue Trout! A double delight! Luminaries, like Charles Jardine, learnt their trade here, back in the 80s. For much of the time since then the fishery has been syndicated, almost exclusively, but now it’s available to fish on day tickets!

 Molly (my sat-nav) guided me to the lodge along narrow, residential lanes, despite the doubts in my mind at times. In due course the Professor appeared, soon followed by Moneypenny, then the Admiral, who had actually passed each other going in opposite directions on one lane. We half expected the Inspector and Lumberjack would turn up too, but no. I wondered whether they too had suffered some sat-nav gobbledegook, become completely frustrated and turned back to fish Rockbourne instead! Apparently, and for the record, Google Maps will infallibly get you to Damerham.

 There are three ‘lakes’, interconnected by channels and threads of the little River Allen, whose chalk-filtered water produces the astonishing water clarity. I’m unsure of the total acreage, but the winding, landscaped layout provides so much bank space that at times you feel completely alone. The middle one of the three is shallowest and narrowest, reminding me of a section of chalkstream and ideal sight-fishing water, drawing me like a magnet. It’s called Mayfly; … sorry, but I can’t recollect the other two names.

 I spotted two Blues together in a little bay of the first ‘lake’, and thought “When in Rome …”, only for both of them to flee at my cast’s touchdown – God alone knows how many flies have been chucked at them these past few days, the inevitable result of being so visible. Onto the second water, Mayfly. A Blue circled beneath the first tree along the left hand bank, so Whytee tried a Limit Damsel: the Blue looked, but a different trout zoomed into view and snapped the tippet with a smash take! The commotion spooked all the fish in that area so Whytee leap-frogged the Professor, who was fishing half way along, to the narrower section, the slight dog-leg at the far end.

 Moneypenny and the Admiral joined us on Mayfly as some weed removal had begun on the first ‘lake’. There were plenty of trout spread throughout, nearly all ‘on the fin' and we could see the odd fish gulp something. Maybe switching from pulling a nymph to a more natural presentation of something small might be in order? A #16 PTN with a dark green tail produced a feisty fish on the second or third cast, so I snipped it off to see what else might work. A #14 picric Muskins variant produced the next fish, a hard fighting twin of the first. The Professor dropped a fish, then Moneypenny lost two in short order, both managing to pick up lumps of blanket weed during the fight which aided their wriggling off the barbless “little black thing”. He had no such trouble with the third, however, soon safely netted, after which the Professor brought a ‘Sandy’ trout to the bank. Meanwhile, the Admiral’s activity was confined to just one ‘long distance release’, but as you know, he is the Jedi Master of this particular technique.

 The next fly Whytee proferred was a #18 Headless Horseman, which produced absolutely no reaction whatsoever, so whatever they were gulping at wasn’t small buzzers! The chosen approach was to target a fish, present the fly in its path, and watch for a take on the drop, no retrieve at all, just keeping everything straight. Where the shade prevented seeing the trout’s mouth open, I watched the tippet still on the surface for a sign of a take. Next up, a #18 Fox Squirrel nymph with an olive wire rib, and a third Rainbow was in the bag after another battle, run after run.

 The Admiral fished this area from the opposite bank, the overhanging boughs keeping him on full alert. From time to time bigger trout would materialise, on their patrols. One looked to be about five pounds but the other seemed to be closer to nine; both treated Whytee and the Admiral with disdain. Whytee switched to a #16 GRHE with a little tail of three strands of that orange polyprop netting the supermarkets sell citrus fruit in. This particular pattern has proved itself at Meon Springs; would it work at Damerham? Yes … second chuck! This fish didn’t have the strength of its brethren and soon came to the net. I realised why later, when cleaning them: in the fin department it was deficient by the sum of three. The only flaw in my Damerham day, other than not getting a Blue! ( I expect some readers might not recognise the reference to Peter Cook and Dudley Moore). Hey-ho, four fish in the bag, not yet lunch time, so…  soak-up the ambience, watch t’others, maybe take a few photos, chillax. Nice way to spend some time!

 Moneypenny and the Professor moved off to the third ‘lake’ to have a mosey around. There, Moneypenny lost a fish before securing his second, the best for a Fluff Boy on the day at five pounds. His brace ticket completed, and thankful for the opportunity to earn some brownie points by getting home earlier than expected, he bade his farewells. Back on Mayfly, the Professor was still eliciting some follows, but the fish fell short of actually taking. I killed time while we neared the agreed lunchtime by practising casting, although nothing seemed to improve. Thirty yards along the bank but hidden from my sight by vegetation, I heard the unmistakable sounds of the Professor playing a fish, and of the Admiral inquiring what was the successful fly, the reply: “A black PTN with a pink under-thorax”. I then heard another fish being played splashily, followed by yet another: three trout in twenty minutes or so, one of them a Blue too! The Professor had obviously found the fly and just how the fish wanted it!

 Over lunch the Admiral pondered giving up fishing and selling his gear, but dredged up the determination to continue afterwards, despite being the last FB fishing. It transpires there wasn’t much improvement to his visit until, possibly in desperation, he tried a Cat’s Whisker which at last brought some follows but no committing. Moving swim resulted in one fish finally taking, and being carefully played until the Admiral realised his landing net was languishing the wrong side of a substantial bank-side tree. Once the tired fish lay in the margins he attempted to hand-line it onto the bank … only for the hook to pull out; the fish laid there, belly-up in the water, the Admiral lunged around the tree to grab the net, but on turning back the fish was gone!

Ata a proxima vez.

 

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