Three prolonged, thirty-degree heat waves had prevented me from fishing the Devon rivers for over a month. The water temperature had crept up and the water levels had fallen. I walked beside the Tavy which looked beautiful but after twenty minutes the intense heat drove me back to the Defender.

I drove to the farm on Friday, crawling east along the A303 towards Surrey where, according to the Met Office, torrential rain and flash floods were waiting. I passed caravans fleeing from the school summer holiday migration westwards. It rained gently all night, there was no thunder. Rain on Dartmoor flushes through the spate rivers in hours and enhances the fishing but the lowland rivers in the south east, carrying silt and agricultural run-off, overflow into the water meadows and the river levels are slow to fall.

Saturday 19 July – As I approached Petworth I was undecided about where to fish. The North River at Billingshurst had not risen and it was likely that the Rother would be fishable. On impulse, I took a left turn through River Hill and the Magic Woods to Little Bognor. Spring water flowed under the little bridge keeping the water cool. Trout were rising. Rolling over, head and tail rises for buzzers.

The fish were cruising about a foot below the surface picking off buzzers as they ascended and struggled in the surface film. The lake was flat calm and the leaf debris remained stationary. I targeted feeding fish. A new leader, a light tippet and a black neoprene buzzer produced a trout second cast. I saw the white flash of its mouth before slowly lifting the rod. A couple of trout inspected the buzzer but rejected it, time for a change of fly.

I swapped to a dry fly, a black gnat, which hung in the surface film for a few minutes before a passing fish gulped the fly down. I paused before connecting with a slightly better trout. The third fish took a parachute pheasant tail confidently and I delayed tightening the line. Three takes, three fish hooked and three landed. Well above my average success rate. I flicked a fly at a fish cruising beside a lily bed on the upper lake but after a very close inspection, it sunk back into the dark water, unimpressed.

Sunday 20 July – It rained during the night and the North River was up. I spent a couple of hours flicking flies at carp but they were not interested.

Saturday 26 July – Occasional heavy showers during the week caused the Rother to rise a few inches but by Saturday the level had dropped. I hadn’t fished the top beat for a while and I thought there might be a chance of a monster hiding in the streamer weed. It was hot and humid. Thunder clouds rolled slowly over the South Downs and threatened a soaking. I was surprised by the growth of the trees and bankside plants, it was more of a jungle than I remembered.

I waited on the bridge, watching for a rising fish. A small fish rose twice but I had bigger trout in mind. I wandered downstream, casting into difficult pools between trees, dropping a nymph alongside the streamer weeds. I came to a long pool with easy access and sat down close to the waters edge. I cast across the flow, worked the nymph under the bushes and allowed it to drift towards the near bank. Eventually, I felt a tap and wriggle on the rod but I was too busy watching a buzzard and missed the take. After about an hour exploring downstream I returned to the pool but I couldn’t find the trout.

I drove to Keeper’s Bridge and saw a trout rising in the usual place, below an alder tree and just above a clump of streamer weed. It took a parachute pheasant tail second cast. I walked upstream to the sandy pool and saw a fish rise on the top bend. The same fly also tempted that trout. Two small trout were not what I had planned but it had been an enjoyable evening.

Sunday 27 July – It was windy and much cooler than Saturday. I cut through the woods at Fittleworth and anticipated good sport at Little Bognor. Unfortunately there were members already fishing. Never mind, plan B saw me hiding behind the shoulder high ferns beside the willow tree beside the top lake. I was distracted by a rising fish on my left and when my gaze returned to my dry fly, it had disappeared amidst a swirl. I waited in vain for the leader to move. Several changes of fly later, I hooked a small fish close to a weed bed and managed to ease it into the net. When I returned to the car I was pleased to see that the bottom lake was deserted and that the trout were rising. I hooked and landed a good fish. A series of amateurish casts and hooked trees signalled the end of a pleasant day.

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