Mayfly Madness

It's been a lovely start to the mayfly season on the Dorset Stour. Too lovely really.There have been a lot of enjoyments to mull over as I wend my way home.

This morning I heard my first cuckoo whilst supping my early morning brew - the first since we moved here. The breeze was just right, gentle and slightly from the north east in the general direction of Eggardon. And there she was, as gentle as that breeze.............this local cuckoo was one of many this year. The rest have been on the Stour and have provided the soundtrack to my rusty casting as I tried to tempt pure wild trout on the mayfly. One evening four different cuckoo were going at it. I haven't heard anything like that since an idyllic morning listening to them in Tuscany ten or more years ago.

The fishing has been superb. Clear water and chalk stream in these parts. We are blessed with an extended season in Wessex. It starts on the Stour and moves in a helpful way to the Frome and Piddle and then onto the Avon for what I guess is the traditional "Duffers Fortnight". These wild trout of the Stour fight hard and the unwary need to be on their guard. None of your light gear here. I,of course, found this out the other evening, totally smashed by what would have been a trout worthy of red ink in my diary.

When you do look up from the river the mayfly are dancing in their thousands. Dancing the mayfly dance. Later, in spent form, they too will be gorged on by the fish of the river. Not just the brown trout and grayling, but chub and dace like to get in on the act as well. It's hard not to get caught up in the mayfly madness.

Last knockings

Here be Chub!

It's always a bit hectic for me at the tail end of the coarse fishing season - I have even more of a desire to go fishing than I normally do.....last gasp effort and all that before the 14th March.

The last couple of weeks have seen me chance my arm at anything and everything on the Stour, Avon and small streams of Wessex including the jewel that is the Ebble. The full range of weather conditions too. Freezing, balmy, cold SE winds, warming spring sun, poachers moon and ice cold rain have made it challenging to say the least. 

Some huge fish have been caught as I trundle along just doing my thing - today is seasons end and I will be fishing where I always fish on this day, the lovely Upper Stour. The maggots are ready (curried of course), bread has been liquidised, big tub of lobs and away we go!

Only a short break until it all starts again with the trout and before we know it the mackerel will be in and it will be June 16th as the fisherman's year continues on its watery way.  

Here be Grayling!

Harcork Heaven

It just wouldn't be Christmas without at least one festive trip after the wily old grayling of the River Ebble. I was lucky enough to squeeze in a short trotting trip before being struck down with the cold to end all colds....................it was below freezing as I tackled up in the church car park still shaken after witnessing an awful accident en route. Slow down!

At first bites were hard to come by, but with the sun shining, maggots plumper than a suckling pig and a Harcork float like a Christmas decoration how on earth could I be down hearted.

The little Ebble is a joy to behold in its winter cloak. Fast, clear and cold. When the first dip of the float comes it is so fierce it almost wrenches the rod from my grasp.

Seven lovely grayling came twisting and turning to the net to be admired and then returned to their winter home. The float ambled its way down the stream in the most appealing way........Harcork Heaven!

Roach Rule OK!

I often get asked by angling friends and also by those who have never fished what my favourite fish is - it's easy. The roach of course. It has taken me a few years to realise that this is the case mind you. In the 80's and 90's when I would drive the length and breadth of the country at all hours of the day and night to get my fix of barbus I would have answered differently. I am as chilled out now as I will ever be with my fishing and get more chance to contemplate and reflect. The roach has given me the most pleasure - as a boy, teenager and adult. The red letter days in my diary are usually associated with the fish of red fins. 

The annual bash and fund raiser of the Avon Roach Project is eagerly awaited each year. It is a chance to support those splendid fellows who do so much to preserve an iconic species on an iconic river that I love so much. I have written before of their work which I find totally inspirational. A change of venue this year and very lovely it was too. I had to check my diary when I got home, but I hadn't fished this particular stretch of river since 1992 and whilst contemplating my surroundings over a bankside cuppa I realised I had fished this glide before......there had been a stile here on my last visit some twenty odd years ago and with a sense of melancholy I found the flood warn remnants of the stile post (see picture above). The memories came flooding back of trips with friends, some no longer around, and carefree days when fishing was the be all and end all. 

It was fitting that I should use one of my more recent purchases in the rod department. A lovely late 1940's Sowerbutts Roach Master (151 Commercial St, London E1). More of a general coarse rod than a roach rod, but a lovely thing nonetheless. Found by master tackle sorcerer Jason White - he knew that I would be unable to resist. Lovely agate rings, stamped handle collar and named rod bag - I could not resist!  

A delightful day - I have never seen so many grass snakes, wild bees, hornets and even a very late hatch of mayfly in temperatures more suited to August. No roach today though. Just a net full of chub, dace and grayling and on the last cast a pike that took my chubling............I'll be back! I won't leave it twenty two years next time.

The last cast

A few images from my end of season flurry last week. A super few days on the Wiltshire Ebble and Dorset Stour. One of the highlights being the ball of Starlings swarming during the day to dive bomb a flock of Dorset Down sheep - never seen that before, the noise was incredible. My poor shot not doing the scene justice. Fine fishing by myself, with good friends and thoughts of friends much missed. A short piscatorial interlude now before the mackerel and trout season.

When will it end?

The weather has been atrocious for weeks now - all through Christmas and into this new year. More this weekend too with another batch of high spring tides. I am longing for cold and frosty days and for the rivers to drop so I can actually cast a line for............something, anything! The Avon will be up for weeks as the groundwater has now kicked in - it is as clear as a bell and in places crystal clear to a depth of eight feet or more. The Stour now reacts to the smallest amount of rain and resembles chocolate soup after each downpour.

I missed autumn on the riverbank and also the apple harvest. The family orchard up country resembles a neglected Christmas tree with its baubles covering the carpet of grass. The Fieldfares, Redwings and Song Thrush are happy with that and our Labrador who hoovers them up when our backs are turned and then duly farts like a trooper for days - the joy of it! 

West Bay Esplanade - after the large stones and rocks were removed!

What I have managed to do is collect some superb flotsam and jetsam from our West Dorset beaches - more often than not it has been totally unsafe to venture anywhere near the beach, but on the odd calm day it is amazing what the sea provides. 

West Bay Harbour - One of the calmer days!

An Idle Interlude

I have yet to cast a line in 2012, so I have been reflecting on years gone by from the leaves of my fishing diary. I hope the early days of 2012 are not so grim as those in 2011……..this day, from January 2010, turned out to be just the tonic for the January blues.

Sometimes just being there is enough. And being there was more than enough for me this week. More than enough to ease the pain of a troubled heart. For January, that most torrid of months, had delivered all manner of disasters and all without warning.

I needed some persuading – even to spend a day by the Wiltshire Ebble. I was more than happy to stew in my own juice at home, but I was assured it would be the tonic to get me through these difficult days. Not a day to angle alone, so a day akin to a tale from that most glorious of books “Hot Pot” by Francis Francis was in order for my pal Jim and I.

Think Dickens, happiness, feasting, Christmas, joviality, pies, tramps storytelling by the river, ale, beef tea and the lady of the stream and you may get the picture.

The Ebble is a joy to behold. It glistens like a stream of jewels - you can walk its banks, hop and skip across it and wade wellie deep, but what wonders it has in its shallow waters.

Walking the banks of this truly wild Wiltshire stream would have been tonic enough and I would not have been troubled for one moment if my cane had remained straight – just being there and following in the footsteps of my angling and naturalist hero Ollie Kite, who we would indeed toast later in the day, was a simple enough pleasure to see me right.

My lovely grayling float dances down the tiny stream and plunges so quickly it startles me with the ferocity in which the grayling takes the bait. I walk and fish, walk and fish for hours totally lost in my thoughts totally forgetting Jim who is doing the same somewhere else on this river.

These little silver darlings or ladies of the stream as they are affectionately known twist, turn and search for every nook and crannie to evade capture - grayling are lovely to eat, but who could take one on such a day? This is a day for reflection and they are to be admired and returned to glisten once more.

The church bell tells me it’s time to meet up and exchange tales of our mornings adventures. We will eat, drink and go our separate ways again until tea time and then meet up again at dusk in the Radnor Arms for a farewell libation in front of a roaring fire.

We both greet each other with child like smiles and tales of grayling large and small, both caught and lost, mentalist wild brown trout that greedily devour our maggot cocktail, the wildlife we have observed, but for now lunch is the order of the day.

Kelly Kettle beef tea, smoke, soot and fire, Bridport pie, mustards, fruit cake and all manner of delights are greeted with oohs and ahhs as they emerge from our secret bags. The joy of fishing, friendship and just being there has recharged and rejuvenated me.......reminded me of the small things that matter. The small things in life that help keep my world spinning round.

All is well again with my world.