EMBRACE THE JOY OF FLY FISHING!
Forget the elitist tags, nothing lifts the spirits like learning new skills
THE MENDIP Hills mirror the relaxed mood of their home county, Somerset, the ideal place to sup cider and fly-fish for trout.
Among the rocky outcrops and gorges lie two jewels in the game fishing crown, Chew Reservoir and Blagdon Lake, where I was heading for my latest adventure.
Blagdon is 10 miles south of Bristol, on the north edge of the Mendips. At 440 acres, it was created by damming the River Yeo at the end of the 19th Century. Very soon, this
beautiful man-made creation caught the imagination of anglers, so in journeying there I was following in the footsteps of thousands.
A cool north-east wind greeted me as I arrived at the fishing lodge ahead of my boat partner Wayne Little. These conditions would send most coarse fish into hiding, but a packed car park confirmed that the trout were expected to feed.
As average fly anglers, new to Blagdon, our plans were centred around educated guesswork and a relaxed but determined resolve to learn. Surprisingly, there was little on the internet to help us, and there was nothing on Facebook about tactics that were proving successful.
This wouldn’t stop us, but I do wonder if that would be the case for every game angler. ‘Fluff-flingers’ are an endangered species, and need every encouragement!
We gleaned a little information
from the bailiffs waiting to help us into our boat, so with their advice to fish Diawl Bach flies washing line-style we fired up the outboard and got underway.
A flotilla of other boats sat at the far, shallow end of the lake so it seemed logical to head in their general direction. Motoring down there I was grateful for my thermals and a warm coat, but our chosen spot was protected from the wind and the view was a joy to behold. Flower meadows flowed down from the hilltops here in some of the Britain’s finest countryside.
I wondered why, on a national scale, the sport of fly fishing is floundering. Wayne and I were in a stunning location, eating cakes too early in the day and having a laugh – and we hadn’t yet made a cast.
I suspect the PR damage was done a long time ago with the perception of fly-fishing being an elitist pursuit, but right now I had another question to ask myself… which fly would be the killer on the day?
Wayne showed me an incredible array of creations which he stopped short of sharing with me, so I delved into my old, rather sparse, box and selected three imitations.
I feel a fraud at this stage even mentioning tackle, because neither of us is an expert – something which became all too apparent as local anglers on other boats had their rods hoop over while ours refused to budge. However, enjoyment isn’t just about catching fish, and I very much doubt whether anyone laughed more than Wayne did when he saw my pitiful collection of fur and feather! For the record, we used 7-weight rods with floating lines and formed washing line set-ups from 6.4lb fluorocarbon. These 15ft leaders had droppers tied on via water knots and carrying the recommended Daiwl Bach flies, while a damsel fly imitation was attached to the point.
It was Wayne who struck into the first rainbow of the day, and it didn’t seem such a bad one! A tiny black and green nymph had proved too tempting and we were both surprised by the fish’s power, spinning the reel like a Catherine wheel, stripping line
“Trout after trout struck hard and fast on successive retrieves”
and leaping from the water.
Typically, my friend guarded the identity of his ‘going’ fly and chuckled when I suggested he shared his box with me.
His amusement only grew with the next rainbow, and when my line eventually drew taut, a bloody pike on the end added to the hilarity. As Wayne played yet another trout while I was doing battle with my second pike I began to feel as though I was cursed. Within the last week I’d had a flat battery, lost two salmon, dropped a Go Pro in the Wye and had a dentist snap a back tooth in half using something akin to a nutcracker – I’d now need surgery to correct it. Of course, my friend offered no sympathy!
Happily, two of Wayne’s more experienced trout fishing friends were out on the water today and kindly directed us to a bay stuffed with rainbows.
I suffered two hook-pulls, which was ridiculous when my boat partner hadn’t lost one fish, but then finally things turned in my favour.
The thrill can only be imagined as a Blue Flash Damsel on a slow figure-of-eight retrieve was hit savagely and line zipped through my fingers.
We were sheltered from the wind, the sun had come out, and suddenly all the woes of the previous week evaporated as trout after trout struck hard and fast on successive retrieves.
Given the conditions, I very much doubt whether coarse anglers could have enjoyed our level of sport, or that of everyone else around the reservoir. Trout fishing can appear daunting, but I recommend you visit Blagdon and set sail on a new adventure in your angling career.
It might be a struggle to begin with but that’s the best bit, because with the learning curve comes an excitement that fades as you gain experience and can never quite be recaptured.