A day out from revision.

Having worked flat out for my up and coming A level exams I couldn't help but give myself last saturday off when my fishing friend Nick offered a trip down to a nice exclusive stretch of a local chalkstream. I did deserve a break I thought, all those hours of work, besides, biology is a subject that has as much relevance on the bank as it does in the class room.

The weather was lovely, albeit a little windy. The stream was up a little and flowing well owing to the recent heavy rainfall in the south. Perhaps the river held this much water prior to the days of abstraction, I'd bet it held even more! The fishing was superb, both Nick and I fished the duo with devastating effect. We entered the river by a bridge, fishing our way upstream, and very quickly losing count of the number of small trout and grayling we'd caught. The EA undertook significant habitat work here around three years ago and the fish seem to be thriving, spawning successfully on the newly put in gravels. The bulk of the trout we caught were only a year or two old, reassuring proof of successful spawning in the winters following the work.

In one pool I managed to capture my largest ever grayling on a dry fly, a fish that would probably have made 1-1.5 pounds in it's autumn condition. Being out of season and clearly recovering from spawning it was swiftly unhooked in the water and released without weighing. The fish fell to a klinkhammer expertly tied by Nick, a pattern I shall almost certainly steal for future use.

Many fish were caught and much fun was had. With my last exams on tuesday and the coarse fishing season beginning tomorrow I shall be spending my summer trying to temp all manner of species with bait and flies and shall hopefully have much more time to update this blog.

My first seatrout and salmon flies.

I've been so busy with school work that my fishing has unfortunately had to be put on the back burner. I have however been obsessively fly tying, filling up my fly box with various offerings that will hopefully one day tempt a few sea trout or salmon. All are tied on size 14 partridge, wilson hooks.

Despite the mountains of revision for my final A level exams, I still find tine to tie a few. It makes a nice, refreshing revision break...

River Taff and Rhondda

 The only freestone rivers I'd fished until Sunday were a benign stretch of the Monnow and a small tributary of it called the Honddu, both of which were fairly tame. On sunday I fished the Taff and Rhondda. This was my first time fishing and wading in such powerful rivers; I was completely out of my depth.

Nick and I made the journey across the Severn bridge to fish with a friend, Dan, who regularly fished the Taff. The river Taff was enormous! Much larger than I had envisaged, and far more powerful than I could possibly have imagined. Recent rain had swollen the river, and although it was dropping it was still a foot or so above normal levels. We started out fishing a beat where Dan and Nick had experienced past success, however owing to the very powerful water it proved impossible to access any of the good holding spots.

Enjoying no luck in the first section, we moved on, fishing a section further up. Dan managed a nice, albeit out of season, grayling on a nymph; the nymphs we were using were very heavy, 3-4mm tungsten beads, my little 8ft 3# fly rod could barely cast them! Moving up this beat I managed to find a few fish holding in a large slack, catching 2 grayling and a small trout in successive casts. The fishing I was told was not as good as it usually is, although before we moved on once more I heard shouts from Nick coming from the direction of the slack I'd found. He had hooked an enormous trout! The fish went 2lb 6oz when landed, and was a beautiful cock fish, with a handsomely kyped jaw and an iridescent blue sheen on gill plate. The fish's tail had a notch worn out from spawning. It's good to know that this attractive wild fish had been busy siring the next generation of Taff trout. Nick has a knack of plundering the pools of others, and Dan will probably quite willingly second me on that.

With the Taff not quite fishing as well as usual we decided to have a go on one of its tributaries. The Rhondda, which is a significantly smaller river than the Taff, was in better shape after the recent rain. The entry to the river was interesting, jumping and clambering down miscellaneous old industrial structures. (The Rhondda was once a very heavily industrialised river, essentially an open industrial sewer.) The current was equal in power to that of the Taff in places, a very powerful river; thankfully only thigh-deep most of the time. I really struggled with the wading and found the fishing to be extremely difficult, having never come across “pocket water” before, and having little idea at first of where exactly I should be placing my nymphs. My short rod further restricted the areas I could fish. Nick and Dan, being experienced pick pocketers and possessing long rods and French leaders were quite happily fishing every inch of slacker water. Dan managed an absolutely lovely trout of around 1 ¼ lbs from a pocket behind a boulder, it fought hard in the flow. Quite possibly one of the prettiest fish I've seen. Shortly after this my waders began to spring leaks, I felt a very uncomfortable cold trickle coming in from a hole that had developed in the crotch. My phone (which was snugly in the pocket of my jeans) soon died, informing me of its plight by vibrating constantly until finally giving up.

After what seemed like an age of difficult fishing and wading I managed my first Rhondda trout, a small but beautiful fish. The Rhondda was a truly challenging river for me, being so unused to such boisterous flows and tricky wading. There were times when crossing the stream that Nick had to save me from falling to a watery death (a slight exaggeration, but it was a perilous situation none the less) I found it difficult to concentrate on wading and fishing at the same time, I often stood too long in one spot for lack of confidence in my ability to move safely a few steps upstream!

Towards the end of the day I thought that I was getting the hang of the wading, although Nick informed me that I still looked like a drunkard in the water. I managed one more fish that day, a lovely brown trout of around ½ – ¾ of a pound.

By the end of the day my waders were so full of water that as we walked back to the car spurts of water spewed from holes by the boot, and I had to drain the boots, in the same vane as emptying out a full wellington boot! There was a dodgy moment where I had to change into dry clothing, using little more than a car door to save my dignity in the middle of the very urban Pontypridd!

In spite of being an extremely difficult and at times frustrating day's fishing, it was extremely enjoyable and refreshing to fish on rivers so different from anywhere I've ever fished before. It was a real eye opener. Freestone rivers are fast becoming my favourite kind of river, their varied nature, power, and changing character prove captivating. The fishing itself was amongst the most challenging I've yet to experience. 

A condensed season of Grayling fishing.

This season's Grayling fishing has been my best so far, with a number of productive outings and several large fish caught. Owing to the constraints of A levels, and a lack of fishing funds I've had less outings than I'd have liked, often going for months without casting a line. This however simply meant that those special occasions upon which I got to fish were savoured all the more. Each trip brought new challenges, and I feel that I've learned a lot as a fly fisher through my grayling outings.

My Grayling season got off to a flying start back in mid October with a trip to a prime tributary of the River Test. The river was perfect, it was everything a chalk stream should be, and the aroma of water mint permeated the bank side scene as it was crushed underfoot. The day was one of glorious sunshine, making fish spotting easy. Many large Grayling were drifting, ghost like on the pale chalk, and what's more, could be seen to be feeding. On several occasions I saw large Grayling tilt their snouts down, causing a small plume of silt to rise as they sucked in nymphs from the river bed.

Nick opened the season with what was then the biggest Grayling I'd ever seen. It was a very dark fish, weighing in at 2lb 11oz! It was the first victim of the day to a fly that is now legendary within certain fly fishing circles: the killer orange beaded nymph. This fly, with it's visible bead, was to prove itself time and time again as the day went on, and I believe, I may not of course be correct, that every Grayling mentioned to be hooked or caught by Nick during this expansive blog entry was on one of these nymphs.

After this wonderful start, Nick spotted a couple of large Grayling feeding in the outside of a bend behind extensive rushes on our bank. Nick, having already had a good fish, gave me the privilege of casting to them. Crouching behind the rushes, I catapulted a pink bug of my own creation out to the fish, which to my great surprise took it straight away. I struck into it, causing it to bolt downstream, taking line! If memory serves me right it even jumped! Nick could see the other fish still feeding, seemingly undisturbed by it's partners swift exit. He flicked out his nymph, and in no time at all we were both playing good Grayling in the same glide, his fish bolted down as well, overtaking mine. We landed the fish at the around same time, mine weighed 2lbs, a new Pb, and Nick's was a little under 2lbs, a good fish.

The day carried on in this vein, Nick landing countless large Grayling on his killer nymph (which was fast becoming a classic) and I landed several more good fish, all being around a pound in weight.

The season thus opened in fine style, and it went on...

My second and third trips of the season were to a stretch of the main River Test and the River Lambourn during a weekend in late November. 

The Test was remarkably low, it was at least 1foot lower than it probably should have been for the time of year. The low water though probably made the fishing a little easier, the fish being that bit more shoaled up, and easier to spot. Both Nick and I made good catches on nymphs. Nick catching at least one 2lber and catastrophically losing a fish that may well have topped 3lbs; I caught a dozen or so Grayling of up to 1 3/4lbs on the duo.

On the far bank, over a patch of clear gravel, we spotted a pair of what must've been salmon cutting their redds into the pale flinty gravels. It was a marvellous site, watching the fish tilt and kick, cleaning the gravels. We possibly even witnessing the spawning event itself.

Along with the subsurface action there was a reasonable hatch of small, pale up-winged flies, which as a keen naturalist and aspiring biologist I have to say, ashamedly, that I have no idea as to what species they were! I'm pleased to say that I managed to catch my largest Grayling on a dry fly, a fish of a pound and a quarter or so in weight. 

In one pool, memorably, there was a large pod of out sized stocky brown trout rising lazily, head and tail, to these small upwings. In amongst them were several grayling, also rising. As I cast my small dry into the pool, chancing my luck at the Grayling, Nick laughingly said “There is no way that your fly won't get taken by one of these trout.” As he said it, by a strange coincidence, a very large brownie nonchalantly swam over to my fly, fully intent on casually taking it. Raising the tip of my rod caused my fly to skate an inch or two away from the fish's open mouth, leaving one very confused trout, which rose, it's back breaking the surface, only to find it's intended morsel had disappeared. The fly continued on it's drift and into the mouth of a very welcome half pound Grayling!

The River Lambourn the next day was frightfully low, a comparison of pictures in the hut and the present water levels showed it to be at least 2 feet lower than it had been in the summer of 2007! The fish were extraordinarily sparse, and very difficult. Fishing the entire length of the fishery, which was a mile and a half if memory serves me well, we spotted precious few Grayling. 

The ones sighted were big, but proved near impossible. Nick hooked and lost one in the first pool we came to, this along with the loss of a very large Grayling and the landing of several out of season brown trout proved to be the sum total of fish caught during our stealthy creep up the beat. We even failed to catch a Grayling in a very promising hatch pool in the middle of the beat. There were supposedly two or three hatch pools, but owing to disrepair and worryingly low water levels the other two appeared as nothing more than deep, stagnant, weed filled pools.

A dog walker in a field nearby came down for a chat with us, seemingly surprised that anyone would bother fishing the river in it's present state. This walker spoke of the river in the recent past, before much of the abstraction had occurred. He spoke of a fast, gurgling stream, several feet deep and with a channel far larger than today's, at present the channel being choked by encroaching marginal weeds. Back then this stretch supported good populations of brown trout, running, he reminisced, to over two pounds in weight.

At the top of the fishery the river simply disappeared into an extensive marginal weed bed that appeared to dominate the entire channel from there on. Succession it seemed was moving on, bringing sharply to mind the fact that our chalk streams are not natural, quickly turning to marsh if left to their own devices. Neglect it seemed plagued this pretty little river, evident throughout in the rotting planks of the walkways and the hatches that were crumbling in disrepair.

The day almost over, and having reached the top end, we elected to fish the first pool once more, where we'd spotted the most Grayling on the way up. We took turns perching in a tree that overhung the pool, directing the other's casting to the fish, watching from the vantage point as the nymphs drifted past their targets.

I so happened to be lucky enough to hook and land one of these fish. It proved larger than I thought, weighing in at 1lb 14oz's, a monster from so small and slight a stream. 

From the tree I saw Nick's nymphs being taken numerous times, but failing to connect with the takes, Nick remained fishless that day. The fishing was ridiculously hard, the water barely flowing. The Grayling we managed to catch was the result of combined effort and team work, requiring every ounce of our collective experience, cunning and skill. I can now understand why the late Frank Sawyer always refused any invitations to fish for Grayling on the Lambourn, on the grounds that these fish are just “too darned hard to catch”.

Following the last trip, I was forced to put fishing aside for a few months and put in countless hours of work for my upcoming January exams. 

The exams were over by early February, and I enthusiastically accepted Nick's offer to accompany him to fish on another, thankfully easier, stretch of the Lambourn. This stretch was downstream of the neglected reaches, having recently received significant habitat improvements from the EA.Grayling were plentiful, both Nick and I catching around thirty fish each! The average size was small however, the bulk of the fish being around the 4-6inch mark, but larger fish were had, I myself taking a couple of fish that, if we had weighed them, would probably have made a pound or so in weight.

Snow lay on the ground, and there was a frosty chill in the air. I distinctly remember silently cursing absolutely everything whilst trying, and failing, to tie a three turn water knot several times with cold hands. The frustration was indeed immense.

Hopefully I'll be able to get out in the trout season before being forced by necessity to try and forget about fishing once more and study. 

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.