Sussex Trout Fishing … and Devon

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.

I drove through the lanes via Loxwood in the early morning sun, the countryside looked lovely and the weather was perfect. Everything was set for a relaxing day by the river. I checked the river at the Fish Pass and Rotherbridge before deciding where to fish. There were no signs of fish but the sight and sound of rushing water tipped the balance in favour of the weir pool. The plan was to fish upstream, break for lunch and move to another Beat for the afternoon.

I started at the downstream end of the weir pool and fished intently, gradually extending the cast and covering every square foot of water. There were quite a few Alder flies hatching and midges scurried about on the surface of the pool. I had a nip on a small nymph close to the sill of the fish pass, it felt like a small fish. A few casts later I hooked a tiny Dace and moved up the pool a few yards to avoid the shoal of tiddlers. I found that every time I changed fly I had a tentative take and then nothing, the fish were very fussy. I put on a smaller nymph and had a wild Trout follow the fly to the surface, rejecting it at the last moment.

There is always a fish just below the clump of rushes at the end of the bay on the far bank. Never fails. A sunken log gives shelter from predators and the current. A fish rose close to the far bank and then swirled in midstream. I tied on a Black Spider with a red wire body and launched a cast, dropping the fly just upstream of the snag. The fly sunk quickly, I drew in the line slowly and there was a satisfying thump on the rod. A big fish ran upstream along the far bank and then down the middle of the pool towards the sill of the fish pass. It shook its head several times and the hook hold failed.

I fished above the weir, around the bend and up to the first tree but I wasn’t concentrating, just going through the motions of casting and retrieving. Time for lunch. We adjourned to the car park at Rotherbridge and sat on the grass for an hour, gathering our thoughts.

I wanted to explore the river around Perryfields where the bank access had been improved and a few trees removed. My favourite blackberry bush was intact, the downstream pool had been opened up. I stood on the bridge like Pooh Bear waiting for something to happen but I didn’t throw any sticks in the water. The pool was shallow, had a level sandy bottom and several clumps of streamer weed just upstream of a fallen tree.

While I was inspecting the pool a pale fish about 3lbs drifted slowly from under the bridge, across the sand and into the weeds. It was followed by a much larger fish, it looked about 5-6lbs. My polaroids enabled me to follow its journey, it disappeared into the weeds near a bush. They were not Chub, they looked like over-wintered Trout.

I crept down the open bank but with no cover and the sun behind me, it was tricky to position myself without throwing shadows. I tested the distance with the first few casts and when I was happy, flicked a heavily weighted green and ginger nymph into the run between the weeds. The smaller fish appeared and swam downstream, past the fly and under the sunken tree. I’m not sure if it was scared or sheered away from the fly at the last moment. It didn’t return. I’ll go back to that pool one evening after the sun has gone down.

I sat beside the Old Riffle for a while to break the long walk back to the Defender. The pool looked great but a few casts upstream didn’t produce a take. I was hot and tired. We adjourned to The Badgers for a pint and Cheesy Chips. A perfect way to end a relaxing but exhausting day. The river was starting to come alive at last.

 

I made breakfast and did the school run. Not by car, we walked with the other children from the village. Therefore, at 9:15am I was wide awake, at a loose end and half way to Petworth. A visit to the river was the obvious solution. I had my gear in the car and planned to catch a few Trout before the weekend. I was also keen to see the bluebells and to find the first Mayfly of the year.

The BBC weather forecast was useless, but it ruled out snow and a heat wave. The river had only risen 1mm as a result of the recent showers and would be in perfect condition.

The forestry plantation along the old railway embankment was covered in bluebells and as I walked down the footpath towards the river, I crushed wild garlic leaves underfoot. It was a weird combination of smells, the sweet perfumed scent of the bluebells clashed with the harsh cooking smell of the garlic. I sat in the wood for a while watching the light change. The south-westerly wind was pushing storm clouds across the valley throwing pools of light on the spring flowers.

The river looked good and I started with a weighted Black Spider. It was not heavy enough and I soon changed to a Black Spider with a body of bright red wire. I worked the pool below the bridge and the straight but there were no signs of fish. A bright blue kingfisher whizzed upstream, I wondered why it flew so low over the water. I walked downstream to the New Riffle, the water had a nice green tint and I could just see the new shoots of the streamer weed. I was confident of a Trout. As a cast swung into the near bank, a fish flashed behind the fly and after several attempts, managed to grab hold. It fought hard. It was a wild fish about 12ozs which looked hungry and a bit scruffy.

I fished the rest of the pool and some of the hotspots down towards Rotherbridge. A few Dace were flipping about on the surface near the bridge. I worked the fly down between the beds of weed expecting a thump on the rod. Nothing happened and the return journey to Keepers Bridge was uneventful.

I was puzzled. The water height and colour were perfect. Hawthorn flies were hatching everywhere and the river had been stocked. Where were the Trout hiding ?

 

I don’t do crowds. I want the lake or river to myself. All day. Telephone turned off, no dog walkers, just the occasional Trout to interrupt my retreat from the real world.

Bank Holiday Monday was definitely not a fishing day. Lycramaniacs clogged the country lanes, leaving plastic bottles in the gutter and shouting at each other. They raised my blood pressure. I relaxed by washing the Defender. The hot sun on the aluminium instantly evaporated the Wash and Wax. After pulling a muscle in my back I switched to relaxing with a beer.

The Tuesday Club had reached cult status. It’s not exclusive but you have to take your own beer and sausages. Or grill a fresh Trout if the fishing is good. I arrived at 11:00pm, too early for a beer. I brewed a cup of tea and chatted with several members. I kept an eye on the shallows at Little Springs as I usually manage to catch a Trout from under the trees.

I took some pain killers for my back, wandered away from the fishing hut and sat on the wet grass well back from the water. I flicked a nymph under the trees, then a buzzer. I had a couple of twitches on the tippet but it was only Roach.

Lunch was excellent. Rare Aberdeen Angus steak, soft bread rolls and a bottle of San Miquel. The conversation revealed that it was St George’s Day so I celebrated with another beer. We chatted about fishing, cars, holidays and other stuff. Lunch lasted for three hours. I played with a new Orvis fly line, guaranteed to cure all your castings ills for £120. It was a very nice line.

A Guest caught three fish on the dam with a Daddy just under the surface. I started fishing again about 3:30pm on the east side of Little Springs. I tried a variety of flies, including a French Partridge Mayfly which I thought might bring a Trout to the surface, but had no takes.

Everyone departed, leaving me to explore the dam from behind a bed of rushes. A fish swirled at the nymph on the first cast, just as I was lifting off to recast. I had a few tugs and nips and eventually hooked a fish which became airborne and shook the hook. I switched to a red hackled black spider. A fly the fish would not have seen before. It would be visible in the coloured water. The fly was taken on the drop while I was not paying attention, the rod pulled round and I failed to connect. I had several takes but the shoal moved away and I packed up. The hot sun, beer and pain killers had not been a good combination.

The river had been stocked that morning. After a couple of days for the Trout to settle down, the fishing should be good. Particularly as the Mayfly hatch is due.