Sussex Trout Fishing … and Devon

I parked next to the Keeper’s Land Rover which is often confused with mine. They looked like bookends. I stood in the pouring rain and chatted to Andrew, the Keeper, for ten minutes. Just long enough to get soaked. The weather forecast was correct and after lunch the sun shone in a deep blue sky. The wind was strong and downstream.

The Keeper said that the river had changed over the winter, tons of sand had been washed into the Beats and a few trees needed removing.

I started just above Keeper’s Bridge, then moved upstream to the Sandy Pool and finally round the bend to the Redd. The level had dropped a bit but the water was still coloured. The willow catkins were just starting to show but the trout weren’t. Nevermind, it was a nice walk.

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I was keen to get back on the river, the weather forecast looked OK and the river level had dropped. I got to Beat A about 11:30am and it looked just fishable, coloured and a bit above normal level. I started at the Monster Pool and spent quite a while working a black nymph around the pool but no takes.

The Monster Pool

I wandered up above the bridge, past the wood and as far as I could walk before I encountered a fence and hedge. It looks good in the wood and beyond, I will return.

An Oak tree had been broken at the roots by Storm Kate.

I had a chat with the Keeper, he said that the level is lower than expected because someone left the sluice open. I hope the rain stays away until Thursday.

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The last day of March, not long until the River opens. It was a lovely Spring day, North wind, fluffy white clouds in a blue sky and sunshine just like the South of France. Too bright without Ray Bans.

The trout were moving, some were rising to hatching buzzers. I caught a couple of Rainbows from Great Springs, both on an olive nymph fished deep. I had a leisurely lunch in front of the fishing hut, BLT and a cup of tea. Proper job.

I had a lengthy chat with Tony the Keeper and I raised the topic of a Catch and Release experiment on one of the lakes. He will consult with some of the other members.

I need to tie some black nymphs for next Monday.

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Storm Kate had filled the back garden with water and knocked some trees over but the high winds had abated by late afternoon. I had the lake to myself. It was relaxing sitting beside the water in the sunshine but the breeze was a problem. I had a rainbow on a small Montana and then lost another bigger fish. It was time to find somewhere sheltered.

After a short drive I signed in at a lake deep in the woods, the Secretary was already there in the hotspot. First cast with a small, leaded GRHE nymph produced a hard fighting brownie. After 45 minutes I had a take from another fish which fought really hard, it was foul-hooked in the side !

A couple of pints at the Black Horse and then pan fried trout fillets for tea. It had been an easy start to the season.

 

It all started in the summer of 1959. The family went on a picnic to Middle Bridge at Wallers Haven on Pevensey Marsh. It was a hot Sunday afternoon. My brother and I had a Spanish reed fishing rod, a porcupine quill float and one hook tied to nylon. We used flour and water paste for bait and caught lots of small roach. The float laid flat on the water and twitched and vibrated when the tiny roach nibbled at the bait. If the float cocked or disappeared, we pulled the line in and the little fish swung back and forth, wriggling to escape before one of us grabbed it and took the hook out.

The old geezer fishing next to us caught nothing, he was a bit miffed. After a while the fisherman called me over and put a maggot on the hook. He told me that I would catch a Perch. I lowered the float into the water near the reeds and watched. I didn’t know what a Perch looked like. It wasn’t long before the float disappeared and I held aloft a stripey Perch. It was very small, not what I had imagined. Unfortunately, while removing the hook, the hooklength broke and that was the end of our first fishing adventure. The fisherman looked pleased to see us go. We were probably too noisy.

On a later trip to Wallers Haven my brother caught a Bream which we took home. It was not very happy in the bucket and died, the cat had it for supper.

I have not fished at Wallers Haven for 55 years but I regularly drive across the bridge. I always slow down and look, apart from the trees having grown, it hasn’t changed. Perhaps I will stop and fish there again one day.

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