Where are the tout !!!!!

[Otter]

All the amazing flies that William has been teasing us with over the last number of months I think it fair that they see some action, I can't think of a better place than Turners Cross and at the end of Williams tippet to test their mettle. William & I seem to have a common problem, not enough time to wet the waders as often as our passion would have us.

Everyone should have a Turners Cross, a little piece of magical water where you can go whilst sitting in the office, stuck in traffic on a motorway or last thing when the pressures of life prevent the easy onset of sleep.

[Otter]

(Picture of one of Andrew's (Glassjets) tyings from another post here.)


Out of habit William commenced degreasing the leader and surveyed the water ahead, flat , featureless and only broken by the small ripple from the afternoon’s warm summer breeze. Perfect he thought, just the right kind of water to challenge an angler. Like many generations of trout anglers that came before, William had learned that the best water should be left left till dusk. For now, it was about searching the lesser water, seeking out those miracle places where an obscure underwater feature or a few strands of weed provided that something that attracted a trout to take up residence, even temporary residence. William had a quite long tapered leader with a very fine tippet, a must for this type of water. Ooops he thought, away with the degreaser he instead greased the leader up to the last six inches. The Williams Favorite would just fish subsurface, a tactic that sometimes worked well on this type of water.

William chose to work his way up the left bank where there was better cover from a sparse line of trees and bushes, he off course had a better reason. A few years earlier he had spotted a regular rise from a possibly good trout close to the right bank where a small dead tree branch lay half in half out of the water. Such branches often are the haunt of an exceptional trout. Wading steadily and hastily up the right hand side William broke the cardinal rule, “Never wade quickly and never ever ever take big steps”. William took a big step and the river took William. “Arse over Tit” as they say, he floated downstream and came to a halt on the thin inside riffle.
Scrambling out of the river up to the rock seat it took him ten minutes of hilarious contortions to divest the waders of the gallons of water.
Only a wet butt and dented pride he was lucky that the outcome was not worse.

Wading slowly and carefully up the left hand side William raised his fist and shook it in the direction of the old branch on the far side, “ Grrrrrgh”.

“Sip”, William swung his head and faced upstream , watched and waited, “Sip” again, the merest flat spot on the ripple, fifteen yards ahead, three feet out from the bank. Staring intensely at the spot, “Sip”, William moved out and up, Wading slowly, carefully , one small step at a time until he was in casting distance. The trout was rising regularly and probably taking something small. William chose his moment and dropped the fly seven feet above the trout, it drifted down untouched. William waited a few minutes , ensuring that the trout was still rising and cast again this time landing the fly a foot or so closer to the bank. Just as the fly came level with the trout William raised his rod ever so slightly, that little movement did the trick and William connected with a brightly spotted brownie. Not a big fish but a very welcome one and once again William’s Favorite had plied its magic. William The Lucky he mused, a fine trout and hours of fishing ahead.

William waded slowly up to the trout’s lie and almost stumbled over the sunken log. Eureka he exclaimed, that’s why that trout was there. The log and its location were consigned to memory to join the host of other little spots that had been previously found.

To be continued

[William Anderson]

Otter, it really is nice in the middle of work and kids and soccer practice and playdates to be able to spend some time on the water. Thanks for taking us there. This story is fantastic. And for casting your lead character in such a positive light. He can't wade for crap but he has more skills and insight than I will ever have. His wife is dreamy too. Maybe its just that we can all see ourselves in this story, but the resemblance is uncannyspot on, except for the talent.

Andrew, that's a really classic looking fly. Mine are usually a little more compact, but this seems more like the traditional pattern to my eye. Almost Stewartesque.

w

[Otter]

William checked the Rolex , one hour, three minutes and fifteen seconds to work through the long section of featureless water. Same time it took to race through the earlier chores, he laughed out loud at such a ridiculous comparison. A few more trout had come to the William’s Favorite , good fishing but he did not locate a single trout that tested his abilities to breaking point. One needs a few of these each day to remind us of our own mortality and to keep our thoughts of being a fly fishing god or goddess well in check. Time to take a break from the concentration and time to casually observe, thought William. The water ahead was unwadeable and virtually unfishable. Narrowing ,deepening and darkening as it flowed through a wall of trees. William skirted around this impasse and found a nice resting spot below a short though perfect pool.

Keeping well back from the river, William gasped, as he always did when arriving here, this little piece of water had been created by the gods.
The riffle ahead was perfection, bubbling away evenly over fifty yards, little more than 2 foot deep , snaking into two flows at the bottom, both merging into one, creating a small deeper pool. This would be his hunting ground at dusk. He always sat here and watched, taking his bearings, making imaginary casts at imaginary trout and recalling past successes, failures and incidents. The two feisty Otter cubs that almost ran into his outstretched legs, the graceful heron that encroached upon his water, bats that played chicken with his fly rod at dusk. He was happy to share this little glimpse of angling heaven with all the creatures except for the un-invited two legged ones that would take it for their own. Guides, William detested guides, he seen them as plundering Vikings that would rape his little paradise with their wealthy, noisy greedy, clients. Off course William had used guides on other distant rivers, but that was different, this little bit of river at Turners Cross was not for sale.

Though he knew this water intimately, he still enjoyed immersing himself in its beauty, there would be no time later to do so. A lot more spinners were about , taking tentative trips over the water, readying themselves for the miracle of life and death and re-birth. The caddis were everywhere, big ones , small ones , lost ones mingling with olives. A lone damsel glittered in the evening sun, its iridescent beauty that has tempted many a fly tier to sit at vice and ponder imitation, imitation for the sake of the art not for the promise of fishing. Refreshed , William stood up slowly, whispered to the pool , later my friend , we will dance later when the sun seeks shelter in the west.

To be continued

[Otter]

Snack time is how best to describe early summers evenings. The daytime hatches will be all but over apart from the odd straggler, spinners will be considering returning to the water but most will await the fading light, and the dusk hatches will not begin yet apart from a few false starters. Trout understand their environment and few will take up active feeding stations until the returns justify bothering. Indeed some trout may switch almost completely to dusk and first light activity. William pondered all this as he walked briskly upstream. This is a great time of the day as the fishing while difficult, William will not feel pressurised to catch anything, a few already caught and the promise of great sport later. Time to wet some new creations thought William; I will try some on the next riffle.

The approaching riffle, though smaller and similar to the last had some deeper pockets that always held trout, often a good one. As always William sat and watched for activity. Numerous trout intermittently rose in the pool below, were they onecer’s holding station and rising to an occasional morsel as their mood dictated , were some patrolling the pool and taking sustenance along their route or were they active feeders. Only way to find out was to watch and wait.
William watched and waited and quickly determined as he had expected that the pool would prove to be hard work and he did not relish hard work at this stage of the evening. This pool and riffle were well shaded and sometimes seen dusk hatches commence just slightly earlier than the first pool and riffle, if luck was on his side this would happen and he could catch a few here before heading back downstream for the main event.

William quietly got as close to the riffle as he could dare, slightly elevated beside some thorny bushes he took the small binoculars from the side pocket of his vest.

While the binoculars reduced his field of vision William had clear vision of each piece of water that he focussed on. This was all about selecting a small zone that usually fished well and watching carefully for activity. Soon a medium sized caddis emerged, struggled briefly and took flight in an instant. William tracked it as it zig zagged across the river. Soon its flying prowess increased and it headed for the sanctuary of the trees.
Several olive spinners danced above the water , a few dipping and laying their eggs , an occasional olive emerged and drifted downstream unmolested. Laying down the binoculars, William now viewed the bottom of the riffle, spotting the occasional rise, their location noted. William now turned his attention to the bushes, back with the binoculars he honed in as best as possible on the spinners and caddis, determining their type, size and coloration. Experience had taught him what to expect and generally he was correct, but it also taught him that it is a foolish angler that relies totally on past experience.




William opened the box of softies. Talking out loud to himself, “a well mixed hares ear and partridge for the point, olive thread, the hamburger of flies, always attractive to the less discerning diner, size 14 heavy wire I think”
This would be his anchor; it would determine the behaviour of the two droppers. A weighted Triple Threat olive caddis was also chosen (thank you Jim Slattery) and placed in the fly patch, ready for action if hamburgers had to be taken of the menu. Now came the big decision, the top dropper, a position when circumstances are right and the correct fly is chosen it can match and even supersede the effectiveness of the point fly

To be continued……

[hankaye]

Otter, Howdy;

GRRRRRRRRRRRR ...

Just as it was REALLY gettin' to the nuts & bolts.....

Waitin' for the next installment ......

'Hooked' on Otter's book...

hank

[letumgo]

Otter - You're a gifted writer! Count me a one of your fans. I too, am eagerly waiting for the next chapter...

[willowhead]

me too..........i had never read this thread.............but i just spent one of the most enjoyable hours or so, of my fishing life, not missing a single word of it. Thankx to all.....this, (to a large degree), is what fly fishing & the internet are really all about...........

[kanutripr]

A wonderful story AND pics. Now just some pics of the fabled waters and we'll be all set! Somehow the pics in my head keep coming out looking like heaven.



Vicki

[Otter]

Thanks for the kind comments, I am trying to portray the angler I would like to be , not the one I am

Indcidentally, I had a great night on a real river last night, a prolonged caddis hatch followed by a storm of blue wings seen the rod bend more times than is respectable to report. What was real great was the condition of the trout, fat belly's, bright fins and beautifully spotted. Downside is that I can feel old nick breathing down my neck, too may hours in front of computer screens means the threading of a size 16 hook at dusk is a torture - must go get glasses or at least a magnifying aid.

and to-morrow is fathers day here's and that means some more hours on the river to-morrow evening.