Fishing in the Footsteps of Mr Chefftree

With apologies to the Angling Legend that is John Bailey, and those responsible for Fishing in the Footsteps of Mr Crabtree, I found myself by the water at Holbury Lane Lakes with my very own "Peter". Except his name is Ben, he's ten years old, and the son of friends of ours. Ben had expressed a desire to go fishing, and I was asked if I would be able to oblige the young man. Hmmm, let me think - an afternoon spent jet washing patio versus a couple of hours pursuing some of the hardest fighting, best-tasting stillwater trout in Hampshire.

One of Tom Rosenbauer's most recent podcasts came to mind, and in a flash the arrangements were made. The weather was - for once - good as Ben and I headed through the forest towards the M27. Ben had played football in the morning, and - sustained by a hearty pasta-based lunch - was eagerly anticipating getting the most out of his time on the water in the afternoon.

Me - well, as is my wont, I had planned meticulously. Fully loaded fly vest - check. Suitable fly rod for a ten year old - check. And a flash of inspiration had come to me in church that very morning - overlining my 4wt Greyflex M2 with a 5wt line would make the whole experience more agreeable. Sorry Vicar, what was that again?

Anyway, cutting to the chase as I need to keep to the point. We duly arrived, paid for our 2 fish ticket,  tackled up, donned "cool dood" shades and headgear  and headed for the water. The emphasis today, I explained, was to be on enjoyment and having fun. Ben was a very good Peter, hugely enthusiastic, as I tried to demonstrate and explain the rudiments of the roll cast.

Apart from all this, I was just delighted to be back at Holbury. It amazes me that - at this time of year and on such a glorious day - we had the place to ourselves, practically. In the car, I'd explained to Ben the essential points about "put and take" waters - if we were fortunate to catch, what we caught would be killed and taken for the table. I was confident that we would catch, but Ben "totally got" the difference between fishing and catching.

We moved around a bit, and hit on a mutually agreeable formula of me doing the casting and Peter Ben doing the retrieving. We remained "Fishless in Seattle" and my young companion reminded me of our earlier discourse on the subject of changing flies. I recalled how I'd seen beadhead Montanas succeed in this particular lake previously, so the fly and our position were duly changed. With the sun on our back, we could more comfortably see and watch the tip of the flyline - this, I explained to Ben, would be our "telltale" when a fish took.

The change in position made things easier. Ben had previously registered a couple of "plucks" but I had seen nothing. Tempis was fugiting, and we had less than an hour to fish before "stumps". In went the Montana, and before I could give the rod to Ben I had to strip some line in. This time, I saw the end of the flyline misbehave. My lifting of the rod set the hook and instantly we were all "a quiver". Pausing only for me to get  the line on the reel, Ben took the rod.

An interesting ten minutes ensued. This was one feisty rainbow, line was taken when possible and given where necessary. Ben's right arm tired before the fish did, and so he passed the rod to me whilst snatching up the landing net in practically one movement. We were both excited, and in no time at all our quarry was netted, banked and dispatched. High fives ensued but the clock was against us - our need to get the fly back in the water was pressing.

Within ten minutes, another trout had followed the same path as the first. I was relieved, as the warmth had gone out of the sunlight and a chilly late afternoon was upon us. We weighed in two fish for 5lbs 4oz and completed our catch return. Packing up was completed swiftly, and I turned the heater in the car onto "HI" before heading for home.

For the record, Ben had a thoroughly enjoyable time as you can probably appreciate from the following picture.

Boy and trout were duly returned to grateful (and impressed) parents. I was impressed that Ben's dad knew what to do with the trout! It would be an untruth to say that no trout were "harmed" in the process of manufacturing this hugely enjoyable afternoon, but I view this as a "perk" of being at the top of the food chain.

Anyway, next weekend it's back to boring grayling fishing on the despicable River Test with that flippin' Nicholas Steedman. Apparently, I shall mostly be French Nymphing............

Thanks Ben for a great afternoon, and to Sara and Chris for asking me to do the honours with the young man. A very worthy Peter, as things turned out. The only thing missing was an opportunity for me to shout "STRIKE!!!!"....now where did I leave my pipe?