Gusting SouthWesterly on the Brook

I took a late afternoon trip to the brook today.

It was windy, gusting from the SW so casting was going to be an issue.

The answer was at hand. Armed with the Schliske Slayer and a 4wt line, I started at the bottom of the fishery, took a handful of browns to a pound and three quarter and a couple of chub, on reversed parachute emergers and CDC & Elk's. I fished up to the walk-in and stopped for a break.

Refreshed, I continued upstream, expecting easy pickings..

No such luck. As the sun sped toward the western horizon, the rises were scarce. I took another couple of pounder browns and a five inch brownie parr, a beautiful thing and I returned him gently, soul intact.

The evening drew near a close, nightfall is noticeably earlier every day at this stage of the season.

I will have to get out at every opportunity before September ends and steals the trout season here.

I finished my day at the wooden bridge near the top of the fishery where I had a good brown earlier in the year using stealth tactics to stalk him, then a mad dash, throwing the rod across to the grass, run round, pick it up, fish still on, got him. It was a mad dash in a jungle.

Looking closely at the photograph above you will see my 7ft 3wt leaning up against the tree, which is three feet thick. Problem is, my arms are not long enough to pass a rod around the tree. 

Today I approached with the usual caution. To my delight there was the rainbow which took up residence after my brown moved house. His nose was visible through the rails. This could be a repeat of the earlier game with the brown. He had not seeen me, so I took my time, changed my tippet, tied on a fresh fly, arrow cast it over the rail. Up he comes, suck, pause, strike.

So do I throw the Slayer across to the grass? I am playing a lively rainbow which is jumping, twisting, cartwheeling, running into structure and generally going crazy.

Not on your life will I be throwing this work of art about.

So, all caution thrown to the wind, gusting SW or otherwise, I climb over the rail, playing the trout with my left hand, grab a hold on the vines which grow up the tree, climb around the tree, gripping with the right hand, still playing the trout with my left; he is still on, I am back on dry land and I can have a free run of the bank.

The trout is no match for Slayer, the new tippet is good, the hook holds. Another trout is winkled out from this stronghold.

  

Was that the last cast of the day? Of course not. I took another brown at ten inches on the way back to the lodge, Daddy Longlegs was the victim this time, tied on size 16.

I'll have to get back down soon. Season's end is closing in. Soon I may only dream the memory of the brook until the new spring. Glad I took the trip out today, excellent sport.

Thanks to Matt Schliske for the pleasure of this rod.I have been loath to fish her in this place where it is, in places, seriously overgrown. I will be fishing her more, now that I have gained a better appreciation of the powers Matt instilled in her fibres.