Itchen Carrier at Avington, Hampshire

I have long held a desire to fish the hallowed waters of the River Itchen.

Being one of the two flagship chalkstreams in England, it's generally a damn expensive river to access, and I have put it off until a future time. The call of the Itchen is growing louder though, and it won't be long before I take the plunge. 

I was thus wistfully browsing the website of one of the chalkstream fishing agents when I spotted, nestled amongst the beats of the Itchen proper, a section of carrier at the renowned big-fish Avington Fishery. It came at a reasonable price, so I checked the seven-day weather forecast and purchased a ticket. 

I had exclusive use of the carrier on Saturday this past weekend.

I had my first ever glimpse of the Itchen from the A31 just south of the town of Alresford. The bridge sits high over the valley, and spans some distance, but even as I zoomed past in the car I could see an attractive stream in a pretty pasture - limpid waters with green clumps of weeds and clean-scoured gravels. It is here at the confluence of three streams that the Itchen is formed and for seven miles it flows west to the village of Headbourne Worthy and then due south to Winchester, through truly stunning English countryside.

Looking upstream at the main Itchen from the entrance to Avington Fishery

Looking downstream from the entrance to Avington Fishery. A fish rose in the foreground just after this photo was taken.

Avington is one of the pre-eminent stillwater trout fisheries in the UK. Created in the late 1960s, it has specialised in rearing and stocking high quality large trout. That niche has attracted many of Britain's finest fly fishermen to its banks - Dick Walker and Frank Sawyer among them - and it has produced several British records. To provide an idea of scale, Avington's current rainbow trout record is a staggering 28lbs. 

To get into the spirit before my visit, I downloaded and watched the engaging documentary 'Avington' and also watched the episode of 'Hooked on Fishing' when Paul Young visits, found on YouTube. Not only did the videos impress upon me the significant history of the venue, but it imbued a sense of occasion and increased my expectation. 

I set off early from home and arrived at 08h30, when the air was still cool. Two anglers were fishing the top lake and one was playing a trout which looked to be around 3lbs at the bottom of the lake, where the water departs through a sluice. The clarity of the water struck me and I spotted several astonishingly large trout lazily patrolling the margins. It was a peaceful and rather beautiful place.
  

In truth, the carrier at Avington is a far cry from the Itchen. It was predominantly absent of ranunculus and starwort, which I feel really add to the aesthetic charm and essence of chalkstream fishing (and provide cover for both fish and the insects they eat). 

It was more akin to a canal, hewn straight and quite featureless. The current flowed very gently. In many places the water was only ankle deep and where it wasn't, the riverbed tended to be silty. Flow deflectors had been installed near the bottom of the stretch, where the river is slowest, in an attempt to make the river more varied and interesting, but they were obviously put in a long time ago; the logs were rotting and needed replacing. 

The upper beat runs next to the top lake and is around 150 metres long. For the most part the upper beat is inaccessible because stream side vegetation has been left to grow and no wading is allowed. Fishing can only be done from the true right bank, which shares a narrow path with the top lake. This unfortunately meant I was bound to cross paths with anyone fishing the lake - no problem in itself - but the fish in the stream scattered at the sign of any movement on the shared path. 

Two novices, one of them shirtless, excitedly thrashed one of the lakes, and chatted in high spirits. Occasionally they shouted questions to another angler across the water. It was nice to see their obvious enthusiasm for a new and hopefully long-lasting pastime.

The lower beat was around 350m and better, because the true right bank is on the opposite side from the middle and bottom lakes and therefore one can move and stalk unhindered. I focused my fishing there.

     

Perhaps my opinion of the carrier has been too heavily influenced by it being an extremely tough day at the office. It was hot, still, and bright, the hardest conditions for fishing, and the little fish in the stream were incredibly spooky.

I like to think that I'm a fairly competent river fisherman. Stalking shy double-figure trout in New Zealand's south island and wily trout in the Lilliputian streams of the Welsh borderlands has provided a fertile education in moving slowly and keeping a low profile. But this proved to be a whole new level of challenge - these were among the most nervous trout I have encountered.

I inched up the stream at the speed of a stalking heron, searching for fish. I kept a distance from the river's edge, walking in the shade on the far side of the track beside the water. As I type, my knees still ache from the crawling I did to get into a casting position. It was all in vain. The little fish scattered upstream, like pin balls, at the merest hint of movement.

I commonly saw mayfly, olives and caddis and tantalisingly heard fish rising in the nearby lakes. I hoped for a good day with the dry fly in the river.

I found a shoal of grayling in one of the deepest sections of the stream and could see they were contentedly nymphing. Their flanks flashed silver in the sunlight as they grubbed on the riverbed. I hooked two in successive casts, but lost both, and the shoal became wise to my presence.

A rare rise

I lengthened my leader and tippet. I had assumed before my visit that 6x (3lb) tippet would be fine but wished I had brought along a spool of 7x. It had been a very long time since I had thought to use 7x tippet in the UK. 

Often, when a good cast was made, the small trout would spook just at the sight of a dry fly or nymph as it drifted down towards them. I routinely experimented with fly size and pattern, to no avail. It was rather frustrating.

I found five substantial trout, a mix of rainbow and brown trout, which I assume must have escaped from the lakes or have been stocked. To coin a phrase I picked up in Australia, these lumps were "doggo" (meaning they sat on the bottom dead still without appearing to feed). I spent a good deal of time targeting them nonetheless. 

When I gave up on one of these immovable fish - a brown trout which looked to be around 3.5lbs - I walked up to it and put the tip of my fly rod into the water. Perhaps I wanted to see if it was real and not some vision. When I touched the trout, I expected it to flee, but it simply moved an inch to its right. Very curious behaviour.

By now I was on my third trip up the lower beat and it was approaching 4pm. I was hot and thirsty and resigned to going home empty handed. And then, like manna from heaven, a fish rose against my bank a short way upstream. 

It was only the fourth rise I had seen in seven hours and I knew it was now or never. I tied on a CDC & Elk and spent a little while figuring out how to approach the fish. There was an uncut clump of vegetation between me and the fish and I used it as cover to creep into casting range. I would need to make a long cast. 

I drew in a breath and cast upstream. The fly landed perfectly. It drifted for a second and was engulfed in a splash! I fought the urge to strike immediately, pausing a fleeting moment, then lifted the rod. I was overjoyed when I could feel the fish was still there. After a brief but spirited fight, I guided a perfectly marked wild brown trout of around 8 or 9 inches into my net. I felt a deep sense of relief come over me. 

When fishing is easy we fool ourselves with grand notions that the endeavour is about something more than just the simple act of catching fish. In many respects it is, but when broken down to its nuts and bolts, we all aspire first and foremost to be successful in fooling fish. 

      
As I walked to the carpark to leave, now with a spring in my step, I paused at the bottom of the upper beat. Here the water is complemented by an outflow from the top lake, and the river briefly deepens and flows a little more swiftly. I spotted the paddle-like tail of a good sized trout protruding from under a tree. It was too large to be a native of the river and it must have found its way out of one of the lakes, in Houdini fashion. It was in an impossible lie and I filmed it briefly. If you watch the short clip to the end you will see the fish move to its right to feed. I was content to simply observe it at the time, satisfied with my recent catch, too drained mentally and physically by that stage to contemplate a miracle cast. In hindsight, perhaps I should've seen if the plop of a small nymph beside its tail might have encouraged a response!

Perhaps I was unlucky to catch this little stream on a challenging day. I suspect that on a good day, with fish such as Tail-under-the-Tree in the water, the sport could be very good indeed.

When I packed up and left the venue just after 5pm, I pulled my car over just outside the entrance to the fishery to look at the Itchen. Its waters flowed swiftly over ranunculus with an audible gurgle. It was a bewitching sight and made for a pretty picture. As if on cue a fish rose at the near bank. In that moment I made a promise to fish the Itchen sooner rather than later. 

Post edit: I have since spoken to someone who has fished this beat twice before, who claimed that over 60 fish were caught on each occasion, most of them stocked fish over 30cm long. He claimed to have been put off fishing this beat again because it was too easy. 

Two very different experiences. His sounds awfully close to "shooting fish in a barrel"! 

For a 500m beat that's a fish density and size I simply didn't see in the gin clear water. I did see wild trout, all under 12 inches, in the sort of typical numbers I would expect to see. I concluded from what he said that the river had not been stocked recently before my visit. I don't mind that especially. It makes the single wild trout I worked hard to catch a very fine and valuable prize indeed!