Sussex Trout Fishing … and Devon

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.

 

Yesterday at Glorious Goodwood the heat, sun and racing had taken their toll. I needed a relaxing day to unwind. I went to the river via Little Bognor and then to the lakes in the northern part of the Estate. As I drove down the slope towards Great Springs I saw a Buzzard and two Kestrels hunting in the same field. Some of the sheep were nibbling the grass and disturbing all sorts of prey. The sensible sheep were asleep under the hedgerow.

The sun was unrelenting and it was not difficult to decide where to fish. The mature trees and deep sided valley at Little Bognor provided shade and the spring fed lakes cooled the air. I had a long lunch sitting on the wooden seat under the Beech trees. I watched the Trout taking a variety of flies all over the lake, mainly buzzers and damsels. As the sun moved round to the west the shadows on my side of the grew shorter and the fish became less active under the trees.

I found a hollow in the slope of the bank which would support my back and settled down to await the arrival of a fish. It was too hot to continually flick the fly about under the branches and constant casting would disturb the fish. I waited about thirty minutes for a fish to swirl, it was on my left and only a yard from the bank. I flicked the black buzzer infront of me and about ten feet away. As I slowly drew the fly towards me there was a thump on the rod and then nothing. I had bumped it off on a short line. The seventh consecutive Trout that I have induced to take and subsequently lost.

I was convinced that another fish would be along shortly so I prepared the rod and rested it on the moss and leaves ready for action. I had started the session with a 4lb bs Stroft tippet and a size 12 buzzer, reasoning that this would enable me to keep hold of the fish I hooked. My approach was partially successful because I had proved to myself that the fish were not shy of the heavier tippet.

I waited patiently but the fish had moved across the lake into the shade on the west side. I knew it would be several hours before the sun dipped below the trees completely and the evening rise started. I was too tired and dehydrated to wait that long.

It rained over the weekend and everyone was happy ! What an odd situation. The lakes at Little Bognor looked fresh and clean, the dust had been washed away. The Trout in the bottom lake were feeding and the water temperature was only 18 degrees. The tranquility was shattered by a chain saw and I left. As I drove to Coultershaw the drizzle eased off and the sun came out.

The river was roaring through the fish pass and the Sea Trout only had about a foot of foaming water to clear. The water was dark grey from the dust and road washings. It didn’t look promising. I visited the other beats and the lakes to collect the catch returns and it was 2:00pm before I pulled into the Badgers car park. Over a pint my Guest and I agreed that it would be nice to visit Ladymead as it is a pleasant place to walk even if the fish are sheltering from the spate. We therefore drove along the old railway line to Taylors Bridge where we had two Beats to ourselves.

I went downstream on the south bank, mainly to avoid the Sussex heifers, I can’t concentrate when they are about. They stare at me. I fished the first pool carefully with a couple of different coloured flies, trying to establish which colour was best in the murky water. There was no response. I moved downstream exploring the usual pools and runs, casting the fly close to the streamer weed where the fish were sheltering. I expected the leader to draw tight at any moment. I walked and fished as far as Perryfields without a take, there were no fish rising. I covered one of the pools below the bridge, a long pool which normally holds several Trout. Nothing.

As I walked back upstream I stopped several times to look at the cloudscape and the sunlight on the fields of stubble. The river sparkled and looked inviting. I arrived at Taylors Bridge earlier than we had agreed and I decided to spend a few minutes fishing the pool where I had started. I cast a white fly across the top of the pool and was surprised by a big swirl which was magnified by the fast water. It was a good fish. I cast again and the fish swirled aggressively. I wondered if it was a Sea Trout. I rested the fish and changed to a black fly. As I was about to cast I noticed the fish surface close to the far bank, directly opposite me. The fly landed perfectly but was ignored. A few casts later the leader drew away from me and I lifted into the fish which I could see was a brownie about 3lbs. It did a series of Trout cartwheels across the pool and came off.

I was pleased to find that my Guest had caught a Trout in the main pool at Ladymead. As we were standing on the bridge chatting, a Trout rose for a fly just upstream, near the bank. If we had stayed for another hour we might have caught a couple more but we were both tired and adjourned to the Badgers for a celebratory pint.