Any fool can fly fish

Next week

2011-07-24T07:23:00.001-07:00

I shall be going fishing. I've got the bait (bread flake) and I've got the Avon/quiver. And the new 'pin.

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Quiet in here

2010-11-03T01:32:00.001-07:00

Well, it's been a while and I can't honestly say that you've missed many of my hammocking adventures because there haven't been any.

So instead, here's a picture of a cat.

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In olden times

2008-06-12T04:30:00.000-07:00

A glimpse of the chalk streams of my youth. While I'm waiting for another opportunity to cast at something other than a leaf on the rec field behind my house ("I am a leaf on the wind"...) I thought I'd share this. The river Chess near little Chalfont.

We used to come down here as boys, 7' spinning rods tied to bicycle crossbars with string, reels in canvas shoulder bags, and tins of worms. A size 10 hook, ears like little radar dishes, alert for the sound of the bailiff (who would sometimes unfairly approach from down or upstream by wading the cunning swine) and eyes glued to water so clear you could see the stones on the bottom. This photo was taken further downstream from where we used to fish, but you get the idea.

Learning from the master

2008-06-05T03:00:00.000-07:00

OK, I fess up - it's my own book

So, I've been practising with Sean's fly rod and reel and am slowly beginning to get the hang of it. Apperently there are two key elements to every successful fly cast. First, a stiff wrist. You move your forearm, you don't flick with your wrist, which is the temptation. Second, the stop. You need to move the rod between 11.00 o'clock forwards and one o'clock backwards, remembering to snap to a stop in each direction. This means casting backwards as well as forwards.

Hard to believe that something that sounds so simple, can be so hard.

The Sixteen Pound Bream

2008-05-30T04:49:00.001-07:00

Arlington Reservoir - it's big

Have a look at that. Look at the size of the place. Now scoot on over to my Adurman blog and see the kind of places I normally fish and you'll understand my discomfort. And Sean - friend, teacher, driver, photographer, tackle lender, fly fisherman extraordinaire - tells me this is nothing. As reservoirs go, it has size issues, it's inadequate, a mere puddle.

Remember that my previous expeditions for trout have led me to rather different places. My early years were spent on the Misbourne and Chess in Buckinghamshire, chalk streams both. Then came the wild burns of Scotland's east coast, and then a solitary trip to the Test or maybe it was the Itchen...yes, I know I should know.

Still, the forecast promises 'sunny intervals' and Sean says the wind's in the right direction. We repair to a patch of open grass on a little hill above the reservoir to practice casting. Sean's good. He's encouraging, understands when to back off and knows when I've had enough. Within half an hour we both reckon I can cast far enough to make fishing worthwhile, especially as the reservoir drops off quickly and the fish come nosing into the edges looking for food.

Fly casting - it's just like Etch-a-Sketch

We trudge round to the dam side of the reservoir (I nearly said 'damn size' there...hmmm) and begin casting. I have a single fly on while Sean fishes with three. This seems to me to give him an advantage, but he's the boss and anyway, tired arm aside, I'm enjoying this. To be fair, there's no consistency in my casting and my arm seems to have a mind of its own, but I can throw the fly far enough to breed confidence and after an hour, I even imagine a small tug as I retrieve.

That's another thing. I thought there was dry fly fishing where the fly drifted on the surface and wet fly fishing, where it drifted below the surface. This feels more like spinning or plug fishing and is more active, more enjoyable. It's also very wet. No sooner have we slogged round to the dam than the rain starts. At first, I tough it out, but soon it's time for the poncho. I look like a druid. Apparently.

The wind shifts, the rain continues to fall and Sean is a little less optimistic. We've met one angler so far who's caught anything, and he isn't us. Moving further round, trying to find more favourable conditions we settle in again but my casting's gone. I find this at various points during the day - I just lose what little technique I've acquired and can't cast for shit. Instead, I brew up the kettle and have coffee. Then, it's another half hour before we wander off up and round, into the trees, heading for the other side of the reservoir where most of the boats have gathered. It's pretty beautiful.

Above Arlington - I've learned how to do captions

Back down the other side and the rain keeps coming. At least we've seen a couple of anglers on the boats catch fish, trout which hurl themselves into the air as if being electrocuted. I can't wait 'till it's my turn. Sean suggests a different fly. This one is green, bug-eyed and is designed to be wiggled through the water. It's imitating some kind of green wriggly thing that I don't quite catch, but it feels alright. By now everything is so wet that the line keeps getting tangled - or rather the line, the leader and the tippet keep getting wrapped round each other in ways that are increasingly exotic and time-consuming to fix. After a while I leave my magnifying glasses clipped to my real glasses because there's no point taking them off. Cast, retrieve, cast retrieve, cast, tangle.

And so it goes on. Cast, retrieve, cast, retrieve, cast, tangle, cast, retrieve, cast, tug, stop, retrieve, tug, strike, fish. Fish?!? Yes, it's a official. It's a fish. In a second, I realise I have no idea how to play it. I've got 20 feet of line pooled in circles at my feet and a reel so tiny it retrieves about three inches per turn. I grip the line with my mouth and start reeling in frantically. Keeping contact with the fish is easier than I imagined. My trout isn't leaping from the water or skittering across the surface of the lake. Instead, it's staying deep and tugging lethargically. My trout doesn't seem to have the energy of the others here, that kind of Tesla-infused electric madness that sends them ballistic. In fact my trout is barely fighting at all, because my trout is a bream.

Yes. I've spent £16.00 on a four fish limit and the only thing I catch is the kind of fish that my other blog is full of - except one quarter of the size. Apparently you can take the man out of the Adur, but you can't take the Adur out of the man. And here it is. The mighty bream. A fish of legend. That mythical...etc.

My first ever fish on a fly - a 6oz skimmer bream

So that's it. I can cast far enough to catch something. I know a hundred times more about fly fishing than I did on Wednesday - and I've caught my first fish on a fly. Sean has loaned me a rod which cost more than all my fishing tackle put together. I can see it from here. I'm terrified to take it out, let alone practice with it. But I must. I have the bug.

Ich bin ein fly fisherman...

Prefatory matters

2008-05-29T00:40:00.000-07:00

So, the great day has arrived. Sean is coming around 11.30. I don't need to bring anything apart from some line clippers (that's nail clippers to me) glasses, something to eat and drink and waterproofs. I'll take the kettle because I may need a break from all that casting. Beginners tend to thrash at fly casting and get tired easily. I know the theory - I should do - but in practise the temptation will be to get the fly out there any old how.

It's a different world financially as well. You pay by the fish apparently, so it's one price for two fish, another price for four (sadly I doubt that there's a refund for the no-fish angler). We're off to Arlington reservoir which looks big, even on Google Maps, and compared with the waters I normally fish is going to feel enormous.

Stay in touch.

Exhibit B

2008-05-28T01:47:00.000-07:00

Yes, it's a very small trout. And if you look closely at its mouth you'll see not a fly but the remains of a single red maggot. This takes us back to the dark days when the close season was still enforced (I'm in favour of bringing it back by the way) and money-grubbing riparians would stock their waters with a few tiny trout so that anglers like me - who had no patience and didn't appreciate the importance of having to wait for things, and that anticipation usually makes something more worthwhile - would 'fish for trout' in the close season. And so what if we happened to get a netful of sleepy tench and carp? I'm embarrassed to even think about it.

Anyway, I caught it. Float fished maggot, and my second recorded trout. Notice too the size of that net mesh - if nothing else that tells you how old the photo is.

Exhibit A

2008-05-27T01:24:00.000-07:00

For those who doubt my trouting credentials, I present this, my first recorded fish. It was from a tiny burn in Scotland on freelined worm. My technique was simple. I'd let the worm roll downstream and then retrieve it as if I was spinning. I caught dozens of little brown (brook?) trout like this, though what they were thinking of....

The rod was a 7' spinning rod from the Green Shield Stamps catalogue, and the trout ended up on my plate, cooked by auntie Margaret. The stream I remember like it was yesterday.

What a fool believes

2008-05-25T09:49:00.001-07:00

I last went fly fishing more than 10 years ago. A private stretch of either the Test or the Itchen (fly anglers bash their heads against the nearest wall in disbelief that I'm unable to remember which). I taught myself to cast about 20 feet and set off. I bent my landing net handle, I remember that. And the guy I was with caught a grayling. I saw some trout and cast to them, but they showed not the slightest interest. I can't remember what flies were used - though obviously they weren't mine.

Anyway, I was heartened recently by Sheringham who maintained that one only needs a couple of flies to make a decent stab at fly fishing. As this new and strange world opens before me, that's what I'm hanging on to.