Dorset Piddle, Wild Brown Trout

Today, Easter Monday, found me in possession of a Pink Ticket to disappear for a day's fishing. I was heading for the Dorset Piddle, to fish a syndicate water which I was fully expecting to have all to myself.

I'd compared notes last week with a fellow member of the other syndicate to which I belong, and found that he was heading to Essex for a visit with the in-Laws. Now, I love my in-Laws as much as - if not more than - the next man; but I seemed to detect a hint of envy on Philip's part when I told him I would be on the water whilst be negotiated the M25.....

Just to be clear, I had "done my bit" on Easter Sunday. An unnecessarily lengthy church service - check. Ironed twenty work shirts - check. Walked with Border Terriers - check. Good Friday and Saturday had been spent in the garden and at garden centres. Both cars had been washed, so dues had been paid in full. I had the receipts to prove it.

Digressing for a moment, on Thursday 24th April I'll be spending the day volunteering for the worthy charitable cause that is Fishing for Forces. I'm looking forward to this immensely; I can't begin to imagine what active service in Afghanistan must be like. I do, however, know what a long-distance commute followed by the delights of the Waterloo & City Line is like, and how much that makes me hunger after peace and quiet.

So, back to today. Unlike my last outing there was no last-minute detour east to the Meon. I was tempted - briefly - but stuck to my plan to head west for my first day on the Piddle in 2014's trout season. And what a glorious morning it was. Words can't do justice to describe the fields of oilseed rape and I was once again left to ponder on how much earlier Spring has sprung in 2014, compared to 2013. At the river, I remarked to myself on how far the vegetation and trees had grown on since my last visit on a working party three weeks before. Rain yesterday and overnight had introduced a tinge of colour to the water, and I thought that sight fishing would be difficult.

And, so it proved. I was pressed for time so had planned to fish the water at the top of the beat. This is the clearest and most open stretch, with room to use a longer rod and a decent back-cast. A small, Olive emerger pattern went on the business end, and I cast this speculatively for the first half hour or so. Whilst enjoyable, this was unproductive. There were insects in the air but no sign of a hatch and no rising fish, so on went the nymphing rig.

Approaching the weir pool

This is a little deeper than it looks, and I was wary of a rather silty bottom, so fished from the bank. How I came to be in the water to get the shot above will become clear. With a mixture of lobbing and casting, I targeted the slightly deeper water by the far bank. Mid-day was approaching, I'd been fishing for an hour, and my first take registered. A small but spirited Piddle brownie of about half a pound gave a good account of itself, followed by a couple more fish of the same size. I connected briefly with what I believe to have been a Piddle "school peal" - very silvery with a dark back. It took to the air and rid itself of my nymph.

Then, still working from the bank, I focused on putting my nymph close in to the opposite bank, where the water was significantly deeper. It looked trouty. Mid-drift, not just a hesitation but a dead stop, followed by a lift of the rod tip. Resistance. Fish. Current. A sighting. My goodness, this was in a different class - not enormous, but enough of a glimpse to show that this was a striking fish. One I wanted to net and photograph.

It felt securely on, had been for a while. I slid into the water, unshipped my net, and tried to stay downstream. Before too long, this rather striking brownie was in the net. Relieved, I readied the camera. A very spirited fish. Who cares what it weighs, I was transfixed by the spots. This was just so beautiful, the colours so vivid, and the creature so proud and magnificent.

Speechless.

The Red Spots

Need I say any more? After releasing and reflecting on such a bonnie fish, I continued along the beat. I caught more, I missed more. I went home happy. Anybody fancy a close up?

Dorset's finest

That was one Happy Easter!

Me-on Trout: A Micro Blog

Yesterday was my first line wetting of 2014's trout season. In fact, it was my first outing since 29th January......which is why it felt like a long time since I'd last fired up the Quattro in classic Gene Hunt style and headed to the waterside.

I've seen a lot of discussion about the effectiveness of the Jingler as an early season fly, and I'd sourced some of these from the excellent Hartley Fly earlier in the week. My Jingler acquisitions had been the source of much hilarity and a limitless supply of "double entendre" wisecracks, e.g. "Tony'll be getting his Jinglers wet at the weekend" and "Make sure you dry your Jinglers properly after fishing" etc. All very childish, but understandable as there has been a certain amount of "Cabin Fever" in evidence at the office, given I was but one of three twitchy fly fishers who hadn't fished for a looooongggggg time.

My fortune is being offered the opportunity to join a small syndicate fishing a stretch of the Meon is considerable, and I was initially torn between this venue (which I'd visited but never fished before) and the Dorset Piddle. The Piddle is another small syndicate, which I'd joined last year, and apart from three working party days had been untouched since the end of 2013's trout season.

I left the house intending to head west, but decided on a whim to head east. To the Meon I was bound, Jingler-laden, feeling disorganised and under-prepared. My tackle appeared to be in the same condition of disarray that I'd left it in after what turned out to be my final grayling outing. I had envisaged that further outings would be on the cards, but the ridiculously wet weather, work and family commitments meant that this was not to be the case. It's unlike me not to have "fettled" since then - something that amuses my wife greatly, when she sees me sorting and re-sorting flies, fly boxes and tackle in general.

 Dorset Piddle Mid-February; severe flooding beginning to recede

Back to the ridiculously wet weather this winter past, for a moment. The Piddle had seen considerable flooding, like many rivers in the Wessex region, and our stretch of water has a number of fallen trees which will need to be removed. The working party three weekends ago enabled us to tackle some of the smaller ones; in a couple or more cases we didn't remove the trees. We were able to use a couple as flow deflectors and another we decided to just leave where it was. Discusssion around a further WTT advisory visit (last one was April 2010) had ensued.

Roughly the same shot, a month later

Anyway, back to yesterday. In large measures, this was really about blowing away the cobwebs. I started at the bottom of the beat, fishing an Olive Jingler, and persevered for 30 minutes with no result. The day was pleasant, cloudy but with plenty of sunny spells. It felt good to be back in the water, albeit fishless, and I switched to the duo. Underneath my Klinkhammer I tied a shrimp pattern, and cast expectantly into the shallow, streamy run ahead of me.

Bang. The shrimp was nailed and a silvery fish of about half a pound was firstly airborne then in possession of my shrimp pattern no longer. I smiled at this, pleased that the change of fly had bought a result. Was this another "school peal"? Or, merely a very pale Meon brownie dazzling to deceive in the bright April sunlight? I'll never know.

For the next couple of hours I fished up the beat and occasionally did so from the bank, as the vegetation has yet to put on its annual Spring growth spurt. My mind drifted back to 2013 and how late Spring was in arriving last year. Flies were changed, I felt in a shrimp-pattern state of mind so at one stage found myself fishing two, New Zealand style. A handful of what could have been takes, judging by the end of my fly line, proved either to be the bottom, weed or were missed fish.

A meeting of fly, leader and branch at about three in the afternoon prompted me to pause and take stock; I decided the cutting of grass and walking with Border Terriers could wait a little longer. After successfully retrieving flies and tippet with about six feet of leader remaining I tied on a shrimp pattern and an olive quill nymph New Zealand-style on a couple of feet of tippet. By now, I was working my way through a very narrow stretch of the beat, twisting with both banks tree-lined. This was close work, a couple of rod lengths at the most.

A roll cast. A good one, actually. Flies sinking quickly, line dead straight. watching the tip intently. A hesitation. A strip strike and slight lift of the rod tip (no room for more) and resistance. This was a strong current, and what felt like a good fish. Then I caught a glimpse of flank and realised how spirited the Meon trout are. I stayed downstream and did a good job of not falling over my own feet as I backpedalled slightly and unshipped my net from the back of my wading jacket. In the bag, safely, not big but certainly beautiful.

"Spot" the salmo trutta...wild, it was livid!

Breathing deeply, I kept the fish in the water whilst I readied my camera. The Olive Quill had been snaffled and I felt pleased that the change of fly, leader length and tactics had worked.

Lift and click!

In the above picture, the shrimp pattern is visible in the net.

Worth a closer look.....

And with that, my camera beeped angrily at me; I had not charged the battery so no further shots were possible. The fish was released, I was content, and able to return home to grass and terriers, feeling pleased with my day and having caught my first Meon trout.