Sussex Trout Fishing … and Devon

The top of the river hadn’t been fished this season. Nobody had fished Beat A. I thought I might find a few fish that hadn’t been caught and released. Easy fish. When I arrived at Taylors Bridge a giant combine harvester with caterpillar tracks was thundering up and down the field leaving a cloud of yellow dust in its wake. It was processing linseed, an unusual crop. The plants looked dead and unlikely to yield much oil. I had lunch while watching the combine and setting up my rod.

It was warm, humid and overcast. Ideal conditions for fishing. There were no signs of fish around the bridge so I walked to Ladymead and had a few casts under the Oak tree. I was sure that part of the pool held a fish but my Copper Nymph was ignored. The top of the river was shallow, the water level had dropped after recent rain. The streamer weed swirled around in the current and mature trees, mainly Alder and Willow, lined both banks. The water was clear and I could see the ripples in the sandy bottom without Polaroids. The Trout had plenty of places to hide and I concentrated on the deeper stretches near the weed beds and under the trees.

Every cast I expected the line to draw tight but despite my confidence and concentration, ninety minutes passed without reward. As I was moving upstream looking for another deep run, I saw a good fish rise in midstream and take a fly. I crept towards the edge of the river and waited for the fish to rise again. I waited patiently but the fish didn’t show. I thought it had retreated under an Oak tree downstream from the sandy shallow. I ran a Copper Nymph along the far bank, under the branches and close to the tree roots. I kept casting for a few minutes and then left the fish to rest. I continued my journey upstream, exploring the edges of the weed beds and losing most of my Copper Nymphs in the trees.

I found a nice pool with a back eddy along the far bank, an overhanging tree and a big bed of streamer weed at the top of the pool. I resolved to stay there and cover every part of the pool methodically and with a variety of flies. Eventually a fish rose, right in the middle of the weed bed. It was impossible to present a fly in the weeds so I reluctantly moved on. I walked to the top boundary then retraced my steps. I was eager to have another attempt at the Trout I had rested.

As soon as I sat down behind the bankside cover the fish rose. It chased a fly, swirled and disappeared in a cloud of sand. I waited for a few minutes and then worked a nymph under the branches of the Oak tree. I was repeating the earlier mistakes and risked putting the fish down. After a long wait the fish rose in midstream. I swapped the nymph for a size 14 Partridge and ginger hackled pattern that I had used on my last trip.

I waited for the fish to reveal itself but while scanning the water I noticed a shadow on the bottom in midstream. It was a tricky cast between the trees, upstream and across the current. The first cast was short so I lifted off and pushed the fly another yard. The fly landed perfectly, the fish rose as it floated overhead, turned downstream and took the fly positively. I lifted the rod and the fish dashed under the Oak tree. The fly line tangled in the branches but came free as the fish went on a long run down the river. That suited me because the bank was lower downstream and the landing net would reach the water. Unfortunately, as I walked downstream, the fish dashed through sunken Willow branches, the hook pinged out and stuck in a branch. The Trout was about 2lb and I was so pleased to have presented an upstream dry fly perfectly, that the loss of the fish was not important.

It was a nice moment on which to end the afternoons fishing.

 

 

The top of the river is rarely fished. It’s a long way up the old railway line and access to the water is tricky. The pheasant poults cluttered the track at Keepers Bridge and a long line of swallows decorated the telephone wires at Kilsham Farm. Their early departure is probably due to a lack of flying insects. I picked a few blackberries and had an apple for lunch, very healthy. Each time I visited Taylors Bridge during the last six weeks I crept along the metal bridge and looked for the resident Trout. It was a good fish which disappeared downstream under a raft of rubbish every time it saw me. On a recent visit I hadn’t seen the fish and I wondered if the Black Death had eaten it.

As I signed the book and set up my rod, there was a big splash directly under the bridge. The fish rose again as I inched my way along the steel mesh floor, making best use of the overhanging Alder tree for cover. It was close to the north bank, hanging in mid water. It was a pale fish, easily seen without Polaroids.

I sat behind the dying weeds on the fringe of the pool and watched the fish, it was only a few feet away and it was testing each piece of leaf debris in the main current. I lowered a Copper Nymph into the water but got no response. I changed to an amber sedge but the fish rejected it after a prolonged examination. I think the hook was too big and shiny. A Black Spider was also rejected. I rested the fish and went for a walk to the big pool at Ladymead. The campers were making a noise and the wind was against me so I didn’t stay long.

On my return the fish rose and examined an Alder leaf. I decided to switch to a dry fly. The strong current and 4lb tippet would be a problem so I dapped a size 14 shrimp imitation which held the Trout’s attention for a few seconds before it sunk. I browsed the fly box and chose a size 14 Partridge and ginger hackled nymph which I hoped would sit in the surface film. The fly floated down the current, was examined very closely for ten seconds and then gently taken. I paused, lifted the rod and the fish seemed genuinely surprised to be hooked. I released two pounds of annoyed Trout back into the pool and wondered if I would see the fish again during the Autumn. The fine wire, small black hook had helped the fly float and was less obvious to the fish.

As I walked downstream I heard several ‘rises’ under the Oak trees. It took a while before I realised it was acorns not Trout. I lost several Copper Nymphs in the bushes but I was not concerned, the hooks I had used were too big and ugly. The weight of the nymphs enabled me to explore a few deep runs that I usually ignored. I hoped for another fish in the Shallow Pool but before I got there, I was distracted by a small, deep hole under my bank between the Oak and Alder trees. I had fished that hole many times and never had a take. I cast to the far bank and let the fly settle back towards me. I wasn’t concentrating when the line drew tight and the rod bent into a circle. I put a lot of pressure on the fish to keep it away from the tree roots. It was a fat, wild Trout about a pound, it fought well above its weight. The hook fell out in the net and as I went to release it, the fish jumped out of the landing net and skipped upstream through the streamer weed.

 

The little fish was immaculate and might have been preparing for migration to the sea. It had the look of a potential sea trout smolt.

I lost another nymph in the bushes and abandoned my journey to the Shallow Pool, two fish from a slightly swollen and coloured river was enough. On the way back to the main road I stopped at Keepers Bridge for a chat with another member. As we held a post mortem on the afternoons sport, a fish rose under one of the Alder trees. I foolishly decided to spend an hour walking upstream to Perryfields. I chased a couple of rising fish and enjoyed the walk but after a couple of hours I was exhausted.

I had lots of chores and it wasn’t until 2:00pm that I arrived at Rotherbridge. There was no plan, I just had a hunch that I would catch a Trout there. The water was a little coloured but I could see the Dace flashing silver on the sand below the bridge and I was confident that my flies would be seen. I decided to start on the north bank and then work my way up to the New Riffle on the south side. I walked across the bridge towards the farm and through the field to the first pool below the bridge.

I stood behind a shoulder high wall of nettles which hid me perfectly. I had the sun in my face and didn’t have to worry about shadows. The wind was downstream but the bushes around the bridge sheltered my cast. As I was choosing a fly a fish swirled in midstream in the shadow of the bushes. I started with an amber spider but after half an hour with no response I swapped to a black spider. Then I tried a small shrimp imitation. The fish rose again but it was not impressed with my carefully chosen flies. I was running out of ideas. The fish was returning to the river bed after each rise, I needed a heavier nymph. I tied on a copper nymph and a couple of casts later the leader drew slowly away from me. It was nice to catch a Trout on a fly that I had designed after reading an article on Frank Sawyer.

The wide sandy stretch below the Alder tree looked inviting. The grass had been cut short but I stood next to the tree, behind some Himalayan Balsam which I thought preferable to stinging nettles. I fished down and across with the copper nymph, running it close to the sparse bunches of streamer weed. I saw a flash of gold where the fly should be but the leader didn’t move. I raised the rod gently which induced another golden flash so I continued to tighten the line and the fish was hooked. It was a much larger Trout and I was glad to see it slide over the rim of the landing net.

I crossed back over the bridge and trundled the nymph down the margin into the shade of the bushes. I expected a take any second but the wind upstream of the bridge made controlling the line tricky, the fly was moving too fast.

I sought the more sheltered pools but despite working hard and concentrating on the tip of the line, I didn’t get any takes. I was sure the fish were feeding but the wind made presentation too difficult. When my tippet wrapped around a branch I decided to leave. It had been an enjoyable couple of hours.

The weather had changed to a grey sky, drizzle and no wind. It was the sort of weather that fooled me into thinking that I didn’t need a coat. I took a lightweight jacket. The river had not risen according to the gauge and I was keen to fish the evening rise.

On my last visit I had marked down a couple of good Trout at Taylors Bridge and I was curious to see if they were still there. I expected to have the upstream Beats to myself all evening. As I parked and switched off the Land Rover, the sun broke through and brightened up the landscape. I paused in the middle of the bridge and looked for the resident Trout. Either it had found another pool or my approach, with the sun behind me, had scared it deep into the tree roots.

The pool by the cricket bat willows looked good. A week ago I had hooked and lost a big fish close to the north bank. A big bed of streamer weed had been hidden by the high, coloured water. The fish must have been hiding among the fronds and risen up from between them to take my fly. It was no longer in residence, the big, fat black Cormorant had probably eaten it. I shouldered my landing net handle and swung it across the birds path, it was not impressed by my improvised shotgun. The Cormorant was in easy range of a 12 bore and 30g of lead would have resolved the matter.

I was annoyed and hot. The air had been cleansed by the rain and the early evening sun was powerful. I returned to the Land Rover, took off my jacket and suddenly had the urge to fish elsewhere. I had lost confidence in the top Beats. I drove to Keepers Bridge and was relieved to see that no other members had arrived. I planned to walk downstream to the New Riffle and fish the evening rise on my return journey. I got as far as the first bend. There was something about the current, the colour of the water and the overhanging Alder tree that made me pause and watch the pool. I was convinced that a Trout was hiding under the branches. Where else would a fish wait for darkness ?

Earlier that morning I had tied a fresh batch of black spiders, ribbed with copper wire. I had used heavier hooks, unable to get any fine wire Tiemco 103bl hooks because of a problem at the factory. The fly sunk slowly and curved across the current. While I watched the leader a Trout appeared and hung just under the surface. The leader hadn’t moved but I guessed the fish had taken the fly and lifted the rod. I was correct. It dashed a long way downstream and I was glad that I had chosen a full length fly line and replaced the tippet. The fish paused and then ran further downstream, around the bend. Despite wrapping the fly line around a small bunch of streamer weed I managed to bully the fish back upstream and into the landing net. It was about 3lbs and had an enormous tail. I was relieved to have broken my long series of lost Trout. If I hadn’t been wearing polaroids I would not have seen the Trout in the glare of the low evening sun.

I was happy, all thoughts of Cormorants and lost fish had disappeared. As I sat on the damp grass and checked my tippet I looked back upstream at another Alder on the far bank. Nothing had risen as I had wandered downstream but the tree was calling to me. I crept back along the bank and sat directly opposite the Alder. I used a side cast to curl the fly under the branches. The second cast was perfect and the fly landed just short of the far bank, above the sunken tree roots. The leader tightened and my second Trout of the evening was hooked. I released the fish from the net and it dived into the current none the worse for it’s brief visit to the bank.

The weather changed, a rain cloud appeared over Midhurst and the wind strengthened. I continued my journey, stopping at all the usual places for a few casts. A lot of the rafts of rubbish had been washed away by the winter floods. The downstream wind prevented me from exploring one of the pools, it was too strong for my light rod and line. I had a fish swirl twice but it wouldn’t take despite several changes of fly. When I arrived at the New Riffle a couple of small fish were rising in the slack water and a good fish swirled and bow waved downstream into deeper water. I was confident of a fish but after a couple of casts it was evident that I had put them down. My approach had been careless and the fish in that pool were very spooky.

Dark rain clouds gathered as I walked back towards Keepers Bridge and I could see the rain falling a couple of miles away. The wind got stronger and it was impossible to cast. The tops of the trees were crashing about and bits of straw were swirling around me. As I had forsaken my jacket I decided to return to the Land Rover. Catching two fish was sufficient. I drove home in heavy rain, most of the storm missed Coultershaw.

I had a lot of things to do at the lakes and river before I could fish. It was just as well because the morning was hot and there was only a gentle breeze. It was 32 degrees at lunchtime but in the afternoon the breeze strengthened and the temperature dropped a little. The water temperature at Great Springs was 26 degrees in the shallows at the north end of the lake and 24 degrees on the bottom of the lake at the dam end. The water was not stratified, bad news for the Trout.

The cereal crops had all been harvested and the acres of stubble were decorated with various shaped bales of straw. I prefer the small, oblong shaped bales. It was good to see a lot of proper haystacks. The black plastic cylinders look like litter.

I plumbed the lower lake at Little Bognor and was surprised at the depth of the water. It was a uniform six feet over two thirds of the lake. It was mid afternoon before I set up my rod. I was tempted to fish the open water because the fish were rising all over the lake but I decided to sit in the shade of the Beech trees and move to the open water as the sun went down.

An amber and partridge nymph beckoned to me from the fly box. I hadn’t used that pattern at Little Bognor and the fish would have no reason to shy away from it. I sat at the top of the stone steps and waited for a fish to swirl. I didn’t have to wait long. A group of Trout were cruising close to the bank, occasionally rising for a nymph or buzzer. A few casts later I felt a sharp tap on the rod and lifted gently into the fish. It felt small and just circled around under the branches, unsure what had happened. It went on a short run along the surface to my right and I saw that it was foul hooked in the shoulder. Then the hooked pinged out.

The water had not been disturbed and I thought another fish might wander past. Eventually a couple of fish moved but refused the fly. I changed to a GRHE nymph and flicked it towards the next passing Trout. The fly dropped about a yard ahead of the fish and it took without hesitation. Unlike the last fish it went on a long run, through the submerged branches on my right and out into the lake. I bullied it back past the snags and into clear water. As I thought about a Trout supper, the fish escaped. I moved along the bank and stalked a good fish rising close to the bank but it disappeared after a few casts. Ultra fussy.

I walked up the slope to the top lake and had a few casts at rising fish from underneath the Oak tree. They also disappeared. I lost a fly in the lilies which prompted me to pack up. I think that I have lost the last nine Trout that I have hooked. Nevermind, it had been an enjoyable day.