It was rather still and muggy when I arrived at the beck on Thursday. Looking around there was precious little in the way of bugs and flies about.Not even the smuts and midges that are often seen were about. I'd only recorded THREE bugs on my numberplate with Bugs Matter on the 30 mile journey there.
Given the lack of fly life I opted for a spot of nymph fishing. I also opted to head upstream from the bridge/ford, something I'd not done before. It was not pleasant wading. Waist deep with a rather dodgy river bed made up of silt, woody debris, and the odd wobbly rock. I spent most of my time removing twigs from the hook. After an hour of this I gave up and retired for a cuppa and sandwich. After lunch I headed downstream for a spot of balsam bashing then some more fly fishing.
I thought I'd spend an hour or so pulling up the few plants there were left form my last visit. Clearly a lot of it has been hiding behind other plants and had sprung up when I'd finished pulling their friends up. Thankfully only one had formed seed pods. These were clipped off very carefully and placed in an empty crisp packet. I'd also had a bit of a panic when I saw some pink plants a long way from the beck, but as I got closer I realised they were foxgloves.
After two and a half hours of balsam bashing I felt it was time for a drink. It took me some fifteen minutes to find my vest and rod that I'd leant against a tree. Like a dropped screw they just seem to merge with their background. I all this time I'd not seen a single fish rise. Apart from a couple of bees the only fly life I's seen was a mayfly and a small olive. I had, however seen some deer tracks under a fallen barbedwire fence. I'd also seen a nice large pool that I though would be a good stating point.
The problem with these large pools in small becks they often turn out to be very disappointing, but just after I arrived I saw my first rise of the day. I changed the Nymph to a dry fly. As I moved around to get a cast there was another rise. I landed the fly close to the area of the two rises, But trying to get enough slack to keep it on the bubble line with out dragging wasn't easy. Third or fourth cast I got it about right. The fly disappeared, but the strike contacted with nothing except the Sycamore behind me. A little wait and another cast and the fly was back in the Sycamore. How do trout manage to grab a fly like that but fail to get the hook point in their mouth.
I continued on upstream. Overhanging branches made life difficult as they always seemed to be positioned above the bubble line. The odd log jam and deep section didn't help either. I much prefer it if I don't have to wade but the steep banks make access very difficult. Not to mention the barbed wire fence on one side. Still very little sign of insect life. I continued casting to likely looking spots with little success. A drift of the fly along the edge of a fallen tree in the edge produced a nice take and this time I connected. A spotty little 62 WBT soon graced the net. Another drift down the side produced another one. However this one managed to shed the hook near the net.
I continued on with no more luck until I arrived at the large pool below the railway bridge. I had a bit of a cast about. A fish rose on the far side in the slack. Despite several casts to the area it never rose again. I let the fly drift past me along the edge of a dead shrub like thing. As I did so a vole trotted along the tree roots above me. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a ripple and as I looked round realised my fly had gone. Too late for me to contact with anything though. I tried fishing above the bridge but the light had disappeared with the very cloudy sky. It was nearly impossible to see the fly as most of this stretch is surrounded by trees as well. I tried nymphing again but this only produced one rattle and that was it.
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