Sussex Trout Fishing … and Devon

The morning sky was grey, with lumpy clouds and no blue bits. There was hardly any wind, it looked like a good fishing day. The lycra maniacs were everywhere but they got out of the way of the Land Rover. I walked around the lakes and saw nothing untoward except a Cormorant fishing on Great Springs. The newly restored lake is devoid of any aquatic life. Serves it right. I didn’t meet anybody at the club house and after my usual cup of tea and a biscuit, I returned to Little Bognor.

The woods were quiet, the mist deadened the sound. The surface of the water was still, feeble ‘cats paws’ occasionally disturbed the reflection of the trees. Trout were moving and feeding on buzzers. I had glued a tapered leader to the line on my new Hardy Duchess reel, I was determined to christen the reel with a fish or two.

I tied a small Montana to the tippet and went to the South bank where there is plenty of room to cast. I started well back from the waters edge and worked the margins. My left-handed casting had improved, I concentrated on keeping the line well to my left on the back cast and managed to avoid the dreaded rod-wrap. I cast towards the overflow and a Trout grabbed the fly. It was very dark brown and weighed about 1lb. It looked like a wild fish but I was unsure. I continued my casting practice and had a couple of half hearted takes. I changed the fly for a Teal, Blue and Silver as the fish had seen dozens of Montana variants. I hooked a fish but it came unstuck.

I moved to the steep bank under the big beech tree. I caught a couple of fish but the awkward casting angle detracted from my casting practice so I moved to the opposite bank and rolled a very small Black Spider along the margins. The wind assisted the roll cast and I saw several takes, all of which I missed. The fish were following the fly but sheering away as I lifted off. Eventually a Trout grabbed the fly and while unhooking and releasing it, I managed to get the fly stuck up a tree. It was time to leave. I was satisfied with my casting and liked the reel. It had been a successful couple of hours.

This time last year it was cold, wet and very windy. The early morning sky was bright but grey. The West wind was warmish and I noticed a few midges hatching under the Bay tree in the garden. A bumble bee buzzed the window and things looked decidedly Spring like. I enjoyed the drive to Fittleworth but the working dead driving towards London looked miserable. The deep, muddy Sussex lanes were lined with neatly trimmed hedges. Silver Birches had fallen among the Oak and Beech like giant drinking straws, soon to be covered by bracken. It was quiet at Little Bognor. Except for a Woodpecker, its hammering echoed around the valley. The colourful landscape was in stark contrast to the monochrome of my last visit. I walked around both lakes and departed for a cup of tea at Great Springs. I checked all the lakes in the North of the Estate, everything was in order.

I had reversed the line on my new Hardy reel and fitted a new leader to replace the one I’d left hanging high up in a tree at Little Bognor. I needed to practice casting without the distraction of fish, Great Springs was the obvious place. The South bank was treeless, the lake had been drained and refilled but not stocked. Moreover, I would be wind assisted. Perfect. Casting at an empty lake didn’t feel right so I drove back to Little Bognor.

The bottom lake was sheltered and the sun struggled through the occasional gap in the clouds. I set up my rod and stood close to the big old Yew tree. With the tree on my right I would be forced to cast left-handed. I concentrated and consistently flicked the line out. The loops were a bit open and I waved my arm too much but it was progress. I felt unbalanced looking over my left shoulder and I couldn’t grip the corks comfortably. The right-hand-wind reel felt awkward. I swapped it for my old Marquis with a Cortland 444. Strangely, batting the edge of the spool with my right hand felt familiar.

Flushed with success I moved around to the left bank, the trees behind me and along the bank focused my casting. I lost a fly in the tree. Nevermind, I frequently do that right-handed. Short line, straight cast, line twitched and I was connected to a fish. I landed my first completely left-handed Trout. Hurrah! The next cast was longer and straight. The next fish felt much bigger and it was a long time before I could net and return it. The Trout was about 2lb 8ozs. My casting improved and several more Trout were landed and released. I didn’t handle any of the fish and they all swam away strongly. I was pushing my luck with casting and needed to limit my catch. I put the rod away and wandered around in the warm afternoon sun taking photos.

I left Little Bognor and drove to Otter Bookbinding at Midhurst to pick up my 2017 diary. The fields along the Rother valley were being wrapped in white plastic. Lettuces need protecting from the frost but the landscape looked alien. Black plastic bales, polytunnels, white plastic sheets and acres of solar panels are disfiguring parts of the countryside.

I drove home smiling; my diary had been professionally bound and I had caught my first left-handed Trout. I stopped on the way home and bought a bottle of wine to celebrate.

Heavy snow and a cruel North wind spoilt the chances of most members hoping to fish the opening weekend. The lakes hadn’t frozen but the roads were too risky to venture far. Yesterday afternoon I de-iced the door locks and brushed the snow from the Land Rover but within an hour it was covered again. Browsing the Hardy catalogue over a warming brew was almost a substitute for fishing. I ordered some hooks and copolymer leaders but refrained from viewing the rod section.

I avoided the 9:00am school run and drove South, hoping that the forecast sunshine would reveal itself before I arrived at the lakes. It didn’t. Little Bognor looked like a Christmas card. The snow hid the mud and leaf mould and reflected the watery light like nature’s version of an LED strip. I wandered around the lower lake, keeping off the skyline, watching the Trout rising under the leafless tree branches. They were feeding, not just splashing about. I surprised the Heron as I approached the top lake. There were no fish rising, the water looked cold and lifeless.

I drove to Great Springs and walked around the lake, it was nearly full and looked good, plenty of fishy corners. Lower Figgs also looked good. After a chat and a coffee with fruit cake, I returned to Little Bognor. After my failed attempt at left-hand-casting I was determined to try again. My style was that of a beginner but after a few casts from the platform the line drew away and I hooked a trout. I hadn’t reversed the reel handle and it was therefore not entirely a left-handed-trout.

I returned the Trout and walked up the slope to the top lake. I interrupted the Heron again and found his lunch on a stone, a half dead frog stabbed right through. After ten minutes a fish swirled at my Black Spider. I fished above the Willow tree and a good fish followed the fly but sheared away, looking confused. I lined it with a poor cast and it dived out of sight. I returned to the lower lake but a lady member walking her dog was of the opinion that I was “quite mad“. I had to agree with her and packed up. As I left the sun broke through the overcast. It would have been nice to sit in the sunshine and tempt another fish but I was tired and very cold. After only a few days of catch and release the fish were quite spooky. Over the weekend 21 fish had been returned, none were retained. It’s going to get very difficult if that continues.

The weeks had ticked by slowly. Finally, the season started on the lakes. The river would have to wait a couple of weeks. Snow had been forecast. Lots of it. I had taken little notice of the previous snow warnings, the BBC always exaggerates bad weather.

Yesterday evening I attended the club’s AGM and had a chat with the other members about the prospects for the new season. The restoration of Lower Figgs and Great Springs had gone well and both lakes had been filled by the February rain. Everyone was in good spirits.

I had planned a training session for my left arm. Developing a good southpaw casting style could take years. It felt as if I was about to start fly fishing all over again. My first proper fly fishing trip had been to Weirwood Reservoir in the early ’70s with a home-made-Hardy. Ken Sinfoil advised me where to fish and I caught three trout, including a 2lb brownie. I thought I had cracked it but I failed to catch another trout for several months.

The morning was extremely cold with a blustery East wind. By 8:00am it was snowing, I was reminded of ice cold water and frozen rod rings on Opening Day at Weirwood. I visited Little Bognor, then drove to Great Springs for a cup of tea and a chat. The fields were bright, lime green and the Downs were dusky blue shadows. The snow storm got heavier and the landscape disappeared in a white out. Little Springs looked uninviting, the wind was driving the snow horizontally. I went back to Little Bognor where I hoped to find shelter. I sat in the Land Rover watching the snow, waiting for it to ease off.

Eventually I tackled up under the old Yew tree and crept along the bank to where several fish were moving. The first cast with my left arm caught in a tree behind me and I lost the entire leader. Not a good start. I swapped the reel and on the second cast, a bush grabbed the nymph. I moved to the open end of the lake where the wind and snow became a problem. The left handed casting lesson ended. I covered a few fish with a GRHE nymph but it was ignored. I tied on an unweighted Partridge and Amber nymph and targeted a group of fish under the bare branches of a Chestnut tree in the corner of the lake. It was taken and I released a small brownie near the outflow. I hooked another fish from the same shoal but it shook itself free. The ice in the rod rings was making it difficult to cast. I tried to take a photo of the ice but my iPhone gave a temperature warning and shut down. That was a message to pack up. As I drove away I put the heater on ‘Full’ but it sulked all the way home. Home made soup warmed me up.

I wanted to see the winter floods along the valley. To see how high the water had risen and which trees had blown down. It was a cold, bright day with an evil North wind. A Big Coat day. The heater in the Land Rover was surprisingly effective and the drive to Petworth was quite comfortable. Except for the condensation dripping from the bare aluminium roof.

The view across the valley over my favourite gate at Riverhill was missing something. The clouds were impressive but the South Downs were obscured by a haze. I climbed back behind the wheel and for the umpteenth time, resolved to fit side steps. I explored the lane leading down to Fittleworth which revealed a spectacular view across the arable fields bordering the foot of the Downs. The clouds were moving fast and the suns rays raced across the fields. I stood in a sheltered corner for about an hour, warmed by the weak sunshine. I took over a hundred photos as the landscape changed from ‘bright green fields’ to ‘dark snow clouds’. It was only 2:30pm but felt like dusk.

I drove to Coultershaw Bridge and was surprised at the river level, the fields around Kilsham were all flooded. I paddled in the water but it was too dangerous, hidden ditches and wheel ruts barred my way to the fish pass. I didn’t need Wellingtons full of icy water. Any late departing sea trout had an easy journey to the estuary.

At Rotherbridge I looked upstream to the West, most of the landscape was under water. Several Alder trees were stacked alongside the river and the debris under the bushes had been washed away. I tried to imagine how the flood would reshape the sandy river bed. I wondered if the newly established Starwort would be ripped out.

I walked slowly towards the New Riffle through the fast flowing water. There were no signs of fish or ducks. I watched the river being cleansed by the floodwater. Branches, plastic bottles and weeds were on their way to the sea.

Rain or snow looked likely and the light was fading. I turned and splashed back to the bridge while I could still see where to tread. I stopped at The Badgers for a pint and to get warm before the journey home. It was reassuring to see the river, I will go again when the water level has dropped.