RH Fly Fishing

    I hadn’t fished Chiphall Lake for a while, and as I pulled into the car park the colours of autumn reflecting in the still surface added to the allure of trout topping. The night had been chilly but the temperature was supposed to climb to ten degrees C under the grey skies. Moorhens, Coots, and Dabchicks busied themselves with breakfast, while a gang of Mallard squabbled and fought, out by that first little island. The mating game, I supposed.  Noticing some crayfish pots, I asked Martin if there were many of these varmints in the ‘lake’, he replied he’d only hauled four crayfish in the past year, but when he first put the pots out, some years ago, they caught fifty kilos. These are the invasive American Signal species, by the way, so this apparent decline is a good thing.   My buddy and I were both fishing intermediate outfits with small lures. I had a knock, but it came to nought. Shortly afterwards, B hooked up, using a size twelve ‘Nemesis’. The Rainbow fought very strongl

    I’m not superstitious, touch wood, believing that fact trumps fancy. On the morning of our trip to the wonderful John O’Gaunt trout fishery I noted the frost and night-time temperature suddenly down to 3C, the forecast for a sunny day with some clouds, and the barometer way down, to 996. In addition, we were just three days short of a new moon. To me, all this spelled out a tough day’s fishing ahead. Not on your nelly! JO’G, once the thick mist burned off, showed us fish moving everywhere!   Brian and I eschewed the main ‘lake’, as ever preferring the smaller ‘Simms’, always clear, although at this time of year the low angle of the sun doesn’t help fish spotting much. I supplied my fishing buddy with four patterns I tied: a lime, tungsten bead-head WB (thanks, Fly Fish Food), my BFD variant, the Nemesis (cheers, Steve Cullen), and Tequila Blob. Two of each. The ensuing session saw the fishing on fire, and all four patterns worked their voodoo. During the morning, to prolong thing