Saturday, 23 September, 7:50am, the autumn equinox. Not that I was awake at that time. The transatlantic remnants of hurricane Nigel had dumped rain across the country and the river was unfishable. The lakes at Little Bognor were the obvious destination. The steep sides of the valley and the mature trees would channel the warm southwest wind up the lake and the low sun would set the autumn colours alight.

I chose to drive towards Fittleworth via Bedham and pause briefly by the entrance to Brinkwells, the home of the artist Rex Vicat Cole whose studio was rented by Sir Edward Elgar in 1918. I admired the magic trees, particularly the long dead chestnut. A sketch of the dead tree was included in Rex Vicat Cole’s book, British Trees, published in 1907. The dead tree has withstood nearly 120 years of storms, a testament to the strength of the wood.

The lake was covered in a thin film of dust and algae, liberally seasoned with leaves and beech mast. The breeze shifted the floating mat around the lake leaving patches of clear water. I used a long tippet and a neoprene buzzer which hung from the debris and gradually trickled down through the surface film, occasionally holding on bigger leaves. Perfect presentation.

Second cast, a large white mouth appeared below the buzzer and turned away. I waited for a second and lifted into a nice brownie. It fought hard but I bullied it into the landing net and tweaked the barbless hook from the corner of its mouth before releasing it further along the bank.

Trout were cruising about a foot below the surface, carefully sipping the hatching midges. I considered using a lighter tippet but thoughts of a four or five pound brownie dissuaded me. I moved along the bank and sat behind the trunk of a tree overhanging the water. I flicked the buzzer towards a feeding trout which took the fly and quickly surrendered. While releasing the fish another trout continued to rise under the tree canopy, undisturbed by my antics. I dropped the buzzer in its path and a large brownie immediately became airborne and headed towards the centre of the lake. The hook pulled. The tippet was strong enough but the small hook lost its grip.

I walked to the other lake and stood watching for twenty minutes. The silvery willow trees at the top of the lake contrasted with the mature oaks and the pastel sky made the scene complete. A romantic landscape, very John Constable. There were no signs of fish and I left without casting. After leaving the lakes I stopped at a gate to admire the view of the Arun valley. It had been a memorable afternoon, I will return in October.