The continuing adventures of the Fluff Club, Episode 79

 

“Fly fishermen are born honest, but they get over it”.  – Ed Zern

 

 The weather forecast was another day of scorchio, although this hot summer is expected to break in a couple of days’ time. We seem to visit Chiphall Lake about once each year, [episodes 6, 22, 25, 33, 45, & 52 refer]. Today, the Admiral, Inspector, Whytee and Dodgy proudly flew the FC banner, joined by the Professor a couple of hours late; three other chaps had braved the heat too. Martin was holding court on the lodge’s veranda, which is definitely a kind of community and family hub, with friends and relations always dropping by for a brew and a chat, mostly non-fishers. The Fluff Boys generally paid for two-fish tickets, having first checked Martin was amenable to an upgrade if anyone caught too quickly.

 There was a good deal of surface weed, silkweed, and scum, but at least that provided a lot of shade, presumably helping to keep water temperatures from rising too high. Definitely a day for sight fishing, although after fishing out every cast we needed to get all the weed and mess off the  line, tippets and flies, before re-casting. I thought about a slow intermediate to get under all the surface detritus, but there was so much of it that it would be difficult to get the cast to submerge; a #5 Rio Gold floater then, on the Geo rod. The trees and hedgerows that surround the ‘lake’ prevented any chance of even the slightest breeze, but the still surface patches allowed fish to be seen, with the assistance from polaroids and a good hat-brim. So to the business in hand. I gave Dodgy a FM BFD that I found previously, while I chose a black daddy with a green 3.8mm bead-head.

 Spotting three fish moving through one of the gaps I covered them, and had an immediate take. This ‘bow was around three-and-a-half and did not want to come quietly, making three strong, surging runs, dredging clumps of weed. As the fish began to tire I drew the mess slowly to the bank until I could reach sufficiently to tear chunks of the stuff away, and at last draw the trout into the waiting net. Health-wise I was not up to par, so after placing the bass bag into watery shade I took a time-out on a chair in the shade of the big Willow.

                                                                     Crayfish traps

 The second trout, only slightly smaller, brought a repeat of the frenetic runs crashing through weed rafts etc., then the careful hand-lining in order to free up the fish for landing. Afterwards back again into the Willow’s comfort zone, watching the goings-on while resting. The Inspector had tallied three nice, hand-sized Rudd by now, but was hoping to contact the big trout which kept drifting into view briefly, a real tantalus. He caught a  nice trout next around three-eight; less surface weed in his swim meant he didn’t have the palaver with weeding-up. Around this time the Professor rumbled into the car park, late for parade. I think it was then the Admiral caught from one of the three permanent pegs on the car-park bank. Whytee resisted the urge to shout anything about ‘Duffer’s corner!’. The Professor commenced operations from the first peg, encouraged by seeing the Admiral nail one.

 Dodgy suggested he swap rods with Whytee, who obliged. Following another rest break, Whytee  hooked a fish on the BFD, and passed the rod back to D to play. The surface stuff had been accumulating, and it took both fishers to carefully get all the rubbish off the line until Dodgy was in direct touch with a tiring trout, and could draw it to the net. Meanwhile, the Professor seemed very busy, Every time I looked he seemed to be playing a fish!. Back at the car I sipped a cold drink, and the Admiral told me the Prof had been broken three times, clean tippet breaks, not just at his knots. Only a couple of episodes ago the Professor had said he had to retire a line, "after only twenty-five years’ use". Was his chosen tippet of today a similar maturity? I try to ensure spools of tippet are marked with my date of purchase, so none get past five years old!

 The Inspector had walked up to the north end, where he most often fishes with great result, [appearing like a great grey Heron, stalking its prey], and came back to negotiate an extension to his ticket having seen several good fish cruising in small groups in the clearer patches along the deeper channel. Whytee would have liked to watch, but was feeling quite tired and put-out now, so adieus were called and the car turned homewards. Within the hour Dodgy moved back to the swim the Admiral had caught from, and second cast with a new fly [“black and blue sparkly thing”] got a three-pounder, other than that I cannot say [yet].

 Jiska pwochenn fwa.

 

*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. Please ‘Like’ and ‘Follow’, it’ll help spread the readership. Thank you.

 

                                                     The River Meon, which feeds Chiphall Lake

---

 [rh1]s