The FM Fly Fish-in and contest for the Andy Wright Memorial TrophyTHE MORNING DAWNED dull and overcast – perfect weather for a good day’s trout fishing. I arrived at Press Manor Fishery to join our band of brothers and a sister, keen to catch a few trout on the fly. Bernie, the owner, said one word to me under his breath: “Hawthorns”. So it looked as though the hawthorn fly, a Press Manor favourite, would show after all.
The hawthorn fly (Bibio marci) for those of you who do not know, appears for a short time every May.
They have long rear legs, which trail in the air and are poor fliers. Because of this, the breeze blows them onto the surface of any nearby trout lake, and the trout eat them in large quantities. If sufficient of them are around, the trout can become totally preoccupied with them, and if you haven’t got the right imitation you often catch nothing. At this time of the year I always make sure I have a few in my fly box. In fact a few days ago I tied 20 of them utilising a plume of cul de canard for the wings, which helps the fly float better than using transparent plastic. But the real secret of those imitations is the legs. What a job it is to tie knots in black died feather fibre!
Of course it didn’t take long for my fly box to get invaded, and by guess who? Yes, Mr Methane Man, Gary ‘Barney’ Knowles, who was on a mission to get his trophy back which he lost last year to Bryan Baron. Graham also grabbed a couple, and make no mistake these flies proved very effective as you will learn.
The Morning The mornings of these fish-ins are normally devoted to a bit of practice for the competition and hopefully for the seasoned fly fishers amongst us to pass on fishing and casting tips to the less experienced.
I was pleased that Wendy came along as she recently spent time in Scotland, filming a fly fishing TV feature. She did tell me that she had received a bit of tuition from a very well known fly fisher. But I wish the person in question had spent a little more time explaining the basics, including the right way to wind a forward taper line onto the reel. She was obviously struggling to get out a decent line and when I picked up her rod, I told her that she required a much heavier line to make the rod work. But what I didn’t spot was the fact that she had the line on the reel the wrong way round! After this was sorted, she managed to catch a trout, but we all live and learn, don’t we? I decided to do a little fishing myself. In less than two hours I copped 7 or 8 trout, including two browns on my hawthorn imitations. I now had an inkling on who would win. At lunch time we all trooped up to The Three Horseshoes where we had our usual pleasant interlude in a good old English style pub. Then came a series of shocks. The first shock was when Graham, who always walks a bit lopsided, bought me a pint of Guinness! The next shock was that Barney Knowles did not at any time exude large quantities of methane! Mind you I did notice that his face was turning blue as he obviously was trying to hold them back. What a supreme effort he must have made!
And then came something quite frankly I never expected in a thousand years. Graham stood up, called everyone to order and read a letter from someone who at the last moment could not make the day. It was from none other than The Bone Collector, the mysterious angler who has appeared on the FM forum in recent weeks and entertained us with his nostalgic tales of his angling years gone by. I will not repeat here what was in the letter, other than to say to our mysterious friend, “sorry you dislocated your shoulder due to the reference to Kathy Kirby in one of my forum posts.” And then came the final cherry on the top Graham, on behalf of The Bone Collector, presented me with a truly magnificent fly rod – a 9 1/2 foot, #8/9 weight beauty, exquisitely built by Harrison’s of Liverpool, one of a pair made exclusively for the Bone Collector and carrying his name in the unmistakeable Harrison script. It’s perfect for long casting on reservoirs and will also be ideal for piking and saltwater fly fishing when I can find the time.
I have not got over this, and quite honestly, I probably never will. All I can say to Mr BC is, thank you; but I really don’t deserve it. The contest for the trophy So it was back to the lake and the start of our little three hour contest. The winner would be the first one to catch 10 trout, or whoever had caught the most trout by 5.30pm. A short while into the competition the hawthorn flies were starting to prove their worth. Graham fished very well and in the last few minutes it was touch and go between him and Barney as to who was to win. Both were on eight fish each, Graham had a fish throw the hook in the dying minutes and then Barney hooked one and just managed to pip Graham at the post. He is now able to have his name engraved again on this prestigious trophy.
So it’s well done to Barney for a second time (and don’t forget my cheque for the flies). And it’s also very well done to Graham who, in just a few years of serious fly fishing, has become a highly effective fly fisher. Thanks to all of you who came, making it a truly memorable day. And Mr Bone Collector, thanks again; your gift will be treasured. A Few Notes from Graham The morning session went its usual way, with me and Barney having a head to head along the dam. He got there long before me and had fluked one fish out and was now struggling. I started with a Diawl Bach and had a nice trout first cast. Then another one on the second cast while Barney glared at me and thrashed the water in his parody of fly fishing.
As I unhooked my third fish a hand snaked into the landing net and snatched the line out. “What yer catching on then? What’s that little thing, yer call that a fly?” “It’s a Diawl Bach, not one of them budgies you’re yanking through the water.” I replied. “Got any more?” “I’m awfully sorry,” I said, “I’ve only got the one, or I’d be only too pleased to give you a couple.” He went back to his swim, some 30yds away and started rummaging through his bird cage, gaudy coloured feathers flying everywhere. He looked up, flourishing something at me. “Got one, ner, ner, ner ner nerrrrrrrrrr! In fact I’ve got two and they’re all mine!” By this time, being old enough to be his father, I had to have a sit on the dam wall and give my joints a rest. He soon caught a couple of fish on the Diawl Bach and triumphantly shouted over, “that’s three, same as you smart ar*se!” Unlike when he’d caught and I’d called over, “well done Mr Knowles, I thought for one moment you were going to lose that last one. I was dreading seeing your line go slack.” Later, the number of hawthorn flies tripping across the water increased so when Ron came along I accepted his kind offer of a couple of his own tyings. Barney sidled over and helped himself to a handful and soon after we were catching on them. By lunchtime we’d had seven fish each and the afternoon competition was set to be a good one. After lunch I decided to fish along the side leading up to the dam. Trout were rising freely to the hawthorns. Barney went back to the same peg along the dam. I started well, catching two or three fish in quick succession, while Barney continued to whip the water to foam as he enviously watched me land my fish. I waved him over to come and join me but I don’t think he noticed.
Two swims further down from me the trout were going mad and rising everywhere. If the guy who was fishing there moved or packed up I’ll go there, I thought to myself. And sure enough, 20 minutes later I saw him reeling in and then folding away his landing net. Then I heard splash, splash, splash, and looked up to see Barney running past me, feet treading puddles as he sped past to get the best swim on the lake. The rest, as they say, is history, but I had him worried right up to the last minute. Earlier, in the pub As I sat with Ron in the pub, waiting for the lunch to be prepared, he said to me, “I need to think of a theme for the write-up, I can’t keep basing it on Barney breaking wind.” Knowing I was soon going to be reading a letter to him from the Bone Collector, and presenting him with a very, very nice fly rod courtesy of BC, I said to him, “don’t worry about it Ron, I have a feeling something is going to happen that will give you your theme.” I went to my car for the letter and the rod and called for order so I could read the letter to Ron. I meant for it to be a very formal reading but when I got to the bit about Kathy Kirby living rough I couldn’t help but burst out laughing, but I made a big effort and managed to get over it. Ron was really overcome; it was a very emotional occasion for him and for once he was almost speechless, even about South Africa and Dick Walker. No kidding, he was close to tears, and we all felt a bit choked as we could see that the words and gift from the Bone Collector had completely thrown him. In fact, he was so overwhelmed for the rest of the lunch he never even noticed when Barney raised himself up from the seat not far from him and let rip with one of his specials that made the meals blackboard rattle on the wall 10 yards away. An elderly gentleman at the bar turned round and glared at him; Barney said, with a huge grin, “excuse me,” and the bloke and his wife then walked out, never to be seen again. A good day, that’s for sure, and certainly one we’ll always remember for all sorts of reasons. Thanks for organising it Ron; FM would be a poorer place without your stories. Nice one Gary, you fished well (choke!). Thanks for your generosity and kind words Bone Collector, we’re glad you found FM. |
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