Cold winds and torrential rain have kept the brakes on the annual Mayfly Hatch on the River Whitewater this year, but with the promise of warmer weather to come, prospects could change for the better by the weekend. Getting down to the river on the first decent afternoon for weeks, I stood on the road bridge looking upstream hoping to see a few Mayflies hatching, or fish rising, but was disappointed. The river was still slightly coloured and it looked like more rain was on the way.

This was only my second visit since a cold windy open day in April and had tied on a small yellow Mayfly pattern in my optimism. At this time last year, the Hatch was in full flow and I set off upstream in search of rises. A few hundred yards on, the unmistakeable splashy rise of a decent trout, then another further up got my heart racing and I managed to get down into the shallows to wade the last few yards. On the waiting list for a new knee, this was an effort, having to make do with wellies instead of waders.

There was a strong downstream wind adding to the line drag and I needed an accurate cast to reach the first fish under the left hand bank. My back cast caught in the alders above my head and I lost the fly. By the time that I had tied on a replacement fly, the short hatch of a dozen flies was over and my imitation was ignored.

Continuing upstream small yellow mayfly were fluttering across the river and another trout was feeding close to a sunken branch. From the high bank I could see a wild brown of about 12 oz and measured my casts, the first few ignored, while the trout continued to feed as a steady supply drifted down. On my next cast, the trout moved toward the fly, then turned to the right to slurp in one closer, before darting to the left to scoop up mine. It was on! Initially diving beneath the branch, I pulled it out, only for it to start tumbling on the surface, coming close to my bank and the shallows. I had no control and reached forward with my already extended landing net, while the the trout continued to thrash on the surface. It came off and darted back to safety. Not a big fish, but it would have broken my duck.

This part of the river was always a good nursery for juvenile trout, while holding a few rod benders, that only come out from their deep pools, when the Mayfly are on the water. There were still a few crayfish nets secreted along the banks and it is hoped that the reduced number of crays will result in more surviving wild fish.

I continued upstream to the weir, but with no sign of rising fish, I tried my luck with my Blackdevil nymph, casting to likely holding areas and runs.

Casting up between the post of a berm, the line arced round into the eddy as it passed, but I lifted into thin air, the weighted nymph flying back. Too late, or too early? A missed fish all the same.

I saw one more crashing rise on the way back, plenty of fly life of all sizes, but few mayfly. Crossing the road, I entered the next beat, seeing another member Steve wading up to his waist, casting up under the bridge, where fish were rising. He reported netting a 2 lb fish above the bridge at the weekend, which was encouraging news. I continued down to the next pool, seeing several rises among a hatch of small white Mayfly. Removing the nymph, I tied on a bodied Mayfly and cast among the rising fish, only for the fly to be attacked by a small fish, which I missed. A few more tries and a small chub of six inches took a flying lesson before falling off. Move on.

More Mayfly were now in the air and I watched a big trout sucking them in from an eddy among the safety of roots and a fallen tree. If I could get the fly in there, it was unlikely that I would be able to get it out. The sound of another fish rising further down saw me enter the river again, almost falling in, when I used a dead tree for support, it crumbling in my hands as I gripped it. Fortunately I avoided a soaking, my heavy aluminium extendable landing net coming to my aid as I stumbled.

I have had many fine trout from this pool in the past and as I waded through the shallows, a good fish rose among the roots on the left at the top end. Keeping close to the edge, I cast to the area. The fly sat for only seconds before it was engulfed and I was playing a hard fighting trout, that was charging toward the roots. I have been lulled by catching chub lately, this was no chub, the power of a trout is up several levels. It turned and rushed back, rolling in the shallows, before another long run. With a dark back and silvery sides, I was reminded of a seatrout as it rolled again. Tightening down the line, it fought in diminishing circles, until it turned on its side and drifted back to my net.

A sleek wild brown trout of about a pound and a half, that rewarded persistence, a beautiful fish that my camera could not do justice to. The barbless size 12 fell out once the pressure was off and I held the trout facing upstream, until it swam back out of the landing net. Another member Richard had stopped, while I waited for the trout to recover and he extended a welcome hand to pull me up the bank to save my aching knee. My cancelled operation would have been a few days before, so good came of it in the end, as I would not have been able to catch this fine fish, if it had gone ahead.

Following a morning of sunshine and showers, I took a chance of better weather for a few hours on my local pond this week. It’s only a short walk from my home, ideal if time is limited, intending to be on my way back by 6 pm. Travelling light with just the basics, bait was an 8 oz premixed bag of liquidised bread and ground carp pellets, with a slice of Warburtons medium white for the hook.

The surface was alive with small rudd as I wet down my feed, throwing out half a dozen sloppy balls in an area 8 metres out toward the lily bed on my right. With 8 metres of pole and my waggler set to two feet deep and the line to hand from the top two sections, I could cover the line of feed with a 7 mm double punch of bread on a size 16 hook.

The first dozen casts saw the float sail away with small rudd that had formed a barrier close to the surface, rapidly pushing the pole back through the bushes behind to reach the top two, then swinging the rudd to hand. All good exercise on a warm afternoon.

These rudd were all fat with spawn and their fry will provide fodder for the visiting herons and kingfishers to this shallow pond.

For once the float did not zoom away, when a series of bobs of the yellow tip indicated something better. A slow sink was responded to with a sharp upward lift of the pole and the elastic streaked out toward the lilies, until the strain stopped the fish, which churned up black mud, before heading back in the opposite direction. This was my cue to retrieve the pole, passing it back as fast as possible to keep tension on, seeing the red elastic stretching out into the pond. Down to the top two again, I was in control as the unseen fish battled through the mud toward the landing net and lifting it clear.

A very nice crucian carp, my target fish. There were once many common carp of around the two pound mark in this pond, but they are few and far between these days, there being no anti poaching controls in existence on this public water.

For the next half hour I was back to catching rudd again, although they were half the size of those on my previous visit.

The elastic was out again with another powerful fish running off to the lilies. The slow faltering bite belied by the explosion of power once the barbless hook was set.

A smaller crucian followed before the elastic was tested again by another quality fish that fought shy of the landing net, diving under it twice, third time being lucky for me.

Bubbles were now bursting all over the fed area and I varied where I placed the bait, the fish obliging with an eventual sinking of the float.

This barrel shaped crucian was heavy with spawn, but it fought to the last.

An angler on the opposite bank called out “Got another one? You’re catching a fish every three minutes” I wasn’t counting, but they were definitely on the feed now, this tench reaching the lilies before I dragged it back, rolling and diving in one sliding motion all the way to the net.

I stopped for a cup of tea after the tench, its unpredictable fight keeping me busy steering its head out of the roots at my feet and I needed a rest.

There was brief respite, while I waited for the next bite to develope and I was in again as an even fatter crucian ploughed through the bottom mud, creating a washing line of debris. Once again the size 16 barbless hook hung on.

There was no fussy bite from this common carp, the float just vanished and kept going to my right. Reaching the lily bed it turned in toward my bank, rolling under the bushes. Pushing the pole out into the pond, it responded to the pressure and turned back to the centre, the elastic cutting through the surface film at speed. It was now safe, there being no snags apart from the other bed opposite and it was now slowing down, time for me to keep up the pressure, feeding the pole back behind into the bushes. When I detached the top two sections, I thought that I had been too hasty, as this was a cue for the carp to renew the fight, but the 12 – 18 strength elastic did its work and the common was in the net.

I had netted a smaller common and a few big gudgeon, when red finned crucians moved onto the feed. It was now at my cut off time of 6 pm and time to pack up with one more.

As if I didn’t need any encouragement to walk away from a swim that was still producing, the heavens opened without warning, dousing everything in sight, myself rushing round to put the stuff away, then stopping as suddenly as it began. While others sprayed pellets and sweet corn into their swims, good old bread punch did the business for me yet again.

Travelling light has its advantages in that it does not take long to pack up, the last thing to do being to take a pic of the net of fish, a wide mix of species.

As I put away my net, my fellow angler from the opposite side of the pond was already making his way over to my swim. He was welcome to give it a go.