It was six years since I’d fished for trout on the 21 June. That day, the weather had been kind and I’d caught a couple of fish. Now, with England in the midst of a thirty degree heatwave, the trout in the Western Rother would be hiding in the weeds, deep in the shade and would be difficult to catch. The south easterly breeze from the continent did nothing to moderate the blistering heat. There was no point in visiting the river until the evening. I waited impatiently until the temperature dropped before setting off for Petworth.

The plan was simple. Keep in the shade. Alder trees along the north bank cast dense shadows along an east-west section of the river. As the sun dropped, the shadows lengthened. Perfect. Mayfly hatched regularly from the shallow water, a steady trickle of green drakes fluttered into the trees behind me. A few swallows flew up and down the river like little missiles, snatching the occasional fly but most of the duns made it safely to a resting place. I warmed up my right arm by casting a nymph into an overhanging tree.

Casting upstream under an alder tree, I hooked a small fish which leapt into the air and threw the hook. It could have been a sea trout smolt. Further downstream, I crept into place and explored a shaded patch of water with a mayfly nymph. A trout rose to my right, so I swapped the nymph for a French Partridge Mayfly and flicked it downstream. A few casts later the trout took the fly and battle commenced. I treated the fish gently at first and it stayed in mid-stream. I had to hoop the rod over as the fish approached the landing net but everything held and a two pound plus trout rested in the mesh.

I was content, the plan had worked. I wandered downstream passing the exposed stretches of river, seeking shade for both myself and the trout. I felt that I had caught sufficient. Just one more cast. I found a rising fish in the main flow and presented the fly without drag. The fish obliged but came adrift after a few minutes. I walked to the riffle where several fish were rising. I missed a take, I was hot, tired and dehydrated. Time to return to the car for a drink. On the drive home I thought about the following day, would the same tactics work on a different stretch of river ?

The tactics were the same but a 20mph blustery wind meant that presentation was difficult and the two rising fish that I found, sheered away from the skating flies.

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