The Itchen Carrier at Easton

I joined Bjorn Annegarn for a day's fishing on a carrier of the Itchen, in the last week of May. 

Such is the way with chalkstream bookings that days are reserved well in advance - especially the prime days in the mayfly period - and you take your chances not only with the hatch but also with the weather. In May, that usually means a fairly even chance of rain, and you take along a rain coat. 

But now we found ourselves in the midst of a late spring heatwave. 

When I arrived at the hamlet of Easton at 10am, the mercury had already reached 27 ℃, and by noon it topped 30 ℃. Without a hint of wind the air felt like an oven. Elsewhere in the country, the day would set the record as the hottest ever recorded in May.

All in all, it wasn't the best day to go about stalking the exquisitely beautiful wild brown trout of the Itchen's carriers, where even on a 'good' day, when all the material factors point in the angler's favour, it can provide an exacting small water test. But try we did.

Drawing in the hot, still air as we went, we walked through the fields to the bottom of the beat, where the relentless, multi-lane artery of the M3 crossed the river. There we paused in the shade of a tree to rest. The sun beat down on the water, returning a magnificent glare. The heat seemed to make the surface film especially sticky, as if the river was covered in an elastic membrane, where a greater than normal preponderance of trapped organic matter inched glacially downstream. 

As we got our eye in, we began to spot one or two fish, but it was hard to keep our presence concealed. They barrelled downstream at the merest bow wave - but simply standing in the cold water was pleasure enough. I was half minded to strip off and enjoy a swim instead.  

Being the dry fly man that he is, Bjorn concertedly covered the handful of fish which we had not agitated with a dry fly. There were plenty mayfly about, but the trout seemed quite disinterested in them. Strange that, because Bjorn had chosen the date as the anniversary of a magical day's fishing the previous year, a day when the hatch had held the fullest attention of the trout. Bjorn had hosted Tom Lewin, owner of Johannesburg's Frontier Fly Fishing store, and said of the day, "They were popping up everywhere to take the mayfly and Tom and I were fortunate to be able to pick them off at will. Tom was lucky to experience chalkstream dry fly fishing at its best." 

Not this year, and as we tried to work out if we were too early or too late, I remarked that even the birds and damselflies were leaving the mayfly alone. I would later read the observation of another angler that the mayfly hatch had arrived unusually early on the upper Itchen this season. 

Eventually, I said to Bjorn that if he wanted to catch a trout in this weather, he would need to lower his high standard and deploy a nymph. He relented, but made it clear that this humble record of events should show it was only upon my great insistence, and it wasn't long before he had his first trout.

We took a welcome break for lunch, which we enjoyed at a picnic table in the dappled shade of tall poplar trees. I had earlier lugged down a cooler box packed with ice and drinks, and to Bjorn's posh lunch of Parma ham, cheese, and hummus I added a humble scotch egg and pork pie. The mozzarella came with an acrid taste, and it was only then that Bjorn spotted it was several months out of date!   

See the fabulous trout sketched Opinel knife generously gifted by Tom Lewin to Bjorn as a thank you for his day on the Itchen last year. 

I could've done with a siesta after that lunch, but as I contemplated a snooze in the shade a very welcome sound came to my ear: a rising trout. Bjorn signalled for me to take the opportunity and, as he finished off the cherry tomatoes, I gathered my rod and crept forward to the bank. I watched the water for a little while and saw the trout move at the edge of the outside bend - precisely where I caught my first fish from this river in a visit last year. I had a beaded nymph on my line and, too lazy to swap it for a dry, I flicked it into the water and set the hook when the trout turned to its right to intercept it.

Another trout had been rising in the water ahead, and it was now Bjorn's mark.

Whilst the downstream section of this beat is open to the elements - and had felt to us like fishing on the surface of Venus - it didn't take long to figure out that the fish seemed far happier in the shadier section of water at the top of the beat. We were far happier in the shade too!

Bjorn sent forward a Grey Wulff marked for the attention of the trout. After a couple of uneventful drifts we wondered if the trout had been spooked. We couldn't see it in the shaded water and had no way of telling. Thus, when the trout eventually hit the fly in an explosion of water, we were both taken aback. Bjorn struck a few seconds late, and he heaved as if he was expecting a record tarpon. I was relieved when the fish was still there, and when it leapt from the water I yelled "it's a good fish!" It certainly was, and the grin on Bjorn's face tells its own story.

We had hit a rich seam of water. In the shallow water just ahead, at the boundary of shade and sun, I spotted a trout contentedly feeding on nymphs. It swished its tail eagerly and moved about a foot each way to take its prey. Its rhythm was hypnotic. It was in a difficult spot to reach because it lay ahead of a sprawling willow. Yet it was so preoccupied with food that it allowed me to wade ahead of the tree and stalk like a heron to about 10 feet behind it. From there, I was able to use a roll cast. 

The joy came not only in seeing the fish move to its left and striking on sight, but also in managing to creep up behind it unseen, delivering (for once) a flawless roll-cast. Sometimes - not often enough for my level of skill I hasten to add - everything just seems to fall into place in a single magical moment.    

At the very top of the beat where the carrier draws its life from the main Itchen, also under trees, we found a line of trout showing their fins and tails as they fed just beneath the surface. Bjorn had one take a caddis emerger, and then another, but when I used the same pattern I had no similar luck. I eventually drew a rise to a small black Klinkhamer, but failed to set the hook. It was rather frustrating!

This photo was taken shortly before 8pm with the sun still high and still emanating great heat. Bjorn - seen here replacing his fly - would catch a trout from the thin slip of water just ahead of him. 

Bjorn had an especially good day, catching something like four trout with a dry fly, which goes to show what can be done with a studied, selective approach on a day of record-setting heat. Chalkstream water runs cold and the trout will still feed. Timing is key, though. Whilst we're set in our way of walking to the bottom of a beat and slowly fishing our way upriver, if I was to do it again, I'd head straight to the shadier sections, sit on the grass with an ice cold drink in hand, and wait for the fish to stir.

And don't forget to take along a good lunch - the 'second wind' it provides shouldn't be underestimated.