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Saturday, 5 December 2009
Monday, 31 August 2009
Saturday, 15 August 2009
BB Saturday 15th August
Bentley Brook.
I don't know what to say.
I started fishing at about midday and finished seven hours later.
During that time I experienced wonder, excitement, awe, beauty, a pounding chest, dissappointment and was humbled.
On arrival I tackled up and wondered up stream of the ford. A shoal of sticklebacks enterained me until the second cast when I was into my first fish. A perfectly formed 6" grayling.
As it started to rain I wandered back to the car for a jacket and decided to fish downstream of the ford.
A couple of casts later, a kingfisher flew between my rod and the line. Two seconds later my second fish, again a 6" grayling, then a 2lb, then another. It seemed like a good day ahead. It even stopped raining.
The walk down was great to. I'd bought a tape measure for the stiles (working party repairs next weekend) so had to do a little work on the way. Butterflies of allsorts seemed to be everywhere.
Large trees had fallen and once down a little way it was clear that nobody had been down here for months. This one had actually snapped another clean.
No path, so jungle warfare it was.
I dabbled in a couple of places and picked up 2 browns, one about 5" and the other well over a pound, covered in scars - a battler.
Once at the bottom I started to work my way up. Slowly.
Heart in mouth.
At all times there was a fish in front of me or a puff of sediment where they used to be. I took another two graying, and missed four more fish before getting to the canal stretch.
How do you approach this?
I dropped in.
I love it here. Working up slow like a cat. The first thing I noticed, a shoal of baby grayling round my feet no more than 2" long maybe half dozen of them.
Then perhaps a vole, perhaps not, then again, but to difficult to tell.
Shortly followed by two lightning blue flashes as the kingfishers come zipping past, banking in the last milliseconds to avoid me.
A fish, but not for long, it throws the hook.
There's mint (loads of different types) and cress everywhere on the brook.
As I turn a corner just at my feet a grayling shoal with two very large fish at the head. No more than 2ft from me. To close to even drop the nymph on.
I remember the tight casting trick and take the end section off my rod. A 2lb grayling takes the nymph.
Bloody hell. My rods in half I have a fish on it runs and takes line. Unusual for a grayling. It comes back. Straight past me.
I work it in, touch the leader, it's off,
But this being game fishing I'm counting it.
After that in every riffle I take, rise or lose a fish some to dry others to nymph.
I phone my mrs. I not bothering going home for tea.
Eventually I get back to the ford pool. Three trout sitting there. One at monster. I get into position. I cast, they scarper. I wait. They come back. I cast more carefully. They scarper. I repeat this. A few times actually. One looks at the dry. The nymph catches. It moves away. They all scarper. I wait. They come back. One takes the nymph. The hook doesn't set.
Bentley Brook. It always promises for next time.
Oh I then saw the vole. Definatly swimming in the pool above the bridge.
I had one of, if not my best fishing day today.
I don't know what to say.
I started fishing at about midday and finished seven hours later.
During that time I experienced wonder, excitement, awe, beauty, a pounding chest, dissappointment and was humbled.
On arrival I tackled up and wondered up stream of the ford. A shoal of sticklebacks enterained me until the second cast when I was into my first fish. A perfectly formed 6" grayling.
As it started to rain I wandered back to the car for a jacket and decided to fish downstream of the ford.
A couple of casts later, a kingfisher flew between my rod and the line. Two seconds later my second fish, again a 6" grayling, then a 2lb, then another. It seemed like a good day ahead. It even stopped raining.
The walk down was great to. I'd bought a tape measure for the stiles (working party repairs next weekend) so had to do a little work on the way. Butterflies of allsorts seemed to be everywhere.
Large trees had fallen and once down a little way it was clear that nobody had been down here for months. This one had actually snapped another clean.
No path, so jungle warfare it was.
I dabbled in a couple of places and picked up 2 browns, one about 5" and the other well over a pound, covered in scars - a battler.
Once at the bottom I started to work my way up. Slowly.
Heart in mouth.
At all times there was a fish in front of me or a puff of sediment where they used to be. I took another two graying, and missed four more fish before getting to the canal stretch.
How do you approach this?
I dropped in.
I love it here. Working up slow like a cat. The first thing I noticed, a shoal of baby grayling round my feet no more than 2" long maybe half dozen of them.
Then perhaps a vole, perhaps not, then again, but to difficult to tell.
Shortly followed by two lightning blue flashes as the kingfishers come zipping past, banking in the last milliseconds to avoid me.
A fish, but not for long, it throws the hook.
There's mint (loads of different types) and cress everywhere on the brook.
As I turn a corner just at my feet a grayling shoal with two very large fish at the head. No more than 2ft from me. To close to even drop the nymph on.
I remember the tight casting trick and take the end section off my rod. A 2lb grayling takes the nymph.
Bloody hell. My rods in half I have a fish on it runs and takes line. Unusual for a grayling. It comes back. Straight past me.
I work it in, touch the leader, it's off,
But this being game fishing I'm counting it.
After that in every riffle I take, rise or lose a fish some to dry others to nymph.
I phone my mrs. I not bothering going home for tea.
Eventually I get back to the ford pool. Three trout sitting there. One at monster. I get into position. I cast, they scarper. I wait. They come back. I cast more carefully. They scarper. I repeat this. A few times actually. One looks at the dry. The nymph catches. It moves away. They all scarper. I wait. They come back. One takes the nymph. The hook doesn't set.
Bentley Brook. It always promises for next time.
Oh I then saw the vole. Definatly swimming in the pool above the bridge.
I had one of, if not my best fishing day today.
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