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A new FF& FT resolution

Repeat after me: I promise to write these regularly. I MUST write these regularly…now: repeat a hundred times….

Blagdon water...a days fishing with an optimistic vista, yet miserable core. Why?
Blagdon water...a days fishing with an optimistic vista, yet miserable core. Why?

I am convinced that fly fishing inhabits parallel universes. Seriously.

Take fly patterns. The amount of times that, historically (I nearly typed hysterically…and maybe…)patterns have been created independently of one another, yet emerge (sorry: hideous pun) almost simultaneously, yet with near identical dressings, materials, appearance and objectives and form entirely different regions and sources. Weird.

OK. That does not happen so much now, with social meejia, but has in the past and will in the future.

Which brings me to yesterday. Lovely day, for fishers. Low’ish cloud, intermittent sun, not, too, much wind, not too little. A pleasant, not overbearingly hot temperature and Blagdon glistening a fishy welcome. 

The exact same thing was happening at Rutland, I am given to understand. A day crafted for fly-fishers and the upper layers: a racing cert. Not.

So, when John Horsey clambers from a boat and says to you “Blagdon was Odd today”…you had better believe it. There is simply no one , and I mean, NO ONE better at understanding Chew or Blagdon than John Horsey. But the oddness was not done.

Rutland water: over three hours travel and 170 miles separates Rutland and Blagdon.

Over three hours travel and 170 miles separates the two waters: Rutland and Blagdon. And yet  both suffered the same optimistic vista, yet miserable core. Why? Absolutely no idea. None.

When chatting to Mark Bowler about this issue (I think someone mentioned he is the Editor of all this stuff…) the only element that we could, even vaguely, bring into the equation was the actual - or, potential - of weather influence.

This got me thinking – always a worry. How many times, that so much is promised by the weather runes, yet when it gets to the actual fishing, so little is delivered. That evening, Lee Hooper and I – and let me get this straight, there are few better fishers I know, than Lee – drifted for at least three hours without a pull, twitch, or tweak of fishy interruption, of any kind. Calm lanes formed like oily, weaving corridors of promise; nothing…well, I did see one fish in the lane…ONE! I saw two rises the entire evening TWO.  Why? No Idea at all. The only thing I can think of, was that it went suddenly very, very, chill. Even my hands got cold: layers were shoved on – as a practiced UK fisher I never trust our weather, not ever. Layers travel in a bin liner (clean!) in the cavernous bottom of my boat-box – always.

But the sudden chill would not have accounted for the day time fishing, which was near perfect for the time of year )but what do I know!), just creamy conditions – soft ripple, shirt sleeve warm...de dah, de dah.

Was the sudden change telegraphed in some primal piscine way? Possibly. I do know that natural historians are very keen to extoll the abilities of animals (and fish) to preempt sudden change, be it barometric, precipitation – anything – far better and acutely than we can. Presumably (in our case) voting with their fins, accordingly.

But the element I find so baffling, is that two lakes so wide apart, geographically, and fundamentally different, respond in exactly the same way. Now, that is weirdness.

I would be very interested to know if anyone else fishing last Tuesday (the 21st) experienced the same oddness and trout reluctance. That will also tell me, cunningly, if you got to the end of this!

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