Yesterday we went to my favourite fishery, as we often do on a
Sunday. It’s run by some very good friends and aside from the chance to visit
them, there’s always the opportunity for a bit of fishing.
As usual I picked up my “go to” rod, a custom rebuilt South
Bend 359. The original rod had been an 8’ 6’’ but in being rebuilt, by a very
skilled craftsman in the Ile De France, it had been reduced to just 8’
3’’. The 359 hails from Wes Jordan’s
tenure as workshop manager at South Bend, and is rated as a dry fly rod.
Actually, if you even try to cast a weighted fly with it, the cast just
collapses in a heap as the rod seems to lose all of its “spring”.
As usual there was a westerly blowing, not a strong one, but
enough to ruffle most of the small two acre loch I prefer. However, there’s
always a sheltered spot at the top of the water where the outfall from two
springs enters the loch, - usually a good place for holding fish in any
conditions. As there was nothing showing on the surface, I decided to fish a
couple of wets, a damsel nymph (un-weighted of course) on the point and an orange
bodied PTN on a dropper. The PTN makes sense because of the large number of
shrimp in the water, many of which carry the bright orange parasite that makes
such a good “hot spot” for feeding fish. Well, I should have known better.
Although the rod cast as reliably as ever, within a few minutes I had a
complete rat’s nest at the end of the line, and had no choice but to send 15
feet of fluorocarbon into the nearest bin. Undeterred, I made up a duplicate
task and set about fan casting to search the water in front of me. About ten
casts later and I knew the flies weren’t swimming correctly – another macramé
special in the leader, and another 15 feet of nylon in the bin. Maybe my
trusted 359 was trying to tell me something…..
Clearly I had been judged and found wanting! I sat down, lit
my pipe and unfurled the tapered dry fly cast that lives in the pocket of my
vest, tied on a small hopper, and carried on. I wasn’t at all surprised to find
myself fishing on for the next hour without the slightest tangle. There were a
few rising fish by this time, but then the wind backed into the North West and
stirred up a real ruckus on the surface, - no trout however far sighted was
going to see a fly in that. I wish that I could tell you that my rediscovered
virtue was rewarded with a fish on the bank, but sadly not this week. I did see a heron fly over though..
