A beautiful summer evening and its cold outside

The river is in beautiful condition the flow is gentle but the surface is alive with the rises splashes and dimples of the minnows, dace and tiny trout.

At the head of the pools and in the broken water the larger fish are holding station,  Across under the willow a large fish is rising he  is taking his time ( all large fish are he) The waters surface is alive with flies. Olives ,  Sedges and all manner of terrestials are there he doesnt need to rush.  Anything that needs him to move more than a couple of inches of line is ignored.

As I moved upstream wading gently and keeping the banks of weed between me and him . I was careful to take note of any fish between the banks of weed or tucked in under the bank. A spooked fish would shoot of upstream and scatter everything.  The river is shallow here at most a couple of feet but the clear water can give both the angler and the fish an edge it just depends who is the most careful.  The fly was selected,

I am a fan of the traditional patterns, a greenwells a size 16 just dressed with a hackle, no wing.  What with my bad tying and the leader twisting effect I leave winged patterns alone.  Casting is a gentle affair a gentle side cast with a roll start to lift of.  The first cast is perfect the fly touches down 2 ft above him the leader carrying enough slack to avoid any drag.  As the fly drifts over him I sense the quivering fin and he rises and sips in the greenwells. I tighten into him the rod bends as he gets his head down he turns to dive for cover but of course I am prepared side strain and a low rod tip force him back.  he darts back and forth between the weedbeds but each time I am ahead of him . After a few minutes he is beaten and I beach him . A few moments admiration and he is released.

The river Rye

As I work my way upstream several fish are taken.  My casting is the best its been for months . I am picking the right flies and everything is working as it should.  If only every visit worked as well.  The fly keeps floating and the tippet keeps sinking.  Its wonderful when everything comes together .  I love this river it offers a wonderful mix of long streamy glides and hidden corners . But the cream of it is the bridge pool, when approached from downstream this pool is hidden until you are almost upon it high banks and trees hide it from prying eyes.Tonight the evening sun was framed in the centre arch.  The tail of the pool was alive with rising fish but the fish here are the most difficult an upstream cast to the fish means that drag from the faster  water sets in almost instantly and wading upstream to keep your line of the water is a dangerous game .  The only way is to skirt the pool to the right there is room behind and above for a short backcast  

The Bridge Pool

I am tucked in under the bank the cast is an improvised spey sort of a thing.  False casting on these little streams is kept to a minimum the clear and shallow glides mean the fish dont miss much.  But tonight my casting is perfect. a roll and a single back cast with a bit of a haul and the line clears the high bank behind me, The forward cast stabs out and the quick check puts some slack onto the water.  A short drift over the small group of fish and a rise and take ,The group of fish scatter as the hook takes hold fish tear of in every direction.  The little bow waves marking their track like a pod of torpedos.  A short struggle and a lovely little wildy comes to hand , After exhanging looks we part company .

I take my leave of the river and retreat to the side of the pool ,  a seat is placed there and I enjoy a well earned pipe , a perfect end to a perfect day.  As I gaze out over the pool reality returns and I stare into the log fire the dog is sat looking at me and I wake from the day dream.  Outside the hail batters against the doors the wind shakes the windows and the reality of another Autumn evening  returns , I hope that next year my angling skills match my dreaming.