A little bridge, more of a culvert really, gave away the location of a ditch or a small brook. My fish-antennae went up. Could there be trout down there? I have never been able to resist stopping at bridges to gaze downwards into strange waters, no matter how small.
Lush reeds and cow-parsely hung low over the banks, almost hiding a narrow strip of clear, flowing water. It gurgled its way under the road and out into the sunlight again where it broadened into a proper, minature stream; only a metre wide but with tiny beds of millfoil and cress that could easily hide a fish.
Mayflies were hatching, so we watched expectantly for a small trout to fling itself into the air, flip over and fall back with a splash, like they do..............but nothing; not even a stickleback.Back on the upstream, overgrown side of the road there was a definite "plop". Water vole, or trout? Definitely trout. It shot under the bank and sent up a puff of mud. It wasn't tiny and was definitely catchable.
Two problems arose at this point:
The exposed channel was so overgrown that there was no way to get a fly in there except by blindly dapping over the bank. I used to do this kind of "Jungle Fishing" by putting a split-shot on the line only a few inches above the fly to drop it vertically without the breeze catching it. I would reel the shot right up to the rod-eye so as to poke it through the bushes without snagging-up. In my youth the fly was all too often replaced by an unfortunate, wriggly worm that I found under a nearby stone.
The bigger problem was that I had no fishing gear with me at all!
This was a sort of working holiday and fishing wasn't on the agenda, so I shrugged my shoulders and drove on up the lane, through a red-brick farm-yard and on to our cottage. It turned out to be a delight.
Our host, Emma showed us around the house and then went on to talk about the locality; walks, pubs and free fishing. "Free fishing?" "Yes, guests are welcome to fish for trout in our lake. You can see it through the trees below the house."I explained that I had no gear with me, so she kindly offered to put me in touch with her husband who would lend me a rod. I left it at that, not really expecting to go fishing. Anyway, I'm a bit of a snob about farm ponds and rainbow trout. It was the wild brownie in the brook that interested me.
Over the next couple of days I would stop every time we crossed the brook and I would glance at the pond in the distance. It was beginning to peak my interest.
My opportunity to fish came on the Wednesday, so I phoned Emma about the rod. It turned out that her husband was using it that day on a rare trip to Driffield Beck. But, she offered to ask her mum-in-law who "kept a rod or two in her garage".
This turned out to be a bit of an understatement. Jeanne is a keen angler herself and she was happy to lend me her own tackle which comprised of a lovely soft-actioned Orvis rod with a Battenkill reel, a floating line, a spool of leader and a box of pheasant-tail nymphs.Then she produced a classic Gye net. I haven't seen one of those since my Scottish days. I couldn't wait to try it all out as we sped back to the farm.
The lake comprises of a long S-shaped bend, ending in a circular pond with an island in the middle. It looks a bit like an old moat from a long-lost manor house. There was a strong breeze blowing from my right side, which made me glad I was wearing a hat. It is so easy to hook yourself in the ear when the wind is blowing the line across your body, rather than away from it.
The rod performed well but the line was not perfectly matched to the rod. I needed to load it with quite a length of line to get it to work properly. But the sweet spot was just beyond the middle of the lake, so why complain? Those gentle rods are designed for fishing light. The soft action stops you from snapping the line when you hook a fish but there is no point in giving it muscle to get more distance. It is not a reservoir rod and this was no Grafham Water.
Caddis-flies were coming off the water like brown moths and I saw a fish lazily sip one up some distance off. The S-curve actually looked and felt like a river in the string breeze. I cast straight across and let the ripples drag the fly round in an arc, just under the surface. I felt a tap and struck at nothing. This happened a few times. The nymph was working, but a bushy dry fly would have been even better; something like a Klinkhammer or a deer-hair sedge.
I am used to fishing big waters where the fish are generally moving past you quite quickly. They snatch at the fly as they pass and virtually hook themselves. In a small pond, they have nowhere to go so they hold station in a favoured spot. They lie in wait and take their time so, when one takes the fly in it's mouth, you just see the line stop for a second.
The first fish was a bit of a shocker because it was big! It took me a long time to play out and had to be nursed back into the water to recover for a few minutes, cradled in my hands. I felt a bit bad about that, but he was fine and it was much better to play him gently than to leave him with a hook and a length of line in his mouth due to forcing the issue. Four subsequent fish were under a pound, but felt bigger on the little rod. I was able to release them quickly without using the net.
After an hour and a half I had completely circled the lake and caught five fish. Back at the start I made one last cast. There was a large splash, the rod bucked and bounced in my hand and the little reel un-spun. I had to run half way down the lake before I could get any control on the fish. This was good fishing and I hadn't had so much fun in a while.
That was the only session I had time for, but it taught me two things. Firstly; "Always bring your tackle" and secondly, to quote an old friend, "If it pulls your string, don't knock it."
On our last day we returned the tackle to it's owner and spent an absolutely delightful hour over tea in her kitchen. The conversation started with my report on the fishing, but easily moved on through birds and wildlife sightings, art, sailing, special education and a host of other subjects. That hour was one of the highlights of our week, which taught me another lesson. "Never refuse a cup of tea."
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