Kris Kent asks if we always need to land our flies delicately on the water?
When fishing dry fly the typical advice is to land the fly like thistledown on the water, kissing the meniscus. Sometimes ignoring advice can be the best advice. I can think of a number of examples of where ignoring this advice has held me in good stead.
Some years back I was fishing the Aire, the Coniston Hotel water near Bell Busk.
Coniston Hall beat on the Aire
I had been inspired by an article by Paul Proctor in Trout & Salmon and I was following in the great man’s steps. Conditions were near perfect; the river was dropping back after a spate. The water was peat stained, like weak tea, but clear and it was a still, warm evening as I neared the railway viaduct. Below the viaduct the river spilt into a deeper pool slowing as it did so. There were a few olives coming off and I had caught a few small brownies on a CDC Dun imitation. I was tiring so I plumped down on the bank and poured myself a coffee, content in my success so far. As I peered into the depths I spotted a sheep’s skull replete with tightly curled horns. I fancied this would make a nice trophy for the garage wall, cleaned up and mounted on a nice wooden plaque. I have a few such things I’ve collected over the years. A turtle shell from New Mexico and a cow’s horn from the Dove to name a couple. I reached in, wetting my shirt sleeves in the process, and grabbed the horns. As I pulled it out I was shocked to find the rest of the sheep still attached complete with flesh and fleece. I reeled back and dropped the carcase, letting it slip back into its watery grave. As I returned to the bank I noticed a rise on the far bank under an overhanging branch. I watched to see if it would rise again, and it did. The fish displaced a good deal of water as it did, so I judged it to be a better stamp of fish. I’d heard that the Aire can produce some trophy wild trout, because of the limestone influence in the headwaters, and my pulse quickened at the prospect. I steadied myself and cast a few yards upstream of the last rise. The delicate CDC Dun drifted down right over the fish and was duly ignored. I tried again and got the same result. I feared I’d put the fish down but on the third drift the fish rose just after my fly had passed over him. I tried another couple of olive imitations but to no avail.
The viaduct pool
This beat of the Aire flows through rich cattle pasture with trees guarding its path on both banks. I wondered if the fish was taking terrestrials, blown in off the fields or dropping in from the trees. I scanned the water and shook some branches but couldn’t see anything obvious. Olives weren’t working so why not give it a try. I pulled out the box I keep especially for terrestrials – bees and wasps, grubs and caterpillars, aphids and ants, blue bottles and beetles. A foam beetle with wriggly legs at the back caught my eye.
Foam beetle pattern
I tied it on and tested the knot with a sharp tug, everything held fast. In my haste I misjudged the cast and the beetle landed in the overhanging branch. Gingerly I tightened the line and tugged. The beetle popped out and landed with a hefty plop two or three feet off the fish’s line. To my surprise the fish charged out and engulfed the fly with abandon. I let the fish turn on the fly and then raised the rod tip. As the fish felt the resistance it dived deep into the middle of the pool, turned, jumped clean out of the water and headed off downstream like the proverbial steam train. I palmed the simple click and pawl reel trying to slow the fish's escape, it didn’t work. As the end of the fly line neared I increased the pressure on the reel and suddenly everything went slack as the trout made good its escape. Slumping back onto the river bank I simultaneously felt a huge sense of disappointment at losing the fish, and elation at getting it to take the fly. I poured and drank another coffee as the adrenalin subsided.
Some years later I found myself in Bosnia fishing with Paul Proctor; an organised trip to fish the Pliva and Ribnek systems. The fishing in Bosnia is fabulous. Both the Ribnek and Pliva run clear over gravel beds with rich weed growth, the fly hatches are biblical and the trout and grayling population very health with specimen fish regularly caught. Paul was hosting and we had two local guides, Jan and Mita, to show us the ropes. Normal UK tactics and fly patterns will catch fish in Bosnia but as always, when in Rome do as the Romans. The guides were always on hand to coach us on tactics and to pour scorn on our fly boxes. Jan was always berating me for fishing too large a pattern, “smaller, smaller” he would say in a quietly confident manner. And he was usually right. Tiny CDC ant patterns were often the order of the day, I never saw a flying ant on the trip but the fish took them with gusto.
Jan on the Ribnek
On one particular day we were strung out along a section of the Ribnek. The weather was hot, 30⁰c plus in the midday sun, and the skies were clear. There was no wind and I was glad to be wading as it helped cool me down. I had worked up a long run and picked up a couple of small trout on dry fly. The fish didn’t seem to mind the weather conditions. A few olives were hatching off making the most of the fine weather and the fish were looking up. As I came to a shallow bend in the river I noticed a fish rising in a dense weedbed on the far bank. There was a clear patch in amongst the weed about the size of a dinner plate and the fish was sticking its neb through this to intercept flies on the surface. In the gin clear water I could see it was a good brownie, potentially the biggest fish of the trip. As I watched it took another olive out of the meniscus as it struggled to emerge. It would be a difficult cast; the water was hardly moving where the fish was and the fast flow between me and my quarry would soon whisk the fly line away no matter how much slack I could impart. I couldn’t get below or above the fish because of the trees on the far bank. There was no way of drifting the fly down so I would have to try and land it in the dinner plate sized space and hope the fish took it. My first few casts landed on the weed and I let the current pull it free. Eventually I landed my tiny CDC ant pattern bang in the middle of my target as light as a feather. The fish didn’t stir. I lifted off as delicately as I could and repeated the process, nothing. I changed fly, putting on a larger olive emerger pattern, again the fish stirred not. And then the day on the Aire and the beetle came to mind. I found my terrestrial box and selected a large black ethafoam beetle pattern with a bushy throat hackle. The fly plopped into the middle of the weed and the fish shot forward snatching the fly almost as it landed. Setting the hook I was fearful of losing the fish in the weed so I leaned hard into the fish and almost dragged it over the surface. The fish was so shocked that it hardly fought at all and was soon in the net, unhooked and released.
Unbeknown to me Jan had been watching from the trees behind me and having released the fish he called to me. He wanted to know what the fish had taken. I offered up the gaudy beetle; Jan looked at it shook his head in despair and walked off silently.
A good grayling from the Ribnek for Charles
A few summers back I had been hosting a Wild Trout Trust auction lot winner on a chalkstream not far from my home. The guy had caught one or two and had to leave early. I had nothing planned so I stayed on to see if the evening rise materialised. The river was low and very clear; olives had been trickling off and the fish were rising lazily but they had been very difficult all day, turning their noses up at even the most delicate presentation.
As I came to the wide pool below the hatches I could see the usual suspects cruising around picking off emergers, duns and a few spinners. I tried imitations of all three stages in various sizes without success. The fish would come and inspect each fly but then turn away at the last minute in disgust. In an effort to cover a fish on the far bank, that hadn’t had the opportunity to reject my flies, I double hauled and snagged a cow parsley on the back cast. Part of the flower head snapped off and sailed out across the pool landing with a splash mid stream. A large stockie rainbow charged out from under my bank and slashed at the flower, hooking itself in the process. So much for delicate presentation. I unhooked the fish and removed the flower. This made me think, perhaps something big might be the order of the day. In a corner of my terrestrial's box I had some huge hopper patterns that I had picked up in Montana. I tied one on and proceeded to catch another rainbow, two wild brownies and a small grayling before the pool spooked and everything went quiet.
The Kennet at Denford
My friend Paul was down south on business and fancied a day fishing. Howard Taylor very kindly got us onto a beat of the Dun, a Test tributary, for the day. The Dun was gin clear and we could see fish hanging over the bright gravels, swaying in the current. Paul is a dry fly purist so he made his way upstream casting a small olive imitation at seen fish. Each and every fish spooked the moment the fly alighted on the surface, heading for cover under the banks or in the weed. We came to a deep pool on a tight bend with trees overhanging the water.Fish were rising in the faster flow down the middle. again the olive imitation failed to interest the fish so I suggested Paul try the beetle. Paul reluctantly tied on the lumpy foam pattern and cast it out. The first fish rose so violently that Paul almost fell over backwards in shock and nearly missed the fish.
As Paul persisted with the dry fly I tied on a small Sawyer's Pheasant Tail nymph and tried targeting fish that were obviously feeding sub-surface. The plop of the nymph as it burst through the meniscus elicited some very energetic responses from fish and I had a succession of nice wild brownies. As I neared the top of the beat I saw a larger brownie sitting in a narrow channel between some large woody debris and a weed bed. It didn’t seem to be feeding but I thought I would try the nymph, perhaps it would bring it on the feed. I plopped the nymph in a couple of yards upstream of the fish, close enough for it to sense the plop and far enough for it to have time to sink down to the fish. As it landed an even bigger, so far unseen, fish shot out from under the large woody debris muscling the targeted fish out of the way and intercepting my nymph. It was a tricky spot with plenty of opportunities for the fish to wrap itself up in the woody debris or weed. I lent hard into the fish and managed to keep it in the channel until I could get it close enough to net. As I released the fish I noticed the original fish was already back on its station.
River Dun
So if you’ve tried the lightest of touches and it isn’t working perhaps try the plop. It can be very productive and very exhilarating.
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.