River Anton, Hampshire

I have kept my eye on a relatively inexpensive beat of the River Anton for some time. It comes with a two rod minimum booking so I've patiently bided my time for the right opportunity. That moment arrived when I was put in touch with an angler recently emigrated from South Africa to England. Bjorn was looking to explore the chalkstreams and jumped at my invitation.  

The Anton is a short river. It rises just to the north of the Hampshire town of Andover and flows for 8 miles until it joins the River Test near the well known Mayfly pub. This beat is near the village of Upper Clatford, a mile south of Andover. The top of the beat is just below the A303 trunk road connecting London and the south west of England. The hum of traffic from the road was a constant companion whilst beside the river. 

I arrived at 09.30 to meet Bjorn under a sky with promising blue gaps in the clouds. The weather had threatened to spoil the day, with the forecast showing a greater chance of rain showers than not. Fortunately the rain held off in the morning. The river looked gorgeous, running fast and clear over a quilt patchwork of gravel and weed. Bjorn and I spotted a trout in the shade of the wooden footbridge that we crossed to reach the beat's hut. The trout must've been accustomed to regular foot traffic because it didn't spook as we walked by. Colourful summer flowers grew amongst the reeds in the margins of the river. Yellow monkey flower, pink hemp agrimony, dainty blue forget-me-not and proud purple loosestrife completed the array. Away from the river, in the shade of the tall trees beyond the freshly mown path, thickets of great willowherb blossomed a rich purple. Chalkstreams have a bewitching beauty in high summer.   

I hadn't quite appreciated the short length of the beat when I made the booking - it is only 250m long. It meant that Bjorn and I would fish in tandem, rather than separating. It was a nice way to get to know my new acquaintance, who I was quick to learn possessed a laidback personality and a deep interest in fly fishing. To cover the fish as we found them, Bjorn went with a dry fly and I went with a nymph. Nymphs are permitted on this beat after July. Over the tips of the reeds near the start of the beat we spied a trout lying in a gravel depression near our bank. Bjorn floated his fly over the trout to no avail and I trundled a nymph past its nose to similar effect. We moved on. A few yards later I spotted a much larger trout holding against our bank, beneath the low hanging branches of a tree. It's the sort of place you'd gamble your life savings on finding a trout. My turn to go first, I snuck into position on my knees and executed two good drifts of the nymph past the trout, before it spooked on the third cast. I began to appreciate that the fishing wouldn't be easy. Boot prints in the soft soil of the riverbank, from the day before, hinted at why the trout were skittish. This beat receives a fair amount of fishing pressure.

Bjorn casts to a large trout

Only a few more yards upstream we spotted two even larger trout and a shoal of grayling. Bjorn's dry fly and my nymph were once again ignored. This wasn't proving easy! We each ran through several patterns in turn. In one heart stopping moment the largest of the trout turned to my size 18 CDC Olive Emerger, and followed it downstream. The trout opened its mouth, flashing the cavernous white interior of its maw, but just as I was preparing to strike it turned away at the very last microsecond. In a comical moment, when I was using a nymph, my line tightened, and I struck into a pleasing resistance. At last! We both cheered. But something didn't feel right, soon explained when a plank of wood complete with rusty nails slowly came to the surface with my nymph attached to it. Bjorn had caught the incident on film. I did at least tempt one of the grayling to take a nymph, so we left the pool feeling a little better about ourselves. 


Our fortunes soon improved. Around the next sweeping bend we came to a hatch pool, where the water raced through what looked to be the remnants of a brick weir where a sluice gate may once have been deployed to flood the adjacent meadows. The water was deep and we could make out the shapes of several large trout and grayling in the shadowy depths. 

The hatchpool

I caught two trout from the pool and Bjorn caught one, the churning currents obviously helping to conceal our approach. The first of my trout was around 14" long and the second around 16".

The best of the two trout I caught from the hatch pool

Above the hatch pool was a short, narrow section of fast flowing water, where Bjorn landed the largest grayling of the day and I caught a lovely wild brown trout from beneath the hanging tendrils of a willow on the opposite bank. 

The last section of the beat was a broad and mostly shallow reach, where I witnessed no fish until I came to a fallen tree in the water, where the current had scoured a depression of murky depth beneath and behind it. I was careless and approached the lie too fast and a great big trout bolted from beneath the stump, followed by a posse of five smaller trout.

We had intended to eat lunch at the Mayfly pub, but when I checked the time once we had reached the end of the beat it was already 2pm. I had to leave at 5pm, and dark clouds had closed in, threatening heavy showers, so we gave up on the idea of a pub lunch and returned to the hut to eat what we had between us - pork pies, crisps and a tub of trail mix, washed down with Lucozade that Bjorn had brought along. Whilst it rained we rested the water and swapped fishing stories. I was most interested to hear Bjorn's tales of catching taimen and lenok in Mongolia.

Shortly before the downpour

A brief gap in the rain focused our minds and we emerged from the hut. A couple of trout were rising in the vicinity of the footbridge. Bjorn cast an olive Klinkhamer to one of them whilst standing on the footbridge, and caught it. I was at hand to use my long handled net to snare and return it to the water. It was a good bit of fishing. The large fish which had treated us so dismissively in the morning had not altered their circumspect attitude. I managed to rise two of them to my dry fly, a size 22 Griffiths Gnat, but I missed both takes. By now it was raining consistently, and we sheltered under the trees. An unusual thudding sound came from the trees just upstream of us, and we turned to each other in surprise. The thuds became cracks, growing ever louder and longer, and then a huge tree branch fell in a crash of sound. Instead of plummeting into the water it settled on a lower branch. It will come down in the next storm. I just hope nobody is standing beneath it when it does. 

Ensuring to keep well clear of the hazard, I hooked a large trout at the head of the run with a nymph, evident by the breadth of is golden flank as it turned when I struck, but the hook-up failed. I did catch a grayling on a later drift but in another comical moment, my trousers split from the crotch to the knee as I knelt to release the fish. I have worn them hard over the years and it didn't come as a surprise. I fished the remainder of the beat, catching a trout and grayling along the way, with little dignity remaining!      

Bjorn who lives locally stayed on to fish into the evening. He told me the rain eventually cleared and he had fun trying, but failing, to catch the large, guileful trout that had twice already given us the run around. On the way home, he stopped at the Mayfly and drank a pint of beer beside the River Test as the sky turned pink. A pity I couldn't join him. I followed the rain home as I drove east. Torrential downpours and pond-sized puddles in the road caused the traffic to congest and slow to a snail's pace. I made it home in time to put my young son to bed, that happy moment capping off a very enjoyable day.  

Comments

  1. Justin
    The Hatchpool is outstanding with all the greenery complementing the clear water, so many places for the trout to feed and hide. It is good to fish with someone who loves the sport as much as you do. It makes for a great outing for both involved.
    I still miss my 84-year-old fly fishing companion who made so many trips with me over the years. Age took a toll on his knees. He uses a walker now. I still keep him informed of all my outings through my blog.
    The Gnat is one of my favorite dry flies to use. I've never used the size 22 Gnat because I have trouble seeing it. The size 18 Gnat is the smallest I've used.
    Enjoyed the read----glad you guys had success---thanks for sharing

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thanks for your comment, Bill. I'm glad you enjoyed reading it.

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