Sussex Trout Fishing … and Devon

It was roasting hot over the weekend but by Monday morning the temperature had plummeted and the wind was from the north. Very odd indeed. I woke early and was keen to get to Petworth. I arrived at Little Bognor at 9:30am and it looked lovely. There was nobody there, I wandered around munching on my breakfast pork pie and watching the fish rise. I decided to return later in the day.

After visiting the lakes and river I had my second breakfast, a yummy egg and bacon sandwich, at Great Springs and collated the catch returns. I returned to Little Bognor at 2:00pm, the fish were still rising and I had both lakes to myself.

I started on the lower lake with a palmered, ginger dry fly and had a take near the outflow. I was impatient and lifted the rod too soon. I sat on the grass well back from the water and flicked the fly about twenty feet from the bank. A Trout found the fly and took it confidently. I waited for the leader to move but nothing happened so I lifted the rod anyway. The fish was hooked. Briefly. The palmered hackle masked the hook, not a satisfactory design.

I moved down the bank and repeated the process. The next fish stayed on the hook a little longer but wriggled free as I was sorting out the landing net. I consoled myself with the thought that I had intended to release the Trout. I changed the fly to a conventional pattern and I landed the next fish without any problems. The conventional dry fly, a size 16 pale ginger, floated well and didn’t helicopter on the cast. It took another fish in the corner of the lake.

The fish in the lower lake stopped rising after all the splashing about. My best efforts to entice a fish from under the trees resulted in several lost flies. I walked up the slope to the top lake and found fish rising around the Willow tree.

I sat behind a clump of ferns and decorated the trees behind me with a few flies, my arm was beginning to ache and I was losing concentration. I flicked a fly under the overhanging Chestnut tree and let it float near the lily pads. I intended to rest but a Trout rose and moved away with the fly. I hooked the fish but it got off. I moved up the bank, to the other side of the Willow tree and quickly found another feeding fish. It took the fly greedily and when I looked in it’s mouth the fly was well back in it’s throat. I nursed the fish in the net and released it when it was ready.

Thunder rolled around the valley and I decided to leave. I had caught sufficient, one more fish wasn’t worth a soaking.

 

It was a glorious morning and my journey along the lanes towards Petworth was uplifting, particularly as there were no cyclists about. I stopped at Riverhill and looked over the gate. The air was clear and the clouds were building as the prevailing south westerly wind climbed the slopes of the South Downs. There was complete silence at Little Bognor. The fish were rising but cautiously, examining the pond life with care before sipping it into their mouths. There was no breeze and the temperature was oppressive, I wasn’t tempted to fish there.

I heard the river roaring through the fish pass long before I saw the murky water. It looked clear as it passed over the lip of the weir but then became muddy as it swirled off towards the sea. The water was far too coloured to fish, even the shallow stretches would be opaque. I went to Rotherbridge and walked upstream to the New Riffle. About half way there I saw a fish swirl, it might have been a Sea Trout making the most of the high water. If the level drops over the weekend the evenings should produce a fish or two.

The river valley around Keepers Bridge looked lovely but only the Sussex cattle were moving, the fish were huddled under the tree roots waiting for the water to clear. I returned to the Land Rover and drove to Great Springs. The edges of the fields were lined with wild flowers and I stopped for a few minutes to look at the view up the Rother valley.

When I got to Great Springs I had a cup of tea and two chocolate biscuits while admiring the scenery. The wind was ruffling the surface of the lower lake and the surroundings had been manicured. I felt privileged to be allowed access to the Estate and stood by the lodge for a few minutes soaking up the atmosphere. A few fish were moving under the trees at the shallow end of Little Springs and I knew I would be able to catch one.

I wandered around taking photos for nearly two hours but the temptation finally got the better of me and I crept towards the little seat between the Alder trees. The grass was wet but I didn’t mind, my trousers would dry quickly in the hot sun. I sat quietly for longer than usual, the fly I had chosen wouldn’t accept the 2lb bs tippet. The eye of the hook was blocked. I gave up the struggle and chose another fly, a parachute emerger.

Several fish were within range but two clumsy casts frightened them away. While waiting for a Trout to appear I flicked the fly into the margins and promptly caught a very small Roach. I was reassured that it had been fooled by my choice of fly. I saw a Trout cruising on the edge of the ripple and presented the fly, the fish moved away at speed. I changed to a size 14 ginger, palmered-hackle dry fly with a tag of Neoprene foam to keep it afloat. I dropped the fly on the edge of the ripple and a couple of minutes later a Trout rose and was hooked. It quickly became airborne and I saw that it was a small fish. It weighed 1lb 4ozs, not enough for a Trout supper but, as a member remarked, sufficient for a sandwich.

When the river level drops the Trout will be hungry and in the absence of Mayfly, should give some good evening sport.

 

Bank Holiday Monday is not a good day to fish, the roads are crowded and the weather is usually bad. Last year the weather was hot and humid with thunderstorms. This year there were weather warnings for lightning and rain. After two months of spurious readings the EA had finally realised that the gauge on the river wasn’t working correctly. I didn’t know how the heavy rain on Thursday had affected the level or colour of the river.

I visited the lakes and collected the catch returns which gave me an opportunity to assess where I should fish. One option was to sit in the shade of an old Beech tree beside the lower lake at Little Bognor and ambush the passing Trout. The spring fed lakes were cool, only 15 degrees in the shallows and the fish were active. The pink Beech stipules which coated the lake earlier in the month, had either been washed down the outflow or had sunk. Luffs was another option. There was a breeze, a ripple and feeding fish.

I collected the catch returns for every Beat on the river and took the opportunity to look for signs of fish. I could see the ripples in the sand under the bridge at Rotherbridge but no Trout. There were no fish rising on any of the Beats. I decided to fish downstream from Taylors Bridge on the south bank. I would have good access to the river right down to Perryfields and would not have to keep an eye on the Sussex heifers.

I used a black spider with a red hackle and fished all the usual places, without a take, until I got to the Shallow Pool which always contains a fish. Two heifers wandered away from the cattle drink and I assumed they had scared the Trout. As I turned to walk downstream a fish rose for a Mayfly very close under my bank. I lowered a parachute emerger onto the water and it was immediately grabbed by the Trout. It was a wild fish about 12ozs and I released it from the landing net without touching it. The sky was dark, the thunder rumbled around and there were a few welcome drops of rain.

I moved down to the long bend leading to Perryfields Barn, all the time looking for rising fish. A very tiny movement under a tree caught my eye. Every few minutes the surface beside a clump of weed was dimpled. It looked insignificant, I couldn’t see what was causing the disturbance. Then a Trout slashed at a Mayfly. I sat behind the bankside plants and estimated the distance to the tree line. The fish continued to rise and swirled at my fly twice but didn’t take.

I changed my fly. I tied on an imitation of a Mayfly spinner, it looked convincing to me. To avoid drag I had to cast a loose line upstream of the overhanging branches, the fly had to travel about two yards before the Trout could see it. It took the Mayfly confidently and I bullied it away from the weeds while it was off balance. It took about twenty yards of line downstream into the trees but I pulled it out. It passed me on another long run upstream into a weed bed. The line was grating on the weed and I thought I would lose the fish. After a struggle I got it in the landing net, it was a nicely coloured fish about 2lbs. It gave me an angry look from behind the netting.

I walked down to the bridge at Perryfields and was in two minds about continuing, the heat and humidity were unbearable. I looked at a pool near the cow drink and found a fish rising under a tree on my side. After several amateurish casts I positioned the fly on the correct line and watch it drift under the tree. A trout rose but I lifted too soon. As I was cursing at my stupidity, the fly drifted down a little further and another fish took it. The very unlucky fish was about 1lb 8ozs.

I assumed the pool was ruined but to my amazement the original Trout rose to take another Mayfly. I covered it again, it rose and I missed. A fish rose in a pool above me so I switched my attention there. I hooked the Trout on a rubber band Mayfly imitation but it wriggled off the hook as I was preparing the landing net. Nevermind.

I was exhausted, hungry and dehydrated. I struggled back to the Land Rover and had a late lunch. I didn’t have the energy to fish into the dusk.

 

I thought about taking two coats but decided against it, the BBC always exaggerate the weather forecast. As I drove towards Petworth the air was moist and there was a chilly north east breeze but the roads were completely dry.

I visited the lakes and chatted to a new member at Great Springs. I suggested that he fish under the trees and keep a low profile. I advised him to wait until a feeding Trout came close to the bank before he cast. I made a cup of tea in the clubhouse and when I emerged he was into a Trout. His first ever fish. On a dry mayfly. As I drove away he was targeting another Trout. An excellent start to the day for both of us.

I walked upstream from the Fish Pass looking for any signs of Trout. Nobody had fished the Beat for over a week. The scenery looked lovely but the river was grey and lifeless. I spent a few minutes looking through the bars on the bridge at Rotherbridge but I couldn’t see anything moving, it didn’t inspire me. I decided to start at Keeper’s Bridge, fish had been caught on both Beats and that encouraged me.

As I walked slowly upstream a light drizzle fell, hardly enough to warrant a coat. As I was creeping past the straight stretch, just below the sandy pool, a good Trout leapt out of the water and crashed back. It was a stock fish, not a Sea Trout. It’s jump was not that of a feeding fish but as it was the only sign of life, I decided to try for it. I moved slightly upstream and worked a nymph down and across for about twenty minutes. The rain got heavier and it was difficult to see where the fly was landing. Mayfly continued to hatch, the rain knocked a few into the water but they didn’t entice the fish to rise. I used a nymph that I had tied with a blend of seals fur, it was lighter in colour than a GRHE nymph and was a better imitation of a Mayfly nymph.

I gave up on the jumping Trout and walked on, exploring the usual places on my way to Perryfields. The rain poured down the sleeves of my Barbour, I should have worn a longer coat to keep my legs dry. I sheltered under an Alder tree and when the rain eased off, walked slowly upstream looking and listening for rises.

The rain and debris falling from the trees made it impossible to detect a rise. I had been walking for two hours. I was cold and wet, there was no point continuing to fish, I wasn’t enjoying myself. I turned and walked downstream looking forward to a sandwich and a drink at the Land Rover. I had a few casts in the pool with the jumping Trout but the river was rising and the fish would be seeking refuge in the tree roots anticipating another flood.

I turned the heater up to ‘max’ on the drive home, I should have taken two coats. The river will be high and coloured for a few days. The small spate should trigger the Sea Trout to run upstream.

I arrived at Keeper’s Bridge at 2:00pm and had the choice of both Beats. All the fish from the river had been caught at Rotherbridge, Beat D, but I had checked it earlier and it looked barren. There were no fish rising and looking down from the centre of the bridge, I couldn’t see any signs of life. The weather was hot and humid, thunder rumbled and the clouds were grey. I had driven through a swarm of honey bees at Kilsham Farm. It was the sort of weather that heralded flying ants.

I walked upstream keeping well away from the river, using the bushes and the fringe of nettles to hide from the fish. I didn’t cast until I reached the cow drink above the old riffle. I used a weighted size 14 GRHE nymph and worked it around the pool but had no response. Several times I heard a rise, like the sound of a bubble bursting, but I couldn’t see the ripples. Mayfly were launching themselves out of the current and fluttering into the trees. There were no swallows or chaffinches to snap them up, just a solitary wood pigeon disturbing the peace.

I swapped the nymph for an unleaded, straw coloured size 12 GRHE which would be more visible and nearer the size of a hatching Mayfly. I fished down and across drifting the fly alongside an overhanging bush. Eventually I saw a flash of silver in midstream and lifted into a very spirited Trout. It fought hard and was difficult to keep out of the tree roots. The bank was high and the nettles hid a steep drop into the water. I extended the landing net handle and directed it at the fish. The top section slid out of the handle. In a rush to net the fish I hadn’t tightened the screw properly. I laughed and nearly fell in the river as I rescued the top section from sliding into the pool. The fish waited patiently while I messed about. It was a wild fish about 12ozs and very silver, probably in the throws of migrating downstream as a sea trout smolt.

I decided to walk to the bridge at Perryfields and return on the opposite bank. I rarely fish that side of the river as the herd of Sussex cows, very docile creatures, are a constant distraction. As I ambled towards the bridge I saw a fish rise under a tree on the opposite bank. It was upstream of an overhanging branch, tight into the bank. It was taking Mayfly so I swapped to an imitation incorporating a rubber band. I don’t remember tying that fly. It had a Teal wing, perhaps it was a prototype.

The cast was almost impossible. The first attempts were short and below the fish, the downstream side of the branch. The fish continued to feed. I summoned up the courage to launch the fly in a last ditch attempt to reach the Trout. Miraculously the leader curled around the branch and the fly landed perfectly. The fish grabbed the fly and became entangled in several low hanging twigs. I pulled it free and battle commenced. It was a beautiful fish, black on top with gold flanks and was about a pound and a half. It swam away strongly, back under the trees.

I walked to Perryfields, stopped in the middle of the bridge and leant on the hand rail. The pool directly above the bridge had changed, it was wider and deeper. It looked very fishy. I went downstream to a rising fish that I had marked earlier. I met another member, pointed out the rise and left him to it.

As I walked away another fish rose, lower down, under the far bank. The bank I had just fished. Trout are always feeding underneath the far bank, never on my side. The path leading to the cow drink was overgrown and provided perfect cover. I sat in a ditch underneath an Alder bush and considered my tactics. The Trout was holding station about a foot from the far bank and the gap in the overhanging branches was about the same width. The fly would only drift over the fish for a few seconds. I was full of confidence having just caught a difficult fish from a similar position.

I measured the distance with a couple of trial casts upstream. With the rod at an angle under the bush, I attempted to reach the fish. The first cast was accurate but too short. I tried again and didn’t hold back. The fly landed nicely but drifted under the branches, past the fish and out of the target area. That enabled me to lift the line and cast again without disturbing the Trout which continued to rise. I threw caution to the wind and the fired the fly across the river. It went so far under the branches I couldn’t see it. The fish rose, I lifted the rod and connected. I bullied it out into open water and was congratulating myself when the fish dived into tree roots on my side and wriggled off the hook. It was another wild Trout about a pound in weight.

The wide pool looked good, it usually produces a fish. The fallen tree in midstream had been shifted by the winter floods and a curved bough poked through the surface. As I watched the river there was a splashy rise at the top of the pool. I flicked the fly into the ripples and it was immediately taken by a very small but brightly coloured Trout. I returned the fish and continued downstream.

I came to the stretch of river that I usually fish from the south bank, between the gaps in the trees. From the north bank all of the river is open, casting is easier. I sat on the gently sloping bank behind the fringe of nettles and balsam left by the Keeper. I relaxed on the newly mown grass and wondered how to fish that part of the river. I thought a GRHE nymph would work but before I could change the fly, a fish rose beside a bush just upstream from my hiding place. Again I measured the length of the fly line and full of confidence, fired the Mayfly at the Trout. Unfortunately I fired the fly too confidently. It hit the water with a splash and put the fish down. I waited for the fish to recover from my amateur casting but it had gone down until dawn.

I walked slowly back to Keeper’s Bridge but the Mayfly hatch was dwindling and I saw no further signs of activity. The fish had been feeding confidently, I had kept well hidden and my casting was accurate. Not many afternoons on the river go according to plan but it is very satisfying when everything clicks into place. On the way home the storm broke. Thunder, lightning and summer rain cleared the air. A memorable day.