West End Fly Fishers competition - Bewl 20 Oct 2002

I should pay closer attention to the club's newsletters. I thought we were just getting together for a day's fishing. We were having breakfast in the sailing club-house at Bewl Water when I learned that we were actually fishing a competition with four prizes, organised by Hughie O' Reilly of Sharpes Tackle shop in York St, Marylebone, London.

The club "West End Fly Fishers" is based at the shop. Membership is restricted by numbers, but visiting anglers are welcome to join in most trips.

There were twenty of us fishing two to a boat with John C acting as referee.

Heavy rain was forecast from 10am, but the day started pleasantly enough.

I was drawn with Greg, the wild man from Oz, but that was nothing compared to Hughie's nightmare come true. He was drawn with Cocktail Cabinet Campbell; two untamed Irishmen who love to hate each other in the same boat. Hughie knew there would be trouble.

There was another more serious club fishing a competition there and they had practically sealed off the dam between them. However, Hughie spotted a gap in their drift pattern and filled it. Some of them tried to start their engines to close the gap, but were too late.

Greg and I headed off to Pine Bay and fished several drifts there. I tried one of Hughie's goldhead daddies and Greg fished with a team of three traditional loch flies. Both methods drew a blank, so I switched to a cats whisker. I did get a take on that, but nothing more.

I thought about fishing a team of three, but decided to stick with one fly as I feel you are more likely to get a good resident fish with that tactic.

Seeing no rises, we moved on and anchored up at Beaumans Point, about 30 metres offshore. Soon after I switched to a home-tied gold and yellow dazzler (a damsel derivative) and casting first to shore and then fanning outwards.

About seven casts on, I got a good take, but no hook up. I pulled the fly in to inspect it and realised the tail was too long. I took off about 2cm and carried on fishing. Four casts later, I was casting parallel to the bank when I felt a sudden stop, I tightened the line and a good fish shot out of the water 75cm and 1.5 metres along.

Greg shouted, "That's a bloody good fish, I reckon it’s a four pounder." I thought it looked about 2 3/4 lbs (1.24kg), but when it started taking off line I began to have doubts. I was fishing with a Shakespeare Aerial #7 travel rod. It throws a decent line, but the blank has very thin walls and you just can't horse a fish with it.

This was one of the very few occasions I have had to play a fish off the reel. It took line on three long runs and then tried other tactics like shaking its head and boring deep below the boat. If the rod has one advantage, it is that it will soak up a lot of punishment and it is not easy to rip a hook out of a fish with it.

I don't know how long it took to land, but I was very relieved to net it. My pocket scales weighed it at 2 3/4 lbs, but they turned out to be inaccurate. Greg behaved like a gentleman and stopped fishing whilst I played it. He doesn't know what a gentleman is normally, but I suspect fly fishing has a strangely civilising effect on him and I was grateful for that. I gave him an exact copy of the fly and he tried it on the point.

Naturally we both fished like demented beings after that, convinced we were going to hit the jackpot, but apart from one more touch, nothing more appeared, other than John C, who came to check we were behaving and duly photographed the trout. As he did, a kingfisher flew past. A good omen? I don't think I cared; I was fishing and that was good enough for me.

It was time for another move and we drifted along Bewl Straight to Chingley Point using a drogue.

It did rain at 10am, but it was not too heavy and died away after an hour. The afternoon was fairly warm at times, with an occasional very light shower and light winds from the north east.

I lost the dazzler fly when the leader got wrapped around the propeller. My own fault for trying to do two things at once. You would think I would know better by now, but that was exactly what I thought, I couldn't possibly make the same mistake twice, or is it five times now?

Greg was having a few problems too, keeping his team of flies apart. They were committing adultery with each other with greater frequency as the day wore on. Its nice to know there are other afflicted anglers in the great pond of life.

I went back to the cats whisker with no success by the time we reached Chingley Point. There were still a lot of boats around the dam, but plenty of room for us to try a drift or two.

As we steered for the dam, we spotted Hughie and Mick (Cocktail Cabinet Campbell), so pulled alongside to see how they were doing. Mick had taken three fish, but Hughie said he had blanked.

As we pulled away, Mick was into another one.

We started a drift from near the Chingley corner of the dam. The wind took us from there to 40 metres south of the water tower, which makes for a nice drift.

Switching to a gold-ribbed hares ear, I connected with a smaller trout after three casts. It was no pushover and cleared the water twice before giving its all. I landed it after a few minutes and thought we were going to hit the big time again.

It happens so often, but still the disappointment and humiliation fails to make any impact on my reason, or yours for that matter, so don't get smug on me.

Alright, I did get another good take and felt the resistance as I struck, but I think the fly came out of the trout's mouth without the hook connecting. It happens.

Greg was pretty despondent. He had one good take all day and was glad to be heading back to the jetty just before 5pm.

John C gathered us all together and weighed the fish. Mick was in the running for top prize, but then Neil came in, also with four fish. His bag was just 42.53grams (1 1/2oz) heavier than Mick's. His disappointment was matched by my elation. I had come third overall and also won the prize for the heaviest trout, which weighed in at 1.41kg (3lb 2oz).

I believe Neil was fishing with buzzers and Mick worked away with a team of three traditional flies.

The competition moved on to the Brown Trout Inn for post match analysis. Well, it’s a good enough excuse. Hughie and I had to get home, so bypassed the pub.

I asked Hughie if he had had any takes. "Indeed I did, and I lost a fish."

He then related the following tale: He caught the fish and was playing it when Mick cast across him and caused him to lose control of the line. When he asked him why he did it, Mick replied "Its my job to nobble you. The other fellas and I discussed it in the pub last night. Whichever one of us got drawn with you, had to nobble you." Hughie added "What could I say? He sounded so sincere."