JOG on fire!

 

 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 things, I suggested B try some “fishing for takes” so he selected an olive Cormorant from which I removed the entire hook-bend. Five takes, while I watched, helped move the clock on, otherwise our visit would have been over before we had adequately soaked-up and basked-in the ambience, the peace of the place, and our beautifully lit situation.

 I had set-to with an intermediate line and that lime head WB, had a tweak first chuck, another second, then a lock-up on the third: the fish fought very hard, giving me several anxious moments. It proved to be our best of the day, later pulling the scales down to four pounds eleven ounces. Next up, my newest version of a BFD (with blue glass eyes) and second cast, second fish.

First to catch overall, however, had been Brian, and per our tradition we celebrated it with a beer; so after my second I took a time-out to drain my beer, by which time B had netted his second; so, of course, we just had to toast that with a fresh one! The four patterns were doing the business so far, and I left it to B to trial them all while I diverged to try my version of a Pearly Daddy, having heard that the originator, one Sid Knight, had died recently. It worked first cast, a third Rainbow in the bag, this one three pounds something.

 After lunch it was time to try a dry Daddy, so I switched over to a floating line set up. Missed the first rise, the second was an abortive swirl, but the third was an un-hurried, sipping rise, resulting in my fourth trout. We were fishing the opposite bank from our morning operations, but it didn’t take much longer for B to get his fourth, which chased down the Blob.

 

Limits filled, what to do? A no-brainer really: over to the hut to negotiate the sharing of another two fish ticket. We were loathe to leave yet, the fishing and the environment had been enchanting, we were greedy for more.

 Sticking with the dry Daddy approach I continued to cover risers. I missed a gentle rise but hooked-up on the next. Fish-on! This battler took me a merry dance up and down at speed, the penny soon dropped, somehow it was hooked in the edge of its caudal fin. Straining tippet to the limit I hauled it unceremoniously to the net as soon as I could, to unhook another three-pounder while it was still fully immersed. “And Away!” (to quote Whitehouse & Mortimer). I will not kill a ‘foul-hooked’ fish unless it’s bleeding. The commotion suggested a move further along the bank to target some other rising fish. B, sticking to pulling the TB, hooked his final fish, which turned out to be one of the most colourful Rainbows I’ve seen, and while he was playing it I hooked into my last, another stunning looking fish. It is such a pity that sessions like this one must come to an end.