As the grey skies cleared and the sun broke through for most of Saturday it gave us a chance to head South and fish the Wey once more before the month of May drew to a close.
Throughout the day the temperature rose, dressed in my old fishing jacket I started to feel the heat and decided to cast it off, opting for my old Barbour Northumberland jacket in order to blend in with the surroundings as it is easy to spook your quarry on this small river.
Since the last visit the bank side vegetation had put on a good six inches and the quagmire of a bank had started to dry out. The edges of the river are soft and much silt has built up that the rotting vegetation gives off a terrible oder as your boot sinks into the mud.
It was an afternoon of proceeding with stealth and observing the water more than casting across it. We proceeded to the spots where we knew fish had been seen on the last visit. One of these fish held station just under a willow tree from a narrow channel, difficult to cast to and even if you could get near it neigh impossible to get the fish to the net to get it out. After several casts one hit the spot and no sooner had the fly hit the water it was engulfed in a swirl of water and the line tightened. Well, all hell broke loose with a good 2.5lb brown heading in a direction I rather it didn’t. Young Tales was soon onto the case with the net but the margins were perilously soft, unstable and deep. This little episode turned into a whole family affair with Mrs Tales hanging on to his lordship and myself struggling with a fish that just didn’t want to play ball and head into the net the straight away.
After some heart stopping moments and the silt rapidly rising up my boots I held the rod with one hand and reached for a bank side stick in order to stabilise my own exploits. Finally the fish turned on its back and it slipped into the net.
The rest of the afternoon gave reasonable sport with smaller fish taking a grey wulff fished through a reeded section of the river.
By 7.30pm we started to head back towards the car with young Tales stopping every 50 yards to fish. Within a few minutes he was into a small brown. We crossed the field and followed the path around the outer edge. There was one spot that I had not fished before, heavily reeded with tall yellow iris and flanked on the opposite side with tall trees. There amongst the shadows a ripple formed from a fish taking surface flies. Two casts later the line tightened and the rod bent sharply as a good-sized fish headed towards me in order the bury itself into the reeds. It took a good ten minutes to bring this fish under control and again assistance was required to net it.
Once in the net this 3lb brown trout glowed in the evening light, a fitting end to the last day of May and gave much to discuss at the Anchor Inn in Lower Froyle.