Survival Sunday

On the spur of the moment this morning I decided to drive to my nearest free trout stream for a few hours of fishing. I did it in spite of the poor weather forecast. In truth I was a ball of nervous tension ahead of 'Survival Sunday' - the last round of Premier League matches. Going fishing would take my mind off the prospect of Aston Villa being relegated. 

I had visited this stream once before, and today I wanted to explore the enticing upper section. It's a sandy brown Weald river, flowing languidly between steep banks of bramble and head-high nettles. There aren't many places to enter and exit the water. Once you're in the water, you're in for a while unless you backtrack, and chest waders are necessary because the water is deep in places. I didn't mind the dense vegetation or nettle stings, because it made a natural barrier between the dog walkers and the river. At water level I found a tranquil solitude.

It started to rain heavily, but I was beneath an alder at the time and managed to stay relatively dry until the rain passed. In between downpours I was trying to catch a fish which had risen a couple of times in a narrow shute of water between reeds and nettles. I wasn't casting very well and the fish showed no interest. I cut my losses and moved to the next pool which looked promising, because there was enough space for a back cast. I soon discovered that there are grayling in this stream, a pleasant surprise from such a silty environment. The grayling took a little nymph in the deep, flat water of the pool. 

A fish rose at the head of the same pool while I was releasing the grayling. I replaced the nymph with an Upwing CDC pattern to match the olives lifting from the water. The soft CDC feathers landed gently, and a trout rose and took it.    

With the trout returned and the delicate CDC fly changed to a fresh pattern, a bigger trout came to the fly and snatched at it, but I was too quick with the strike. Or too slow. It's hard to tell sometimes. I was surprised to see a handful of late hatching mayfly too. I have never seen them this late in the year. I thought why not, and tied on a sumptuous mayfly pattern. After a moment's drift, the water boiled around the fly, and I prepared to strike, as a fish showed initial interest. There was no take, the mayfly had been inspected and rejected. The water went still and it was time to move upriver.  

I stepped under the branches of a fallen tree into a tunnel of green. The light was dark beneath the tree canopy and I removed my sunglasses to see better. I was scanning the water upstream when a fish rose against the left bank, about ten feet from me. To be able to see the fly in the gloomy light I tied on a parachute Adams with a bright red post. I made a roll cast and the fly was enveloped by an explosion of movement and sound. The hook set this time and I netted a fine 11" brown trout.  

The bank side vegetation opened up slightly and a cream Labrador came to the bank to look at me, whilst wagging its tail. I willed it not to jump in but of course it did. The dog swam a circle around me and was very interested in my red-post dry fly. I had to lift the line and flick the fly away before it got too close to the hook. Its master came to the bank and shouted at the dog to follow him without a glance at me. It followed obediently, leaping up the six foot mud bank with ease. It left behind billowing silt clouds in the water, so I moved on.

I caught a small trout with a nymph from a deep hole and lost the best fish of the day when I cast the nymph again, this time just a little closer to the tree roots.

  

From the pocket of deep water caused by the bend in the river in the image above, I tempted three trout to take a nymph. Another dog joined me in the water just as I was playing the second fish. The dog was excited by the splashing throes of the trout, but it dutifully listened when its master called it away, who gave an apology to me. The most fetching fish was saved for last. It had the azure blue sheen to its gill plate so typical in wild brown trout, and its cherry red spots had just the faintest of blue halos. 

It was time to leave. I had stayed slightly later than planned and listened to the football commentary on the car radio on the drive home. In case you wondered, my team did just enough to survive and they live to fight another year in the top division. It turned out to be a Sunday to remember!