Trout-Speare'd at Syon Park

(adapted of course from Shakespeare's famous sonnet)

Shall I compare thee to a rainbow trout?

Thou art more lovely and more hard to catch

Rough winds do make the casting bloody hard,

And you know who hath all to short a tippet

Sometime too, hot the water of Syon Park lies, 

And often is his fishy movements dimm'd; 

And every fly or buzzer has been tried

On knots so caref'ly dressed and trimm'd;

But thy eternal frustration shall fade

As thou gain'st possession of that thou owest; 

Nor shall The Rod brag thou wander'st in his shade, 

When in eternal lines around the pond thou playeth: 

So long as men can cast or eyes can see, 

So long lives smoke, and this gives taste to thee.

Walthamstow Reservoir, Part Two

(If you have not read Part One of the Walthamstow Reservoir report, I urge you to do so now before continuing, by clicking here)

So, how much a new cap can lift a man's mood!  I started the day's fishing today with Exuberant Confidence.  It was not long until I was rewarded with my first fish:

A 'Minkie' fly, with fish attached.

Now, they say that good things come in small packages...  Indeed, although not likely to provide much physical sustenance this catch did yield a great feast of satisfaction for me - because it is in fact the first fish that I have caught on a fly that I have tied myself!  The Minkie is made with real mink fur, and looks a lot fluffier when it is not wet and out of the water.

I would like at this point to say thank you to Ray, the lovely chap from whom I acquired the fly tying kit.  It has been a source of great enjoyment for me and I am looking forward to many more successful outings armed with a battery of home-made flies (for better or worse!!)

Fortunately the fish above was travelling with protection, in the form of a brute of a trout roughly two pounds in weight.  In terms of gratification, though, this fish weighed many tonnes because it is the First Non-Miniscule fish that I have caught on a fly that I tied myself!  

Brute of a Trout (left), close-up of fly in mouth (right)

So, it seems the scales were tipped my way today.  To balance my fortune, however, someone had to pay and at about 5pm one of the other anglers fell in the reservoir.  He survived, but went home "with the hump"

I went home with the trout, and served hot smoked trout to my darling wife for dinner.

- Mike "The Wandering Rod"

The Pit, the Pendulum and Walthamstow Reservoir

Not six miles from from my weathered front door step in foggy, smoggy, groggy London Town lies the deep and mysterious water of Walthamstow Reservoir.  Verily, it is picturesque!

That brooding neo-Edwardian building on the right above ... is the loo.  A crystal clear stream meanders along the approach to the lake... Oh how my striking arm twitched at the thought of the bountiful harvest of trout awaiting me!

Pleased I was too, to be sporting my new tweed cap.  English trout are known to have discerning tastes in anglers.

Now, we must pause a moment.  We must pause, and I must be honest - this is not the first time that I have been to this place.  In fact ... with the upbeat tone I have struck so far in my writings to you today, you will almost certainly have quite the wrong impression....

Because, you see, Walthamstow Reservoir, is actually something of a soul destroying-ly challenging water to fish.  And today was the fifth time that I have visited this cursed place, since I last wrote.  Each time I swear to myself I will never succumb to the temptation of proximity again... to never again believe the gravelly words of the emptied out, hollowed anglers that I have met:"When it's good, it's gooood" they drawl..   What is good??  Not drowning?!

Admittedly I did have success on a previous visit to these dark waters...   It was the fourteenth of July - a date I won't quickly forget...

I arrived at 9 o'clock on the morning, for a nice early start.  I was prepared for the rain that was forecast (and that arrived).  I was prepared with a packed lunch, in case I wanted to carry on into the afternoon.  I was most solicitously prepared, for anything....  Anything, except:  twelve hours of fruitless, frustrating, barren casting before - just when I was about to impale myself on my 6-weight rod - the acrid waters expelled a demigorgon onto my hook:

Devil Spawn of Walthamstow

Why give a broken man such false glimmers of hope! Why!!

The fly I caught it on?  Resemble a crucifix, did it? Not quite ... after trying every respectable fly in my box at least two or three times during the course of that torturous day, at 9.30pm I decided I might as well try "the orange thing" that had come into my possession on the last trip to Scotland, fishing with Dr Pip.  It was from the hut at Loganlea reservoir, wherein we were paying our fees when a bearded man lept from the couch to my side, and whispered into my ear "You'll be wanting one of theeese, laddie".  His crooked finger was pointing at a box of large, garish orange lures...

I would not be surprised to learn that Loganlea doesn't actually have a hut.

Anyway, read on to learn how today's fishing went...