It was a glorious morning. I left the house eager to get to the river and to explore the Rother valley. I was undecided which Beat to fish but with low expectations of catching anything in the heat of the day, I chose the most scenic of the Beats, Keepers Bridge to Perryfields Barn.

As I wandered upstream I heard a rise below me, behind a bush, but I couldn’t find the decaying ripples. I decided to wait but soon heard the sound of another rise. By the time I’d retraced my steps upstream, that too had dissipated. I fished the Sandy Pool for a while convinced that a good fish was hiding under the streamer weed.

I lost a couple of nymphs attempting tricky casts through impossible gaps and under branches. The river had changed, the winter floods had reconfigured some of the fish holding places. Trees had come down and in places, the bank had collapsed filling deep runs with sandy soil.

I nearly reached Perryfields but heat and dehydration drove me back to the shade of the woods near Keepers Bridge. Nothing rose. Hundreds of blue damsel flies dashed from leaf to leaf and in the shade of the trees, horse flies zoomed around me.

One last cast. The long pool under the alder trees, where I had caught so many trout, would surely hold a fish. A big weed bed had formed under my bank. I flicked the nymph across the current and let it swing round alongside the weeds. The rod grew heavy and a nice trout became airborne. Several times. The long rod hooped over into a tight bend as I coaxed the deep diving fish away from the snags. It was a fin perfect brownie about two pounds which swam away from the net confidently, as if it knew the procedure.

I left the river, content that I had persevered in difficult conditions and that I had caught a good trout. I drove to Stag Park to admire the view and to check out the lakes. The landscape was stunning. The blue sky held a constant flow of fluffy white clouds which switched the sunshine on and off as they passed overhead. The cereal crops brightened the landscape and the headlands were full of wild flowers. The Sussex countryside was at it’s very best, softer than Dartmoor but equally impressive.

The lakes looked beautiful but nothing was hatching and the fish were not rising. The very hot weather during the last two weeks had sapped their energy.

My day had been a stark contrast to recent fishing trips on Dartmoor. The grass was easy to walk on and comfortable to sit on while waiting for a rise. I hadn’t seen a soul all day and spaniels were not allowed to jump in the river. The river demands a careful approach, it might deliver anything from a small chub to a mighty sea trout. I planned to return in July.