Wild and wind-swept Claerwen

Saturday 17th July



Today saw me making the drive over from Ian, Ceri and little Ted’s to Rhayader to fish at Claerwen high up in the hills above the Elan Valley. The princely sum of six English pounds was enough for Daisy Powell of the eponymously named newsagents to give me a day ticket with a quick comment of ‘Claerwen’s been fishing well!” Rather more worryingly, for it is mostly the solitude I enjoy, she also assured me that plenty had been fishing up there. I arrived at the upper car park to find a westerly hooly blowing straight down the west to east running reservoir. I decided to yomp up the southern side of the water for about 45 mins which was enough to take me probably three quarter’s of the way up the water. The plan was then to make my way back down towards the dam. During the walk I had a mini d’oh moment when I realised that my fly vest being packed for a trip on the Hampshire Avon, I had forgotten my traditional wet flies box. It wasn’t until I looked in my gold head and nymphs box that I was relieved to find that enough cross-pollination had happened to allow a few bushy traditional patterns to find their way on to today’s trip. Tackling up with a three fly cast I began a few short exploratory casts alongside the bank with a very strong west wind rushing from my left to right. We all know that the left to right nature of the wind makes the cast and walk method so nice and manageable for exploring these wild waters. Almost immediately I was missing the lightening quick takes so typical of these little wild brownies. Steeling myself to concentrate harder it was not until after I had missed four or five more takes that I found myself attached to a fish. Almost immediately a peat stained golden flash very close in to the bank revealed what looked like a sizeable fish. In truth the fish had slammed in to my fly so hard that I probably would have struggled not to end up being attached to it. It wasn’t really making any runs but was using its shoulders to plough up and down only ten feet or so out from the rocky bank. The 7 1\2 ‘ 3\4 weight rod was showing a pleasing bend and getting a much better fight out if the fish than the heavier rod and line I would have had to use if I was casting in to the wind.

In the adrenalin packed early moments of the fight I managed to end up in the water after stepping on to a soft bit of sandy beach that had been pushed up by the waves and which gave way as soon as I set foot on it. With the ensuing slacker line I was probably lucky to stay in touch with the fish. Soon enough the fish was ready to be beached. It had taken the top dropper Bibio which to me is pretty much the epitome of the leggy, buggy, bushy, black patterns that always seem to do well on these upland waters. It also has that flash of red which seems to make it a more attractive morsel than some other dowdier patterns. The fish went 13 ½" which for this type of wild water is a very good fish. (This was measured later at home rather than by the measuring ruler I keep on promising myself I will paint on the rod’s blank above the rod handle. And yes I do occasionally keep a wild fish for the pot. As long as it is only occasional I don’t think this does too much harm. On the whole a pan sized fish is the best eating and if I need some fish for the barbecue I will go and catch some rainbows if I can. Virtually all my WBT go back and it does feel great to use a barbless hook, nurse them back to life if need be, and then to watch them swim away healthily if a little but sulkily).



Later, on my proud explanation to Ceri that this was quite a large fish she was to respond with “How much skill is there in catching a large fish as opposed top smaller ones?” After a quick bit of on the hoof musing I was able to reply with that it was probably a fifty\fifty mix of pot luck and skill with the skill component mainly being down to good presentation being required to fool the bigger trout which had become big by being cleverer and more discerning than their younger and smaller cousins. How much truth there is in this I’m not really sure.

The rest of the day was spent step and casting my way down the southern flank of the water. I lost count of the number of fish I landed (perhaps around twenty?) and really have no idea of how many very quick takes I missed either through day dreaming or just through them being too quick for my reflexes. On the whole the fish were not very far out and they tended to either come to the top dropper or the mini gold head on the point. A daddy long leg pattern proved to be top pattern either being taken dry before the leader had sunk or stripped back fairly quickly just sub surface. Many of the fish were the 5 or 6 inchers typical of this type of fairly infertile water with a few 9” fish too, though none any where near as large as my first fish of the day. Sport definitely tailed off as the day grew brighter and brighter from it’s fairly mizzly start. The fish seemed to be fairly evenly spread out with sheltered and calm bays providing nearly as many fish as the wind and wave swept rocky points. The only folk I saw were a couple of mountain bikers and some noisy trail bike riders all of whom were over on the far side using the farm track which skirts the shore. The southern side of the reservoir has only a few sheep tracks though on this visit the water was so low that I could walk easily round on the mainly rocky shoreline. A bird of prey which I think was probably a kite did periodic fly-bys on the hill side above me. It seemed to be fairly unfazed by my presence.

I just love this style of fishing. Some river fishers who are used to targeting individual rinsing fish seem to look down their noses at what they see as the chuck and chance it nature of this fishing. I love the roving rhythm of the day and just being in such a wild and wind swept place. The water has never been stocked so all the fish are as wild and beautiful as they come and have almost certainly never been caught before. They are forced to look up for their food so they are normally fairly free rising unless it happens to be a blue scorcher of a day when the sport will probably be confined to dusk.

On driving back through Rhayader I was amused to see the aftermath of that day's carnival festivities with fancy dressed and dollied up revellers spilling out of the pubs on to the street. All this was certainly a million miles away from the stark beauty of the windswept and wild Claerwen.

Chesil overnighter

July 12th-13th

Fired up by reports of dawn bass on Chesil on Henry Gilbey’s blog Chris and I arrived at the Abbotsbury car park fully charged with bassy thoughts. An azure blue calm day heightened our anticipation as we trudged along behind the shingle bank towards the old concrete defence works known as the Dragon’s Teeth mark. (Reminder to self: pack light next time and take less leads). True to form I managed to quickly get out a fully baited rig while we set up camp (good to get a bait in the water) while Chris took a slightly more leisurely approach to getting himself ready for the day and night ahead. Soon enough Chris whacked out a string of feathers with a Dexter wedge accompanied by “I’ll just get the account opened with a few mackerel”. Little were we to know that it wouldn’t be until the next morning that we were to get anything of note and that would only be a half a dozen or so mackerel.

With spring tide around 7pm we were not too concerned or surprised with the lack of day time action to our various feathers, lures and baits large and small. Come evening time nothing much was happening either with the sea seemingly devoid of life. A wandering lure fisherman confirmed that despite his mate’s recent Friday evening bass that things had indeed been slow locally. I even resorted to the fly rod for a while and whilst I was happy with my casting not a tug was had. I really want to catch a mackerel on the fly. As Chris said it would probably be like being attached to a mini turbo charged tuna- another time perhaps.

Darkness brought a little more action with me retrieving a poor cod which had its guts ripped out by the omnipresent crabs and Chris getting a strong bite which didn’t materialise in to anything. To top things off the spider crabs were regularly snipping through our hook lengths. The plan was to get a couple of hour’s darkness fishing in before rising at dawn to latch on to the bass which were just bound to be around! And so to bed. In one of those tiny flip up tents. Turned out to be ok really- nice and easy up on the beach and just about big enough.

Well we were up by 6.30 which meant we missed dawn by at least two hours. Still nowt about. I valiantly kept on whacking out the feathers and was at least pretty chuffed with my pseudo pendulum casting. Eventually I managed to get around 8 sizeable mackerel all at maximum range. We even chopped one up to have some impromptu sashimi in true Hugh Furry-Windowsill style. Absolutely gorgeous with a bit of wasabi and soy. The rest tasted just beautiful with lemon and oil cooked on the bbq in foil.

I do love spending time at Chesil. I’m not quite sure I can explain why, and I’m not even certain that it’s a good thing to dissect the way one feels about a place. It might be because it reminds of the shingle beaches of Eastbourne, where I grew up. More likely it is the basic elemental nature of such a place. Whatever it is, it is sure to draw us back. Perhaps next time later in the year the night will be longer and we might actually make it up for first light. Who knows, maybe we’ll even be lucky enough to draw a magical silver spiky bass up the beach.

Usk

Saturday 15th May

A quick trip across the old bridge saw me at Sweets Tackle Shop at Usk within 45 mins of leaving home. Sweets holds a special place in my memory as on Easter hols when I was about 11 or 12 we made a family visit to the shop. Here we were shown two large (20lb plus?) salmon caught from the town water. I was also taught how to tie a fly by Jean Williams. A photo of me concentrating hard on my Grey Wulff was kept from then on by Granny in her bedroom, and the photo is till there in my Mum’s room now Granny has passed away.
Fast forwarding to 2010 and an almost identical photo of a modern day kid was to be seen pinned to Jean’s notice board just inside the shop. A quick introduction and the offer of a cup of tea from Jean saw her vaguely recognise me across the 30 years or so that had passed.
Listening to two other chaps who had been out fishing it was apparent that a hatch of yellow may duns had been happening but that the fish had been not that keen on rising. Tucking a few Yellow Sally’s in to my fly box together with some hare’s ears nymphs I sallied forth minus the very reasonable £14 for a day ticket on the town water. It seems worth noting that most of the flies in Jean’s shop seemed to be on the large side (12s and 14s) which matches up pretty well with the reports of large fly life on various forums.

Walking down to the bottom of the beat it was clear that the river was very low and clear and that only the very occasional fish was showing up top. Rigging up with my normal searching duo rig I worked my way upstream only to discover that the recent repair jobs on my now very breathable waders weren’t really working. It being a brisk late spring day this was expected to become a problem. It was not until I made my way up above the town bridges that I began to see more fish rising with any more purpose that the occasional ‘oncers’ of earlier in the day. I was also soon to see some very nice fish rising within yards of the bank and just as quickly scare them away from the high bank. Rises were still fairly sparse so finding myself at the top of the beat I decided to fish back down using a more traditional down and across technique. There was a big hatch of Yellow May Duns happening and whilst there were some small fish moving it could hardly be said to be a full blown rise. Finding a traditional wet with some yellow around its thorax (Wickham’s?) I was soon to bounce off a couple of very quick takes. The third stuck and a nice fish of about 10” was soon coming to hand. Its split tail betrayed its stockie origins but given that it had been a slow day I was happy to have caught at last. A strengthening and cold downstream wind from the North soon combined with my leaking waders to send me home via the fish and chip shop.

Whilst the fishing was slow- probably a combination of tough conditions and my novice river status- the day will remain memorable for the warm welcome from Jean Williams and her lovely little shop. About the only concession she seems to have made to modernity is a new phone. Next time I think I will stay for a tea and chat. No need to rush after all.

River C, Devon

I arrived on a fairly bright but blustery day to find the River C probably a little coloured but looking beautiful and alluring in the late spring sun. On the minus side it was fairly chilly (no better than 11-13c) and there was a fairly strong north easter blowing which is pretty much directly down stream on most of this stretch. Applying a little mucilin to my excellent new furled leader I walked up to the top section of the beat and decided to hedge my bets with a duo rig with a freshly tied Hawthorn up top and a size 17 gold head GRHE about 3 foot below. I reckoned this approach would allow me to fish the dry with good presentation as the weighted fly straightens the leader out just right. It’s also a good searching ploy when on new water. Despite the chill breeze there seemed to be enough warmth in the sheltered bends to encourage some fly life. From an entomological perspective I’m afraid I’m not yet learned enough to know what I could spot. Most of it looked fairly small and brown (gnats?) with the occasional small up winged affair (LDO?) bobbing down stream. No fish rising mind. The C. is a medium sized low land stream with some lovely classic pool and riffle sections and some very steep banked meanders combined with long slow sections which I’m sure look inviting if you are after the trout’s chubby cousin- the chub. Working my way upstream I fished some beautiful looking bends with some nice easy drifts and also allowed the gold head to sink into some inviting looking eddies and back currents for an hour or so with no joy. Recently I have had some quick success on streams so the slow start took me slightly aback.


Now it was time to walk to the bottom of the 1.5km beat and try working my way upstream to the road bridge. Doing my best to keep back from the water’s edge I walked briskly down stream only now noticing the sound of the very nearby M5 which my concentration and the high banks had earlier shielded from me. The water I glimpsed was very pretty with healthy looking ranunculus bright green in the clearing water. Arriving at the downstream end of the beat I think I was able to place myself correctly on the beat map though with no obvious end of beat sign on the nearby trees I couldn’t really be sure. With optimism perked by the sight of some rises from small looking fish in the pool below me I decide to change the Hawthorn for a small elk sedge fly. The pool in question was finished by a deep run in to an undercut right underneath a high red earthed bank. Casting in to the wind I was quickly in to lively 6 incher which I was forced in to lifting up the bank as the water was some 6 feet below me. Next cast right under the near bank and the elk sedge shot away again and my quick lift was met by a heavy feeling resistance and an almost immediate quick run by the fish towards the nearby sunken tree on the left. Some sideways pressure from me brought the much larger looking fish to the surface where it started the trademark rolling and head shaking that only wild brown trout seem able to do. That was pretty much it- the hook fell out. This all lasted all of about 2 or 3 seconds I would have thought. In the state of almost dream like hyper reality which rushes in when you hook a big fish I had just enough time to think “don’t go there – how am I gonna land this from such a high bank?” The fish looked very silver which made me think escapee rainbow but the fight suggested not. I don’t believe this river is well known for a run but perhaps I had latched in to an early season peal. It was on only so briefly though if forced to guess I would say it was at least a good two pounder- who knows though really? I’m not sure I was shaking at the loss but I do know that this excited but regret filled memory filled my thoughts right up until my head hit the pillow.

The rest of the afternoon was not quite so dramatic but was great fun. Seeing only rare rises, I persisted with the duo approach with occasional changes of weight and size of fly and leader length according to the depth and speed of the flow. I was lucky enough catch another 5 or 6 lovely wild brown trout (WBT) all of which were returned safely with the largest being around 8 or 9”. (I really must paint on the measuring scale to the top of my 4 weight to save all this guess work and to guard against unintended inaccurate estimates). The River C has some lovely water, most of it being very fishable both in terms of casting access and getting good drag free drift. I hope to be back but will I ever be lucky enough to latch on to such a nice fish there again?

Devon Yeo

Monday 24th

A quick little session on my second River Yeo in the space of three days; this time the Yeo was a tribute of the River Taw in Devon- another West Country Angling Passport beat. The water was quite milky and cloudy though I didn’t completely manage to work out if this was due to the tree clearing work being carried out by the farmer at the top of the beat. I was chuffed to take a nice 10” fish by targeting it using a parachute black gnat again from a very shallow lie close to the bank. This was pretty much the first WBT I have taken this year that was definitely a cock fish, betrayed by its mini hooked bottom jaw. I also managed to hook a beautifully lightly coloured 7 incher almost at my feet in a tiny quick run. If I’ve learnt anything in my river trips this year it is that fish will lie in very shallow water and that it’s almost always worth trying tungsten beaded nymphs through deep runs right by your feet.

Congresbury Yeo

Saturday 22nd May

This was my first outing to the only KAA running water I had yet to fish, the Congresbury Yeo in Somerset. Suffice to say size wise the stream was so small that I managed to drive over its bridge on the way to the beat without noticing it. This was proper jungle fishing with trees, bushes and all kinds of mainly organic debris strewed across the stream. You know it's jungle fishing when upstream progress becomes impossible without a quick clamber up the bank. You’ll get the drift if I tell you I had to chuck my rod up the bank or through a hole in the vegetation and then follow after it a few times. Just how I seem to like it.



I could have done with a 6’ or 6’ 6” rod rather than my normal seven foot six-er. I was delighted to catch 4 or 5 mainly tiny WBT from the surprisingly deep corner pools often right under big tree trunks or slightly undercut banks. I bumped off quite a few fish by not striking properly when I only half suspected I might have a bite (trust your instincts, Will) and managed to scare off a bigger than normal (1 1/2lbs?) trout that was rising confidently in an almost completely inaccessible spot. I think I probably managed about half the beat and whilst the fish were small I did scare away a couple of larger fish and the jungle adventure quality to the fishing will draw me back sooner rather than later.

Camel

Monday 17th

A quick phone call to Toby Russell of the West Country Angling passport saw me making my way to the Tressaret beat on the Camel for an after work session. Despite Toby’s warning that everywhere was fishing hard owing to the low water and chilly northern winds I tackled up with the keening enthusiasm that normally courses through one’s being on approaching new water. I fished the upper section above the bridge to start with and after taking a couple of 6” wild brown trout was delighted to target and take a lovely little fish of about 10” on a self tied balloon caddis from a very shallow lie close to the right bank. This was pretty much the first fish of the season to be taken by targeting a fish rather than searching using a duo set up. The top of the beat was quite moor like in character with rapid runs and pocket water linking some deep pools. Rather than target these pools with some heavy nymphs and short lines I decided to give in to the urge to explore and tramped to the bottom end of the beat.

Once again I found myself negotiating some overly inquisitive and quite aggressive bullocks by wading straight down the river. The bottom of the beat is characterised by some beautiful deep pools which one could see would be good salmon water with better water levels. I managed to retrieve an expensive looking little Rapala in trout parr markings from its tree branch snag. With more water one could easily see how this water would warrant its 5 token tax. Perhaps I’ll be back if rain and work conspire suitably?! Despite the water looking beautiful, particularly at the bottom of the beat where the wooded valley sides tightened, I was not to see or hook more that the odd fish towards the bottom of the beat.