Post by tweedsider on Sept 29, 2007 18:51:40 GMT
Went out this afternoon for a final fling on our association season ticket, from now on its £20 a day. Far from a promising day for small river salmon fishing in low water conditions, but a six pounder and a seven pounder earlier in the week plus two fish lost gave some encouragement. Today the long bright periods were a bit to long and the presance of three under 10 year old village youngsters at the bridge pool made it an easy decision to trudge the half mile across the stubble the favorite Ash Tree. A decision abetted by the fact that the two earlier fish were taken here. With a river crossing it would also be impossible for the three callants to follow or so were my thoughts.
Any way tackled up with the 13ft Delta plus and trusty RATCHET reel and John Norris floating spey line with a hover leader and fray was about to commence. I had heard the youths whooping behind me and and seemingly stymied at the crossing. The fly was a nameless thing whose ancestry began in a pearly stoat last season but has since transmoggified into a different beast.
No other anglers were to be seen at the Ash Tree, in fact no cars were parked anywhere near the river, great. Obviously water flows were moderate but there was enough current in the neck to swing the fly around where I had done some weed clearance mid-week. In one of these trance like states when optimism is not running high I was aware that the fly had stopped moving for quite a few seconds. Bloody weed again! Lift the rod waggle waggle, splash splash and what appeared to be a red cock fish about 5lb turned and away.
More splash splash and the youths had waded across behind me and were among my boot feet. The usual caught anything mister, then doing what bored youths are inclined to do throw sticks and bottles into the river. Diligent fishing down to the almost still water where a fish had been taken on Thursday failed to bring any response. Back up to the top for a cuppa and another quick run through, thank goodness the boys had departed but even in the comparative calm no further result.
Back up and try the Bridge Pool where the occasional fish had been showing. Another angler was in possession and the three youths were now attached to him with a vengeance. Off to the top of the beat then another half mile along the waterdyke to the large deep pool where the river leaves the wood. Another cuppa and a fish jumped in the almost still slow running tail. Again diligent fishing failed to bring a result.
One more place worth a try, a stream and pool which had produced three grilse one after the other in a five fish day during high water a month earlier. Now the once brisk stream was
hardly moving and the pool it fed all but still, last year I had taken a fish from the pool part in quite low water conditions so crept and crawled down the stream until I was casting a maximum distance and up against a stock fence and the need was now to reel in.
For the first time I can remember in a river a fish took whilst reeling, and it went like the clappers. By far the best fight of the season on the outfit and that included a fish at ten pounds plus. One of these days I shall remember to look at the watch when a fish is hooked but the fight lasted more than five and less than ten minutes when it was possible to draw a black hen fish of about 8lbs on to a small gravel strip, unhook it slip in the net while camera was prepared then return to river.
I was chuffed until a fellow angler at the bridge told me he had landed thirteen grilse over a three day period. Drat him so ended the day and permit season.
Tweedsider
Any way tackled up with the 13ft Delta plus and trusty RATCHET reel and John Norris floating spey line with a hover leader and fray was about to commence. I had heard the youths whooping behind me and and seemingly stymied at the crossing. The fly was a nameless thing whose ancestry began in a pearly stoat last season but has since transmoggified into a different beast.
No other anglers were to be seen at the Ash Tree, in fact no cars were parked anywhere near the river, great. Obviously water flows were moderate but there was enough current in the neck to swing the fly around where I had done some weed clearance mid-week. In one of these trance like states when optimism is not running high I was aware that the fly had stopped moving for quite a few seconds. Bloody weed again! Lift the rod waggle waggle, splash splash and what appeared to be a red cock fish about 5lb turned and away.
More splash splash and the youths had waded across behind me and were among my boot feet. The usual caught anything mister, then doing what bored youths are inclined to do throw sticks and bottles into the river. Diligent fishing down to the almost still water where a fish had been taken on Thursday failed to bring any response. Back up to the top for a cuppa and another quick run through, thank goodness the boys had departed but even in the comparative calm no further result.
Back up and try the Bridge Pool where the occasional fish had been showing. Another angler was in possession and the three youths were now attached to him with a vengeance. Off to the top of the beat then another half mile along the waterdyke to the large deep pool where the river leaves the wood. Another cuppa and a fish jumped in the almost still slow running tail. Again diligent fishing failed to bring a result.
One more place worth a try, a stream and pool which had produced three grilse one after the other in a five fish day during high water a month earlier. Now the once brisk stream was
hardly moving and the pool it fed all but still, last year I had taken a fish from the pool part in quite low water conditions so crept and crawled down the stream until I was casting a maximum distance and up against a stock fence and the need was now to reel in.
For the first time I can remember in a river a fish took whilst reeling, and it went like the clappers. By far the best fight of the season on the outfit and that included a fish at ten pounds plus. One of these days I shall remember to look at the watch when a fish is hooked but the fight lasted more than five and less than ten minutes when it was possible to draw a black hen fish of about 8lbs on to a small gravel strip, unhook it slip in the net while camera was prepared then return to river.
I was chuffed until a fellow angler at the bridge told me he had landed thirteen grilse over a three day period. Drat him so ended the day and permit season.
Tweedsider