A busy Wednesday at work was good enough reason to head up to Turton for an evening spell.
On arrival the usual hordes of joggers, walkers, and combo's of joggers & walkers with dogs were everywhere. The sh*t situation is getting a bit out of hand with most owners letting their flea-bag pooches relieve themselves all over the show, without even attempting to clear up the foul mess. Even those that do quite often bag it and then shove it into the walls, do they imagine someone will come along and clear it all up?
Anyway, rant over.
A few nights ago, the reporter on Look North said we were in the middle of a drought, she was right. Walking round to the far bank it wasn't hard to see the levels had dropped quite a bit and quite a long stretch of the stones were exposed.
At least it afforded a long space between me and all the dog walkers. Gradually as the evening wore on the all the doggies were taken home to stink out their owners places and a kind of peace was restored.
Almost flat-calm, I decided to try a few of my favourite buzzer patterns - all to no avail, not even a take. A change of plan and out came my current favourite dry-fly pattern. I've no idea what it's called, it came in a bit of a luck dip bag I picked up at a game fair a few years ago. (Answers - please).
Five minutes after tying it on the fly disappeared into a splashing take and a nice pound and a half Rainbow was soon on the bank.
As the sun began to fall the Herons flew home to roost in the trees just behind me. Their chicks kicked off with a terrible screeching din. It didn't put the fish off and soon number two and three were on the bank. Another fish rose about 10 yards out, I cast to it, (not a bad effort for a change) and head and fin appeared as it took my fly. The last of the night was about the best, not far off two pounds.
Time for home, just be careful I don't step in any dog sh**!