Kris Kent proves persistence pays off
How long should you invest in catching an individual fish? I believe Richard Walker spent days at Redmire Pool stalking Clarissa, his 44lb British record carp, before he finally caught her. I often read posts on Facebook recounting how over long periods anglers have returned to the same spot and cast to large known trout. This shows real dedication and determination, when it pays off. But how long should you spend in a single session?
Richard Walker with Clarissa
Some would say that after a few casts if the fish hasn’t taken it never will. That your first cast is your best chance and that the chances diminish the more you cast. But is this true? Of course if you put the fish down with your first clumsy cast and it never returns to its feeding station then there is no point in carrying on casting (could be a good title for a film). But what if the fish determinedly continues feeding? Two occasions come to mind that illustrate my point. They both involve my fishing pal Charles.
Zen Charles
Charles has a nice bit of fishing on a tributary of the Thames. It isn’t strictly speaking a chalkstream but in its upper reaches you wouldn’t know the difference. He is very generous and occasionally invites me along for a pie, a pint and a cast. I hadn’t been out for a while due to inclement weather or because of work so when I got a text to ask if I fancied joining him for an afternoon's sport I jumped at the chance.
Last time I joined him the river was unfishable due to heavy thundery showers. This is when you realise it isn’t a chalkstream because it colours up quickly. We had had a lot of rain of late and I was worried the river might be in a bad state but when we arrived at the bridge we found it high but as clear as a bell. The fish on this river are not free risers outside the Mayfly period so Charles strung up a rod for Klink & Dink, a small nymph slung under a large buoyant Klinkhammer acting as indicator. As it was late in the season I put on a bushy Cranefly pattern. The river flows through rough pasture and there was a blustery wind so there was a good chance a daddy long legs or two night get blown on the water. Whilst the fish don’t rise readily they will often come up for a decent mouthful. We walked downstream a ways and then worked back up taking turns casting into likely looking spots, swapping rods as we went depending on the water and who was in the best position, or whose turn it was.
On our way to the ‘big bend’
We had each had a couple of fish when we got to the ‘big bend’. All wild brown trout, one to the daddy, two to the nymph and even one to the Klinkhammer. The river changes character at the ‘big bend’. Below it is generally slower, muddier and deeper and wading is not allowed. Above the bend it is shallower, more gravelly and faster and wading is almost essential. The ‘big bend’ is broad and generally shallow with a deeper channel around its outer edge, the horses come to drink here from the gravelly ledge on the inner edge. The river coming into the ‘big bend’ is much narrower and runs steeply into the pool. This short fast run always holds a few small fish that eagerly snatch at your passing fly.
Charles had the rod and was nymphing through the fast water, towards the top of the run he stopped and tensed. Charles is half man half heron and has a knack for spotting fish. He had spotted a good fish two rod lengths in front of us on our bank sitting in the soft water just to the left of the faster water. The shallow scour was the perfect spot for a better fish. There was a good flow bringing plenty of food and well oxygenated just passed its nose but somewhere to rest and to hide close at hand. We watched the fish for a moment. It was clearly actively feeding on something below the surface so Charles opted for the Klink & Dink. As the Klink hit the water with a plop the fish turned to look at it ignoring the nymph, it followed the fly downstream a ways but then turned away returning to its lie. We were worried we had spooked the fish but it carried on mooching around its patch seemingly continuing to feed. This made us think that a dry fly might be more successful. So I tried the daddy. The fish took no notice of the fly despite drifting it straight over its head. So Charles tried a single small nymph. No joy, no interest. I wondered if the Daddy lacked the ‘plop’ factor so I tied on a large hopper pattern. This definitely had the ‘plop’ factor and the fish moved across to look at it but no more. Charles had another go with the Klink & Dink to no avail. A streamer can be very successful on this river, particularly for the big chub, so we tied on a small Martin’s Minnow. We could watch the fish’s response to the fly in the clear shallow water, it showed no interest. Next Charles went for a pearly butt Elk Hair Caddis variant. It elicited a modicum of interest from the fish but not enough for it to take the fly. By this point we had invested at least forty five minutes in this one fish and changed flies numerous times. Was it time to give up and move on? What surprised us most was that the fish seemed oblivious to our presence despite all the rod waving and a few clumsy casts. “If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again.” So try again we did. Perhaps something big and meaty, too good to ignore, was the answer. I very rarely fish a cased Caddis pattern even though I have a whole host of different variants in my nymph box. I selected one with an orangey peeping head tied on a jig hook. Irresistible, surely. On the second or third chuck the fish swung across and looked at it but once again rejected it. I persisted until another dozen or so casts later the fish turned and followed it downstream. I didn’t see the fish suck in the fly but something made me tighten up, and the fish was on. For such a long protracted hunt the fight was short and rather disappointing. After just a minute or two the fish was in the net. Charles and I peered into the net expectantly and were greeted by a stockie rainbow trout of about three pounds. It was bigger than we had thought but not the wild brownie we had hoped for. The syndicate encourage rods to kill any rainbows caught so Charles tapped it on the head and slipped it in his back pack. A sad anticlimax.
3lb Rainbow
Some years back Charles and I were up in Derbyshire fishing. It was a lads' weekend away. Four of us camped near Monyash and fished the hallowed Wye. One day on the Peacock Hotel’s waters below Bakewell and one day on the day ticket beat above Bakewell through Monsal Dale. We had timed our visit to coincide with the Mayfly but unfortunately we were too early. The weather had been unseasonably cold, we woke up with ice down one side of the tent, and the hatch hadn’t started. But the weather was kind to us during the day with a little warmth, high cloud and the occasional glimpse of sun.
Our first day on the Wye around Haddon Hall and Rowsley was quite successful despite the lack of Mayfly. We had a few brownies, some nice wild rainbows and I had a cracking grayling. We rounded the day off with a very nice meal in Bakewell with a good night’s sleep aided by a few pints of the local real ale. Hopes were high for day two.
Martin and Hugh set off
We split up at Monsal Dale. The others would fish the west bank and Charles and I would fish the east side. The river was low and clear and a few upwings were making an appearance, but nothing was rising. Charles was the first to catch, a nice brownie on the nymph.
First brownie at Monsal Dale
As we neared where the river butts up against the hill and the footpath climbs up above the river on the opposite back I was full of expectation. The pool on the bend here always produces fish. The flow slows down as it enters the pool and food gets trapped in the slick surface, there are some back eddies that concentrate food and the trout know this. The trees on the far bank above the pool offer a safe retreat. We sat on the bank and watched for a rise or the flash of a fish nymphing. Nothing much stirred. Then we spotted it. Just below the pool, where the current starts to pick up, a fish was sipping in something from the surface. It was on the far bank sitting under an overhanging bush. We couldn’t see how big the fish was but it was rising like a larger than average fish. No fussing and splashing just a gentle sip, its neb just breaking the surface. And it was rising steadily, not quite metronomic but not far off. It would be a difficult cast. It was a long cast with a surge of faster water between us and the fish. The overhanging bush meant that the fly would have to land a good way in front of the fish. But too far upstream and the fly would just sit on the flat pool or get swept into the back eddy, too long and it would snag a branch touching the surface just upstream and between the fish and the bank. Distance and accuracy, not a combination I usually excel at.
Looking upstream towards the bend pool
Charles was first to have a go. He tied on an olive imitation, can’t remember the exact pattern but it had been successful the day before downstream of Bakewell. It took a while to get the cast right. The fish was sitting right up in the surface so too short and the fish wouldn’t see the fly. Too far up and the fast water would instigate drag before the fly got to the fish.Too far down and you would snag the bush. Charles eventually cracked it and got a perfect drag-free drift right over the fish's nose. It ignored it and took a natural that was following it down. Another couple of casts and the same thing happened. So we changed the fly for another upwing pattern. That didn’t work either. I had a go and once I’d mastered the cast I got skunked too. So we changed pattern, we changed size of pattern, we went up a size we went down a size, we tried a different colour variant, we changed the tippet, we changed the angle, we mended, we tried a wriggle cast, we tried a bounce back, we tried a pile cast, we tried a reach cast, we probably invented a few casts without realising it. All to no avail. And all the time the fish kept rising, seemingly oblivious to our efforts. So we stopped and had a coffee. We must have spent at least an hour on that fish. Was it time to give up and move on? Revived by the caffeine we revisited out strategy and went through every step, fly, leader, delivery. Everything seemed fine. So we decided to make one last fly change. I peered into my dry fly box hoping for inspiration, expecting a fly to jump out of the box screaming ‘tie me on’. It didn’t. In a dark corner of the box, where the unloved flies lurk, I spotted a loopwinged parachute pattern. Scruffy and unassuming. Well anything was worth a try so on it went. It was my turn with the rod so I extended out some line and made the cast. It was almost perfect but the fish rose to a natural just in front of it and the fly past over the fish unimpeded. Second cast was on the money, one minute the fly was there and the next it wasn’t. I was so convinced the fish wouldn’t take that I didn’t even notice when it did. Charles pointed out to me that the fish had taken in his usual polite manner so I tightened up. Miraculously the fish was still there and the fight was on. That fish must have been as shocked as I was because it didn’t really react to start with. Once it realised its situation it headed hard for the bank and the tree roots nearby. I managed to get it out into open water and under control but it wasn’t going to come in easily. When we finally landed the fish and went to unhook it we found it had taken the fly very deep. The fish was obviously very confident in its lie and had sucked the fly in with gusto and my slow strike allowed it to be swallowed.
Brownie from a difficult lie takes it deep
So how long should you invest in catching an individual fish? In these two cases, as long as it takes. And they were all the more satisfying for it. Would I do it again? Probably. Of course every day is different. If there had been fish rising everywhere we might have moved on to another fish. There wasn’t so we didn’t. I’ve heard it said that in life “you get out what you put in”, in these two examples never was this more true.
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 Chief Guide at Chalk Stream Dreams, Fishing Manager at Orvis in Stockbridge, PR Officer for the Grayling Society and helps out The Wild Trout Trust with their online communications and events.
