THANKS to the Tartan Curtain, it was not until after the summer solstice that I could head south in search of my annual chalkstream fix, so by the time I arrived in Stockbridge I was fish-hungry and ready to ‘kick some fin’. I started loading up with yet more flies from the irrepressible Alistair Robjent’s excellent emporium and awaited my host, Michael, who had kindly invited me to an exclusive Test beat for the day.
There had been a severe heatwave (34ËšC in Hampshire) and any sensible fish would have been lounging in the shade with a sombrero and a nice margarita; as we began my belated trout season with a tumbler of Champagne, the mid-morning glare was already almost audible and the prospects of a hatch looked slim. To compound matters, the nymph was forbidden, so it would be a case of trying to coax up a brownie that was on the fin. I plumped for a size 12 Rat-Faced McDougal (originally called the Beaverkill Bastard) and we set off merrily downstream.
I have previously in these pages expressed my preference for nymphing when permitted: it’s not that I am blind to the spectacle of a fish slurping at my surface representation, but there’s something that more deeply pleases me about the three-dimensional aspect of the sunken bug, the need for lipreading, that slight milky-white gape of the trout’s acceptance, the thrill of coming tight to him successfully. Perhaps it’s because my home water as a boy was an unkeepered and dishevelled Hertfordshire chalkstream where classic floating fly tactics were impossible, but my instinct is to go subsurface if the fish are feeding in the basement, as we know they tend to do for much of the time.
Denne historien er fra August 26, 2020-utgaven av Country Life UK.
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Denne historien er fra August 26, 2020-utgaven av Country Life UK.
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Kitchen garden cook - Apples
'Sweet and crisp, apples are the epitome of autumn flavour'
The original Mr Rochester
Three classic houses in North Yorkshire have come to the market; the owner of one inspired Charlotte Brontë to write Jane Eyre
Get it write
Desks, once akin to instruments of torture for scribes, have become cherished repositories of memories and secrets. Matthew Dennison charts their evolution
'Sloes hath ben my food'
A possible paint for the Picts and a definite culprit in tea fraud, the cheek-suckingly sour sloe's spiritual home is indisputably in gin, says John Wright
Souvenirs of greatness
FOR many years, some large boxes have been stored and forgotten in the dark recesses of the garage. Unpacked last week, the contents turned out to be pots: some, perhaps, nearing a century old—dense terracotta, of interesting provenance.
Plants for plants' sake
The garden at Hergest Croft, Herefordshire The home of Edward Banks The Banks family is synonymous with an extraordinary collection of trees and shrubs, many of which are presents from distinguished friends, garnered over two centuries. Be prepared to be amazed, says Charles Quest-Ritson
Capturing the castle
Seventy years after Christian Dior’s last fashion show in Scotland, the brand returned under creative director Maria Grazia Chiuri for a celebratory event honouring local craftsmanship, the beauty of the land and the Auld Alliance, explains Kim Parker
Nature's own cathedral
Our tallest native tree 'most lovely of all', the stately beech creates a shaded environment that few plants can survive. John Lewis-Stempel ventures into the enchanted woods
All that money could buy
A new book explores the lost riches of London's grand houses. Its author, Steven Brindle, looks at the residences of plutocrats built by the nouveaux riches of the late-Victorian and Edwardian ages
In with the old
Diamonds are meant to sparkle in candlelight, but many now gather dust in jewellery boxes. To wear them today, we may need to reimagine them, as Hetty Lintell discovers with her grandmother's jewellery
