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Urban Bonanza And A Strange Evening

Another lunchtime finish on Friday - I think I've only fished once in the morning before work so far this season. Tom was working at home and would be joining me later on, I had already planned my afternoon and knew where I wanted to fish.

There is a section on the urban river I fish that remains relatively untouched, this is because it is penetrable; concrete banks encased by a canopy of tree branches and a barricade of brambles at the top of the banks, means it cannot be fished from the bank. During the early part of the season you can see a good number of fish before the leaves obscure the view so there ought to be fish around. Fishing here also gave me an excuse to use my much favoured six foot rod, that said side casting would still be the order of the day.

Walking downstream to just beyond the trees I spotted a rather nice grayling, at least for this part of the river. Easing into the river above the fish; obstructions meant a traditional upstream approach was impossible. Standing in the edge of the river I quietly set up while allowing my surroundings to settle.

Ahead of me and across the far side a fish rose directly above a small bush that hung over the river's surface. Unable to refuse a rising fish I tied on a quill bodied cdc shuttlecock, a small trout threw itself on to the hook. The rises stopped after that, but I guess a fish is a fish.

Turning around and moving downstream a little I took the shuttlecock off and replaced it with a Utah Killer Bug, I find this a devastating pattern for grayling all year round. First cast landed the fly upstream and to the side, I watched as the grayling drifted side-wards and engulfed the fly. A firm lift gave way to the sinuous gyrating fight so typical of grayling; held in my hand it was a pristine male fish of about thirteen inches, defiantly holding its dorsal up, a great start.

Climbing back out of the river a very short walk took me to the beginning of my intended spot, a cautious clamber down a four foot concrete bank started things off. I spooked a couple of very small trout that kindly shot downstream as I waded slowly over to the left bank. Ahead of me a branch thick with leaves blocked my view, using it to my advantage I stalked forward using it as a screen. As I stood behind the branch I could see two fish a couple of yards in front. With the UKB still tied on I executed possibly one of the shortest bow and arrow casts ever, a small grayling intercepted the fly as it drifted towards me. Pulling the fish downstream quickly and releasing it allowed me to repeat the proceedure, landing another small trout.

Unable to see clearly in to the water ahead of me to took off the UKB and tied in a size 16 All Purpose Terrestrial, with all the cover any fish ahead of me should be used to small things dropping in the surface. Wading slowly up produced a few more trout with many more spooked, the low slow flows not helping things, perhaps I'd be better visiting earlier in the season, normally the river here moves along briskly.

At the very top a small weir forms a convenient boundary, it is often quite productive but again the low flows and excessive weed made the pool virtually inhabited except for a plump ten inch fish which was the biggest trout from the urban river.

I moved upstream to another weir, this one generally being very productive. As I reached the pool I could see a small group of roach holding station in quite a flow over gravel in shallow water. It was one of these that I caught first, not big but absolutely perfect. Then followed a succession of small trout and another good-sized grayling that disappeared before I could take a picture. As I left the pool my tally was thirteen trout, three grayling and a roach, superb sport.

Walking back towards the car a spotted a couple of large trout milling about in an over-wide, slow section of river. Keeping low on he high bank I was crafty enough to get the klink and dink out near one of them, as the JP Pupa slowly sank I watched as the fish swam and sucked in the fly. Despite my fly line hanging over a thin branch it didn't impede in the strike, though maybe it did as the fly fell out after a few seconds, I was pretty gutted really that fish was easy over two pounds, oh well I don't win them all.

By this point it was time for me to meet Tom, after a fifteen minute drive I arrived at our bottom-most fly beat; I waited a while before Tom showed up. We walked the end of the beat, I had changed rods, taking my Lexa with me and intending to set up a french leader, Tom had his 8' four weight and opted to fish dries, we agreed to use which ever rod suited the particular bit of water we were fishing.

After faffing around looking at the very bottom end of the beat we settled on a short glide below a pool on a sharp bend. We saw many small dark caddis fluttering in little swarms, Tom tied on a dark deer hair winged caddis with a hares ear body. After many casts and a couple of missed rises, Tom caught a grayling, a great start for him. I fished a lot of water before I too finally caught a grayling using the French leader, another followed; although we had seen trout, so far there was not a sniff from one.

It wasn't until we fished a deep pool did we see the only trout of the evening. Tom had fished first without success and I persevered eventually being rewarded. Using the French leader again I changed the point fly to a 3mm tungsten bead JP Pupa, the pool being particularly deep. Although the fish wasn't huge at sixteen inches it was very welcome and provided a great scrap on the three weight Lexa.

More than satisfied we skirted a lot of river, most sections are bank to bank weed and low flows meant a lot of water was devoid of fish. Arriving at another deep pool, we could see many fish ahead of us against the light sandy bottom. This pool is quite long in comparison to most on the river, what I'd consider a proper pool in the traditional sense, though it doesn't have a shallow tail. The grayling frustrated Tom, the trout were still conspicuous in their absence but he did manage a couple more grayling. After unsuccessfully trying the head of the pool a large trout shot past as we waded through, really should have put more effort it.

By now it was getting dark, we tried a pool that has fished well previously, last time I fished there, there was a cracking medium olive hatch. With the river so low and lacking flow the dynamics of the pool had changed, either way nothing moved and we walked up on to the riffle above. Ahead of this was a long stretch of generally uniform channel and flow. The light had almost gone, Tom and I have been talking about glow in the dark flies, a la Glen Pointon. Tom was the first to experiment, a glow in the dark post klinkhamer the first offering. More just to see what the fly looked like on the water Tom had half a dozen casts in the smooth water ahead of us. One drift was quietly interrupted by a tiny rise in the middle of the river, Tom lifted in to the fish and we were both left in shock as the rod jagged ferociously, the line parted quickly, the only evidence that remained was a boil in the surface that faded as it drifted down in the current. That concluded the end of our evening, on the walk back to the car we couldn't help but talk of that fish and the comparative absence of trout, a rather strange evening.

Urban Variety

A planned trip to Bedford to fish a section of the River Great Ouse called the New Cut didn't quite go to plan. Having fished here in the past and caught a wide range of coarse species I have always used bait, I really wanted to use a fly and from what I remembered of the river French leader techniques would work well. Arriving with fevered expectation I crossed a bridge and was greeted by a strong clear flow; the river looked in fantastic condition, the gravel sparkling, the ranunculas bright green and swaying.

Scouting several spots I found a dark pool, its depth dark and inviting, feeding my imagination at what might be cruising in the shadow. Unfortunately while looking at a notice to check the day ticket prices I found to my horror the stretch was now season ticket, feeling a little devastated I had to quickly change plans; I didn't have £43 for the ticket, nor the inclination to pay that either as I doubted I would fish here enough to warrant the cost.

Tom was due to meet me in Bedford as he works nearby - a major reason for choosing the venue - I told him about the change of plans and I headed in the direction of our club waters. Knowing Tom would be a couple of hours behind me I headed towards the urban stretch. We fished there on Sunday evening during persistent rain and didn't fair particularly well although we didn't blank and I caught a rather nice brownie. Due to all the rain during the afternoon, on top of what had fallen over the last few days the river was coloured and became murkier during the evening.

A dark trout from Sunday evening

Arriving at the river I was pleased to see clarity had returned with an increase in flow the river has been desperate for. Setting up with a Hends camou leader on my Lexa I headed towards the pool below a surface water outflow. I could see a number of dace, trout and the occasional perch and chub, nothing particularly big, the largest trout perhaps going over a pound.

As I set up, the surface became alive with rises, with the fish cruising around the pool taking invisible items from the surface. With this change in conditions I chose a size 20 CDC shuttlecock - simply tied with an olive dyed peacock quill abdomen, a tiny ball of dubbing at the thorax and finished off with a healthy tuft of CDC to keep it afloat. After missing a couple of speedy rises the first fish landed was a feisty dace followed by pricking two other fish, the pool went quiet after that so I moved on.

Next to the outflow a bridge spans the river, the water running below flows over a smooth concrete bottom - not known for its fish holding properties. A tall sloping weir ends directly above the bridge, many holes within the weir slope create upwellings at the base. I spotted a trout earlier in one of the upwellings while looking down from the bridge, it was big enough to have noticed. A few casts into the boiling water with a JP Pupa saw the indicator stop as it traveled downstream, a firm lift attached the fish to the line. Despite the shallow water the fish stayed close, using its power it tried the reach the safety of the hole at the bottom of the concrete weir, the Lexa subduing every lunge and surge. Once in the net I was left surprised at the size of the trout, great condition and a chunky handful.

A small trout caught from the outflow pool after the larger fish from under the bridge.

Above the weir the river is canal like, constricted within concrete banks, ribbon weed grows from the silted bottom - this is coarse fish territory. There used to be a great number of trout in this part of the river, many over four, five pounds, in the past I saw even bigger, those days long gone now. I could see quite a number of roach as well as a couple of chub and trout. I managed two roach before everything refused to look at the flies.

Roach are a rare capture for me on a fly, this was a nice example.

A Short Afternoon In The Rain

I finished work at lunchtime on Wednesday; after an almost shocking evening on Monday when Tom and I nearly blanked I really wanted to give a new section of river a real go.

The river is quite narrow here and the bank side vegetation encroaches on the water taking up more room. As I arrived it started to rain - the occasional shower drifted over during the afternoon - but thankfully it wasn't particularly windy allowing my to use my six foot two weight.

Due to the intimate nature of the river this far into the season I opted to keep things simple and nothing is as simple as a single dry-fly. I have found the trout to be free-rising, even if nothing is hatching. I've been so impressed this season by the effectiveness of Bob Wyatt's Deer Hair Emerger I find myself automatically reaching for a size twelve to tie on my tippet; it is fast becoming my one fly - for fishing in the surface at least.

One that Tom lost

I started above an almost impenetrable tangle of trees, ahead of me lay a tantalising run, clearer and more open than the rest of the river I fished. Tom hooked a lovely looking fish after we spotted it rise on Monday. A well placed cast in the same area saw my DHE confidently taken, much to my surprise it didn't turn out as big as I thought it was but nevertheless I was off to a start. I spooked a small fish as I walked upstream passing through a veritable jungle, certainly no chance of catching that, not with a fly anyway.

Passing under a rail bridge, a pool the other side underneath a sycamore had a couple of rising fish Monday evening. No risers this time but that didn't stop a feisty fifteen inch brownie from taking the fly. A quick couple of pics and I moved on round the corner.

The river now set into a series of small pools and deep holes sectioned by short shallow riffles. Each little hole or pool generally relinquished a trout or two, but some failed to provide to the expectation given, maybe next time those empty spots will yield.

The river can be very intimate in places

I fished for just over two hours and caught twelve trout, a rather pleasing result especially considering Monday's near disaster.

A good fish leaves me puzzled

Here's and interesting one for you. A fish I caught on the 1st July is a repeat capture of a fish originally caught 15th May. I had measured the fish at 17" using measuring markers on my rod and working out the length at home with a tape measure; incidentally the trout weighed 2lb 6oz and was in great condition. I caught it from a small hole in and undercut bank with overhanging vegetation.

The 'old' lair

In peak condition

Unassuming and easily dismissed

The place where I caught the trout yesterday is 250 meters upstream, which I guess isn't far in real terms, but still a long way from what could be considered a prime lie. It's new lie is a slow deep run with undercut banks either side as well as the expected overhanging vegetation. I hooked and lost a superb trout on the 3rd of June in the same lie, but I'm not so sure this is that same fish; the one I lost looked a lot bigger and I got several good looks at it before it broke off. My regular fishing partner Steve also hooked and lost a fish - the same one I think - and we caught that on camera.

Steve hooking and losing a big trout

I have tried to tempt this fish every time I have fished this venue - without success. Yesterday I found it feeding steadily on small items in the surface film. Not seeing anything in particular drifting past me.

Some footage of the trout feeding

 I tied on a size 16 All Purpose Terrestrial. It only took a few casts to tempt it, having learned from my previous loss I kept the rod tip low, so low it was often underwater; it fought hard, though not as hard as the one I lost. It wasn't until I sent pictures to Steve that I found out it was a repeat capture - he spotted it of course, I didn't even think this would be a fish from downstream.

Paul Proctor's 'APT' All Purpose Terrestrial

Using the measuring markers on my rod, I worked out at home it was 18 1/2", now I'm no biologist but it's safe to assume a trout is not going to grow an inch and a half in six weeks; strangely though the trout appeared to have lost weight and wasn't as plump as before - I need to refine my measuring techniques.

All that remains is to see whether this is the fish that haunted me or there is another, bigger one laying in the undercut.

Fishes Galore

I work with some great people - Lee, one of my colleagues covered my morning shift for me on Friday last week allowing me to fish all day. I was due to fish the smaller club river with Steve, which would have been his first trip to this river. Due to unforeseen circumstances Steve couldn't make it and this gave me the chance to spend the day on the river I fished the end of May.

I spent such a short amount of time there and was left captivated by the river, I couldn't wait to go back. As I had the whole day, I left a little later, missing the rush-hour traffic which gave me a much more pleasant drive. Arriving at the river it was de-ja-vue, conditions were very similar although the river looked a little lower, despite being spring fed it suffers during dry spells.

I crept into the river and crossed to the far bank; I find setting up whilst standing relatively still allows the river to settle around you and it doesn't take long for feeding fish to reveal themselves. As before I set up my self built six foot 2/3#, I can't get enough of this rod, I love it, and I love using the Waterworks ULA Purist with it.

I could see quite a few fish rising ahead of me, some were sipping, others launching full-scale attacks on late mayflies hatching off. The surface film was covered in fluff from seeds being released upstream, among the debris I could see the occasional aphid and suspected they were providing the main feast. As much as I love fishing aphid patterns I feared it would be a struggle to see such a small fly with all the rubbish on the surface. To make things easier for me and also because it is such an effective pattern I tied on a size twelve Deer Hair Emerger; this fly has probably caught the biggest majority of fish for me so far this season - it is deadly.

I slowly made my way up the river casting at either seen fish. or those revealing themselves with frequent rises. First fish was a plump little trout of around eight inches - I always relax more once that first fish is out of the way, no-one likes a blank. A small dace followed before I came across a larger trout that was feeding, the DHE ticked all the right boxes for this fish and a great scrap ensued. In such a confined river I was lead a merry dance as the fish tore all over the river mostly trying to get into the edges where trailing vegetation reached the water.

At twelve inches long, the trout was in great condition and clearly full of energy, as a result I had to move upstream a little and allow the river to settle down from all the commotion. Ahead of me was a deep pool on a bend and I failed to catch a single fish here last time, I had learned my error and approached with much more caution. I had caught and released around four or five trout by the time I reached the head of the pool around the corner.

I missed a good fish that was tucked only inches away from the bank sat in the smallest of depressions. I had watched it rise several times and as I walked past it was obvious why it had taken station there; a foam line consisting of a single file of bubbles providing a steady stream of morsels drifting down the current.

I saw a trout I recognised from my last visit, scales shimmering like gold flakes across its back makes it very distinctive, I couldn't tempt it this time. Missing a couple of really small trout, I found a small group of chub hanging around a slack part of the river, catching one sent the others in to a frenzy as they charged around scaring everything else. I spent some more time resting the river as I tried to squeeze past the frightened fish and stood still waiting for things to calm back down.

Like a small doorway, an opening in front of me was surrounded by a horrifying tangle of brambles and branches, an exact cast was needed otherwise you will certainly be fetching stuck flies. A small trout could be seen against the light bottom, hanging mid-water occasionally tilting up to take items from the surface. First cast failed to tempt it, second cast went wayward into the vegetation, thankfully it didn't remain there allowing me to seduce the small fish, however, it didn't stay on.

The river above flows over a shallow gravel bar hitting the bank and flowing hard alongside it, the bottom worn down to clay by the flow and back-lighting all the fish that lay above it - great for fish spotting. I spooked a good-sized trout and watched as it shot past me - at least it went downstream.

Another trout of similar size was stationed in a small depression near to the bank, the current flowing over its head bringing food. I watched as it darted out from its lie to intercept food. My cast landed short, not that it mattered, the trout turned on its tail and took the fly as it faced downstream. Shooting up over the gravel it used the velocity of the fast current to propel it back downstream with ferocity, heading for a tangle of sunken roots and trailing weed. Taking a few minutes I finally drew the fish over the net. Too slippery to take a picture the fish made twelve inches - they fight far harder than they ought to for their size.

As I retied my tippet and a new fly, I could hear Joe calling my name, he had seen my car and came down looking for me. I told him of my success and failures and he was surprised to hear that I had been fishing for four hours, such was the slow speed of my travel. He offered to take me and show me some of the water held by the club he is a member of - the club is generous allowing a member to rod share with a guest. Joining the river above a small weir, we waded up-river, there were a few fish ahead of where we entered the river, mostly dace, but there were one or two trout dotted about. I missed a couple of dace and trout - very poor angling on my part.

We found a large trout lying close to the near-side bank, despite several well placed casts the fish drifted away and hid under some weed. We trampled along a very overgrown bank, the river here was more a slow flowing lowland river, although it remained crystal clear. As we walked upstream the rivers pace quickened and the ribbon weed replaced with ranunculas. We changed our path from the bank to the river. As we walked the river we came across a small group of large fish, a shame we had already spooked them.

It wasn't until we reached a weir below a ford that I caught a fish, two in fact - one small, the other larger; we finished there and followed a road back to where we started. Joe dropped me off by my car as he had run out of time and had to head off. I returned to the river where I had left and crept back into the water.

Above the gravel bar a large tree over hangs the rivers surface, tickling the film with the tips of its leaves. A trout was rising underneath, not an impossible cast but tricky enough. Several attempts were needed before the fish took the DHE. Lifting firmly, the fish immediately and savagely accelerated down. the Purist singing sweetly and line was stripped off at speed. Unfortunately the fish was too powerful and I too slow, the tippet snapping like the proverbial cotton.

I spooked a couple more fish as I passed through the trailing branches, ahead was a lovely riffle, last time I fished I spooked fish from the whole length. I was determined not too fail this time, a trout of around ten inches launched itself at the fly moments after it landed, a brief fight let left me feeling pleased as I really wanted to catch a fish from this run. By the time I had reached the end of the short twenty yard section I had caught three fish in total.

The next pool up only produced one fish, it had spooked all the others which was a shame as I managed quite a few last time. This fish had an interesting black mark near its tail, an old wound that had healed with a darker pigment.

I had now reached where the river runs at the bottom of several gardens, the river is really attractive along this stretch, the river is slightly wider and shallower as a result, ranunculas carpets the clean gravel, swaying in the current. There were a lot of fish in this area - chub, dace and the occasional trout - most were holding next to the reeds on the near bank; they provide a decent overhang and the fish generally swam under for protection.

Athripsodes cinereus - Brown Silverhorn

I caught a number of dace with the odd trout and chub mixed in, one notable trout that needed some effort in tempting, fell to a size 22 (old sizing) klinkhamer. As I reached the top of this part the river flowed under a tunnel of trees. A good swarm of caddis were zooming up and down the river, I could catch them easily enough, but getting them from the net to my container proved problematic, although I succeeded in the end and secured two specimens in my film canister. I later identified them as Athripsodes cinereus Brown Silverhorn after taking some photographs.

I changed over to a Balloon caddis and caught two more trout from under the trees. By this point it was time to leave, it had been a long and extraordinary day, I caught upwards of thirty fish, mostly trout with a good number of dace and a few chub.

Days like this are good for you, because although I do like to pursue larger than average fish, sometimes you need to catch a net full, just to recharge the desire.

Last Of The Mohicans

A very delayed post for some reason - I think I just forgot to write it.

A lunchtime finish on the 3rd saw me head off to use a guest ticket I had won in a raffle, for a club whose waiting list I am on. To cut a long story short I wasted a couple of hours looking at various bits of water; I struggled to find anywhere worth fishing as a lot of the river was over grown both inside and out of the water. Access was restricted on one of the sections I looked at due to a barbed wire fence that created a buffer patch - great for the river, but not so good for the wader-wearing angler who incidentally was fishing a river with a no wading rule!

I conceded defeat and headed to the smaller club river that has been so kind to me recently; I had permission to fish late so it didn't bother me that I didn't get there until late afternoon. I made my way to the bottom of the long glide where I had fished last week with Tom. I knew there were fish here and the number of mayfly spinners in the air and flitting along the rivers surface gave me hope of good sport.

Oliver Edwards' Mohican Mayfly

The afternoon was bright with a little wind, there wasn't any surface activity while I set up, despite the spinners laying eggs and a reasonable number of duns hatching, but I was hopeful that the Mohican would do it's thing and bring the fish up. I fished up the glide without so much as a swirl or missed take, it wasn't looking good. Even the pool at the top failed to produce anything, and the pool above that too failed. I was starting to get desperate.

JP Pupa - Scruffy Dubbing caddis green

By this point I was standing just below the horse's lair, not really wanting to deliberately recapture a fish I desperately felt the need to hook, let alone land a fish. The ever reliable JP Pupa tied with a standard copper coloured bead with a Scruffy Dubbing caddis green body produced a fish first cast. You simple can't beat visually watching a fish take your fly and after a brief and unconvincing scrap a plump 15" fish lay in the net, not the horse I was expecting but it saved me from the dreaded blank. Checking with previous pictures this fish was indeed a repeat capture, caught earlier in the season in the main pool below the horse's lair.

Moving up the river I continued in vain having retied the Mohican back on. This section had yealded several good fish but gave me nothing that afternoon. Making my way upstream, I couldn't help wonder if anything was swimming in its current, I still hadn't seen a rise yet. A little further up a rise gave me encouragement, after a couple more rises I knew there was a fish I could target. A sprightly 12" fish rewarded me for my perseverance.

Leaving the river and walking a short distance, skipping what I consider fairly unproductive water I slipped into the river at the bottom end of another long glide. I don't know what made me but I stood in the edge of the river and waited for a few minutes. It wasn't long before a very large fish exposed itself. Rising close to the bank it moved with purpose taking spinners and duns without fuss, I watched, barely further than six meters downstream. Moments like this make you appreciate how essential a quite approach getting to and entering the river, I really was that close to it.

A few casts proved to be too short, anxious to not spook the fish I gave it a rest while watching. Lengthening more line it took a couple more casts before the fly landed where I wanted. A confident rise was met with a firm lift and the fish was on. Boring deep into the undercut on my near-side the fish tore up and down, doubling over my little six footer. I saw the trout more than once, it was colossal. I remained calm and met its every move with a counter move, side-strain was my allie. However, as with all big trout, this one knew what it was doing, finding a small but thick branch in the undercut it had successfully caught my line around it. I was still in contact and remained confident, this may have been my downfall.

Tightening down to the fish, I made a fatal error. Initially it was the furled leader that was entangled around the branch, the result of my shortening my line meant the tippet was now in contact with it, the furled leader ultimately being stronger than the mono. All this was happening inches away from me, I could see the trout trying to get away - then it happened. I watched without it registering as the trout shot off, a few seconds later the realisation hit, it was gone. As I snapped and pulled the branch out before throwing it into the bank I vowed we would meet again, I was confident of it.

Surprisingly there was little dejection flowing through me, it was just one of those things - some you win, others you lose. Tying on another fly I fished out the run missing a take, the deep pool failed to provide any comfort.

Foam-Winged Mayfly Spinner

Once again I left the river and walked a short distance before rejoining it a little further upstream. A small trout jumped after a fly but I couldn't get it to take and prospecting up the run and around the corner left me wanting. At the head of a small pool a fish sipped flies with such regularity I wondered if there were more than one. Tying on one of the foam-winged spinners that had given me so much frustration only the week before, I wondered if it was a good idea - I vowed I would simply lift harder, in case the wings were masking the point and preventing the hook from penetrating.

Several well positioned casts failed to lure the trout as it took flies around the spinner. I was beginning to have doubts whether it was mayfly spinners it was taking; I spent some more time observing. There were the very occasional olive spinner drifting down the current, but their numbers were dwarf by the larger mayflies. I persevered and eventually my persistence was rewarded, a much more powerful lift than I would normally firmly attached the fish to my hook - and it held. I was led a merry dance by this fish - the trout in this river love their undercuts - but the little six foot rod performed beautifully.

Expecting the fish to be the 16"er I had caught before from this pool, I was pleasantly surprised at the size of the fish that lay in the net. It measured 18" but was a long lean fish, by the end of the summer I'm sure it will be reaching three. However this trout was nothing compared to the one I lost earlier, I reckon that one was easily over 20" and looked fuller in the body, possibly a near four pounder! I'm not sure how I will catch it, the mayfly now over my job will be much harder, but I am focused and relishing the challenge. Bring it on!

Fishing a little further on without success I quickly cut my losses and headed home. Despite losing that monster you can't go home after catching such a splendid fish and my biggest so far.