Season Opening Day 2022

The trout fishing season in the south of England opened today, a month behind most of the country. Somewhat envious of the fishing reports from acquaintances elsewhere I have eagerly anticipated the start of this season, like a fox might size up a dilapidated hen house. My fly line was cleaned and greased, and flies, leaders and tippet were acquired from retailers in readiness. For the third year running I decided to start my season by visiting an uncared for stretch of Sussex spate river, an hour's drive from my home. I quite like that a tradition is emerging. As with the start of last season I took my family along for a picnic, knowing well enough that my fishing time would be constrained by the duration of my young son's attention span. 

It had snowed briefly in the week meaning that for the second year running we have had snow in April. I was pleased when opening day dawned clear, a green light for the picnic, even if the air was still very cold. The river hadn't changed much in a year but a mature tree had fallen into what used to be a productive run. It will now provide shelter for young trout. 

Whilst my son was distracted with a meal I stepped into the cold river and began flicking a nymph upstream. Half an hour later I was a little surprised not to have caught a trout, because I had waded through pools and runs that had yielded trout in past seasons. Fly life was noticeably absent, the bitterly cold snap having put paid to the prospect of early hatches. I changed my fly from a #16 Pheasant Tail (with a black bead head) to a smaller #18 Hare's Ear (with a copper bead head). My fortunes changed immediately when a little trout of around 6 or 7 inches took the nymph from the tail of a deep pool. Hampered by low hanging tree branches I wasn't able to set the hook very well and the trout inevitably went free when it broke the surface. 

With confidence raised I moved forward two steps and cast my fly into the head of the pool. Within a metre's drift the indicator bobbed and I struck into a heftier fish, this time able to keep my rod high as the trout flashed into view from the discoloured depths. It was a better fish. I was chuffed to open my account on opening day.

Forty minutes had passed since I stepped into the river. It was more than a sufficient time to indulge my desires and banish the winter to memory. More serious fishing will follow in the season. I finished the picnic with my family, enjoying my son's obvious pleasure at being outdoors. 

When I arrived home I realised with growing dread that I had left my rod in its tube leaning against a fence beside the road. I hopped back in the car and returned, another hour on the road, ever certain that the rod would be gone. Much to my relief I found it where I had left it. It dawned on me that my well used Orvis Superfine Touch rod has great sentimental value. That will teach me to be so careless again!