Sussex Trout Fishing … and Devon

Easter had been grey and wet. It had rained every day. In fact, it hadn’t stopped raining for over a week. The river at Billingshurst had risen into the fields and retreated leaving silt and rubbish everywhere. The Rother had roared through the fish pass and stranded flotsam high in the bankside trees. It had been the sixth flood of the winter and hopefully the last. This morning was the first real Spring morning. Fluffy white clouds, a blue sky and clean air. I enjoyed the drive along the country lanes, particularly at Riverhill where I paused to look at the view down the valley.

I visited Little Bognor, checked every beat on the river and had breakfast at Great Springs. After tea and chocolate biscuits I returned to Little Bognor to continue my casting practice. The air was warmish and the gentle breeze supported three Buzzards mewing and circling high above the trees.

I had tied some very small imitations of the hatching midges I had seen at Little Bognor on my last visit and I was keen to try them out. Tying flies after the event is flawed, on my return the fish have usually found another food source. That proved to be the case. There was a hatch of small, black terrestrial flies, too small for Hawthorn flies. I tied on a Black Buzzer and left handed, flicked it over the green rush shoots in the margins. It landed about four feet from the bank, sunk about a foot and was taken by a small Trout. I was surprised by the suddenness of the take and the fish wriggled free after a few seconds. I cast a little further into the lake and immediately had another take. The Trout was very dark in colour and had no hook marks in it’s mouth. A fish was feeding in the corner by the overflow but I couldn’t interest it in my buzzer. I tried the opposite corner but the fish had moved away from that end of the lake. I thought a black Neoprene Buzzer would do the trick but although it sat nicely in the surface film, the fish were not fooled. I had a nice take at the other end of the lake, under the Beech trees, but the fish came adrift. Size 18 hooks don’t hold well.

I had a few casts on the top lake but quickly lost interest and walked back down the slope. I persevered with a white Neoprene spider which sat on the ripples and blew around under the tree beside the overflow. A fish inspected it and twenty minutes later I had a good take which I should have left a little longer. I lifted too quickly and missed the fish. The air was cooling and I was tired. I had a nice bottle of claret in the Land Rover, bought on the recommendation of the nice man in the wine merchants at Petworth.

 

There was a frost overnight, the morning air was clean and still. I was hoping for dry weather over Easter so the river level would drop for the opening day next Tuesday. The sky had clouded over by the time I left for Petworth and I had to check the lakes before fishing could commence. I walked around the lakes with a cup of tea in hand, it was good to see Great Springs full to the brim. The high water level hid the digger scars and most of the muddy colour had gone. The ripples were washing reeds and grass, not bare clay.

I saw a Trout beside the overflow at Little Springs, it had been there on my last visit. It saw me but only darted away when I knelt down to take its portrait. The other lakes were coloured and uninspiring and I decided to continue with my casting practice at Little Bognor. When I arrived a member was already fishing the top lake. The fish were rising well on the bottom lake so I tackled up and walked down the track, along the side of the bottom lake. The wind was from my right and that would help with casting.

I stood between two mature trees and rolled the size 14 black spider into the margins. I planned to move to my left a little after each cast, covering the water. On the second cast the leader dipped and I was into my first Trout. It was about 1lb and it darted back into the dark brown water none the worse for visiting me.

The fish were frantically rising to tiny grey midges on the surface. The hatching flies blew down the lake, tumbling across the surface and driving the Trout wild. It looked like a stew pond. I changed to a bushy nymph with a Partridge hackle at the head and a ginger hackle palmered down the body. I thought it was a good match for the adult flies. The Trout did not, several looked at the fly and moved on. It was too big. I changed to a buzzer and that was also ignored. It wasn’t floating.

I went back to the Land Rover for my dry fly box. As I returned to the gap in the trees it started to rain. Things went rapidly downhill. The fish were rising very close to me, I took ages poking the varnish from the hook eye and tying on a size 18 Adams variant. My hands were cold and my casting became erratic. The fly line was in the tree, the leader was around a twig on the ground and the fly stuck in my coat. I laughed and told myself to calm down. Eventually I rolled out the fly towards a cruising fish but it ignored my offering. I was surprised, the presentation was good and the fly was convincing. The wind got stronger and helped with casting, the ripple also hid the tippet. Finally, a fish accepted the Adams and was hooked in the scissors. As I landed and released the fish, the other Trout were continuing to rise. They were not spooked by the splashing, they were hungry and preoccupied.

The wind got stronger, the rain started to soak through my Musto jacket and my casting became amateurish. I waited in the hut for the rain to stop but after thirty minutes I decided the rain was set for the rest of the day, climbed back into the warmth of the Land Rover and headed home.

 

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.