Big Chalkstream Grayling.

Grayling are a seasonal favourite of mine and I delight in fishing for them in small, intimate chalk streams. This season I’ve had the pleasure to fish on some of the finest, and I have managed to beat my personal best twice, whilst witnessing my fishing companion and good friend Nick catch some truly monstrous fish indeed.

My most recent trip was to a lightly fished stretch of a small yet infamous chalk stream, one famous for it's monster Grayling. After an absurdly early start followed by a torturous time tailing a slow moving lorry on a single carriageway, Nick and I finally arrived at the fishery a little before 8am. We met John, the keeper, who kindly made for us a cup of tea and gave good discourse on fishing. Refreshed and eager to get going, throwing on waders, waistcoats etc. we beat a track down to the fishing hut. The hut was located directly downstream of a bridge that straddled the main channel at around the middle of the beat. The water cascaded under the bridge, pouring into a deep and mysterious pool. A monster grayling lay for certain in amongst the turbulent depths, jostling for position no doubt with mighty salmon, and large trout. I love deep pools like this one, especially when on a small chalk stream, in the gin clear water, one revels in the imaginations that not being able to see the bottom brings about.

Making our way up the top section of the beat we were first presented with what looked to be a fish, lying lazily on the gravels several yards upstream of the bridge, on closer inspection it turned out to be a rather fishy looking piece of weed, wafting tail like in the current. Nick and I tried our hands in several tempting pools and glides without success. As the sun rose ever higher behind us the pale gravels of the river bed were illuminated. Peering into the water we could clearly see that the pools we had fished were seemingly empty.

Walking, heron like, up the bank, keeping a low profile, we made our way up stream. Our combined gaze was directed into studying every nuance of the river bed. A few more fishy clumps of ranunculus were sited before, at last an object that must've been a fish. I stealthily manoeuvred into a position from which to cast to it whilst Nick, convinced I was seeing things, spouted reminiscence about the clump of very convincing weed that we had spotted earlier that morning. The object in question was located in a difficult spot to cast to, just downstream of some willow branches trailing in the river, and in a depression in the river bed. The branches made things difficult, the river here being lined by willow and alder, all eager to snatch at my fly. I managed several good presentations, a fly change, several more, and then a tangle resulting from my back cast snagging. I was about to give up and admit that Nick was right about the true identity of this instream anomaly. Just as I started to stand up I saw a flicker of red from the object as it raised a fin. I dropped down, uttering to Nick

“It's a big grayling, that's no weed.”

“I'm still not entirely convinced, I'm 90% certain it's weed.” was Nick's casual reply.

I endeavoured to untangle my flies, but it was hopeless, so I let Nick have a few casts whilst I cut and tied up again.

“Okay, maybe it is a fish” Nick proclaimed as he moved into the position previously occupied by myself. “but I don't think it's a grayling, it looks too dark, perhaps a sea trout, or a small salmon.” After a lot of effort, several turns each, and several fly changes, the mysterious fish finally succumbed. Nick pitched his nymph, and watched as it sank through the water. The only indication of the take was the disappearance of the orange bead of the nymph as it drifted past the fish. The fish didn't move a muscle, if a less visible fly had been used it would no doubt have spat out the fly without us even noticing it had been taken. Nick struck, and to our delight the object shook it's head and flared it's large dorsal fin in surprise. The fish fought well, and it was only when I netted it that it's full scale was realised. Never before had I seen so large a grayling. It barely fitted into my net, and one couldn't grasp a hold of it using one hand alone. This dwarfed all expectation, it was the fish of a lifetime. And to think, we could so easily have dismissed it as being a small clump of ranunculus. It weighed 3lb 2oz, a new personal best for Nick. After a few pictures the old fish was released, swimming strongly off to sulk in the shade of the far bank.

Moving upstream, we came to the top pool of the fishery a little faster than anticipated. In the top pool were two large grayling, chasing one another around, exhibiting territorial behaviour, the likes of which I'd never before observed in grayling. I entered the river a little downstream and stealthily waded into a good position. Nick(who was content after having just caught is biggest grayling to give me exclusive rights to these fish)clambered into a bankside tree that over looked the pool, telling me when and where the fish settled during their short breaks before another chase began. Several chases later, the fish settled opposite Nick, I flicked out my nymph, and found my self connected to rather a large fish. A good fight ensued, resulting in Nick expertly netting my largest grayling to date, a fine specimen of 2lb 10oz.

Having both smashed our Pb's, we thought it a good time to retreat to the hut for lunch. Strolling back down the beat, both Nick and I were once more fooled by the aforementioned fishy looking weed! I've never had lunch in a hut that overlooked such a pretty pool, such mystery upon which to ponder whilst enjoying a good sandwich.

In the afternoon we worked our way up the lower section of the beat. It yielded no more fish; a very large grayling was sighted in a slow section above a small bridge, but couldn't be caught, casually swimming off into the obscurity of the increasing surface glare.

The evening came and we had the opportunity to fish a beat upstream of the one we'd been on. This beat was fantastically varied, with deep pools, glides and riffles. It looked to be ideal grayling habitat. Two more fish were caught, both by Nick, both from the same spot, and both taking him, with force, downstream. The first one, a fish a little under 2lbs jumped at least three or four times before succumbing to the skilful playing of my companion.

It was a good end to a good grayling season, the details of which I shall attempt to condense into my next entry.