The continuing adventures of the Fluff Club, Episode 77 *

 

“… the eye-catching splendour of the natural world exceeds even the finest (beauty) in art, or literature, or music.” - Todd Tanner

 Whytee ain’t well, it’s a bummer, and his current meds rule out driving. Thankfully, the Professor stepped-in and drove the pair both ways to Avon Springs, Durrington. A lovely day to be driving through England’s green and pleasant land, of which we saw more than was strictly necessary as we rolled thunderously through Hampshire, Berkshire, and into Wiltshire. A combination of too much chat and a shy sat-nav meant some key directions went unnoticed. Ten minutes later than anticipated, we pulled into the car park, spotting Moneypenny, the Lumberjack, Daisy, and Foggy already there, along with three or four other anglers. The two ‘lakes’ provide seven-dot-something acres of water, so it was not exactly crowded. My Fluff Club records show we haven’t been here as a group before (in my time as a member, that is) and on the day the fishery failed to live up to its true potential; my fishing buddy and I have had some fantastic sport here.

 Previously, within these scribblings, mention has been made of the old Sol-Lunar theory, tidal, barometric and temperature changes, and other dark arts which led to Casio producing a ‘fishing watch’. Well, said watch was going chuffing crazy! The display had all four fish symbols lit up, with the word FISH flashing on and off, during the entire time we were there. The Casio was really excited, unlike the trout.

Small coarse fish were dimpling the surface, the shallow margins were everywhere stuffed with fry, while Perch-lets were more than happy to hurl themselves at an angler’s passing flies. Geese and Swans, meanwhile, were doing their utmost to carpet the entire grassed area with their droppings.

  An angler of European origin, (you must make your own guess), was accompanied by his lady. While he fished his way around the water, she carried landing net, coats, food and drink, in various bags. Unlike others, he was catching, although he dropped more trout than she was able to net for him;  he seemed to be on a mission, not relaxing for one moment. Different strokes for different folks. Whenever he lost one he would hurl the rod furiously into the reeds fringing the banks, I have no idea how he didn’t snap his rod; I’ve broken rods with much less effort.

 What of the Fluff Boys, then? Whytee and the Lumberjack blanked, not so much as a sniff of a fish between them. Lumberjack hasn’t been here before, I suspect he might be in no hurry to return. Moneypenny had one small stocker, Daisy had two, dropping three others in the process, the Professor had two, including best of the day at five-and-a-half pounds, and Foggy had three, carrying on determined for the fourth. His health isn’t great either, so he made the very best of the warm, dry conditions to have a rare day out.

 There was no one particular fly either, old school seemed to work as well as the more exotic, but perhaps Damsel patterns did have an edge? Whytee couldn’t pick the lock at all: towards lunchtime he worked up the stews side, stalking along the margins with the smallest Damsel knotted on, trying the ‘induced take’. Years of accumulated skills and knowledge were brought to bear on at least four targets (the best a Brown around six pounds), in each case it only took a couple of casts before the target swam away, laughing and jeering. Post lunch, Whytee tried fishing a static Blob at distance (what I like to call distance, anyway) letting the ruffled surface draw the fly round in a wide arc, nada. I think most of us have said it, but fishing is so much more than catching fish.

 Jiska pwochenn fwa.