Well the relentless heat hasn’t exactly made things conducive to fishing, but I was getting stir-crazy so decided to head to the weir pool on the Seven to see if the thunderstorms last night had livened it up a bit. I reckoned my best chance of a fish was to use the French nymphing system again, and I was keen to try out a beefier coiled-nylon indicator that I’d made yesterday.
More thundery showers were forecast, so I made sure I was waterproofed up. Sure enough as I got out of the car and made my way to the river a deep rumble sounded from the heavens and large raindrops began to fall. I took cover under the metal bridge that takes the farmtrack over the river and started to tackle up. A fairly biblical storm came and went, but I remained reasonably dry. I heard a tractor approaching above me and accepted that as it passed it would shake water from the bridge and I might get a bit wet. What I hadn’t bargained for was the the tractor was pulling a trailer of fermented manure and as it trundled overhead I was spattered not with fresh rainwater but with liquefied cowshit. Tragic. (What’s the difference between tragedy and comedy? You slip on a bananaskin – that’s comedy; I slip on a bananaskin – that’s tragedy. Groucho Marx I think).
Anyhow, the river was even lower than I had feared. The weirpool was soupy with a surface like glass and only a piddling little stream of water was coming over the top:
I’d attached a 3mm tungsten-beaded hare’s ear (with a pink tag) on a jig hook to the point of the tippet and a fairly hairy peacock-bodied black spider to the dropper:
A few fish were rising and I prospected my way towards the deeper water. It’s hard work this French nymphing, having to hold the rod aloft makes your arm ache, and I am still far from confident at detecting takes. But I did get a twitch and struck into what turned out to be a not bad 10″ trout which had taken the dropper:
Ten or fifteen minutes later, with a few snags in between, I hit a smaller trout which this time had taken the point fly:
Another downpour then it all went dead. No fish rising, nothing (as far as I could tell) coming to the fly so I called it a day after about 90 minutes’ fishing. Not exactly a bagful, but given the conditions I’m happy enough with not blanking.