Sussex Trout Fishing … and Devon

On the return journey from a holiday in Dorset, I found myself in Stockbridge. It was a convenient place to stop, have lunch and look over the bridge spanning the River Test. I saw a brace of fish taking nymphs from under the newly cut weed. The trout were enormous, each fish looked well over 6lb. The Orvis shop had a ‘Sale’ on. Not fishing tackle, shirts. I had never visited Robjent’s tackle shop. Big mistake. Particularly as it’s just across the road from Orvis. It’s a proper fishing tackle shop run by friendly and knowledgeable anglers. They bullied me into buying a new fly line. I had used Cortland lines for several decades. My reluctance to buy another brand was obvious. The purchase of a Rio fly line was concluded with an agreement that I would write and let the proprietor know if I hated it.

I liked the colour of the line, weed green. The coating felt supple and the core of the line was white braid. Excellent. It didn’t have a welded loop at the business end, no need to cut it off. The running line felt stiffer than the body of the line but that might have been my imagination. I had been told to stretch the entire line before loading it on the reel. I fixed it to the garden fence and gave it a good pull, several times. There were a couple of small blemishes in the line. I could feel the difference in the coating between the main body and the tip of the line. Rio claim the coating on the tip makes it float higher.

I superglued a Greys copolymer nine foot tapered leader into the exposed core of the tip. The 7lb leader was a bit heavy, I’ll use 5lb next time. A couple of short casts on the lawn felt odd, I would have to test it on the river.

After the regular 10:00am meeting to discuss the previous week’s catch returns, I went to the river at Keeper’s Bridge. I tackled up ensuring that I didn’t miss any rod rings. The first few casts under an Alder tree were accurate and I was impressed with how softly the line landed. I’d underlined the rod with an AFTM #3 hoping for more delicate presentation. The profile was Weight Forward with an extended front taper. A Robjent’s Chalkstream special design.

I visited some of the pools that require a more demanding cast and with each cast I became more confident. I saw a fish rise upstream alongside a bush. The cast was into a strong westerly wind, it would be an excellent test of the line. I used a weighted GRHE nymph and gradually worked the fly further up the pool, extending line into the wind. After several casts, to my surprise, the fish took but I lifted the line too soon. I was a bit out of touch after a ten day break from the river. I moved downstream to the Overhanging Tree. I could not bend the line under the tree into the wind, the tip was too light. I saw a fish rise but I couldn’t interest the trout in my nymph. Another trout, on the bend above the Cow Drink, followed the nymph, creating a bow wave but sheered away when I induced the take. I explored the New Riffle and the next pool down but found nothing.

On the way back to Keeper’s Bridge I stopped where a trout had risen earlier and swapped the nymph for a size 14 Adams with the hackle trimmed off. It looked good. The trout took it confidently and put up a spirited fight. I returned the fish and continued upstream. A fish rose close to my bank so I lowered a Mayfly over the rushes and gently onto the water. The trout did not respond, it had probably seen me. I walked upstream to the Sandy Pool but I couldn’t find another fish.

The new line had performed well. No memory, delicate presentation and it floated nicely without any dressing. I had a couple of tip splashdowns when I pushed the line too hard. I found it harder to judge distance because I couldn’t see the line during the cast. On balance, the enhanced presentation outweighs any minor issues. I won’t need to write to Mr Robjent.

Yesterday was the longest day, the Summer Solstice. It was also the hottest day of the year. The BBC ‘officially’ declared a heat wave after six consecutive days of temperatures over ninety degrees. Much too hot for day time fishing. Overnight the weather had  changed to thunderstorms and hail. A midday temperature of only seventy two degrees was less debilitating. The strong westerly wind tried to cool things down but failed.

I had been disabled for a few days by the heat and an insect bite that had made my rod hand swell up. A late evening session on the river searching for a big brown would be a great end to the week. When I arrived at the river I went to see the work the Environment Agency had carried out on the fish pass. The trees around the fish ladder had been cut down to protect the concrete structures.

I fished the weir pool with a weighted nymph but after thirty minutes I’d had no response so I moved up to the long straight. I worked a weighted Black Nymph down and across the long straight and it wasn’t long before a trout took the fly. It flashed at the fly before the leader moved and I lifted into the fish. It came unstuck after a few seconds and was probably foul-hooked. I fished the rest of the pool but had no takes.

I walked and fished all the way to Rotherbridge but I didn’t see any trout.  As I was sitting on the grass wondering whether or not to walk further upstream, a trout rose under the big Alder tree. I cast a dry fly over the fish but it showed no interest. I persevered but to no effect. I walked downstream to where the tree line started and found two good fish taking flies under the trees. I sat down and shuffled forwards so that I could see the nearest fish clearly. It was moving around and sipping down midges. Luckily there was a clear slot in the trees and I flicked my dry fly through the gap to land near the far bank. The trout found the fly and took it without hesitation. I returned the fish and then looked for the other trout but it had disappeared.

That fish boosted my confidence and I continued downstream, keeping well back from the river, looking for rising fish. I saw two or three fish rising in the middle of a tree tunnel. Moreover, the stinging nettles were head high. I used the landing net to press some of the nettles aside and crushed the stems underfoot to make a little nettle cave. I had to cast with my arms held high.

I lobbed a dry fly over the nettles but I couldn’t see where it landed. A fish swirled and I lifted the rod. It was hooked and while I struggled with that trout another fish continued to rise under the trees. I returned the fish in another pool and crept back into the nettles to see if the second fish was still rising.  It was still there but a bit further down under the trees on my side of the river.  I threw caution to the wind, cast a long line and let the fly swing across the current. The trout rose to the fly but I was impatient and I lifted too soon. I expected to see more rising fish as I walked back to the fish pass but there were none. A small fish rose at the end of the weir pool but it was not interested in my fly. It was a cool drive home, thankfully.

During the four days since my last visit to the river the weather had been very hot and humid. Most days exceeded 30 degrees and it had sapped my energy. The temperature of the lakes had reached 24 degrees, dangerously high for rainbow trout. The fish had disappeared into the deepest part of the lakes trying to find cooler water.

In the evening I went to Great Springs for a meeting. Club business was conducted, cool beer and nibbles were consumed. It was 7:45pm before I set up my rod and wandered down the farm track to Keeper’s Bridge. Another member was casting to a frequently rising fish under the big Alder tree. The casts were accurate but the trout was not impressed. I went upstream towards Perryfields Barn, pausing at the holes in the tree line to look for rising fish. Just below the old riffle I saw a fish rise and sat down behind the nettles to select a fly and sort out my casting angle.

I tied on an Adams as there were loads of midges hatching. There were also plenty of horse flies dropping out of the trees and trying to eat me. I put a short line along the grass to get the distance and casting angle then flicked it up into the Alder tree above me. It took a while to untangle everything but the fish kept rising. On the second attempt the cast was perfect, the fly settled on the water just above the fish which immediately rose and took it. The fish was a small chub that fought like a trout.

I returned the chub downstream because another fish was rising at the end of the pool. By the time I got back to the second fish it had disappeared so I moved further upstream. I wanted to fish the big, wide pool with the sunken tree. When I arrived at the pool there was no sign of a trout so I sat on the grass and preened the Adams which was slimy from the encounter with the chub. I dried the hackle and stretched the tippet. A fish rose at the bottom of the pool, near a large bush. I lengthened the line and flicked it towards the river. It hung from the top of the Alder tree on my left. I had repeated the earlier amateurish mistake.

It took a while to untangle the mess as the fly line had caught in a particularly nasty clump of Alder catkins. By good fortune, during the interlude, the rising fish had moved up the pool and was rising opposite me. I checked the Alder tree and the electric fence, then flicked the fly towards the rise. The Adams landed perfectly and was immediately grabbed by the trout. The fish fought in exactly the same way as the previous trout from that pool. Lots of splashing followed by circuits of the pool then a couple of long deep runs upstream. Spooky, I wondered if it was the same fish.

The horse flies were attacking in squadrons so I walked quickly back to the open stretch of river below the Sandy Pool. I sat on the grass for a few minutes and eventually a small fish rose in the tail of the pool below a fallen tree branch. As I was approaching that rise a bigger fish rose about ten yards further downstream. I sat behind a gap in the bushes and watched the fish. It was feeding confidently. I got the landing net ready and flicked a Mayfly towards the trout. I had seen a few hatching. To my surprise there was no response. I rested the fish and it rose again upstream, a big splashy rise. While I was deciding what to do there was a tremendous, thumping swirl downstream, to my right. I was convinced the fish would take but after trying several different patterns there was no response. It was either a sea trout or one of the recently stocked monsters. I left at 9:15pm and drove home with the windows and vents open, it was still hot. I will return to that pool. Soon.

 

It was incredibly hot. The wind was kind, from the north west and with a slight chill. I discussed the previous week’s catch returns over a cool glass of beer and decided to fish the top beats. The middle beat had been recently fished and the river at Rotherbridge looked completely lifeless. The fish were probably all hiding in the tree roots. I signed in at Taylors Bridge about 5:00pm and leant over the rail of the bridge searching for any fishy signs. There were none. The deep pool at Ladymead seemed the best bet. I sat on the grass under the Lime tree with the breeze at my back and patiently waited for a fish to show. I was patient for about fifteen minutes. The water looked cool and the shadow of the trees might be hiding a trout. As there were no fish rising I worked a GRHE nymph through the run just under my feet. Then I tested the slack between the lock pillars. I gradually extended the search into the main pool, just beyond the sand bank. I kept my fly line over the sand bar and with an eighteen foot leader, dragged the nymph up the far slope of sand. Nothing. I extended my cast into the Lime tree behind me and lost the fly. I decided to leave the pool until later.

Great Red Sedge

As I walked downstream I saw female Mayfly spinners occasionally dipping into the water to lay their eggs. The air was thick with midges, damsel flies and terrestrials but strangely there were no birds. Perhaps they had gone to find a roost. I crossed the bridge and walked down the south bank, there were no cows to distract me on that side of the river. I walked down to the pool below the willow tree island and saw several small fish rising. One was very close under the bank. I lowered a parachute mayfly over the fish, it rose and snapped at the fly but missed. All the fish stopped rising.

I walked slowly back to the bridge looking upstream for rising fish. There was a big splash under an Oak tree but the cast was tricky and I put the fish down. I searched the shallow pool which is usually guaranteed to produce a fish but the prolonged hot weather had made it uncomfortable for the trout. As I walked upstream I saw a Barn Owl drifting across the water meadow, it settled in a big Oak. Too far away for a portrait.

I got to the bridge and heard a rise in the pool below, near an overhanging branch. I crept into position and saw two good fish circling around and sipping in flies. I lowered a parachute Mayfly onto the surface and waited. A fish rose, inspected it closely and went down. I swapped to a smaller pattern. The fish looked carefully at the fly but decided not to take. My next fly was an Adams, a sure thing for fussy trout in the evening. That was an improvement but it was rejected by both fish. I tried a Neoprene black buzzer but that was completely ignored. In desperation I tried a large Royal Coachman. That bought a response but I could see the trout’s displeasure at such an obvious fake.

My last chance was the ginger dry fly with the palmered hackle. I tied on a size 14, left the foam untrimmed and lowered it into position. The biggest fish rose, saw the fly and took it confidently. It was about 2lb. I released it and the trout dived back under the tree branch. I’ll catch it’s partner another day. I left at about 9:15pm and smiled all the way home. Very fussy trout.

 

My fifth consecutive day trout fishing.

I’d glued a new copolymer leader on the end of my fly line. A drop from a fresh tube of superglue had set rock hard in two seconds. I liked the transparent leader, much better than the dyed Platil leaders. The taper was very steep which would help turnover.

I drove to Petworth but turned off the main road just before the town and went along the country lanes to Little Bognor. The view across the fields to the South Downs was spectacular.

From Little Bognor I went to Rotherbridge, the river had risen slightly because of the overnight rain. I didn’t see any sea trout. Next stop was Jacksons and then Luffs and Figgs. I didn’t fancy any of those locations, the water in the lakes was too coloured. As usual I ended up at Great Springs. Both lakes looked good, the top lake was ruffled by a westerly breeze but the water was clear. I decided to fish with an extra long tippet. Nine feet of tippet on the end of nine feet of leader would avoid scaring the trout with the fly line.

I used my long rod, the novelty of the little rod had worn off, it had been hard work. I sat on the bench looking over Great Springs and started with a weighted GRHE nymph. I had a take, close to the wall on my right. The fish was lightly hooked and came off after a few seconds. After thirty minutes I decided to move and reeled in the line. The inevitable happened, a fish charged at the fly a few yards from the bank. A couple of quick casts into the swirling water were fruitless.

I walked around Little Springs and had a few casts but the fish were not rising. I went back to the bench by the top lake, the water was calm and the fish had started to feed. I put on a black Neoprene buzzer with a sparse badger hackle and fished it downwind just under the surface. I had to tweak the line to sink the tippet. I had another take but again the fish came adrift. The small barbless hooks do not hold as well as the larger sizes. As the wind dropped and the light faded I had a take at long range and this time the trout found the back of the landing net. Initially the fish had not reacted but in the deep water near the wall, it burst into life with several long, deep runs. It only weighed 1lb 2ozs and had taken the fly so far down all I could see was the tippet disappearing into its gut.

As I left Great Springs the sun was low over Midhurst and the rolling hills of the South Downs looked beautiful in the misty sunset. I stood and watched the sheep grazing.

Timeless.