It can still surprise me, this little stream, even though I've been fishing here for years. This morning's my first visit of the season and I'm here to fish tenkara to the wily chub I'm expecting to find in my favourite pool.
A too-dry winter has left the aquifers depleted and the river low. I crunch across golden gravel, the water just ankle deep, and it's now that I first hear it. A commotion. I'm on the edge of the deeper water now and the dark shapes that at first look like rocks resolve into the shapes of fish. Hundreds of them. Literally hundreds. A natural abundance of staggering proportions for such a tiny stream. As in years past, I'm here for the festival of chub that meet in June to celebrate the nymphal summer explosion along this short stretch of river. As I stand and watch, fish over here, fish over there, fish around my boots twist and turn and compete for the bounty.
I'm keeping as still as I can, whilst slowly taking my fly box from my pocket to choose a kebari to tie on. I truth it doesn't really matter which one I choose. Not today anyway. As long as it's not too big, and preferably a stiff hackle, because although the chub are nymphing just below the surface, I want a fly that I can sit on the surface film. I've learned that here the fish will happily switch to a surface target in an instant in the shallow water. But the river is gin clear and even an inch of tippet can spook the fish so I'm only letting the fly touch down.
I've fished this pool many times with different rods and today I'm here with my newest - the Karasu 400. It's far and away my favourite. Such accurate casting with light lines but a feeling of control when you need to keep a good fish out of the woodwork - which with chub is a frequent necessity. This feels to me like the holy grail of tenkara rods - lightness and finesse with big fish credentials. I know this because last week a client invited me to his syndicate trout lake. Stillwater stockies really aren't my thing but it was a kind invitation and a sneaky chance to pit the Karasu 400 against hard fighting 20 inch rainbows. Of which I caught several with aerial presentations on a blustery day, and the rod didn't feel overly challenged at all. But I digress. Back to the present and another thing I've learned on this river - after a few fish have taken one colour of kebari it's time to switch colour to keep the takes coming, so I have a few choices in my box - cream, ginger, grey, black - though the cream or grey always seem to do the best for me.
It's all of these things I'm pondering as I prepare to make a first cast, but just then I hear that noise again. A sploshing sound and it's getting closer. I glance behind me, and I can see the source of the commotion now, about fifty yards downstream. I looks like someone is pulling a giant bass popper up the river towards me. At first I think it may be a small water bird struggling to escape some predator, but the water is too shallow and I've never seen a pike here. Or perhaps it's some kind of small mammal in trouble, tangled in discarded line. I turn away from the pool and make towards it, perhaps I can help.
But as I get closer I see that the creature is a fish - a large chub, determinedly making its way over the gravels where the water is only a few inches deep. It's broad brassy back is completely out of the water as it travels along in short surges, pushing the water before it. As it pauses to rest I catch up, the water so shallow here that even the chub's eyes are above the water. We regard each other for a few seconds and I'm just deciding whether I should intervene when the fish sets off again, wriggling and squirming past my boots to find purchase in the deepening water. A few good tail flicks now and it scoots off, swimming properly towards the deeper pool. Its efforts I realise now, were in order to join the mass banquet upstream. News travels fast in this little river!
When I retrace my steps upstream and arrive at the edge of the pool again the feeding frenzy is in full swing and the big chub is right in the thick of it, turning this way and that, packing back on those calories burned travelling over the shallow riffles. I cast, the fly touches down and is instantly hit by one of his smaller shoal mates. A beautiful, pristine chub soon comes to hand and is released after a brief hello how are you? - wasting no time in getting back onto the feed, as if nothing much at all had just happened. Another twenty chub quickly follow, with a couple falling off the hook, but I'm left with eighteen to hand in just an hour of fishing. I try to become more selective by casting to the largest fish, but they are either beaten to the fly by the myriad smaller fish all around, or simply melt away under the branches, un-fooled by me at least.
I could fish on, and catch what? Fifty fish? A hundred fish? Today it's probably possible with tenkara - but not with any other method I don't think. But do you know what? I don't think I really need to, and in the end I'm actually kind of glad I didn't catch that chub. After all we've already met.
But as I get closer I see that the creature is a fish - a large chub, determinedly making its way over the gravels where the water is only a few inches deep. It's broad brassy back is completely out of the water as it travels along in short surges, pushing the water before it. As it pauses to rest I catch up, the water so shallow here that even the chub's eyes are above the water. We regard each other for a few seconds and I'm just deciding whether I should intervene when the fish sets off again, wriggling and squirming past my boots to find purchase in the deepening water. A few good tail flicks now and it scoots off, swimming properly towards the deeper pool. Its efforts I realise now, were in order to join the mass banquet upstream. News travels fast in this little river!
When I retrace my steps upstream and arrive at the edge of the pool again the feeding frenzy is in full swing and the big chub is right in the thick of it, turning this way and that, packing back on those calories burned travelling over the shallow riffles. I cast, the fly touches down and is instantly hit by one of his smaller shoal mates. A beautiful, pristine chub soon comes to hand and is released after a brief hello how are you? - wasting no time in getting back onto the feed, as if nothing much at all had just happened. Another twenty chub quickly follow, with a couple falling off the hook, but I'm left with eighteen to hand in just an hour of fishing. I try to become more selective by casting to the largest fish, but they are either beaten to the fly by the myriad smaller fish all around, or simply melt away under the branches, un-fooled by me at least.
I could fish on, and catch what? Fifty fish? A hundred fish? Today it's probably possible with tenkara - but not with any other method I don't think. But do you know what? I don't think I really need to, and in the end I'm actually kind of glad I didn't catch that chub. After all we've already met.
Very enjoyable and interesting. I never have days like that! Incidentally what size Kebari ere you using? Thank you for sharing.
ReplyDeleteThanks for dropping by David. If you fish often enough sometimes you get a special day that makes up for the many (in my case) difficult ones! I fished size 14 kebari on this visit, but I go more by the size of hackle than size of hook, and the hackles were about equal to the hook gape.
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