The 2004 river season ended pretty much on a high, the barbel fishing was fantastic but bloody hell I had to work for it. The damage done to my joints is wearing off and so I am now twiddling my thumbs and wondering what to do with myself for the next couple of months. I have never really worried much about the closed season but at the current time, what with immigration and unscrupulous dealers in live fish, coupled with industrial polluters the best place for angler between March and June is on the river banks looking out for our best interests and the only good thing I personally can say about the closed season is it usually gives me time to do a little bit of fly fishing. My skills with a fly rod are not the stuff of legend, I am not one of those anglers that naturally looks graceful whilst in pursuance of anglings most elegant means of expression. No, I look more like an Iranian prison officer dishing out a hundred lashes to a convicted paedophile. Not pretty but certainly effective. The lovely Ladybower So here I am standing alone in the car park of Ladybower’s ticket office with my motley range of fly rods and other bits and bobs slung over my shoulder. Tina has turned down the opportunity to share a boat with me and has departed for a day’s shopping in the nearby villages of Hathersage and Bamford. The walls of the ticket office have an assortment of clippings and pictures and one that always stands out is the one of Tag Barnes holding a beautiful trout of double figures. I buy a day ticket and hire a boat for the day, at the same time denying myself a choice from the selection of trout flies on offer, even though the waggytails look deadly if not for the purist.
Down onto the jetty and it’s now that the scale of the water hits me, this is no commercial bagging venue, it even dwarves the nearby Dam Flask, making it look little more than a kiddies paddling pool! Into the boat I go and this is always an exciting time for me, I love the boating part of trout fishing. Firstly I like to get everything stowed away neatly and at hand then onto the rowing seat to adjust the foot rest so that my legs have plenty of room, my rowing technique is very upper body orientated and the rests serve only as rests rather than leverage points for lower body power. The perfect recipe for tired shoulders, a bad back and stiff arms but the only serious exercise I will get this week so I masochistically look forward to the punishment! The boat is released from the jetty and I am away, for some reason I have always been good at the casting off bit and the coming into dock parts. I have seen others who have almost written half a dozen boats off before they have gotten a few feet from the bank! A bit like those old Greek boats with the fat bloke and a drum, “ramming speed! Boom bang boom bang!” just take it steady, ease the boat out with gentle mini strokes; there’s enough time to make an arse of yourself once out of sight, no point everyone thinking you’re an arse to start off with.
Once away from the jetty the oar strokes can become more purposeful and the prow of the boat begins to make steady headway into the wilder open waters. Once well out from the dangers of the bank (I would hate to take somebody out with a weighted nymph doing 80mph) I begin to fish, casting the fly and allowing the boat to drift, occasionally taking to the oars and heading off to favourite spots along the arms or towards the dam wall. Today was to be a good day for fly fishing as I was actually catching fish from the off rather than thrashing away like a whirling dervish for nothing! The white and orange polystickle I chose to begin with soon accounted for a nice brace of larger than average stock fish and prompted me to take to the oars before I quickly limited myself off the water. Tina wouldn’t be back till three thirty and hours spent idling around waiting for her return would be no fun and may well end in me drinking more than my fair share in the nearby public houses, drunk and in possession of two brace of dead fish now that wouldn’t do at all, would it!
So most of the day was be spent on the drift and searching out new parts of this massive water, not wanting to limit myself away too quickly. It was time well spent as I found several beautiful spots away from the well fished areas and finishing my limit was no problem at all. As I turned the boat around and headed back towards the shore I left feeling better and filled with a little more confidence about fly fishing than when I had arrived that morning. Whilst I was gutting my fish in the drying room I met a couple of chaps from Manchester, they too had had a good day’s sport, having a double ticket each makes for a lot of gutting! Sport was definitely on the up as last season I and quite a few others had struggled to get a brace, never mind easily doing our limits. Happy days to come on the ‘bower this year if this is anything to go by!
I was lacking at lakeside My next day’s trouting was at Lakeside Fisheries at Ranskill with a grand master of fly casting and all things troutish Mr Ron Clay. My knowledge of Ron goes back a few years with both of us being northern anglers and having a shared interest in barbel but it wasn’t until recently when I first became a computer geek and internet user and logged on to the fantastic fishing site FISHINGmagic.com that we actually started talking and met up for a days fishing. Now Lakeside isn’t what you would term a pretty venue, in fact it is the trout equivalent of a commercial carp fishery, which isn’t surprising as it is part of a three lake complex consisting of a specimen carp lake a match lake and a trout lake. The night previous had been cold and the fishing was somewhat slow, in fact it was so slow that for me it never really started. I thrashed the water to a stiff peaked meringue and still I couldn’t tempt a fish to hang itself on one of my overdressed offerings, even one of Ron’s skinny SA damsels couldn’t buy me a fish and I left fishless to Ron’s brace of keepers and four released. I didn’t see many other fish caught apart from Ron’s so I didn’t feel that pathetically inept as I left empty handed with nothing to present to the pot.
Back on the ‘Bower Lakeside was nice but I must admit to having a soft spot for the rugged wilderness and scale of Ladybower. I think it appeals to the adventurous side of my nature and like my coarse fishing, I prefer my trout fishing to be carried out in surroundings that are condusive to that aspect of the sport rather than the sterile platformed bagging waters that offer tremendous ego boosting weights to less than average anglers. With the trout fishing still calling me another session was quickly arranged for the ‘Bower. This time I would be sharing a boat with an old school buddy of mine, Daniel Stewart-Smith. Now Dan is a powerfully built bloke and so we took to a boat determined to go well up the arms and search out a lot of water, we didn’t think twice when offered the choice of motor or oars; it had to be oars, motors are for wimps!
I started the rowing, straight out of the jetty and over to the far side to give Dan a quick lesson in (very) basic fly casting before we headed off in search of monsters. The weather was fine but a little on the cool side but the rowing was good exercise and very warming. As we reached the far bank a flock of small wading birds took off and skittered low across the water’s surface and quickly disappearing further up the rugged and beautiful arm of the Ladybower, pinging off their calls of alarm as they went. Dan didn’t have long to wait before a small stock fish committed suicide on a white and orange Polystickle lure. The fish put up a very disappointing struggle indeed. I hoped that the next fish Dan hooked would put up a better struggle otherwise all my stories of blockbuster battles on the light fly fishing gear would seem exaggerated and could put him off the venue altogether. It wasn’t long before we were both in again as the Ladybower trout seemed determined to make sure they were coming home with us and taking a lovely hot steam bath with a dash of vermouth, a bit of zesty orange peel and nice sprig of aromatic thyme.
I never tire of the beauty of venues like Ladybower; the scenery is just magnificent and even on a rough day when the weather comes in over the chocolaty coloured moors you cannot help but be amazed by it, even if it is simply the ferocity of the weather rather than the surrounding beauty and abundance of nature. Oh yes, the weather can change in minutes up on the ‘Bower and even if it was warm and clear when you left the ticket office, do not leave the weather suits in the car as sooner or later that will be a decision you will regret very deeply and could in extreme circumstances cost you your life. So better safe than sorry, wrap up well and keep warm. By early afternoon we were well up the main arm of the bower and enjoying great sport when the weather changed, the wind turned and increased in speed, the water started to rise into choppy little waves, the choppy little waves soon developed into white crested proper waves and we decided to waste no time in reaching a sheltered spot. We were rowing hard and fast against the rapidly increasing wind and armed with an oar each it took us an hour to get less than 200 yards.
We made the safety and shelter of the wooded bank at the far side of the dam wall and continued to fish for another hour or so before we decided to return to the drying room to prepare our fish and depart home for Sunday lunch. We both had our limits and everything was right in the world. The fish had mainly fallen for the Polystickle lure fished on a hi-D line but we had also caught fish on buzzer and nymphs. A good day all round as these were the first fish I had deliberately cast to and caught on buzzers.
Blown out on the ‘Bower! I returned to Ladybower again the following Sunday with another mate of mine Roy ‘Chad’ Challenger (49) but the wind was so brisk (howling like a banshee) a boat was a no-no and so we headed up to the Millbrook area, which should give us a reasonable amount of shelter. The surrounding countryside was amazing with lots of wildlife on show to keep me occupied for the day but once again the fishing was very slow but Chad managed to hook five and land four, a feat I am still trying to live down. The fish obviously finding his unusual and unorthodox choice of fly more attractive than mine, but that is another story for another day.
During the course of the day I came across the carcass of a dead pike in the margins, it was the biggest pike I have ever seen. These trout fed pike really are something different, and its proportions were ridiculous with the fish having the girth of a sumo wrestler. I estimate the fish to have been around the 30lb mark in life. God only knows what I would have done if the fish had been in decent nick, I honestly think I would have had it set up. It was truly a stunning fish even in death.
I think I will probably have one or maybe two more fly fishing sessions before the new season starts, but to be honest the call of the river is becoming almost unbearable and the thought of slamming rods and huge barbel are really getting under my skin. The invention of new pastes and boilies is starting to stir in the back of my mind. Impressive Press Manor Well it’s off to Press Manor with Ron Clay and the weather is pretty good for fishing, broken cloud and a steady breeze. It’s about 22 miles from my part of Sheffield and a day ticket is £ 16.50 for a three fish ticket then catch and release up to twelve. We arrive at the lake within half an hour and it really is quite charming, reed fringed with birch trees overhanging the water’s edge. There are a few terrestrials being blown about the margins which are being readily taken by the free rising rainbows and brownies. After a quick cuppa with Brian the bailiff and we set off up the reservoir to find a nice spot to fish.
I started with a team of two buzzers and Ron did likewise but used three. Now one thing I cannot get round is patience, I simply have none so when faced with the reality of trout freely rising and me not getting a pull I start to wonder if I have a fly that will do the job. Out come the boxes and in the top left hand corner is a trio of hawthorn imitations, complete with detached Dacron bodies and tiny little polythene wings (how cute!). These flies were tied many years ago and have sat there in the top corner of the box waiting for their call, their chance to shine! The Montana’s and the vivas, the marabous and the cats whiskers, the Polystickle and the stickflies all have had their days of glory and now it was the turn of the hawthorn imitations. So on one went, with a small black ant on the top and hawthorn taking the point. The breeze was off my back and a steady stream of real hawthorns and alders landed in the margins. Very few made it to the ripple line fifteen yards out! A couple of false casts had the 12ft leader rolling out nicely assisted by the breeze. The flies touched down gently and the hawthorn was instantly taken, BANG I was in! “Whooo hoo!” the rainbow shot off and went airborne, splashing acrobatically across the swim (do They have swims in fly fishing?) after a very good and spirited battle I had a nice well finned rainbow in the bass bag, happy that the blank had been averted. The day was good and all was well with the world!
A quick check of the leader and a bit of gink and I was casting out again, the whirring of the false wings drawing some attention from Ron. The fly landed and was again taken within seconds of landing; this is amazing, two fish in two casts! Again another fit rainbow came to the bank. A fish was then risen and another lost in quick succession and Ron took a copy of the hawthorn and, as if by magic, he was in immediately! On his next cast he hooked another and it was this, coupled with the fact that I too was playing one at the same time provoked the statement, “This fly is special, make no mistake! I shall have some of these tied on my bench! It needs a name swordsy!” what with the whirring wings and its explosive nature, it had to be the ‘Doodle bug’! The fish came and went with the sun and the wind, the terrestrials rising with the sun and being blown to their doom by the wind. Ron took a fantastic wild brownie of a little over 2lb and I took a rainbow of around the same size or maybe a little bigger. We were both on catch and release now and the fishing was very active with fish after fish being hooked or raised. As the day went on the fishing faded with the weather and a retreat was called. We headed home very happy and laden with a fine trio of trout apiece! Yes this fly-fishing malarkey isn’t half bad, I have really enjoyed the closed season, well maybe not enjoyed it but I have survived it mentally intact !( Very questionable!) and improved an aspect of my fishing to boot. You cannot really grumble at that, can you now? Maybe I will make room for some Ladybower sessions during the summer months and try to bag up on the dry fly. Who knows? I shall have to see how things pan out for me. As it stands at the moment I am looking at 5kg of boilies and 4kg of paste and the stench of glug is in my nostrils. Come on June 16th, not long now! |
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