Life On A Great Chalkstream

Chalkstream Chronicle
Neil Patterson
Lyons & Burford, $35 cloth, ISBN 1-55821-425-9

Much of fly fishing's history is geographically based in the chalk downs of southern England. There, several classic chalkstreams stem from underground reservoirs to wind through pastoral countryside. Rich in trout and supportive aquatic life, each of these streams suggests certain eminent anglers: names which belong on fly fishing's honor roll. On the Test it was Halford and Marriat; on the Itchen (and subsequently, the Kennet) it was Skues; on the Avon, Frank Sawyer.

It is in this setting that Neil Patterson gives a month-by-month account--January through December--of life on a great chalkstream. He had done what many had fantasized doing but few had the fortitude to undertake--namely, to give up a productive but all-consuming career in London for a life in which angling was the main component. He moved his family into a small, upstairs flat in a big house owned by Lady McFarlane and leased a beat on the river, just a stone's throw away. It was--as Dame Juliana was wont to say--the good life. Eventually, he purchased an old, broken-down stable from Lady McFarlane and converted it into a comfortable house which was to become his base of operations.

Nowhere in his journal does Patterson identify his stream. Inside both covers he displays a hand-sketched map of his beat which locates such fanciful places as the Mad House, Back of Beyond, Rookery Nook, Square Dance, and Fly Lane. In a similar vein his cast of regular characters include The River God, The Boss, Roll Cast, Picasso, and Steel Guitar, to name a few. Only the names of Lady McFarlane and his fishing guests are real.

This is not a how-to book, although the author takes the reader through countless fishing situations--often in a self-deprecating way. The hatches are carefully followed and his original fly patterns are described in detail.

Neil Patterson writes in a pleasant, relaxed style which makes for enjoyable reading. There is much imagery found here, apparent for example in his description of the English March brown, Rhithrogena haarupi:

The March brown nymph is built like the sole of a deep-sea diver's boot. Flat and broad, he clamps himself to the bottom like a bathroom plunger, as if his life depends on it--which, in fact, it does. . . . When he has to move, the March brown nymph shifts smartly, engaging a 4-wheel to cross rocks and boulders.

Deploring the prices of high-quality fly rods and recognizing his penchant for destroying delicate shafts, Patterson contacted Hoagy Carmichael in the U.S. and asked if it was possible to duplicate a certain Pezon & Michel cane rod in glass fiber. Surprisingly, Hoagy--a cane rod builder par excellence--agreed to take on the task in exchange for a place to sleep on a fabled chalkstream. Subsequently, Hoagy personally delivered the new rod, which Patterson named "The Carrot" because of its color.

"Take care of it," Hoagy warned, "It's the only glass rod with my name on it. If anybody asks, don't tell 'em I made it."

Nick Lyons, who had the good sense to publish this book, and his wife were guests at Patterson's during mayfly time. To the Brits, "mayfly time" is when the big Green Drake--Ephemera danica--emerges in clouds to stir the adrenaline of the river's biggest trout. It's akin to Hex time in Michigan.

Knowing of Lyons's predilection for courting disaster in some form or another, Patterson kept him in close tow for several days. But when he performed admirably without accident Neil lowered his guard and one evening left Nick alone for the last half-hour of daylight.

Casting from a high bank to rings appearing on the flat water, Nick hooked the largest fish of the trip, played it carefully and realized he didn't have his net. Since he was five feet above the water and couldn't possibly reach the fish, he decided to slide down the vertical mud bank to the water. I won't give away the details but suffice to say, he found himself standing on the river bottom in seven feet of water, clutching vainly at the soft mud of the river bank. After a frantic struggle (which Lyons surmised must have included levitation) he found himself lying on the grass on terra firma, covered head to toe with globs of mud.

Back at the house, shedding his wet clothing, Lyons leaned against the bathroom wall as he pulled off his muddy socks. He wasn't aware he had left his mark on the wall but Patterson promptly took note of it and secured a glass-mounted wood frame to the wall over the smudge. Thus was Nick Lyon's "bum print" preserved for posterity.

For several years in the 1960s and 70s I carried on an extended, fascinating, and rewarding correspondence with the late David Jacques, the distinguished English angler, author, and entomologist. His base of angling operations was on the River Test, the most famous of the British chalkstreams. He leased a beat from Lady Bowdoin at Marsh Court--"beloved of Halford," as he put it.

David and I had an ongoing, but friendly, debate on catch-and-release. He was certain that once a chalkstream trout was caught and returned it would never again be caught. Similarly, he frowned on the use of fine tippets because too many trout broke off and in so doing, were lost to the fishery. This was not solely the view of David Jacques, it was the prevailing philosophy across the pond at that time.

Evidently, times have changed over there and they are beginning to pay attention to some of the goings-on in the colonies. While he doesn't make a big deal of it, Neil Patterson recommends squeezing down the barbs of flies to facilitate releasing fish without handling them. In fact, he closes his Chronicle with a wish for better-designed barbless hooks.

Not a bad way to end a very enjoyable book.RWOL

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