The March Brown
The March Brown
Rhitrogena haarupi, belonging to the Mayfly family, is what our artificial
March Browns are supposed to represent. The insect exists in fast flowing
waters only, nevertheless it fishes very well in our still waters. It is best
used as a top dropper, and not only in march, but throughout the entire
season.. In the upper regions of our rivers it can produce surprisingly good
brown trout after a spate.
Variations over variations and subspecies invite to experiment with colours and
materials; the one which has done best for me is this spider version: hook
sizes from 8 to 12, with 10s and 12s being the most used ones.
Materials:
Thread - olive
Tail - a few fibres of mallard
Body - dark brown wool or dubbed fur
Ribbing - fine yellow or gold tinsel
Body hackle - light brown or ginger
Throat hackle - dark partridge or similar soft hackle
Wings ( optional ) - hen pheasant tail
Top Ten
Flies for Ireland
Hilariously funny, seriously, this is angling's answer to "Last Of The Summer
Wine"! .....Ray Robinson is a real life "Compo" who goes fishing with Dietrich
Bohnhorst.....I give it 10 out of 10.....a must have DVD for all the
family.
Roger Baker, Irish Angler Magazine
This DVD is a must for every fisherman who wants to learn the delicate art of
flytying.
The beautiful scenery enhances the pleasure of this film, as does the dry
humour of his eccentric English friend "the great Raymondo". Watch as they
tramp the landscape, dressed as if extras in Monty Python's Quest for the Holy
Grail, (which in a sense they are, in a fishy sort of way).
Great Entertainment for all the Family
114 minutes of fly-tying and fishing. Dietrich Bohnhorst's entertaining and practical guide for every game angler. On DVD for only EURO 20
or order by phone
Tel.: ++353-(0)74-97 36922
Fly Only Allowed
A little grocery shop on an elevation represented the limits of the
seven-houses village Podturn. A bit below, nicely circumvented by a narrow
road, a wooded hill in the background was the source of the Radejsica. The
river came out of the hill, formed a pond and ran from there through an idyllic
valley; that looked lovely: meadows and a few cornfields, no houses until its
confluence with the Krka, somewhere in the distance, where a ridge of mountains
rose.
Gin clear water came out of the Karst rock stratum and it was a river right
from its source on; twelve to fifteen meters wide and two deep. Gustl the
landlord of our Gostilna, guesthouse and fishing tackle outlet, had used the
word Origin, which seemed very appropriate to us.
Standing on that little circular road, we saw the rings of rising trout.
You fishing with fly? asked Gustl and we nodded enthusiastically while he was
issuing day tickets to us.
Of course.
That verry good. Because is only fly allowed in Radejsica.
Helmut looked at me, and I must have looked astonished myself: was it really
necessary for them to go that far? For someone being used to the entire bait
and lure range this Fly only restriction was quite incomprehensible.
Regulations and explanations were printed on our permits in Yugoslavian, German
and French. Brown trout, potocna pastrva: Rainbows, kalifornijska pastrva and
Grayling, Lipljan, we read. Three fish a day was bag limit.
First we had to fish our meagre fly fishing tackle out of the car; spinning
rods, fixed spool reels, loads of nice little spoons and spinners remained in
the vehicle. Then we fished the entire Radejsica down, 6 km from its source to
its entry into the big Krka. There was fish, lots of fish, they were good to
see in that clear water, lurking behind the weeds for nymphs drifting along; or
hovering in more free water on the lookout for flies on the surface. We saw
them rise, especially the graylings in the lower part of the river seemed never
to stop.
For days we tried in vain to catch a fish on the fly, and we didn't smile that
friendly back when Gustl took our money for the permits, only to release us for
another days fishing with his notorious now poor fishes.
Does he want to make fools of us?
One evening we showed him our flies, asked whether they were any good at all.
He pointed out a few brown patterns this here very good flies and we knew
anyway that we were doing something wrong; fish were there. For starters our
casting was pretty pathetic; the lines flew in wide bows and loops around our
ears and never landed where it should or worse, got caught in the grass or
bushes behind.
There was an apple tree: I just had to get near it and was tangled up in it.
But we were alone at the river, there was no danger of derision and laughter
from more advanced fellow anglers. So we grumbled and cursed quiet and alone,
getting the flies out of trees and shrubs, corn cobs, tufts of grass. The only
interruption was the daily appearance of a small fat man with a thick heavy
moustache, who rode his motorbike along the narrow tracks in pursuit of
anglers. The Fish General wore a fancy old uniform; a heavy revolver in a
holster gave authority. He asked, always friendly, for the Kontrolni Kupon, a
little tear of part of the permit which he had to produce to the Fisheries
Board as proof of his activity.
If nothing happens tomorrow, I'm going to give this up Helmut sat dejected at
the dinner table, and my hopes of finally catching a fish here weren't exactly
high either. It was raining heavily the next morning, so I decided to drown my
grief.
Sljivovica and Pivo Varna, right after breakfast I went to sit with a few
hunters and woodsmen for drinking companions in the smoky Hunter's Lodge.
Helmut went fishing. Sometime in the early afternoon, still raining heavily, he
stuck his head around the door, totally soaked, and announced excited: I've
hooked a giant fish, really, on the fly, but it got away! He didn't like our
bursting into laughter boozy bloody lot and he was gone again.
The next day was hard: just able to drive Helmut to the Gostilna, so that he
could get a new permit for the day, I spent most of the morning lying in the
car, a severe headache and general feeling of misery, made any activities of my
own impossible. Just stayed in the car and tried not to move.
After a few hours something forced me out, something dragged me to the
guesthouse. I bought a ticket and walked to the river. Helmut fished a short
stretch of water just below the Orrigin , where he had lost his fish the
previous day.
Like in a trance I placed myself beside the before mentioned apple tree, took a
brown fly (later I was told the name of that particular pattern: March Brown)
from the remainders of my assortment, attached it to the end of the cast and
began to work. Something in the middle between roll casting and line mending
brought the fly a few meters out. The right hand, holding the rod, performed
movements, very similar to stirring with a whisk; much slower though, to allow
the currency to pull some more line through the rings. The split cane rod was
ten foot long and I leaned forward a bit, carefully, while stirring, so that
the fly did not swing round close to the bank. I didn't feel or see the take,
just saw the splash at the surface, the line was pulled from the reel. I was
totally frightened, had never reckoned that something like that might happen,
and: it wasn't actually me fishing there, it fished, worked by itself, there
was just no tension anymore.
A rat, Helmut, I've hooked a rat! My panic stricken shouting must have informed
the entire countryside.
Helmut came with the landing net, said something about loss of sight in
connection with exaggerated alcohol consumption, then we landed a 48 cm long
rainbow trout and were very happy so it works, after all.
Again worked my line onto the water and immediately had the next take, at the
same spot; Helmut netted again, and straight away another time.
Now three fish lay there in the grass, caught within a half hour; suddenly the
previous days didn't exist anymore, struggling and frantic didn't exist
anymore.
In the evening we sat on the bench beside the guesthouse and received
congratulations all over dobro ribar; master-fish-hunters. The rods leant
against the white washed wall of the house, the top of my split cane fairly
crooked. Gustl looked at the thing, nodded contented like he was saying they
are out of the wood.
DEDICATION
In 1995 Dietrich Bohnhorst and Ray Robinson produced DEDICATION, a four part
movie, following two dedicated fly-fishers through various entertaining and
exciting expeditions on land and sea in the North-West of Ireland.
After DEDICATION was shown on European TV via French Station AB-Sat and in
North America via a cable network it became somewhat of an angler's cult
film.
All 107 minutes of DEDICATION are available for only €20 on DVD;
To
order click here
or order by phone
Tel.: ++353-(0)74-97 36922
DEDICATION is not a how to or where to go program. It's a slice of life.
