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Mad, quirky, frustrating …

My recent outing to Sutton Bingham had it all

Last cast at Sutton Bingham.
Last cast at Sutton Bingham.

Well that was a strange one. In all the years I have fished (quite a few now …) I can’t recall having quite so many takes, on-offs or interest of a piscatorial nature, than I did at Sutton Bingham the other evening. The whole thing was odd, bordering on the bizarre. Not least, to mange to get a take almost every cast on reservoir is extraordinary enough, but then to not be able to hook into anything solid was bordering on the out-of-worldly. It was sort of fishing-having-been-abducted-by-aliens. Seriously, it was that mad.

Actually, at one point (the bit past swearing at the water and the void in front (Oh c’mon, you have done that haven't you? Oh yes, you have …) I started to just laugh. Well, when you've lost lord knows how many fish, what else is there to do?

The fly was OK (otherwise they would not have taken in the first place). The depth was right (ditto). The angler … well, ‘nuff said; rubbish, but heh.

But those pesky fish …

I did manage three, so it wasn't a lost cause by any means, and stunning silvered beauties they were, too. but the whole episode left that sense of, 'could have done better' (but I could have done a whole lot worse!) and a feeling of inconclusiveness. Odd.

The word 'why' kept resonating, and I just don’t know. It could have been.

Angler Pressure – the area I had dropped into that evening had been hard pounded.

Water Temperature v’s wind. This is always an early season issue. No matter how lovely the weather might be – and let’s face it the last few days this April have been lovely – there is invariably a 'waspish' quality on the keen edge of the wind. This does seem to unnerve fish.

Angler idiocy: It might have just been down to inappropriately using a line that floated, as opposed, one that marginally sank – a sink tip or slow intermediate. Or indeed, not having rod 'heft' – the latent power in a rod (I was using a five-weight) to pull into a take properly.

Heck, it could have been all of those things.

Oddly, the same thing happened to a English Fly Fishers association colleague during a Fly Dressers Guild match at Elinor recently. Peter had take after take to Bloodworm/ Buzzer patterns with little reward to show for it – well, lost seven caught seven, so not bad – but told his neighbour the recipe who went on to  beat him … with 12. No justice there, then.

But you know, it really is instances such as these that keep us fishing. The mad, the quirky, the frustrating; all of it tumbling into the melting pot that is our sport. Let us just simply rejoice in the irrationality of it all.

Happy and a blessed Easter.

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