Sussex Trout Fishing … and Devon

The morning started with a bright overcast. The sky looked like an enormous lightbox with a uniform white from east to west. As the morning progressed the overcast burnt away and by lunchtime the sky was blue with high wispy clouds. I saw two red kites on the stubble at Stag Park Farm, they were the same colour as the soil. The gentle breeze from the north made it difficult for them to get airborne.

After checking the lakes I drove to Keepers Bridge. I’d seen from the catch returns that quite a few Trout had been caught there and I was confident that I could find some fish under the trees. I arrived about 2:00pm and was undecided which Beat to fish. The water had a dirty grey tint, as if something had disturbed the silt upstream.

There were no signs of fish. The complete absence of flying insects, except wasps, meant that there was no reason for the fish to feed at the surface. I decided to concentrate on the deep pools with a nymph and therefore headed downstream. As I was working a nymph through the shadow of the Alder trees above the bridge, I was surprised to see a fish swirl on the first bend.

I crept into position below the tree so that I could cast upstream and have wind assistance. The fish swirled again a couple of times but although I tried a parachute Pheasant Tail, Adams and Olive it wouldn’t take a dry fly. The glare was intense but I thought I saw the fish inspect one offering before going down, spooked by the tippet. I degreased the tippet with a dock leaf but it wouldn’t sink. I tied on a Partridge and Amber nymph which sunk a few inches. There was a big yellow flash about a foot down and I tapped the hook home. The Trout wandered about for a few minutes, not fighting hard. It looked a bit tatty in the landing net and I was sure it had been caught during the previous week. It was about 2lb and recovered in the net before disappearing into the weeds.

I decided to fish into the evening and thought the pools below Perryfields Barn would be a better option. I walked upstream missing out the pools I intended to cover on the return journey. As I walked past the Old Riffle there was a big swirl under an overhanging branch. It was a tricky cast through a gap between the branches and just above a clump of weed. The water was very coloured so I swapped to a Copper Nymph which would be easily seen.

I lengthened the fly line and put the fly over the fish on the first attempt. Before I had the chance to work the fly and while looking at the reel, there was a big splash and I instinctively lifted the rod. There was a big thump and the fish bored deep, it went down about six feet. The line grated on the streamer weed and the fish fought like a Carp or Barbel. I didn’t see the fish for a few minutes and was quite shocked when it surfaced, it looked big. I struggled to lift the landing net. The Trout was as long as the net ring and I estimated it to be at least 3lb, probably a bit more.

I walked upstream and fished the series of pools around the cow drink. Several Trout were rising but I only attempted the fish where I had a clear cast. The Sussex cattle were in another field and I intended to fish the other pools from the north bank as I walked back. I marked down the fish and crossed the bridge after a snack of berries. Yummy.

The first rising fish was in the middle of the shallow water of the cow drink. It looked like a small wild fish. The first cast was clumsy and I put the fish down. I moved to the Wide Pool where another wild fish was rising in the main current down the centre of the pool. I cast, the fish rose, was hooked and immediately came off. It was only a few ounces and a long distance release was the best outcome. I strolled downstream to the pool with three Alder tree trunks to hide behind. I saw a ripple under my bank and peered around the tree trunks. A very dark trout was hanging in the current about a foot from the bank. I lowered a series of dry flies but each was rejected. There was only a few inches of tippet on the surface but it was enough to alert the fish.

The air temperature dropped at 6:30pm as the sun hid behind clouds. I crossed over to the south bank at the riffle and walked slowly back to the Landrover. It had been a long walk but I was pleased with the results. It had been my first late stay of the summer. As the days cool and shorten there will be more opportunities like that.

It was officially autumn. The weather was not autumnal. The breeze from the south was warm and the clear sky allowed the sun to burn off the morning dew. It felt like July. I had seen two big Trout at Little Bognor cruising under the dust and leaf debris, sipping buzzers. I knew they would spook and sink out of sight at the first cast so I moved on. I found a nice fish in the run below the Fish Pass and was in two minds about spending the morning there. I decided to leave it for another day. The river had risen during the week but had dropped to 0.028m on the gauge and the water was remarkably clear. I sat in the Landrover at the junction of Kilsham Lane trying to decide where to fish. I had a hunch that Rotherbridge would be good, the wind was upstream and there was plenty of shade on that Beat.

There was no sign of life, the Dace had deserted the shallows and although I watched from the bridge for ten minutes, nothing rose. I had made the best of lasts weeks wet weather at the fly tying vice. I had tied some Pheasant Tail nymphs with extra copper wire in the thorax and close ribbing to give weight. I had also tied several copper bodied flies with black hackles, spider style. I decided to start with one of the copper bodied flies. I walked across the field on the north bank and crept up to the fringe of dead cow parsley mixed with nettles. I peered into the water, it looked perfect. The fly sunk and dragged the leader down, it was working close to the bottom. I covered the river to my right, up the tree tunnel. A fish rose about twenty feet away under the trees. Well out of range.

I switched my attention to the water on my left. The fly trundled along in the current, down and across, towards a sparse clump of streamer weed. I held the rod in my left hand and rolled the line out a few times. As I was lifting the fly off a good Trout swirled on the surface, it had just missed. I flicked the fly out and a few seconds later the line moved forwards a few inches. I lifted the rod, expecting contact, but there was no response. A few casts later the line snaked across the surface and I hooked the fish. It made a very strong run downstream and the reel handle caught on my hand, the rod pointed and the hook pulled out. The hook had straightened. My fault. Shame, the Trout was about 3lbs.

I walked down to the limit of the Beat on the north bank and fished a few pools but the sun was too bright for the shallow water. I must fish that stretch one evening before the season ends. I walked back to the bridge and saw a Cormorant. I thought about leaving but couldn’t resist one last cast up the tree tunnel. I was surprised to see a good fish rise and take a midge in the shade of the big Alder bush. I tried a parachute Pheasant Tail an Adams and a small Olive but the fish wouldn’t respond. A Trout swirled in midstream to my left. Then another fish head-and-tailed close to the trees, it looked like a small Carp. I switched back to a copper nymph and twice the line moved forwards a few inches, I think it was small Dace or Chub. Eventually I had a strong take and was careful not to touch the reel. The fish fought well but I bullied it away from the overhanging trees and weeds and used the landing net with a telescopic handle to good effect. I released the fish, which was about 2lbs, from the net and it moved upstream under the trees.

Upstream of the bridge I saw a Trout rise just below an Alder tree on the far bank but it was not interested in a nymph or dry fly. I left at 5:30pm which was probably too early. It had been a great afternoon.

 

Heavy rain delayed my departure but the weather forecast was reassuring, the afternoon would be fine. I arrived at Taylors Bridge and decided to fish downstream on the north bank as the Sussex cattle had been moved further along the valley. I crossed the bridge but paused at the gate. The south bank was calling to me. I discarded the logic of easy access to the water and the sun in my face, in favour of intuition. An old memory or experience, locked away beyond conscious recall, prompted me to choose the high banks and the shadows of the south side. It was illogical but I went along with my instinct.

I passed all the usual pools until I reached the Monster Pool, it looked so inviting. I rolled a Copper Nymph from under the gnarly old Ash tree for ten minutes but the anticipation dwindled and I moved downstream. I couldn’t resist the deep run on the bend above the Shallow Pool. The wind was against me and I had to wait for a lull and for the Himalayan balsam to stop swaying, before I could side-cast upstream into the run. The nymph sunk quickly and as I drew in line for the next cast, a small wild Trout swirled on the surface. It just missed the fly. Several casts later I decided that the frightened little fish had retired into the streamer weed. I would try again on my return journey.

I saw a fish on the surface in the pool opposite the big metal gates. It was swimming about aimlessly and might have been a chub. I flicked a Black Spider close to the fish which looked at the fly and disappeared. I spent longer at the pool than I should have, the fish had gone down. I booked an appointment for the Chub/Trout later that evening. I was pleased to see Perryfields Barn. It’s such a lovely place, the old Sussex barn, the mature Oak trees and the fast flowing river. I ate too many blackberries while waiting for the Barn Owls to appear, I hoped to see the newly fledged chicks. I never catch a fish near the bridge, there are too many distractions.

The series of pools below the bridge, overhung with bushes and trees, were my best chance of a fish. I had caught and released several fish there during the Mayfly season. At the first pool everything went to pieces. Several lost nymphs, tangles and rod wraps forced me to rest and to take stock of the situation. My hat was preventing me from seeing the branches overhead, I took it off. My Polaroids were misting up, I put them in my pocket. I tied on a realistic nymph imitation, which sunk quickly under the bushes along the far bank. Order had been restored and with it, I found new confidence.

As I arrived at the next pool a fish rose close to the far bank beyond an overhanging branch. A direct cast was impossible but I allowed the nymph to drift to within ten feet of the rise in the hope that the fish was cruising upstream. It wasn’t, the Trout rose again in exactly the same place. I moved below the fish and tried an Olive and an Adams. Both were ignored. The cast was tricky, close to an Alder tree on my left and opposite a bunch of sedge. The Trout was in the main current picking off flies as they drifted downstream. I tied on a parachute Pheasant Tail with a blob of Neoprene foam to help it sit in the surface film. The upstream wind helped me bend the cast round the tree and land the fly gently. After a few casts the fish took the fly confidently and battle commenced. As I was about to net the fish it went on a long run upstream, through the overhanging branches and I had to bully it back downstream. Getting the fish into the landing net was a fiasco and I was glad nobody witnessed my efforts. I returned the fish upstream as another Trout had risen at the bottom of the pool.

The second fish had probably been put down by the ‘Landing Net Fiasco’ and not surprisingly, didn’t rise to my fly. I fished the other pools along that stretch but didn’t see any rises. It had been over three hours of walking and creeping about but one more cast was in order. The Wide Pool was nearby and I imagined a fish rising next to the sunken tree. As I walked towards the pool the calm surface was dimpled by a delicate rise. I assumed it was a small wild Trout and was confident of a take. I hid beside the half-dead tree and was careful not to backcast into the overhanging branch which had claimed so many of my flies. The third cast was perfect, the Trout rose and gulped down the fly. It was not a small fish. I released it from the landing net upstream of the pool where the bank was lower.

Two good Trout, caught on an upstream dry fly, was a great result. As I walked back to Taylors Bridge I pondered over my use of nymphs when the Trout were obviously rising. I had been too slow to adapt and the early evening rise clearly required a dry fly. On my return journey the Chub/Trout was hiding and the little fish in the deep run didn’t rise.

I had trusted my instinct and had been rewarded. It had been a long, tiring afternoon but very enjoyable.

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.