A Trout At Last

Today's, Bank Holiday, trip in search of trout was to the Rye. Although famous for it's trout, to the extent people will pay a small fortune to one of the exclusive clubs, this stretch is more of a coarse fishery with a few trout. A wander up and down the upper stretch showed little sign of insect life and nothing rising. A few speculative casts along the tree line failed to produce. The first sign of life was in front of a cattle drink. As I sat trying to see what the rising fish were taking I heard the familiar snort of cattle and sure enough they had turned up for a drink and not top nosey at me. At least they were calm, not like the lunatic beasts that were in the field last year.  I continued to the top of the stretch with out an luck. Returning to the cattle drink to find it empty and clear with the fish still rising. I suspected they were small fish from the splashy rises and staring down from the top of the bank I could see little bars of silver dashing up from the bottom to grab what ever they were feeding on. Classic grayling stuff. A spot of luncheon then on to the next stretch seemed a good idea.

By now there were a few uprights flitting about, along with a variety of other flying beasties. A couple of which landed on me long enough for a photo. A size 14 foam dun seemed about the right size.  a few speculative casts here and there produced nothing. Eventually A couple of trout were spotted rising to the uprights. They were in a particularly awkward spot between what use to be the bank and the new bank. A row of piles  marked what used to be the bank. I've had problems here before trying to land fish, but still if that's where they're rising so be it. Really it's no worse than casting close to the trees and their roots. First cast and I was in. Initially I had things under control, but then it decided to head between the piles. Of course I'd forgotten to switch the action cam on. Paddling upstream I managed to get the line from round the pile and play the fish in the 'proper' river channel. The next problem was the little scoop net I was carrying. Thankfully it was in the net second attempt. A rather silvery beast for this water around 17". Not bad for the first of the season. A couple of rather poor photos later and a rest in the net and it swam off strongly.

A couple of fish were rising above where I'd caught this one. The first cast saw a little 'un charge the fly. Don't know if I missed or it missed, both, but no contact was made. A few casts later and I was in the bit of willow on the bank just as a tout rose where my flay should have landed. Thankfully if fell out with out snagging. I then missed the take a few casts later as I was looking at the wrong fly. I gave it a rest while I had a drink. The fish was still rising though and a couple of casts later I was in, only for it to throw the hook  with it's first jump through the piles. Sadly I had to paddle through the swim to retrieve the fly from one of the piles. By now the fly life was petering out and despite a fair old wander didn't see another fish rise. Still it was nice to finally net a fish and a pretty decent one at that.

What You Up To

In the middle of the blistering heatwave that was Wednesday I headed up (and across) to Nidderdale. My intention was to fish a club stretch I'd not fished for donkey's years. Having parked up in an empty lay-by I crossed the rover and headed downstream to what I thought was the bottom of the stretch. On the way down the lack of insect life and the lack of rising fish was rather worrying, but iI hoped this would be rectified later on as things cooled.

Just before I entered the river I heard a shout of " What you up to". In my experience there are to two approaches by land owners when fishing in the wrong place. The aforementioned and the incoherent shouty rant. The later don't appear to want a confrontation and shout and rant from a distance in the hope you've gone by the time they get there. The former are generally perfectly amiable people who just want to know who you are and often will let you fish their bit anyway, especially when you explain you thought this was the club water. They will also often ask if there's anything worth catching and appear quite surprised when you tell them there is.

I then heard the " What you up to" call again, but still couldn't see anybody. Then they appeared, farmer and excitable collie puppy. on a length of bailing twine. Despite his repeated requests of " What you up to" the puppy seemed quite happy to ignore him. I had a bit of a natty with him, which wasn't very encouraging. He told me he was surprised to see me as you don't see many anglers up here these days which was not surprising as there didn't appear to be many fish in the river like there use to be. This did not bode well.

Not long after I came across my first rising fish taking gnats about a foot off an overhanging sycamore branch. The first cast was a bit short. The second snagged the alder behind me. As I wandered back to retrieve it the fly dropped to the water, turning round the fish was still rising and I managed a decent cast which was ignored. The fish then moved  up and across so was behind the branch. A slight change of angle and an accurate cast saw the fly taken as it hit the water. A strike saw the fly straight into the sycamore branch. Just too quick. There was no way that a simple pull was going to retrieve the fly so the swim was ruined as I paddled up to retrieve it.  I continued upstream with the odd speculative cast here and there again snagging an alder on the back cast, but never saw another fish rise by the time I was back opposite the  car.

As I paddle across the river to the car in order the get my drink which I'd forgotten to take a little boy popped his head over the wall. There then followed the sort of pointless, unwinnable, explanation from his parents as to way he couldn't go for a paddle like that mister. I received a Paddington style hard stare before he stomped back to the car still protesting.

I waded, stumbled and clambered my way upstream, tossing the odd fly into bits of pocket water before coming across some fish, in a large pool, rising to gnats. I spent a frustrating time try to hook one. Because of the dappled light it was hard to see the fly at times, and even when I could see it I just couldn't hit the bites. I gave up and continued upstream. The bluebells were still in reasonable nick up here, very few had gone over. As I sat staring at pool I thought I saw if fish rise in a moth landed on my hand. Nothing more moved in the pool so onward and upward.

Towards the top of the stretch, at least I think it was the top as I had no pone signal I couldn't consult the map, I found a very enticing pool.Sat among the garlic a fish or two would rise.  On with the action cam and into the water I had a few casts, but the fish stopped rising. A sandwich and cup of tea later and they were rising again. First cast and I was in, only for it to come adrift moments later. I waited and another fish started to rise on the other side. Action cam on and the fish stopped rising. Action came off and it started again. I know fish can detect minute electrical signals, but can they really detect the action cam. I tried again. this time the fish kept rising. There was clearly more than one in the pool as every now and then there would be several rises. No matter what I tried I could get a take. Still a couple of ducklings catching gnats at the top of the pool kept me amused while I persisted. Eventually the gnats disappeared and the rises stopped. The ducklings then headed to the bank in the direction of their parents quacks.

As it was getting late I started to head back downstream until I spotted another fish rising. A spectacular half-skagit under arm roll of the Italian school crashed to the water and put a stop to that. Further down a few uprights were dancing about, but no sign of any fish activity. I waited until it was near impossible to see them before deciding I'd better get back to the car before it got too dark. After a while I recognised the spot I'd got to. It was where I'd been talking to the farmer. Somehow I'd managed to pass the car. Retracing my steps  I spotted the glint of it in another car's headlights. Crossing the river I landed on my arse as I stepped into a deeper hole. Clearly I'd overstayed my welcome.

Not an entirely fruitless day, even if nothing came to hand. Next time I'll take some spiders with me and some hi-viz black thingies with pink wings or something.

First Days Fishing of the Trout Season

Having been prevented from angling due to the partial lock-down today was my first real chance to get out since the restrictions were eased. I was not going to be an ideal day for fly fishing given the gusty wind and occasional drizzle.  I'd decide to fish the local beck rather than disappear into the back of beyond. The beck isn't the best of fisheries if catching fish is really important to you. It's can be a moody desolate place and seemingly barren.

The first sight to great me was the Himalayan Balsam. A lot less of it than previously, but I've been pulling it up far the last few years. I spent ten minutes pulling up this patch and several more throughout the day. The first fish I spotted was a tiny, nine inch or so, pike loitering besides some tree roots. As I crept a bit closer it sank beneath them. A steady wander upstream showed there hadn't been any massive remodelling of the beck during the floods, surprisingly. They had, however, washed a lot of the weed away again. Given that, for the most part, the bottom is coarse sand this isn't going to do the fly life any good, which there isn't a great deal at the best of times. Apart from the little smuts, I saw only a couple of uprights and a few midges all day.

The next fish I came across were a shoal of half a dozen dace, before encountering a trout hovering in the middle of the beck. It wasn't rising to anything in the time I watched it, but I had my first cast to it. The fish moved across and inspected my size 16 grey duster then moved back from whence it came. As the only fly life about was the little smuts I tied on a size 22 IOBO. Again it moved across and inspected the fly before returning back mid stream. As I pondered my next move a mallard swooped round the corner and crashed to the surface before realising I was there and, creating more disturbance, took off again. I would have minded so much, but the trout looked to be one of the beck's larger inhabitants. As I wasn't far from the car I retired for a spot of luncheon.

By the time I'd eaten the wind had got up and was rather gusty. I set off up the next section and soon spotted a fish rising close to them bank. Having watched it for a while I couldn't see what it was rising to so decide the IOBO was as good as anything. The first cast was blown off course with the tiny little fly landing near the opposite bank of this particularly narrow section. The second, however, was spot on and ignored. The third landed somewhere between the two and was taken almost immanently it landed on the water. A fish at last, but not a trout by the feel of it. Turned out to be a little grayling which flipped off the hook as I swung it up the bank. Nice to see especially as they are quite rare in this little beck, but not what I was after.

I continued my wanderings up the beck with the occasional cast into likely looking spots. As I turned a corner I spooked a Heron which took off, seemingly in slow motion, and somehow managed to weave it's way through  he trees and out of sight before I'd got my phone out of my pocket. Looking in the beck where it had been fishing I saw a large number of pin fry. I don't know if herons actually feed on anything that small, but there again they do feed on tadpoles which aren't much bigger.

Nearing the end of the section I spotted another fish rising. By the time I'd manoeuvred into position for a cast I could see it was a small trout at the side of a little riffle. I cast a bit too far upstream of it, but jsut before drag set in it took the IOBO and I was in, then I wasn't. As I sat cursing to myself a couple of perch took up station where the trout had been.

By now it had started to drizzle again, so I decided to give up as I'd reached the end of the section as well. Not the greatest start to the trout season, but still it was nice to be out and waving a rod about even though I'd missed the bluebells at their best. The next trip will be to a more prolific water and hopefully slightly less windy and  a tad warmer.