RH Fly Fishing

  Wading up a small river, completely steeped in the natural world, is like nothing else; it’s so good for the spirit, soul, and well-being. Casting a fly for wild Brown trout, the jewels of British freshwater, takes things to an even higher level, simply sublime. Any troubles bouncing around in my head were soon drowned by the busy noise of the stream as it whispered, chattered, and giggled on its way.     The first two spots didn’t produce a take, provided you exclude the trees, but in the third little pool the pink foam indicator twitched as something inspected the size 18 jig fly, but the fish kicked away straight after my strike. I changed flies again, now trying a Red Dart jig which elicited no interest, although a ten inch Brownie actually rose to the indicator!   Time to move again; a deeper channel past a large tree trunk and roots mass finally produced the goods, an eight inch Brown battling wildly having eaten a little quilled jig nymph, but nothing followed despite severa

  “Omens are everywhere, you just have to find the ones that fit” – Terry Pratchett     Flippin’ 70 already! Despite the seeming indifference   of the readers (apparent in the few ‘likes’, ‘Comments’, and no ‘Followers’) that milestone represents about seven years’ worth of these monthly chronicles. Cor blimey!   Today, the Fluff Club mob descended upon the ever-popular Chalk Springs, Arundel, represented by the Professor, Admiral, Moneypenny, Lumberjack, Whytee, and the Engineer (not really a current, active member, having moved from Hampshire to West Sussex a few years ago). Oh!, nearly forgot the other non-member, Dodgy, (limping badly, awaiting a new knee, now accompanied by a folding chair).   As usual at weekends there were good numbers fishing, and I was glad to see five under-twenty-fives having fly casting and fishing tuition, including two of the fairer sex. New blood, hopefully. The catch return revealed that Saturday’s fish fell for a real mix of fly patterns: CWs,