on a fly

The build up started in earnest around mid November when I started noticing that my fishing time was getting less and less. So I counter-attacked and resolved to spend at least one day each week out on the bank. My good pal Pete Henton of the Bivvy Hospital arranged our first trip for weeks, “We’re going piking” he told me. As usual, it all went a bit cock-eyed as it normally does when Pete does the organising. I turned up at our early morning rendezvous with my pike rods at the ready to discover that we were going fly-fishing for grayling. Fortunately I’m used to Pete pulling these stunts on me (the last time he sorted out a ‘barbeling on the river’ trip, we ended up spending the day on a trout lake!) so I had a fly-rod in the car. Now, be honest, how many of you would think to pack a light flyrod when going pike fishing? It’s all a matter of being prepared, and when you go fishing with Pete, you HAVE to be prepared!Our venue was a new one to me, the delightful River Itchen just above Southampton. This is a salmon stretch of water but also holds a healthy head of both trout and grayling. Pete explained that it was fly only and some other minor rules, I only half listened as I was eager to start.It was a glorious day, one of those ‘good to be alive’ occasions. The conditions were perfect and the weather was kind. No wind whatsoever to interfere with my less-than-perfect casting technique. Pete disappeared downstream opting to start at a weir we had passed by on the drive in. I chose to start out in the car-park area with a small gold headed nymph, trying to get the fly right down to the bed of the stream where I hoped to find the grayling. Slowly I worked my way downstream, trying a few different patterns on the way but all to no avail. An hour or so later I reached the weir. Pete was looking smug. He already had 3 trout and had also had a follow-up by a salmon – one or two were still around. No grayling though.I joined him on the weir, thus bringing a jinx on the place as it went dead straight away. Okay. I can handle that. What I found more difficult was when I heard Pete chuckle. I turned to find him holding a small silvery fish. “My first ever fly-caught grayling” he confessed. And I was still blanking! We had our lunch in one of the little huts that the fishery so thoughtfully provide along the beat before wandering off downstream to explore some bends downstream. These had to be the most perfect grayling swims that you could ever imagine. A shallow glide swept into the bends producing deep undercuts along the opposite bank, all overhung with bushes and trees. Classic. But we still couldn’t catch any grayling. We decided to try the next bend downstream.We followed the winding path around a copse and stopped in amazement at the sight in front of us. Another angler, trotting maggots – on a fly-only stretch! Hmm. This needed some delicate handling, but instead, I approached him. First I enquired as to how he was doing and felt the knot in my stomach tighten when he told me that he’d had ‘About 30 fish to 1.5lb’. Further investigation revealed that he was not fishing an illegal method – “Oh no, bait fishing is allowed right up to that little bridge”.I looked daggers at Pete, who was whistling and avoiding my eyes. Grrr, “Fly only then is it?”However as I mentioned earlier, when fishing with Pete, you have to be prepared for everything. We shot back to the car and amongst the uptiders and 50lb class rods I found the float rods and pins. From a side pocket of the rucksack I produced 2 pints of maggots, and we were in business.Back on those prefect bends, we discovered that they were indeed perfect grayling swims. Each trot down the stream produced a bite, and more often than not, a fish was the result. The grayling seemed to be in three sizes, small (3 oz), medium (12oz) and large (1lb 8oz). Every so often the topper would sink and the resulting strike connect with something rather more solid. Out of season sea-trout and brownies were the culprits on every occasion – and on the light tackle they gave a very good account of themselves. Not one coarse fish appeared in the entire bag.

I lost count of the fish that we caught that afternoon. As the sun set on our departing backs we promised that we had to return. Quickly. But next time we were prepared. Well, you have to be, when fishing with Pete….