Another distinctly weird British summer is afoot; and after a good run things have got tricky. Nevertheless, perhaps there is something to be said for a bit of a slap in the face from reality from time to time? A sure catch would be, after all, the most boring thing on earth.
Back at Fernworthy for another try, I was shocked to find all the symptoms of a proper summer- sunny and windstill. Must have thrown me. anyhow, a very slow session followed- the old man, who loves this kind of weather, had a pretty 8" wild trout, whilst I tried every trick in the book for two bumped trout in several hours. My own frustration on days like this brings me to a different conclusion though- that my father has exactly what so many modern fishermen lack; a genuine joy in simply spending time fishing, catch or no catch. Still, on my part it was a great day for photography- typically the great fishing days are usually lowsy for aesthetic purposes.
The Angling 2000 stretch of River Culm a few days later was slightly better, albeit far less idyllic. Whilst some fly fishers seem to inhabit a world of glorious chalk streams and two pound trout, my own existence is more muddy banks, barbed wire fences and hard won half pounders.
The Culm was well coloured and pushing through harder than usual. Then it started chucking it down- still, a day off is a day off. By using nymphs of the large and gold headed stamp I at least managed to get odd bites in shallow water, where the fly didn't just disappear in the murk. A fiesty half pounder is a big enough victory in crappy conditions- a pleasant surprise, joined by a smaller sample and two pretty chub. In fact a small fish can be just as satisfying as a much bigger catch when the chips are down- or is it just me?
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