River Meon
Posted: Sat Jul 17, 2021 4:27 pm
Livivng in the Meon Valley it would be rude for Fatty not to fish it. At least that was the gist of the tall tale presented to Matron 
who gave her grudging consent with a nod of her head.
The next problem facing Fatty was to get the essential provisions in order and on time. Phew so much to do, so little time.
The day arrived soon enough but Mole and pies were established, as was enough slurping tea.
Tackle for such a small river was a 3wt Fibatube rod only 6ft long, Hardy Perfect and two boxes of flies. Leaky waders were to be worn as wet wading is frowned upon in Chalk Stream Country with Fatty practising his Boris Johnson Accent should he see anyone in authority lurking about by repeating 'don't you know who I am?' at any given opportunity
With the prospect of just under a mile of water to tilt at Fatty believed he would catch inspite of the Sun lighting up the river, giving the Trout the sight advantage.....oh well at least the rain had stopped.
Trout scattering in all directions whilst Fatty splashed about in the river meant catching them could be a challenge. However they being trout one or two woulld make an error and visit the bankside!
So :
A good start, with the trick to getting at least a superfast hit, was to find any deeper holes and run a nymph through. Pulls galore but few fish on the bank until this slightly slower chap dropped by:
Problem solved.....not really as the bites were mostly just that bit too quick resulting in missed bites or the fish hanging on just enough to bend the rod then letting go. This lot appeared to be well educated Spotty 'Erberts with Fatty having to up his game or just spend the rest of the day scoffing pies and slurping tea in an impromtu picnic and a splendid siesta to follow.
Sophie Loren in her prime was talking sexily to Fatty whilst whispering sweet nothings in his ear, then licking the side of his face......hang on lad what's going on here. Waking with a start, as a cow licked the side of his face again was a bit of a let down; eeeeh that Italian Minx had cast her spell yet again but don'ttell Matron .
Shooing the small herd away took a little time but they lost interest soon enough, trotting over to the shade of some trees to watch procedings in a bemused manor.
Fatty had finally made it to a largish pool, near the bridge
Sitting on the bank, casting was easy to the sighted fish. A huge monster Brownie estimated at 3lbs created havoc, smashing the leader, leaving Fatty a gibbering wreck and jumping several times to emphasise its victory.....a select choice of words followed the fish out of the pool
Setting up new leader and fly selection, scoffing a concilatory pie and slurping nice tea took enough time to make the world seem a better place again and at least the size of that fish made it a veritable Gulliver in the land of Lilliput.
With loins girded to re-enter the fray, Fatty dropped fish after fish, soon once again Descending into the Vale of Despond. However, by keeping going all became right again when this chap came along:
Happy days.
As the sun dropped below the horizon another brownie came to see The Mole but slid back in to the Meon before any portrait could be taken. It didn't matter though as this was a good point to end the day, with Fatty singing badly on the walk home
As ever,....
Moley
who gave her grudging consent with a nod of her head.The next problem facing Fatty was to get the essential provisions in order and on time. Phew so much to do, so little time.
The day arrived soon enough but Mole and pies were established, as was enough slurping tea.
Tackle for such a small river was a 3wt Fibatube rod only 6ft long, Hardy Perfect and two boxes of flies. Leaky waders were to be worn as wet wading is frowned upon in Chalk Stream Country with Fatty practising his Boris Johnson Accent should he see anyone in authority lurking about by repeating 'don't you know who I am?' at any given opportunity
With the prospect of just under a mile of water to tilt at Fatty believed he would catch inspite of the Sun lighting up the river, giving the Trout the sight advantage.....oh well at least the rain had stopped.
Trout scattering in all directions whilst Fatty splashed about in the river meant catching them could be a challenge. However they being trout one or two woulld make an error and visit the bankside!
So :
A good start, with the trick to getting at least a superfast hit, was to find any deeper holes and run a nymph through. Pulls galore but few fish on the bank until this slightly slower chap dropped by:
Problem solved.....not really as the bites were mostly just that bit too quick resulting in missed bites or the fish hanging on just enough to bend the rod then letting go. This lot appeared to be well educated Spotty 'Erberts with Fatty having to up his game or just spend the rest of the day scoffing pies and slurping tea in an impromtu picnic and a splendid siesta to follow.
Sophie Loren in her prime was talking sexily to Fatty whilst whispering sweet nothings in his ear, then licking the side of his face......hang on lad what's going on here. Waking with a start, as a cow licked the side of his face again was a bit of a let down; eeeeh that Italian Minx had cast her spell yet again but don'ttell Matron
. Shooing the small herd away took a little time but they lost interest soon enough, trotting over to the shade of some trees to watch procedings in a bemused manor.
Fatty had finally made it to a largish pool, near the bridge
Sitting on the bank, casting was easy to the sighted fish. A huge monster Brownie estimated at 3lbs created havoc, smashing the leader, leaving Fatty a gibbering wreck and jumping several times to emphasise its victory.....a select choice of words followed the fish out of the pool
Setting up new leader and fly selection, scoffing a concilatory pie and slurping nice tea took enough time to make the world seem a better place again and at least the size of that fish made it a veritable Gulliver in the land of Lilliput.
With loins girded to re-enter the fray, Fatty dropped fish after fish, soon once again Descending into the Vale of Despond. However, by keeping going all became right again when this chap came along:
Happy days.
As the sun dropped below the horizon another brownie came to see The Mole but slid back in to the Meon before any portrait could be taken. It didn't matter though as this was a good point to end the day, with Fatty singing badly on the walk home
As ever,....
Moley
. Or a bit of pie 
