Another River: Hamps ///encodes.nozzle.cringe
Well, finally broke my 2020 duck today! My 'local' river, mentioned often before, is the River Alyn. Unfortunately, it's in Wales, and the COVID-19 shutdown there still remains very restrictive and we foreigners can't travel there (tongue in cheek - it's a lot more nuanced than that :-)). So, I've been champing at the bit. The fact that my poor old Triumph Sprint ST has been off the road waiting for parts to fix its inability to charge, so riding has been out, has just made the champing more urgent. So, wearing of aching jaw muscles I decided to try out the Peak Angling Passport This is similar to the Ribble River Trust passport scheme I've mentioned and used before. Basically, you buy books of tokens and then use these when you pitch up to fish one of their beats. Only a limited number of beats in the Peak disrict (virus restricted) are available at the moment, so due to this and looking at travel time I decided to go and thrash the River Hamps at Redmorlee (parking at ///erupts.fiery.happy and the stream bridge access at ///encodes.nozzle.cringe).
A brief detour and aside: I've decided to give positions using the absolutely brilliant what3words system. Essentially these guys have divided the whole surface of the Earth up into 3m squares and assigned a 3 word address to every single one. This makes it really easy to pass on an 'exact' position of any place in the World using three easy to remember words - I use English words but there are 44 languages available to-date. It's already been adopted by an increasing number of organisations, notably emergency services. Also, it interfaces easily with Google Maps/navigation, CoPilot, Tom Tom Go, Calimoto, Waze and ViewRanger on my 'phone - and probably a whole lot more I don't use. Try it out, download the app - I insist.
I wanted to start fishing really early before the sun was too high. As it happened I didn't get there till just after 6am - rumours that this might have had something to do with sharing a bottle of red with Chrissie the night before are scurrilous and completely without foundation. The drive there was great, empty roads, blue skies, and the approach through Leak and on towards the Peak district was simply glorious. If you've never visited this part of the world you really should - but preferably when I'm not there, I hate crowds.
Anyway, parked up in the lay-by and kitted up. I'd decided to fish light today, one piece waist waders, simple, very lightweight Truefly waistcoat holding everything essential and I didn't bother with a net as I wasn't expecting any monsters. Rod was my new Massimo Magliocco Ghibli 3 piece 7' 6" 3 weight coupled with my a 4# floating line, a 3" furled leader and a shortish tippet down to x7 (I think). Nearly all my flies are sourced from Richard Fieldhouse's Barbless Flies. These are really well tied flies, sensibly priced and, no, I don't get any discount for saying so :-) (Although, if you ever read this David ...)
Off we go, stroll (clump) down the rough lane and look with happy anticipation over the bridge. Hmmm... Not so good. low water level and the bottom seemed to be covered with that awful brown sludgy algae - I've heard it called 'rock snot' which sounds exactly what it looks like. I need to do some research and find out what it actually is though. This always makes the river look like it is just plain dead. But there did appear to be plenty of fly hatching (sedges, upright olives and midge like horrors) and a closer look showed really plentiful small fry darting about. No rising fish though. Still, the weather was lovely, the countryside really beautiful and the sheep seemed very contented and not at all carnivorous so I should be safe. A quick walk along the bank showed that it was a rather nice river to fish. Some deep pools, some faster runs and some shady overhung areas. But plenty of open bank so that I stood some chance of getting my rusty casting skills back up to the levels (abysmal to poor) of years past without sacrificing too many flies. Actually this was to prove overly optimistic - both in terms of skill uplift and fly stock degradation - but if you can't take a joke you shouldn't have joined, right?
What to do. Well, as I say this was partly about brushing up 'skills' so I tied on an old favourite (iron blue dun, 16), picked a likely spot and crept down to the water's edge. The game was on! It really is so exiting - you just know that something will slash through the surface and take your fly on the very first cast. A deep, nervous breath and ... and got my line caught in the only tree for 50 yards. It was good to be back. Having untangled the resulting mess, I pressed on. A couple of hours later, different parts of the stream beaten into submission, every conceivable dry fly tried - and several lost, only some slashing attacks from foolish fry, and reality begins to intrude. It was phenomenally hot for England, the local insects had hidden away and even the sheep seemed comatose in the shade. Time to admit defeat and go home? Never! So, time to bring out the big gun - Clink and Dink, the Duo, New Zealand style. Tie a great big clinkhamer on and dangle a nymph from a shortish tippet below that. I have to say this often feels like float fishing, but it does often bring results, and I'm not proud.
I'd come to what looked like a deepish pool, shaded by overhanging willow and spikey bushes. perfect fly catchers. Normally I work upstream, but there was no way to get to this pool this way so, improvise. Low side cast ant let the duo drift slowly through the pool. With no fuss the big old clink disappears, tighten up the line and, good grief, that isn't the nymph (a pearl emerger size 16) catching the bottom, it's a fish! All fishermen (fisherwomen, fisherpersons, or maybe angler is safer these days) know the thrill as you feel the jagging weight connecting you to a living creature, the wake of the line cutting through the surface tension, the bobbing rod tip and the golden flash in the dark water depths. And this was extra special, the first fish of the year. In fact, the first fish for 2 years for me as for various reasons I only got out twice last year and lost the only take I had. A brief but hectic tussle and I had a beautiful, wild brown trout to hand (remember - no net). About ten inches long, wide mouthed, plump golden flanks with deep red spots and a glassy, resentful eye. And I as I bent down to wet my hand, a flick and he's off the (barbless) hook and away, sinuously slipping back into the gloom. Good for him and I'll count that a draw.
Refreshed and encouraged I ambled on, caught another 10 inch lovely, slipped and fell in (who knew water down your pants could feel so good) and finally realised it was time for home. This is a smashing peak stream and I'll be back one day.
PS. The drive back was rotten – the lockdown did have some compensations.
