Author: Nigel Rainton

The early morning was a white-out with pale watery sunshine. It looked as if the fog would burn away and leave a sunny day. The fog became denser as I drove South. At Little Bognor the air was chill and the fog hung in the Silver Birches. The water was flat calm and a few Trout were rising. A couple of members were fishing on the bottom lake so I ambled up the slope to the top lake and checked that all was in order. In that short time the sun had strengthened and the fog had evaporated.

I went to Rotherbridge to check the height of the river and to see if the two Trout I found feeding in the margins last Saturday were still there. To my surprise they were in exactly the same place. Feeding on shrimps in very shallow water. Both fish shot back into deep water when they saw me. I planned to return to Rotherbridge after visiting the other beats and lakes. I drove up the old railway line to Taylor’s Bridge and walked downstream on the North bank. The gauge said the river height was 0.143m, down from 0.155m on Friday, but it was quite coloured with run-off from the lettuce fields. The Shallow Pool looked inviting, the streamer weed was waving around in the current, bright green fronds in the caramel coloured water.

I walked back to the Land Rover and drove through Petworth to Great Springs. The water in the lake had cleared a bit and I saw two Trout close to the bank. They weren’t feeding, they looked distressed but I couldn’t see any Cormorant marks. There were a few fish rising at Luffs and Lower Figgs. At Upper Figgs there were about twenty fish cruising, swirling and snatching debris off the surface. It looked like a shoal of newly stocked Trout.

I returned to Rotherbridge, keen to cast a fly to the two shrimping fish. There was a constant hum from the bees in the Hawthorn and Willow trees and a lone Gorse bush was surrounded by Hawthorn flies. The bushes below the bridge didn’t give me much cover so I knelt down well away from the edge. It needed restraint, careless casting would spook the fish. I gently put a short line out and allowed the tip of the fly line to hang on a weed stem so that the leader would swing in towards the bank. I repeated the cast, twitching the line to give the fly movement. Every few casts I extended the line a little, changing the path along which the fly worked. After thirty minutes I moved down the bank a couple of paces and put the fly line over a weedbed. A good sized Trout dashed out of the weeds into midstream. Perhaps the rod flashed in the sunlight or I had lined the fish. While I was cursing my luck the other fish, which was about a yard further down the bank, departed in a puff of silt. I didn’t abandon hope, I thought the fish would be on the bottom in the deeper water. They were not. I covered the pool expecting a thump on the rod at any moment but it never came. Nevermind, the Shallow Pool would produce a fish.

As I walked downstream from Taylor’s Bridge the hot sun, the smell of the newly cut grass and the bright green buds on the bushes confirmed the arrival of Spring. There were very few birds about but lots of insects; midges, Hawthorn flies and Bumble bees. The main current in the Shallow Pool was along the far bank. The width of the pool caused the flow to lose momentum and there was a long slack on my side. I spent an hour working the fly down and across, exploring the edge of the weed beds along my bank. As I reached the end of the pool I realised that it was not going to provide my first river Trout of the season. I had a few casts at Ladymead but although I could see the sandbank, the current was far too strong and the turbulent water too coloured. The water level should have dropped by Monday.

 

The weather had changed for the better. The forecast predicted warm Spring sunshine for the rest of April. For several days I’d checked the river level while having breakfast and lunch. The latest level was shown as 0.234m and falling but that was clearly wrong because when I arrived at Keeper’s Bridge, it was much higher and the colour of a Werthers Original. Totally unfishable. I wandered around Ladymead which looked bleak and scarred by over enthusiastic tree felling on the opposite bank. The trunks of two large Alder trees had become snagged in midstream. Good cover for the Trout but casting would be tricky. It was cold, grey, damp and felt like Autumn.

I walked around the lakes and saw fish rising and swirling in the margins. Luffs looked inviting but I decided to fish at Little Bognor as I could return the fish. I drove to Little Bognor and used the back of the Defender to set up my rod and reel. I chose the Hardy Duchess with the cut-down Cortland 444, it had quickly become my favourite reel. I must change my other reels to right hand wind. I tied on an imitation of a hatching midge and flicked it out on a short line. It sat nicely on the surface of the water. After a few casts a Trout rose confidently from directly beneath the fly and gulped it down. I waited a couple of seconds then lifted into the fish. It shook itself free just as I was reaching for the landing net.

The rising fish had moved away from me and I decided to target cruising fish with a buzzer. I had a few takes but couldn’t connect. I changed the pattern to a semi-buoyant black Neoprene buzzer that hung just under the surface. The tuft of Partridge represented the hatching fly.

The leader seemed to pause in the ripple and I lifted the rod not confident of a response. A Trout had taken the fly very gently. It made several long runs and I let the reel spin silently to release line. I released the fish and concentrated on my technique. I had a few more tentative takes but didn’t hook anything. It was getting cold so I packed up, took a few photos and headed for home. I hope the river soon becomes fishable, Little Bognor is a lovely place but it’s not a substitute for flowing water.

 

The last few trips have been interesting. Fly patterns that I have developed have proved to be successful and I now feel confident that I can catch Trout that are preoccupied, feeding on caenis, midges and hatching buzzers.

It was a grey day. Damp, no wind and warm. Perfect weather for fishing but the gauge at Halfway Bridge read 0.294m, more than twice the height seven hours earlier and the river was still rising. I had hoped for a dry weekend but the occasional showers had fallen on saturated ground and drained straight into the river.

I was determined to fish the river and I had a cunning plan. On a previous visit I had surprised two Trout feeding on shrimps in the shallows between a weedbed and the river bank. With food and shelter, they might have remained in the area. I checked the lakes and collected the catch returns. There were fish rising on all the lakes but I stuck to the plan and ended my tour at Rotherbridge. The catch returns revealed that on one of the lakes, the total number of fish caught had exceeded the original number stocked. After a month of catch and release that was probably not a good thing. The fish would become uncatchable as the season progressed.

I crept behind a leafless bush below the bridge, it was not much of a hiding place but I didn’t want to frighten any fish in the margins. The water under the bank was not too coloured, I could clearly see the green shoots of the weeds. I worked a black fly down and across, leaving plenty of time for it to sink before retrieving it along the edge of the weeds. I stepped to my right after a few casts and explored the margin further downstream. I repeated this for about an hour and had one heart stopping moment when I hooked a sunken branch. Eventually I lost concentration and packed up. The water was too muddy.

As I drove away from Rotherbridge I saw a tractor spreading Nitram on a field beside the lane. The furrows ran downhill and were waterlogged. The next shower would wash the fertilizer down the slope, across the lane and into the ditch which drains into the river. It was not a pleasant thought on which to end the day.

 

I was keen to visit the lakes early in the morning and leave plenty of time for fishing in the afternoon. When I arrived at Little Bognor there were lots of fish feeding close to the bank on the bottom lake, trout were rising in all the usual places. They were feeding on small, white flies. On a previous trip I had made the mistake of ignoring the morning rise and returning to the lake later in the day when the intense activity had tailed off. I had the lake to myself but probably not for long. I tackled up from the back of the Land Rover where everything was close to hand. The roof is a convenient place to leave the rod while choosing the fly.

I tied on a 2lb tippet about two feet long and a dry fly made out of white Neoprene. Closed cell Neoprene does not soak up water and the little fly would float for hours without any dressing. I started in the corner near the overflow where a lot of fish were swirling and sipping down the newly hatched flies. I cast left-handed and reminded myself not to lift into a taking fish until the leader moved. After a few minutes a fish swirled at the fly and the leader slipped across the surface. I lifted slowly and the fish was hooked. The Trout had the fly neatly in the corner of it’s jaw and was in pristine condition. No hook marks.

Trout continued to feed under the tree and I positioned the fly close to several rises. The fish swirled at the fly but the leader didn’t move. At least I hadn’t scared them away. The tippet was visible on the surface so I rubbed it with clay and recast. The next rise resulted in a positive take and after a spirited fight, another small Trout was released.

The wind got stronger and colder so I packed up and continued on my journey around the lakes and river. Above Coultershaw Bridge I saw a Red Kite and a Crow arguing over road kill, the bigger bird lost the battle. The river looked much lower and a lot clearer, it would be fishable in a couple of days if there was no more rain. I walked around Little Springs with a cup of tea and some biscuits, quite a few fish were feeding. There were some big swirls close to the bank. Fry feeders.

On the journey home I resolved to fish the river on my next visit. A Black Spider fished down the margins at Rotherbridge should produce results.

Easter had been grey and wet. It had rained every day. In fact, it hadn’t stopped raining for over a week. The river at Billingshurst had risen into the fields and retreated leaving silt and rubbish everywhere. The Rother had roared through the fish pass and stranded flotsam high in the bankside trees. It had been the sixth flood of the winter and hopefully the last. This morning was the first real Spring morning. Fluffy white clouds, a blue sky and clean air. I enjoyed the drive along the country lanes, particularly at Riverhill where I paused to look at the view down the valley.

I visited Little Bognor, checked every beat on the river and had breakfast at Great Springs. After tea and chocolate biscuits I returned to Little Bognor to continue my casting practice. The air was warmish and the gentle breeze supported three Buzzards mewing and circling high above the trees.

I had tied some very small imitations of the hatching midges I had seen at Little Bognor on my last visit and I was keen to try them out. Tying flies after the event is flawed, on my return the fish have usually found another food source. That proved to be the case. There was a hatch of small, black terrestrial flies, too small for Hawthorn flies. I tied on a Black Buzzer and left handed, flicked it over the green rush shoots in the margins. It landed about four feet from the bank, sunk about a foot and was taken by a small Trout. I was surprised by the suddenness of the take and the fish wriggled free after a few seconds. I cast a little further into the lake and immediately had another take. The Trout was very dark in colour and had no hook marks in it’s mouth. A fish was feeding in the corner by the overflow but I couldn’t interest it in my buzzer. I tried the opposite corner but the fish had moved away from that end of the lake. I thought a black Neoprene Buzzer would do the trick but although it sat nicely in the surface film, the fish were not fooled. I had a nice take at the other end of the lake, under the Beech trees, but the fish came adrift. Size 18 hooks don’t hold well.

I had a few casts on the top lake but quickly lost interest and walked back down the slope. I persevered with a white Neoprene spider which sat on the ripples and blew around under the tree beside the overflow. A fish inspected it and twenty minutes later I had a good take which I should have left a little longer. I lifted too quickly and missed the fish. The air was cooling and I was tired. I had a nice bottle of claret in the Land Rover, bought on the recommendation of the nice man in the wine merchants at Petworth.