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OwdTrout

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  1. OwdTrout
    Alan arrived first at the river and had three or four fish before I joined him. While he got a brew on I had a cast, taking one of the rivers natural population. It was too small to be one of the stockies being only 7 inches long. After refreshment we headed downstream. Soon I was thankful that I had remembered my waterproof. Today the rain was a good thing, adding just a touch of colour to the river, and bringing the trout on the feed.
     
    In a deep riffle we came across a number of rising trout. As Alan had had several fish he graciously left them to me. This riffle is close to the bank we were approaching from, so a little wading was required. Once in position I tried them with a variety of flies. Rising one or two fish but not connecting. The first fish I connected with felt large but wasn't. It was foul hooked and lead me a merry dance before I could release it.
     
    To my great joy May Flies were hatching. Not many, but seeing them about I reached for the large mayflies: wrong! I should have looked more carefully. Large black midges dotted the surface. These, not the May Flies, were the fishes target. (By large I mean about size 18. Big as midges go in these parts) My Little Black Bug was the ideal imitation, but impossible to spot in the riffle. I drew more rises, but missed them all, through not being sure they had come to my fly. Several I bumped off. A solution was to fish a larger dry on a dropper. Then I could strike at any rise in the area of the large fly.
     
    In the end it was the oversized Elk Hair Caddis that accounted for this.

    Not the largest of trout but a good one around 15 inches. Also not a stockie. Look at the tail!
     
    Several years ago I fished the Bolton Abbey water on the Wharfe. Under the trees on the far bank a steady stream of May Flies rode the current, the trout rising madly amongst them. "Great," I thought, "an early May Fly hatch." Putting on a large mayfly I proceeded to draw not a single rise. After a lot of changes of flies and removing the splinters from my fingers, from a bout of head scratching, I sussed out what the trout wanted: Aphids. Greenfly had been falling from the trees in large numbers, driving the trout wild. I had to go from the largest flies in my box to the smallest. I should have learned from that to look again. Obviously I didn't.
     
    We fished on, the rain came in waves, the fish ate our flies. That was about all there was for the rest of the afternoon. satisfied we decided to retire to the local tea rooms. Disaster again struck. The tea rooms closed at 4:30. Nothing else was left so we parted and headed home.
     
    A satisfactory day, despite the problems we had. Next week maybe the trout will be on the May Flies... But I will double check.
     
    Cheers,
    OT
  2. OwdTrout
    A lone cross boarder raid saw me on the river late in the morning. As I had parked at the top of the length a walk downstream was the first order of the day. That's as it should be walk down, and fish it back up, but who can resist a cast into a likely spot on the way? Not me for one. Though this can have its advantages as well as its disadvantages. If you do well in a spot on the way down you get a second visit on the way back, with the pool well rested. This works if you are the only one on the water. I wasn't.
     
    At the pool where Big Al had landed his fish a few weeks ago, I found Kirton Flyer with a friend. K.F. had a fish in that pool but no more were to be had. We moved down fishing here and there. At one deep run we came across many small fish eager to rise to the dry, but so small as not to be "hookable".
     
    After crossing the river I came across a riffle at the head of a bend. It looked like good nymphing water: as nothing was rising I gave it a go. It yealded up a stockie of about 12 inches. OK I'm off the mark. A few pools lower was a different thing altogether. Fish rising confidently all over the pool.
     
    Time for the dry fly, but what fly. The hawthorn flies had been about two weeks ago, and I had seen some earlier. Time to try my new hawthorn pattern. It works! By eck does it work, but then it should, it has the pedigree. When designing a pattern I on't try to invent something new but adapt bits from other patterns. Things we know work. In this case the CdC and Elk. The simplest detached body I know is a piece of suede chenille singed in a flame at one end tied to the hook. Add a wing of elk hair, and a shell back of closed cell foam to the body from a CdC and Elk and you have a stunningly effective hawthorn. I tie them on short shank 14 hooks. These are a little large for the fly, but their weight helps the fly land with a convincing plop. The foam makes it buoyant enough to support the larger hook, which helps with hooking... Though not enough. As I was about to find out.
     
    After slipping back the fourth or fifth trout (I wasn't counting, my system for counting trout goes one, two, many, lots). I stopped to think. (I have to stop for this, I am male after all.) The thought went like this. "If I was top dog in this pool where would I be?" That's a good question to ask and has previously paid off for me. So I cast to the spot I thought looked like the prime feeding lie. Two foot of drift and my fly was nailed. Not a big splashy rise but a confidant one. Lifting the rod I felt solid resistance. Then all hell broke loose. I didn't need to "get this one on the reel" the fish did that for me taking all the free line and more off the reel. Thankfully I managed to turn the fish before it left the pool for the one above. I couldn't reel in quickly enough as the fish headed down stream so hand lined the line in, only to have it take line from the reel again as it shot downstream. This went on for two minutes or so then, suddenly, it wasn't there any more.
     
    At one point I was anticipating yelling for KF to come and man the camera, but in the end the only mention it got was to say later that I had "realised a big un at distance". The fish hadn't broken my tippet, it had just thrown the hook. Despite not landing the fish I had proved the point, it pays to trust to your instincts.
     
    Having fished much longer than I had anticipated, I was very happy to get back to the car and make a cup of coffee on a small soda can stove. Thinking I would only be out a few hours I hadn't taken a drink. Forsaking my usual rucksack with hydration pack, for the camera bag. Maybe I should upgrade to something that will carry both. Though experience says that gear will expand to fill the available space to carry it, regardless of weight. Maybe it isn't more carrying capacity I need but a smaller camera? Thinking about it that doesn't work either. I need Alan to come along with his Swedish Army field kitchen. Hmm, that works for me
     
    Cheers,
    OT
     
    PS Alan was AWOL in France failing to trap carp, getting very wet and suffering poor dentistry. Look what you missed Al - it was glorious in N. Tykeland
  3. OwdTrout
    The FOGs Raid Tykeland.
    Despite the forecast of rain all day, Alan Roe and I agreed a covert raid across the boarder. The plan was to meet up at about 11:00 hours, disguised in flat caps, and speaking strangely. Just as I was getting my gear together Al phoned to say he had left early. Well I had planned to arrive a little early myself so no real drama.
     
    While on the way to our clandestine rendezvous I received a telephonic communication from Al. The prat had forgotten his waders. He would have to go into Silsden and buy some. Three tackle shops later he had a pair of Ron Thompson nylon thigh boots. He was also walking strangely from the pain in his wallet at having to pay the full RRP on them. When one is desperate, negotiation is difficult. It had taken three tackle shops to find a pair approaching the right size for his enormous coal barges. The reason for these rather over sized feet became obvious later.
     
    Meanwhile I had arrived at the RVP (Rendezvous Point) and gotten a brew on. Al arrived five minutes later, sans headdress. Another item he had "forgotten". After a refreshing cuppa we moved on to the fishing. To my utter astonishment he had remembered to bring a rod, reel and line. He'd even remembered to bring some flies. Though that wouldn't have stopped him raiding my meagre supply. It also emerged that he had lost his sun glasses. Fortunately he had a spare pair. On putting them on he promptly found the errant pair.
     
    We had parked at the top of the length so walked down river staying back from the edge. There is no point frightening the trout you are going to fish for later. Stopping at one pool to cast a prospecting fly proved first fruitless then painful. On making my way away from the pool I slipped climbing the bank and landed on a rather rough lump of cast concrete. Banging and cutting my left thumb. I don't mind the sight of blood, so long as it isn't mine! It still hurts now. Old age is catching up with me in that I don't bounce as well as I once did.
     
    There was not much activity of the fishy variety as we wandered down but after a couple of hundred yards we came upon a glide with a few rising fish. Al had first chuck at them and after a couple of casts declared they didn't want my Stuck Shuck Emerger. Changing to, what he called, a "chocolate biscuit fly" (Half a chicken wrapped around a hook) he cast again. A few casts later, a fish ate it. After "playing with his food" for a while the trout rolled on the surface. The reason for the fight extending beyond the usual 4 seconds became apparent. It was an above average fish. Well to tell the truth it was a ******* monster. Throwing his net at me he asked me to do the honours. (That's an insurance policy - if he lost it it would have then been my fault). It was a good job I was using Al's net as mine would not have taken the beast.
     
    Anyway I managed on the second attempt to get it into the net. A camera was needed. You may have seen the images on the board but here they are again.

    The first time Al got his new waders wet was returning that fish, which he nursed back until it swam off strongly.

    That's the way to christen new waders. Time for a cuppa. This is where the size of Al's plates was explained. On lifting his brew kit I immediately sank half an inch into the ground! Al set up his field kitchen and made tea. TEA I ask you? Yuck filthy stuff. What's wrong with a cup of coffee. No waste to drag back. By the time Al had dismantled the mess house, and attended to his "other needs",

    fish were again rising in the glide.
     
    My turn. I made a few casts and missed a couple of fish by tightening too quickly. These fish had a much more lazy rise than the fish in the faster water of the Irwell. Slowing down I finally managed to connect with one from the same place as Al's monster. Not as large as his but a respectable 15 inches. This is a small stream by Girach's definition (i.e. one you can roll cast across). That was to be the last fish of the day for either of us.

     
    The Grannom had started to hatch and that was the fly the fish had been rising to. By next week the hatch will be history. Much to our surprise Al spotted a few early, very early, mayfly hatching. Hmm better get some tied I like a spot of mayfly fishing.
     
    Moving downstream we came across 5 other fishermen, all were fish less. It was crowded on the river that day. Seven anglers on a 3 mile stretch is a bit shoulder to shoulder for our tastes.
     
    Late in the afternoon we retired to the local hostelry for refreshment, only to find them not serving food over the holiday! However the fish and chip shop a couple of doors down was. Fish chips and mushy peas accompanied with Dandelion and Burdock taken on a bench by the river in spring sunshine; a great way to round off a day. Al made his escape back across the border and I went to set up camp for the night. Though the dammed mobile leash was tugged, and I had to return home about 22:30.
     
    "He is risen - He may be, but the trout arn't" - Easter Sunday

    Off to the Ure today. As a school child I spent a week in Keld as part of the Duke of Edinborough's Award Scheme. I fell in love with the Yorkshire Dales, and I still am. Just being there is a medicine for the soul. Though when you visit remember that it is a tough landscape and those who work it for a living have a hard enough time winning a livelihood from the land without us getting in the way. We all know the country code, or should. That's a good start. Stay out of their way while you enjoy the land. Don't stand and watch a farm worker stop his tractor, get out and open a gate. Open it for him, and remember to close it again.
     
    The Ure is a lovely looking river, but was in a dour mood. I fished two of the lengths. On the first I spotted only one feeding fish. What it was feeding on wasn't apparent. He didn't want any of my offerings. The second length did have fish feeding. On midges so tiny as to be impossible to catch. When they refuse a #30 suspender buzzer as too large you will struggle. I did. Not a single fish rose to my fly all day. I tried nymphs and one or two very fancy flies that usually do the job in these situations. The midges used my fly to crawl through the surface, one trout rising and taking the midges off it!
     
    On this length I came across another angler who had bumped into Al earlier in the day. Al had attempted to show him his fish from yesterday. Having taken his memory card out of his camera to down load the images he had forgotten to replace it. His decent from prat to pillock is now complete, official and witnessed.
     
    Still it was a beautiful day in the magnificent Dales. What more could I ask for. I will be back.
     
    Cheers,
    OT
  4. OwdTrout
    Easter - the first long weekend of the season. With the long weekend coming up plans had to be made, kit has to be replaced. Unusually for me I looked up the weather forecast. I say unusually as for many years I have known that the weather can not be forecast with accuracy. Past experience has taught me that the Met Office can not be trusted, so, on the recommendation of Alan Roe, I consulted Met Check. Friday for my post code area it said it would rain all day, starting between 06:59 and 07:00. "Hmm" I thought, "This is more like a weather forecast". Based on that I made today my prep day for the rest of the weekend.
     
    By 11:30 the promised rain had not turned up. I'm wasting a good day here I may as well get some fishing done. Off to the Irwell I plodded. Conditions looked good. Overcast, warm, falling and clearing river. This could be good. Not a rise in sight. Some olives were hatching but not many, one spinner floated by. Well it has warmed up considerably so they might take a nymph. Half an hour later, not a touch.
     
    Then not 4 yards away a small fish rose. Time for the dry Fry. A well used CdC and Elk Upright, went on. Meanwhile another brownie had started to rise a yard closer. The second fish was much larger I noticed when he rose again.
     
    To cover either of these fish I needed to cast then make an aerial mend upstream to let the fly drift naturally. The fly drifted down the fish rose, ate it, and I lifted the rod. Exactly on the stroke of 7am! At least by the Met Check clock. It must have been 7 am as right at that moment it started to rain. Britain, all your clocks are wrong! Put them back 6 1/2 hours immediately, then the weather forecast will be right!
     
    Back to the important stuff. The fish fought hard, leapt once and came to hand nicely. Before returning him I measured him against my rod, with the fork of his tail at the foot of the real seat he came to 1/4 inch past the lettering. That made him 14 inches dead. (Well not dead, I returned him alive, taking care to revive him well). Not bad at all, and not the biggest I have had from there. With lots of river dropping on me from above I decided to call it a day. This afternoon I have to go to the outdoor shop for some bits and pieces.
     
    All that remains is to ask: "are meteorologists just protrusions into our reality of of hugely intelligent, pan dimensional, beings entertaining themselves by winding us up?" If you don't have a clue what I am talking about look up "White Mice" in H2G2.
     
    The day before the last Chatsworth show I slipped and broke my coccyx. Now, if the weather is about to change, it lets me know. Maybe I should offer this facility to the various weather forecasting institutions then my arse could work along side all the arseholes making such a mess of the weather forecast. Who are the highest paid civil servants? Met Office weather presenters. Why?
     
    Right back to the packing then off to the shop.
     
    Cheers
    OT
  5. OwdTrout

    Sunday 29th March

    By OwdTrout,

    Another nice day and the usual start in the same pool. Once again the successful fly was my stuck shuck emerger. A couple of fish came to it. Nothing unusual, both about 12 inches. Time to explore further. The next pool up seemed devoid of trout. About 50 yards further upstream I spotted a rise, close to my bank (there is no access from the opposite bank. Carefully I waded up a gravel bank mid stream to where I could cast at the fish. Twice I rose the fish and twice miss timed the tightening of the line. Large dark olives trickled off and still the fish rose.
     
    Four youths came along the riverside path and started to shout abuse. This was soon followed by bits of wood and stones up to half brick size. They had taken up position in just such a place that they blocked my only egress from the river. Totally exposed with no where to go I could only weather the barrage.
     
    After that I had lost my composure and couldn't really fish effectively so called it a day. As I came out of the river I spotted the youths again. One of them turned and walked away from the group toward the industrial units I was standing amongst. I ducked round a corner and waited. When he arrived I got a good hold on him and "explained the error of his ways". I now have names and addresses for them all.
     
    Well next week looks like a week off. Photos to be taken on Saturday and other tasks are conspiring to keep me away from the river.
  6. OwdTrout
    According to the Met Office I wasn't going to be able to fish today for high winds. When I looked at the weather it was bright clear and still. Another great forecast form the Met Office. I wouldn't mind if we didn't pay them so much to get it wrong. Met Office weather presenters are the highest paid civil servants. I wouldn't pay them in washers.
     
    Once again work conspired to stop me getting out, but I made an escape today, though it was a little late. At the river there were plenty of fish rising. A lot of them much lower in the pool than before. Before I had tackled up it started to rain then hail. Sheltering by a wall I added a new tippet to my furled leader. I must make some more of these this one is starting to show its age. Its only 3 seasons old and will probably last another two, but they are easy to make so why not?
     
    Two came to my stuck shuck emerger and another to the Muller. The Muller is a parachute style fly the creator of which I can't recall. It was published in FF&FT a couple of years back. It is distinctive in the way the hook is shaped. The shank is bent down a little about 1/3 of the way back from the eye, where the "wing" is placed. Mine are tied on some small keel hooks I acquired a few years back so I don't have to modify the hook.
     
    After that the rise started to go off the boil. Fish still rose sporadically, but I couldn't get them to come to my flies. The river was higher today after the rain through the week, and noticeably warmer. If anything more fish were showing so its looking good for the next few weeks.
     
    This afternoon I discovered some new scissors for my fly tying. What's great about them is they are very small, with big finger holes and fine blades. What's even better is that they come with a lifetime guarantee. The blades are Titanium bonded Much better than stainless steel. Especially the cheap stuff most tying scissors are made from. These are they

    Now I'll have to get to the vice and use them.
     
    Cheers,
    OT
  7. OwdTrout
    What a difference a week makes! After last Sunday's great start, I spent all week looking forward to getting back to the Irwell. work rules out a mid day trip in the week. Yesterday dawned bright and clear, not too windy, it looked ideal. by 7 am I was sat at the tying table cranking out flies at a good rate. Sustained, as usual, by a steady flow of coffee. Anticipation was building nicely, until 9:20 that was. When I was disturbed, mid whip finish, by my door bell. It was Mr Plod. He kindly informed me that they had just had to break down the front door of one of the residents. The property couldn't now be secured so could I attend until the emergency joiner arrived to replace the door. Ah the joys of being an estate manager.
     
    At least there was time to get to the river so long as the joiner turned up soon. To my joy he did, but, there is always a "but", Mr Plod had not been restrained in effecting an entry, and the joiner didn't have a door to replace the wreckage with. The resident was safe. At least I didn't have a body to deal with. Finally I got away just too late for the fish. Back to the vice, and finish Alan's flies then. There is always tomorrow.
     
    This morning it was a good bit cooler, thanks to a strong gusty wind. On the way to the river I have to cross it via a road bridge. Looking over the parapet revealed that the water level was down about 18 inches on last Sunday. Hmm, not promising. As I set up my rod a few minutes later, the trout started to rise.
     
    This stretch is sheltered by high banks. Access isn't easy. I had hoped for some shelter from the wind. I had hoped in vain. Gusts of wind found their way into the steep valley, and made casting difficult to impossible. two fish rose half heartedly to a Klinkhammer, but it soon became obvious that they had their sights set just sub surface.
     
    Once again the Large Dark Olives trickled off. I didn't see a single one taken from the surface. The big splashy rises should have given me a clue sooner, that the fish didn't want a dry fly. They were just turning at the surface for insects just below it.
     
    Well what to fish? I decided to go back to something that has worked for hundreds of years, and fish North Country Wets. A Polt Bloa on the point, Orange Partridge and my favourite Hare's Lug 'n' Plover on the top. From bob to point about 4 foot. fishing them upstream as one should. (Was it Pritt who said, about fishing these flies across and down "'tis the devils work, my son, and do not let me catch you about it."?) After about ten minutes the Orange Partridge brought a nice brownie to hand.
     
    By this time the rise was petering out so I made my way back to the bank. My feet being numb with the cold, (some would say to match my head) I stumbled on the bank falling and jarring both shoulders with the impact. I certainly don't bounce as well as I once did. My knee pads earned their keep as I landed heavily on my right knee as well. A pair of strap on knee pads to go over your waders is a worth wile investment. That was it for me, not a total loss but the river had the better of me today.
     
    I wouldn't want it any other way. Sometimes the river should win. Otherwise where is the sport. we'll see what next weekend brings.
     
    Cheers,
    OT
  8. OwdTrout
    As always on the first day of the new season, I set off to wet a line. Since the close of last season I've moved, new job new home. My new place is only 5 minutes from the Irwell, on foot. That means new season and a new river to explore. Local knowledge I had gleaned yesterday in the toy shop gave me a starting place. I'm beginning to fear the local toy shop. They have started offering me coffee when I enter. It’s not good to be that relaxed around tackle for sale.
     
    This morning it was bright and warm, if a little windy, when I went to clear the last bits of coarse tackle from the car. Those odds and ends that seem to live in the boot. "Well a good day to wet a line, but probably in vain", I was thinking. Still, opening day has to be marked.
     
    About 11:30 I set out in my waders, stick in hand. The Irwell here is quite large. Standing on the bank watching I couldn't see any sign of a fish. I could however, see large dark olives (baetis rhodani) hatching off. Maybe there is hope of a fish to start the season. About 12:15, having moved twenty yards downstream I spotted a rise. Worked out the best casting position and waded into place to cover the rise. I hoped it wasn't an early season "oncer" that doesn't rise again. By the time I was in place that one rise had turned into 5 or six fish rising frequently. My hopes soared. A feeding fish is a fish that can be caught.
     
    My first cast landed nicely upstream of a rising fish and the fly disappeared in a swirl. In my excitement I struck too soon, missing the fish. Calm down, these are trout not grayling. Three casts later another swirl and I was into a fish, a good one too. Then I wasn't. Soon I had missed 2 and lost 3. Despite this a lot of fish were now rising, time to stop and think.
     
    I changed fly. When I had arrived I had set up a duo of a size 18 Klinkhammer (a big fly even in that size) with a size 18 bead head nymph a yard below it. They came off and on went one of the all time best dry flies, a CdC and Elk. Either the change of fly, or the pause to relax a little, worked. Minutes later I was playing a hard fighting brownie of about a pound. It took a good couple of minutes to land that fish.
     
    During the close season I have been very lax in my fly tying. After loosing another fish I didn't have a similar sized CdC and Elk to replace my now drowned fly. In its place I tied my own stuck shuck emerger. Today that was a better fly than the CdC and Elk. As I worked up the pool it accounted for two more fish, one larger and one smaller than the first, both good hard fighting brownies.
     
    At this time of the season dry fly will often out score the nymph. There is usually a short window in the middle of the day when the fish will rise. Sure enough at 1:45 the fish switched off. As I walked away there wasn't a rise anywhere. There is no use fishing a nymph; the trout haven't switched to the nymph, they have stopped feeding.
     
    That is the best opening day I've ever had, and bodes well for the season to come. Now it is time to play catch up with my fly tying. I have a feeling I'm going to need a lot this year.
     
    Cheers,
     
    OT
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