Itchen Carrier at Avington, Hampshire

I have always been drawn to the famous River Itchen and long held a desire to cast a fly into its hallowed waters. I think it's because the Itchen is a miniature version of the River Test, and smaller streams appeal to me. But being one of the two flagship chalkstreams in England, it's generally a damn expensive river to access, and I have put it off until a future time. The call from the river is growing louder though and it won't be long before I take the plunge. 

I was wistfully browsing the website of one of the chalkstream fishing agents when I spotted, nestled amongst the beats on the Itchen proper, a section of carrier at the renowned big-fish Avington Fishery. It came at a reasonable price, so I checked the seven-day weather forecast and purchased a ticket. I had exclusive use of the carrier on Saturday this past weekend.

I had my first ever glimpse of the Itchen from the A31 just south of the town of Alresford. The bridge sits quite high over the valley, and spans some distance, but even as I zoomed past in the car I could see an attractive stream in a pretty pasture - a limpid chalkstream with green clumps of water weed and clean-scoured gravels. It is here at the confluence of three streams that the Itchen is formed and for seven miles it flows west to the village of Headbourne Worthy and then due south to Winchester, through truly stunning English countryside.

Looking upstream at the main Itchen from the entrance to Avington Fishery

Looking downstream at the Itchen from the entrance to Avington Fishery. A fish rose in the foreground just after this photo was taken.

Avington is one of the pre-eminent stillwater trout fisheries in the UK. Created in the late 1960s, it has specialised in rearing and stocking high quality large trout. That niche has attracted many of Britain's finest fly fishermen to its banks - Dick Walker and Frank Sawyer among them - and it has produced several British records. To provide an idea of scale, Avington's current rainbow trout record is a staggering 28lbs. To get into the spirit before my visit, I downloaded and watched the engaging documentary 'Avington' and also watched the episode of 'Hooked on Fishing' when Paul Young visits, found on YouTube. Not only did the videos impress upon me the significant history of the venue, but it imbued a sense of occasion and increased my expectation. 

I set off early from home and arrived at 08h30, when the air was still cool. Two anglers were fishing the top lake and one was playing a trout which looked to be around 3lbs at the bottom of the lake where the water departs through a sluice. The clarity of the water struck me and I spotted several astonishingly large trout lazily patrolling the margins. It's a peaceful and rather beautiful place.
  

I don't wish to be overly negative, but the carrier is a far cry from the Itchen. In the main it's a featureless, shallow and extremely slow flowing canal. In many places the water was only ankle deep and where it wasn't, the riverbed tended to be silty. It was predominantly absent of ranunculus and starwort, which I feel really add to the aesthetic charm and essence of chalkstream fishing (and provide cover for both fish and the insects they eat). Flow deflectors had been installed near the bottom of the stretch, where the river is slowest, in an attempt to make the river more varied and interesting, but they were obviously put in a long time ago; the logs were rotting and needed replacing.

The upper beat runs next to the top lake and is only around 150 metres long. For the most part the upper beat is inaccessible because stream side vegetation has been left to grow and no wading is allowed. Fishing can only be done from the true right bank, which shares a narrow path with the top lake. This unfortunately means you're bound to cross paths with anyone fishing the south bank of the top lake (and fish in the stream scattered at the sign of any movement on the shared path). The lower beat was better, because the true right bank is on the opposite side from the middle and bottom lakes and therefore unhindered. Here it is still close to the lakes, though, and two novices, one of them shirtless, were excitedly thrashing the water and shouting questions at another experienced angler on the bank. I'm not begrudging their fun at all. On the contrary, it was nice to see their obvious enthusiasm for a new and hopefully long-lasting pastime, but it is something to bear in mind if you intend to visit. The lower beat is around 350 metres long. I focused my fishing here.
     

Perhaps my opinion has been too heavily influenced by it being an extremely tough day at the office. It was hot, still and bright and the little fish in the stream were incredibly spooky. I like to think that I'm a fairly competent river fisherman. Stalking shy double-figure brown trout in New Zealand's south island and wily trout in the Lilliputian streams of the Welsh borderlands has provided a fertile education in moving slowly and keeping a low profile. But this proved to be a whole new level of spookiness. I inched up the stream at the speed of a stalking heron, searching for fish. I even resorted to walking in the shade of the trees on the far side of the vehicle track you can see in the images above, to conceal myself as I scanned the water. As I type, my knees still ache from the crawling I did to get into a casting position. It was all in vain. The little fish scattered upstream, like pin balls, at the merest hint of movement.

I commonly saw mayfly, olives and caddis and could hear fish rising in the lakes. I anticipated a good day with the dry fly but a little disappointingly only saw four rises in the river all day. I found a shoal of grayling in one of the deepest sections of the stream and could see they were contentedly nymphing. Their flanks flashed silver in the light as they grubbed on the riverbed. I hooked two in successive casts, but lost both, and the shoal became wise to my presence.

A rare rise

I lengthened my leader and tippet. I had assumed before my visit that 6x (3lb) tippet would be fine but wished I had brought along a spool of 7x. It has been a very long time since I have thought to use 7x tippet in the UK. Often, when a good cast was made, the small trout would spook just at the sight of a dry fly or nymph as it drifted down towards them. I was predominantly using #18 flies but experimented with fly size and choice, including nymphs with beadheads and nymphs without. It was rather frustrating.

I encountered a handful of five substantially larger rainbow and brown trout which I assume must have escaped from the lakes or have been stocked. To coin a phrase I picked up in Australia, these lumps were "doggo" (meaning they sat on the bottom dead still without appearing to feed). I spent a good deal of time targeting them nonetheless. When I gave up on one immovable brown trout - which looked to be around 3.5lbs - I walked up to it and put the tip of my fly rod into the water. Perhaps I wanted to see if it was real and not some vision. When I touched the trout, I expected it to flee, but it simply moved an inch to its right. Very curious behaviour.

By now I was on my third trip up the lower beat and it was approaching 4pm. I was hot and thirsty and resigned to going home empty handed. And then, like manna from heaven, a fish rose against the true right bank a little way upstream. It was only the fourth rise I had seen in seven hours and I knew it was now or never. I tied on a CDC & Elk and spent a little while figuring out how to approach the fish. There was an uncut clump of vegetation between me and the fish and I used it as cover to creep into position. I would need to make a long cast. I drew in a breath and cast upstream. The fly landed perfectly. I held my breath as the fly drifted for a second. And then it was engulfed in a splash! I fought the urge to strike immediately, pausing a fleeting moment, then lifted the rod. I was overjoyed when I could feel the fish was still there. After a brief but spirited fight, I guided a perfectly marked wild brown trout of around 8 or 9 inches into my net. I felt a deep sense of relief come over me. At times we fool ourselves into believing that fly fishing is about more than just catching fish. In many respects it can be, but when broken down to its nuts and bolts, we all aspire singularly to be successful in fooling fish. It takes a day like this to make that notion clear.

      
At the bottom of the upper beat, where the water is complemented by an outflow from the top lake, the river briefly deepens and flows a little more swiftly. I spotted the paddle-like tail of a good sized trout protruding from under a tree. It was too large to be a native of the river and it must have found its way out of one of the lakes, in Houdini fashion. It was in an impossible lie and I filmed it briefly. If you watch the short clip to the end you will see it move to its right to feed. On reflection, I think I was unlucky to catch this little stream on a challenging day. I suspect that on a good day, with fish such as this one in the water, the sport could be very good indeed.

Post edit: I have since spoken to someone who has fished this beat twice before, who claims that over 60 fish were caught on each occasion, most of them stocked fish over 30cm long. He also claims to have given up fishing this beat because it's "too easy". Two very different experiences. His sounds awfully close to "shooting fish in a barrel"! For a 500m beat that's a fish density and size I simply didn't see in the gin clear water. I did see wild trout, all under 12 inches, in the sort of typical numbers I would expect to see. I conclude from what he said that the river had not been stocked recently before my visit. I don't mind that especially. It makes the single wild trout I worked hard to catch a very fine and valuable prize indeed!

When I packed up and left the venue just after 5pm, I pulled my car over just outside the entrance to the fishery to look at the Itchen. It's a bewitching river and made for a pretty picture. The river was wider than I expected and the water flowed pleasingly swiftly over ranunculus with an audible gurgle. As if on cue a fish rose at the near bank. In that moment I made a promise to fish the Itchen sooner rather than later.