Kris Kent sorts his summer fishing out
I met a guy recently who introduced himself as a ‘fair weather’ motorcyclist. He never went out if there was a chance of rain. When it comes to fishing I’m the opposite. I prefer it when it’s cold, wet and overcast. Don’t get me wrong, fishing on a warm summer's day with a light breeze, casting a dry fly to rising fish is about as good as it gets. It just doesn’t get like that too often. Summer is usually either cold and wet or hot as hell with a bright sun.
In the past my fishing has tended to tail off after the end of June, a temporary lull, picking up again late August and into September. I tend to avoid the hot sultry days of high summer. This year has been a bit different. Summer seemed slow coming and a trip to Slovenia meant I didn’t get out on the local rivers as much as would have liked when summer did come. So early July had me looking in the diary for an opportunity to get out. I pencilled in a day and flicked through the club handbook to find a suitable beat. The week was going to drag in anticipation of wetting a line. As my excitement started to build so did the temperature. My day out coincided with that most unusual of British events, a ‘heat wave’! Now convention holds that the best times to fish in high summer are early and late, before the temperatures get too high and the sun hits the water or after. So I arrived at the beat for 10am. I would have liked to be there sooner but a sneaky lie in got the better of me. That ‘snooze’ button is a dangerous thing. As I opened the car door I could feel that it was already warm, the display in the car suggested 22⁰c. The beat I had chosen was a no wading beat so at least I didn’t have to worry about the ‘boil in the bag’ effect of so called breathable waders. As I walked the short path from the car park to the start of the beat you could almost smell the heat. The air was dry, no humidity as yet. It almost singed the insides of your nostrils. The grass in the meadows had lost its verdant green hue and was turning toasted brown.
I sat on the bench and scanned upstream. The river was low, the flow deflected by rafts of weed meandering left and right. A few water crowfoot flowers bejewelled the surface. Nothing much stirred. I was not feeling optimistic about the day. Anticipating tough conditions I had put up a light line rod for delicate delivery, but what I hadn’t noticed was the wind. My abiding memory of the 2015 season will be the wind. Every trip seemed to be dogged by nasty blustery winds and today was no different. I tried a few casts with the 0 weight but it wasn’t working so I retreated to the car for a longer rod with a bit more backbone. This rod felt more solid in my hand and pushed the loop through the downstream wind more easily. A stiff wind and long leaders don’t easily mix but in low clear water I’m inclined to put some distance between fly and fly line. I settled on something around ten feet in length ending with 7X tippet.
As I came around the first bend a few fish were dimpling tight along the opposite bank. I couldn’t see anything obvious on the surface so I tied on a general purpose CDC Emerger. I put the first two risers down with clumsy casts that landed heavily or lined the fish. It wasn’t easy covering the fish. The banks on this beat are quite high and the path is set well back with minimal bankside trimming. This affords plenty of cover for the angler but means you have to be very aware of your line control to stop it hanging up in, or snagging, the marginal plants. To reduce the amount of fly line and false casting I sneaked up closer to the third fish, scrabbling along on my knees, until I was almost square to it. I flicked the line out onto the water and with one cast delivered the fly hard up against the far bank. It drifted down a couple of feet and a small trout sucked it in. I was off the mark. This is a wild beat so no stocking. Bar a few wandering stockies form downstream everything here is wild. The trout was beautiful. Large black spots with silver aureoles extending from its tail up onto its gill plates and dorsal fin. In these conditions I try to get the fish in and released as quickly as possible to minimise distress. The brownie shot straight back to its lie leaving a puff of sediment in its wake.
Despite the hot bright sun, now bearing down on the river, fish continued to rise to something unseen, or unseeable, on the surface. Whilst I spooked lots of fish I managed to fool a few more into taking the CDC Emerger. I then noticed a few splashier rises and could see fish moving some distance to intercept their target. It was then I saw the first mayfly rising majestically up into the willows opposite. It seemed very late for mayfly but then summer had been late coming and the mayfly hatch perhaps delayed. I snipped off the emerger and tied on a mayfly dun. As so often happens with small fish and large flies, the first brownie hit the fly hard but when I lifted the rod the fly came back unencumbered by any fish. For every ten fish that went for the mayfly dun I probably caught one. But it was nice to be catching fish on a dry fly in less than auspicious conditions.
As I came around the next bend a better fish boiled under a large bramble opposite me. I knelt studying the water for a good ten minutes trying to discern the fish and it’s behaviour but the sun on the water meant I couldn’t see anything. I then became aware of another angler following behind so I scurried on upstream to give them some space.
The further up I went the wilder things got until eventually the path petered out by an aged fisherman’s bench. By the time I reached the top of the beat I had caught a dozen or so bright little brownies, most unexpected. I rewarded myself with a cup of coffee from the flask before retracing my steps. I bumped into the other fisherman and we chatted for a few minutes. He had had one or two and seemed equally pleased given the tough conditions. I left him casting to a rising fish wishing him luck.
At the bend the better fish boiled again under the bramble opposite. I still couldn’t see the fish but guessed that it must be sitting in the slow water under the bramble sticking its nose out when something worthwhile got washed down by the fast water funnelled into the pool from above. The problem was going to be landing a fly hard against the bramble with enough slack line so that the fly wasn’t instantly whisked away by the faster water. The first cast did just that. I adjusted my position to get a better angle and executed a cross between a reach and a pile cast with an upstream mend that landed the fly a foot off the bramble. I was just readying myself to lift off when the fish rushed out and took the mayfly. It must have thought the mayfly was about to lift off and it was now or never. The fish rushed around the pool trying to get into the bramble before finally succumbing. It wasn’t much bigger than the others but I was pleased to have winkled it out from a difficult spot.
It was still early so having recorded my catch in the returns book and flicked the tally back to ‘Free’ I moved my car the few hundred yards downstream to the pull in for the next beat. According to the tally board and returns book two other anglers were already fishing. Had they put the fish down? Just above the gauging weir a fish moved to a fluttering mayfly. Second cast a bronze and pewter grayling couldn’t resist my pattern. Despite the best efforts of the other anglers plenty of fish were still rising as I worked upstream. They weren’t easy and I spooked a good few but a stealthy approach and delicate presentation accounted for another good half dozen or so before I started to feel hungry.
Should I have stayed on till dusk in hope of an evening rise? Perhaps, if I hadn’t had much action during the day. But I was satisfied with my day and the river didn’t seem like one that was about to burst into life.
A few days later I got a text from my friend Charles. Despite his new job and protestations that he wouldn’t have any time to go fishing he was asking if I fancied a session on the Loddon. I checked the weather forecast. VERY hot and humid with a severe weather warning for heavy thundery showers and localised flooding. Sounded perfect! I pointed this out to Charles but he seemed adamant, so who was I to say no.
I arrived early. It wasn’t a day for wearing waders but this is a beat that can’t be fished from the bank so I wriggled reluctantly into them. Just as I finished gearing up I got a text from Charles saying he was running late and to start without him. So I did. As I neared the river the phone rang. Charles said he was still an hour away. I said I’d make a start to which Charles said “there wasn’t much point as we weren’t going to catch anything until last knockings”. I put his negativity down to the fact that we wasn’t fishing yet and carried on regardless. Before dropping into the river I watched a large shoal of chub mooching about on the gravels. They seemed un-phased by my presence, even when I slid down the bank crashing into the water somewhat unceremoniously, ‘bum surfing’ I think they call it.
The river was half the width compared with my last visit. Tall reed beds and bankside vegetation crowded in on me. Casting was going to be tricky. But it did mean that the river was running fast through the remaining channel. This would at least afford me a degree of cover on this bright sunny afternoon. The mayfly dun was still on the rod from my last outing and as there was nothing else obvious coming off I cast it out. Three fish rose sporadically in front of me. I rose and hooked the first, put down the second and rose and missed the third. So much for Charles’ negativity. It then went quiet for a few hundred yards. On the next bend I lost a better fish. I hadn’t seen it rise but it is one of those spots that always holds a fish. The river undercuts a high bank where it turns tight left and the shallow gravels give way to a deep run. The fish ran into the luxuriant weed at the head of the deep run and threw the hook. I was just releasing my next fish when Charles appeared. He had been watching me from the trees and was a little surprised to see me hook and land the fish, especially when he discovered it was on a mayfly.
We rod share on this beat so it only seemed reasonable to let him have a go. He had a caddis pattern on which immediately brought up a fish, unfortunately it didn’t stay on for long. We spent the next couple of hours creeping up the river casting to fish we saw rise and speculating in spots we knew held fish. It was slow, tough going. We saw plenty of fish. Mostly running away from us or our flies. Charles was getting a little demotivated by our lack of success. As we emerged from the trees a broad shallow run opened up before us. Not one river but a number of braided channels running between thick beds of ranunculus. I spotted a tiny rise to our left. As I cast up towards it a nicer fish came out from under the weed and intercepted the mayfly hitting it hard. I had to really work to keep it out of the weed and eventually brought it to hand, it had taken the fly deep so I needed the forceps. Not a huge fish but a good sized wild fish for this beat.
This hardened Charles’ resolve as he cast to the rise I’d spotted. A few minutes later he rose a fish and lost it, a pattern he repeated for the next few fish. As we disappeared back into the trees the light started to fade. It was getting harder to spot the rises and see the fly. As we neared the end of the beat we came upon a number of fish rising steadily. Charles tied on a Bubble Caddis and immediately was into a fish. In a brief fifteen minute session we rose, hooked, caught or lost a dozen or more fish, before the rise diminished.
As we strolled across the fields back to the cars decomposing and analysing the day the smell of hot wheat filled the heavy humid air. We were hot, a bit sweaty but very content.
These two sessions have caused me to reconsider my attitude and approach to the dog days of summer. Yes they were tough but with a stealthy, thoughtful approach and a good deal of luck they were very rewarding.
Biography:
Kris Kent has been fly fishing and trotting for brown trout and grayling for over 20 years in the UK, Europe and Scandinavia. He is PR Officer for the Grayling Society and helps out The Wild Trout Trust with their online communications and events.