The continuing adventures of the Fluff Club, Episode73 *

 

 …”a trout is a moment of beauty known only to those who seek it,” – Arnold Gingrich

 Communication breakdown: Whytee pulled into the car park, Dodgy Phil close behind, to see Lumberjack and the Fishery Manager by their vehicles. “Did you get the email? I didn’t”, asked Lumberjack, “What email?”. The FM said “Your chairman cancelled because of the weather forecast”. Whytee replied “Damned if I did. Who looks at emails first thing in the morning before going fishing?”, then a little anxiously “Does this mean you’re closed?” whereupon FM (whose name might be Leslie) responded in the negative, cheering all four of us up: he had some customers and the Fluff Boys, albeit only two plus one, had some fishing. Money changed hands, then we readied for the off.

 Damerham holds a historic place in the realm of small stillwater trout fisheries and is the home of the Blue Trout, a Rainbow variant. There are three ‘lakes’, Holyhead, Mayfly, and Horseshoe, interlaced by the threads of the chalkstream Allen, also providing clear water to the extensive fish farm.

 

An altogether lovely place, last attended by the Fluff Club in episode 67. The FM went into the lodge to put a pot of filter coffee on for us, and we three headed off, Dodgy permitted to drive down the track because he’s had another knee op, Italian steel this time, but limping even worse than the last time he joined us.

 Whytee fished here in November, when a pod of fish were continually circling in that little bay, close by the lane, towards the far end of Holyhead. The pod was still there, although their numbers were somewhat diminished. A stealthy side cast, under the tree branches, put out the orange mylar- ribbed Diawl Bach into the zone, the sinking tippet twitched, a strike, but no hook-hold, just a few splashy swirls. A wait for the circling to resume, another side cast, another twitch, this time a solid connection, then Whitey’s five pound tippet parted at the hook-eye. By the time a new fly, same pattern, was knotted on, the circling had started again. Long pause, a gentle side cast, even gentler take, and Whytee played the battling ‘bow to the net; it later weighed four pounds dead (which it was) and the best of a three fish ticket, whereas Lumberjack and Dodgy had opted for brace tickets.

 Onto Mayfly, where the other two were fishing, Whytee headed down the opposite bank to the end where it runs into Horseshoe, through the grill. Lumberjack called across that he’d already caught one [five pounds fourteen!] on a “Brown thing”, later that turned out to be an olive-brown Damsel variant. At the end and beneath the trees Whytee could just about make out moving fishy shapes, despite the gusts ruffling the water surface. One greyish shape was broader than its fellows; a covering cast and the shape moved towards where the fly had landed, its gills flared, so Whytee struck. The fish surged from left to the right, passing in front of W at some speed, apparently heading towards a more weedy bit. W held the rod to the left at the nine o’clock position, to exert side-strain and turn the trout, but ‘this lady was not for turning’ and ploughed on, the rod fully arced,  … and snap! This time the break was at the tippet ring.

 Lumberjack bagged his second to a CW, another good ‘un, around four pounds, after which Dodgy broke his duck with a two-pound Blue, which fell for a pink bead Biscuit Blob that Whytee gave him earlier. Lumberjack went for a walk around Horseshoe, later agreeing it seemed a bit sinister with the swamp alongside and the skeletal dead trees; this was his first time at Damerham. Whytee changed patterns, all suggesting nymphs, managing to miss two more takes before the swim went quiet. Maybe a change to that Blob? Two more offers missed and now the swim seemed dead, so Whytee moved to where Lumberjack caught both of his, and between gusts was able to see there were several fish in the area in the lee of the little island. Third cast of the Blob, just starting up a slow retrieve and … fish on! Another strong fighter, around three-something, soon subdued and safely netted.

  Lunch in the luxurious lodge, washed down with good coffee, Dodgy’s tall tales providing the entertainment. Lumberjack didn’t particularly want to buy more fishing, but he was loath to leave yet. After the lunchbreak, Dodgy headed about half way along Holyhead, with his folding chair, Lumberjack in attendance to advise. Whytee returned to that far end of Mayfly, hoping it had settled down sufficiently, to try Buzzer patterns under a pink stick-on foam indicator, drifted along amid the chop. The squalls made it impossible to spot fish, so W returned to that area below the little island and was able to discern some fishy  grey or brown shapes ghosting around. Out went a green Buzzer with orange cheeks, only for a trout to rise and nose-nudge the indicator three times! A different fish chased and swirled at the indicator while it was being retrieved for a re-cast.

 When a particularly heavy blast caused Whytee to drop the rig parallel to the bank to the left, a few feet out, while waiting for a safer moment to cast (being right-handed), the ‘bung’ disappeared and trout number three fought in vain, giving a great account of itself before being drawn to the net, despite being under three pounds.

 Whytee headed back past the stews to find Dodgy, Lumberjack and the FM in the same spot, where Dodgy, seated, was casting monotonously with hope largely gone. Nevertheless, there was plenty of kidding going on. Dodgy said “There’s no fish in this lake”, FM suggested D limp a hundred yards or so further along to where the circling pod hung out, and he would see plenty. At one point in this craic FM said “Why don’t one of you go and catch his fish for him?” so Whytee obliged. The anti-clockwise circling school loved the little pink foam speck, jostling with each other to munch it then spit it out again, but in the midst of this furious activity it dipped under, signalling a fish had eaten the black Buzzer twenty inches underneath. A firm strike and the fish was on. Whytee carefully used side-strain to draw the fish along, parallel to the bank, lifting the rod high to pass a reed bed, then passing the rod around a tree, over another clump of reeds, but now the remaining obstacles along the bank were impassable, although the others were in sight, sixty metres away. “Come and finish playing this fish, I’ll net it” hollered Whytee. Dodgy replied “No mate, You hooked it, it’s your fish” and that soon became the final play. It was nearly beer o'clock.

 Keen readers may have noticed there was no episode in January; that’s because I had the dreaded Covid and was self-isolating. Apart from a reduced sense of smell and taste for a couple of days, it had less of an impact on me than a common cold; I’m glad I had both jabs and the booster. Please Like and Follow, it helps the search engines to spread the word.

 Until the next time [in English for a change!]

*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.