Sussex Trout Fishing … and Devon

Manchester City 6 – Watford 0. I’m not a football person. I only watch the Cup Final. However, the game was compelling and I completely forgot about a very important appointment. I’d had a tip off about another Southwell fly rod. It wasn’t hiding, it had worldwide exposure and I was expecting to be outbid. As the clock ticked down through the final twenty seconds of the auction I increased my bid and awaited the usual flurry of activity from snipers. There was none, perhaps the collectors were all Man City fans out on the beer.

I collected the rod and examined it in detail, it was 9′ 3″ and whipped with scarlet silk. The colour of the silk had been preserved with dope before the varnish was applied, a sure sign of a professional rod builder. The rod was named ‘Chew Valley’ in Indian ink just above the handle. The reel fitting, ferrule and rod rings were correct. The nodes in the cane alternated and were hot pressed. The rod tip felt steely and the quality of the dark coloured split cane was obvious.

I had a brief meeting in Petworth and then drove to the northern part of the Estate to christen the rod. It was a beautiful afternoon and the Mayfly were hatching all over the lakes. Clouds of male Spinners fluttered under the trees and over the short grass between Great Springs and Little Springs. Duns were hatching around the edge of Little Springs and the surface of the water was covered with crippled Duns, shucks and spent Spinners. The fish were wandering around, leisurely sipping in tasty morsels. A Trout even picked off a couple of nymphs under the Potamageton leaves just a rod length from the bank.

I threaded the Rio # 3 line through the rod rings and gave the rod a waggle. It felt floppy but with reserves of power. I chose a Mayfly with a quill body and olive hackle point wings. It was a convincing imitation of a crippled Dun. I kept low and presented the fly to a passing fish which ignored it. A few casts later a fast moving Trout rose and grabbed the fly. It seemed surprised by the hook. I watched the rod as the fish took line, lots of line. The rod had a tip action, I wondered if it had a compound taper. I felt every thump of the fish through the cane. I released the Trout from the landing net and left the fly sticking in my trousers to dry while I paused for thought.

The action of the rod was unique. It was slow and graceful but when the rod unloaded at the end of the cast, it gave a little kick. Just like a Mk IV Carp. When the fly had dried I covered a couple of cruising fish both of which took the fly but came unstuck. I eventually hooked and landed a second Trout which fought long and hard, almost making it to the opposite bank. I presented a selection of Mayflies to the feeding Trout but the fish rose then sheered away. Educated fish.

I moved around the lake to the shallows between the two trees and caught a third fish from under the tree on my left. It took a teal winged imitation of a Spinner. I crept further along the bank towards the big Oak tree and swapped to a French Partridge imitation of an emerging Dun. I had two aggressive takes and missed both, I was so surprised by the Trout that I lifted the rod too soon.

Having put the fish down I walked back around the top of the lake to the second point and found a good fish feeding on nymphs. It followed them vertically to the surface and grabbed the nymphs just before they could hatch. I dropped a Hare’s Ear nymph weighted with fine copper wire into the deep water close to the rushes. The leader twitched and I lifted. I felt a good fish tweak the line and it was gone. I cast a little further from the bank and watched the leader, it drew away from me and I hooked my fourth fish. I landed the Trout and caught a fifth from the last point.

I’d caught three Trout on Mayflies and two on a nymph and although I had the lake to myself and the fish were still feeding, I’d had enough.

I was very pleased with the rod. Its action is completely different to my other cane rods. I fished for nearly four hours, both right and left handed, without any pain. The latest addition to my small collection will surely become my favourite cane rod.

One of my first thoughts, while greeting the morning with a Nespresso, was ‘What shall I do today ?‘ The luxury of retirement enabled that thought most mornings. I wanted to walk beside the river, appreciate the Sussex countryside and to find a few Trout.

The sky was bright blue and the clouds seemed reluctant to move ahead of the brisk east wind. The clouds had a pink tint. When I arrived at Keepers Bridge a light aircraft was practicing aerobatics along the river valley. The planes engine alternately raced then cut out. The noise was not intrusive, it was part of the countryside charm.

I expected to catch a Trout, perhaps two. I wanted to walk from Keepers Bridge to Rotherbridge before lunch and to Perryfields and back in the afternoon. Covering a lot of ground and stopping only at the best pools would help find the fish. I fished the pool immediately below Keepers Bridge, the first corner, the big cattle drink and eventually the New Riffle. There was no sign of Trout anywhere. I turned back before reaching Rotherbridge and chased a Cormorant, too heavy with Trout to fly away, well beyond Keepers Bridge. I was angry and not inclined to follow the predator upstream. It would trash every pool, there was no point in continuing. I left the river and drove to Great Springs for lunch.

A long leisurely lunch, chatting over a glass of white wine, calmed me down and I looked forward to an afternoon in the sun chasing rainbows. The water in Great Springs was unusually clear and to my surprise, Mayfly were hatching along the southern bank. I was surprised because I had assumed that all the nymphs had perished when the lake was partially drained over the winter. A Little Grebe was making a sound like a blunt drill on sheet metal.

I sat on the bench on the island at Great Springs and drifted a nymph across the wind. A few fish were moving near the opposite bank. I presented the nymph to a cruising fish several times but it was ignored. I tried dead drifting a dry fly but had no response. I also tried a dry fly from the first point at Little Springs but the Trout were not interested.

The highlight of my day had been lunch, there would be plenty of other opportunities to catch a fish.

The blue sky, bright white clouds and slight chill were perfect conditions for fishing and I was keen to get to Petworth by lunchtime for the Mayfly hatch. Early mornings and late evenings were not necessary. Very civilised. We discussed the weeks fishing over coffee and cakes and it was 2:00pm before I set my rod up and wandered across the newly mown grass towards the swirling Trout.

Over the weekend I had tied several Mayfly patterns and various emerging nymphs. They looked good in the vice. I intended to use each prototype to see if I had designed a successful imitation. At Little Springs the fish were rising but several larger Trout were flashing as they grabbed the nymphs rising towards the surface. The wind blew seeds, leaf debris and Mayfly into the south east corner of the lake. I started with a plastic amber nymph that looked a perfect match. The fish thought otherwise. I faced the sun and swung the fly round on the breeze a couple of feet down. The Trout moved away towards the southern end of the lake. I followed but stayed hidden behind the wall of rushes.

I presented the nymph to a few cruising Trout but they ignored my creation. Perhaps it was too small. I tried a completely white dry Mayfly which was rejected but the next fly, a spent spinner, was taken confidently. I returned the very spirited, unmarked fish from the landing net and dried the fly ready for the next cast. The fly was ignored, the fish were getting spooky.

I chose a fly with a detached body and flicked that out towards a cruising fish. The Trout took the fly but came unstuck after a few seconds. The hook was too small and the hackle obscured the hook point.

The next fly was impossible to cast, it could only be presented to a cruising fish from the hand. False casting would put a horrible twist in the leader and tippet.

I stood well back from the water, careful not to throw a shadow. Eventually a small fish rose close to the rushes and with a gentle overhead flick, I put the fly down in its path. The fish looked at the plastic winged creature and swam past. I retrieved the fly and presented it to a Trout which took without hesitation. I lifted the rod but didn’t connect. The plastic wings had obscured the hook.

I fished until the rise stopped and then experimented with a seals fur Amber Nymph. I had a nip from a Roach and then hooked a large Trout close to the overflow. It came adrift but returned to inspect the fly on the next cast. It wasn’t fooled a second time.

My attempts at designing a killer Mayfly pattern had not been entirely successful.

The early morning air was still and the bright overcast spread uniformly across the sky. It was cold and damp but the BBC were predicting sunshine and for once, I agreed. The rising sun would gradually burn away the cloud and it would be a lovely Spring day. My morning started badly. I waited patiently for the recovery low-loader to drag the Defender off to the local 4×4 specialist for the clutch master cylinder to be replaced. Once upon a time I might have attempted the repair. The YouTube video made it look easy but I had struggled to remove the screw top on the fluid reservoir and I took that as a sign… ‘Leave it to the experts, go fishing‘.

The river had risen a little after Wednesdays rain but would fall over the weekend and be fishable on Monday. I decided to have a relaxing afternoon at the lakes with a split cane rod. I hoped the Mayfly would be hatching and the stunning quality of the Sharpes seemed appropriate for such an occasion.

The lakes looked beautiful. I had tea at the hut while watching a cloud of male Spinners rise and fall over the grass between Little Springs and Great Springs. I wandered around Little Springs for two hours, searching the grass and looking for Duns under the leaves of the big Oak trees. I found a few small, dark coloured females hiding from the birds. A Blue Tit dived from under the ridge of the fishing hut, caught a Spinner and quickly returned to the nest.

I watched a newly hatched Dun flutter from the lake margin, a sudden breeze caught the Mayfly and it rested on the grass. Its size, big eyes and claspers meant that it was a male. It rested and posed for a photo then fluttered up into the trees above me. The Americans call all the upwinged flies ‘mayflies’ which is a bit confusing. Ephemera danica is the true Mayfly.

The female Duns are bigger than the males and have small eyes but I don’t think the birds or Trout worry about the difference. Nymphs were wriggling to the surface of the lake and struggling to break through the surface film. When they emerged they seemed to pop out of the shuck and become airborne in seconds. The Duns fluttered vertically into the breeze, trailing their long tails, seeking shelter high up in the Alder trees around the shallow end of the lake. Most of them made it.

I crept to the first point and sat on the grass behind the little seat. I sat still and watched the Trout cruising along the margins of the bay on my left. Fish were also rising in the main body of the lake. I chose an imitation of a spent Spinner with a white Neoprene body and black hair wings. It looked good and would float for ages. A Trout rose just beyond the Potamageton, I flicked the fly out and it was immediately taken. The fish was about 1lb 8ozs and it had a hook mark in its lower jaw. It did not recover and I kept it for dinner.

After catching a fish so quickly I assumed that the rest of the afternoon would be easy. It was not. My imitation was rejected by several fish. I changed flies a couple of times, tried nymphs and a small emerger but the fish were fussy. My casting became frantic and after a couple of tangles and a rod-wrap, I decided to rest and change rods. My arm was hurting.

I set up the Hardy and dropped a nymph along the line of a big fish cruising down the centre of the lake. I watched the fish turn, open its mouth, shake its head a couple of times and swim away. It had taken the fly and I had not reacted. I laughed but felt gutted. Trout continued to rise near the rushes in the bay on my left. I converted a white Neoprene mayfly pattern into an emerger by chopping off the wings. It hung in the surface film and was taken but I was so surprised that I missed. I flicked it out and allowed the wind to drag it round. The fly floated but the tippet sunk and a fish took hold. I released the Trout and moved to the sunny side of the lake.

The margins in the corner of the lake under the two big Oak trees were covered with hatching, dying and dead Mayflies. The water was a soup of shucks, crippled Duns and spent Spinners with a side salad of buzzers and Olives. The Trout were feeding very close to the bank and although I kept a low profile, I think I put them down. I drove home smiling but wishing that I was in the Defender.

It had been a great afternoon, the most enjoyable trip of the season to date.

 

I had been invited to a private lake for a days carp fishing, a civilised affair with tea and cake, deep in the Sussex countryside. The Defender had other ideas. The clutch failed yesterday, Bank Holiday Monday. The heavy duty clutch had been fitted only 20k miles ago. All the garages were shut. I had to spend all of my carp-fishing-morning arranging recovery to a local 4×4 specialist. By late afternoon I was in need of respite, the river beckoned.

The Ultimate Driving Machine wafted me to Coultershaw Bridge but I remembered the damage from the previous BMW off-road adventure and stayed on the farm track. I was looking forward to a peaceful evening with a hatch and a few rising Trout. The first Mayfly had been seen at Little Springs on 29 April and it would be nice to see a few along the river. The wind was from the South but was cooler than I had imagined, I was glad of my jacket.

The river at Rotherbridge looked perfect. I could see the streamer weed shoots on the sandy river bed below the bridge. A couple of Dace rose for a fly while I was watching the river. After a chunk of banana and nut cake I started at the head of the pool immediately below the bridge. I concentrated and fished hard, exploring every square foot with a variety of different nymph patterns and weights. After an hour I moved to the next pool down and repeated the process. The white furry seeds from the Willow bushes covered the surface of the water and caught on the leader. Alder flies were everywhere, I saw a few Olives and a solitary Yellow May. Clouds of midges buzzed over the surface in the shelter of the steep banks.

I had an apple while mulling over my options. I was sure that I would catch a Trout but where? I fished the pool above the bridge and saw a fish rise twice. It was going downstream which I thought was a bit odd. I switched to a dry Black Gnat and covered the runs between the developing weed beds but nothing was interested. I walked up to the New Riffle and worked the deep water from downstream. I rested the pool, switched to a GRHE nymph and started again from the top of the pool. About half way down a fish rose and I lifted the rod but didn’t connect. I tried a Mayfly imitation where the fish had shown itself but there was no response.

After three and a half hours focusing on the river, willing a Trout to grab the fly, I’d had enough. I drove home content that I had done my best to catch a fish. It had been a lovely afternoon and I was relaxed. I arrived home without the car breaking down. Result.