A Cold Morning

I was awake before the alarm and loaded the car in the dark.  A cold morning, the grass was frosty and the windscreen needed a scrape before I left; proper Pike fishing weather according to some.  But to be fair I’ve always found rivers do fish well in the cold, or maybe they are less adversely affected?  Either way this was convenient because that was where I was heading, I’m enjoying mooching around on this unfamiliar venue.

I crunched across the meadow then quietly got into position in the spot I’d fished the previous week.  The sun was now up, not that you’d know it on this gloomy, windless morning.  The river looked cock on, a decent pace to carry the scents downstream and the ‘greenish tinge’ that gets river anglers quivering.  I was fishing by 0755 with two float legers, a smelt upstream and a bluey downstream both tied on as usual!  Only fifteen minutes had passed when the downstream float appeared to be misbehaving.  Normally when a pike takes a float fished bait there is no doubt, we just know, not on this occasion however.  Still I did the right thing and checked it and was pleasantly surprised when the rod took on a decent curve.  There was a bit of weight but the fish was sluggish in the cold water and was soon in the net where the hooks conveniently fell out.  The scales came out and this was my best Pike from the river so far.

The bluey was a bit chewed but still on the hooks so out it went again and I settled back into my chair with the first brew of the day.  And here was where I mostly stayed for the next couple of hours, I moved the baits around the swim but didn’t move any fish.  By 1015 I had itchy feet so tidied up and wandered upstream, eventually settling in a ‘new’ area with Norfolk reeds upstream and a nice looking overhang down river.  The same two baits were dropped in and the waiting game restarted.

There was no quick take this time, over an hour passed and I was considering another move when the upstream float jabbed.  This was another finicky take but more obvious so I wasn’t surprised to feel another fish.  This one also felt decent and made some attempts to run up and down the river making the clutch tick a little.  Another nice fish popped up in front of me and I scooped it up in the net quick smart.  This one looked like the twin of the first but was actually nearly a pound heavier and like so many from this river I was able to twist the double hook out with my fingers.

The late morning saw a break in the gloom although it could never be described as bright, I did glimpse a patch of blue sky on a couple of occasions.  Another hour ticked round without any more action, I considered having another move but looking around I saw lots of bodies on the footpath which was enough to make this unsociable bastard pack up and head for home.

To block or not to block

By the mid point of the festival of greed being indoors had become stifling, the waterside was calling.  I was awake before daylight, which isn’t saying much as for the last several days we’ve had the ceaseless overcast, greyness that we always seem to get at this time of year.  I loaded the car by torchlight but by the time I arrived at the river it was light enough to do without.  I set up at the interesting spot I’d scouted last time with two float legered deadbaits, one upstream and one down.  The first cuppa of the day hadn’t even finished brewing when a bluey cast downstream near an overhanging tree was on the move.  I soon had a nice lean fish of six pounds or so in the net, with one hook just nicked into the scissors I was able to unhook it with my fingers and slip it back.  I’d liked the look of this area and my confidence had been justified, this was the perfect start.

I always tie my deadbaits on with bait elastic, always.  I do this because I want the only baits in my swim to have my hooks in them, this is especially so in hard waters where takes are few but also in more prolific places.  I’m lucky to know a couple of waters where it’s possible to catch half a dozen Pike in a short space of time which could lead to there being several discarded baits in the swim thus reducing the chances of my baits being picked up.  I’ve never felt that the tied on baits reduce my chances of hooking a Pike, I can’t think of any occasions when this has been an issue.

Forty five minutes passed before the same float was bobbing again, this time I’d used a smelt and something was moving downstream with it.  I wound down quickly but the expected bend in the rod didn’t happen and I found something had made off with my tied on smelt.  How did that happen?  Three quarters of an hour later it was the upstream float along the reeds that started bobbing before heading steadily towards the reeds.  I wound down, felt the weight then swept the rod back and somehow struck thin air, what’s more my tied on mackerel was gone.  I recast with half a bluey, tied on again!  I don’t think these Pike have clocks but another forty five minutes had passed and the upstream float was jabbing once more.  I picked up the rod, wound down then wound some more and eventually retrieved another bare trace.  Once was baffling enough but three times in a morning?

Next bait out of the bag was a Mackerel so this was tied on and under-armed across the river.  Only ten minutes had passed when I noticed a big lump of weed drifting down the river, it looked like it would miss the downstream rod but I had to wind in the other.  While I was retrieving something grabbed the mackerel and thankfully I managed to keep it on the hooks this time and lifted out a small fish of a couple of pounds or so.  Was this the bait robber?  It didn’t look noticeably fat…  This time I rebaited with my last chunk of bluey and it was only ten minutes before this was picked up.  I set the hooks and found myself attached to something with a bit of strength which powered upstream before quickly turning and running the other way.  This caught me unawares and the line was slack for a moment before I made contact again, thankfully the hooks stayed in!  This was clearly my best from the river so far so I left it in the net for a minute while I got the scales and mat ready.  I was able to unhook this one with my fingers but as I turned to get the scales the fish flipped itself off the mat and slid away back into the river.  I guessed it around eleven pounds but I’ll never know and would have liked a photo.

After that, things went quiet as you’d expect.  I was content to sit it out in the one swim but really should have made the effort to move.  There are other likely looking spots close by but none quite look the part as much as this one and didn’t inspire me to get on my heels, in future I’ll know better.  My last trip of the year ended in the early afternoon by which time the dark clouds still hadn’t shifted and I needed side lights on the way home.

The Grinch speaks

As the Pike season got into full swing my Facebook feed was full of inexperienced Pikers showing their recent successes to the internet world. I say inexperienced but I’m making an assumption because no Piker with a few years under his belt would do this!  Anyone with a bit of experience knows this is a quick way to ruin your own fishing so would go out of their way to avoid exposure, unless they’re trying to sell something of course…
But there is the trouble!  The angling trade was quick to use social media to boost sales and over the last twenty years the way fishing tackle is sold has changed completely.  All the major companies have their “Team members” flooding social media with their catch reports and words of wisdom. NB “Team member” usually means someone unpaid trying to boost their own persona by association with a brand.  Following this we see the ordinary angler trying to imitate the names and we see the same kind of report again and again and… until social media becomes saturated with the same old shit!!  This media has made the traditional angler’s trophy shot become a total fucking cliché and nine out of ten are bloody carp. Nowadays the sight of these mutant ratfish being held for the camera just leaves me cold, however big the fish is.  I find myself seeking the ‘block’ button more and more.

Lately there’s a new Pike fishing brand trying to convince me that their bait flavourings are the dogs danglies using all the marketing tricks of the carp trade.  The implication made by clever wording is these flavours will boost our catch rates but there is no attempt to demonstrate this in any measurable way. I’ve not yet hit the block button but only because at the moment they amuse me but I doubt it will be long.

When I say social media I mean Facebook as for several years it’s been the only one I use, life is too short and there’s not enough time in the day to keep up with all that other shit.  Even with just the single ‘media’ almost every day I find myself blocking several sites that try to sell me carp bait, tackle or fisheries.  I know there are still proper Carp anglers around who try to do their own thing amongst all the commercial madness but Carp angling today bears no resemblance to the sport many of us became interested in a lifetime ago.  Nowadays it’s all manufactured, it’s all fake.  Commercial fisheries full of genetically fiddled eating machines that already have names, to me there is no merit in catching these creatures.  If it lives inside a fence and was bought from a farm it’s just livestock.  Worse still, the explosion of exclusive fisheries with waterside lodges that can be booked for a holiday of sorts.  Someone with a lake and a bit of land can close their eyes and see pound signs, you could argue ‘why shouldn’t they?’ But how many anglers are now denied access to waters they previously fished unless they pay big money for a weekend?  Well I’m one for sure but does that mean I’m a hypocrite when I pay the Wye & Usk foundation?  I get annoyed with the seemingly endless lakes for hire Ads but I probably see these because I’ve already blocked most of the major tackle firms.

It’s not just carp though there are also loads of ‘groups’ where anglers with massive fingers exhibit suspect looking fish.  These pages are often started by people whose enthusiasm far out strips their experience and it shows.  Many of these sites are riddled with bad practice and poor advice but if anyone tries to offer constructive criticism let vitriol commence.  I became bored of arguing with strangers on the internet years ago, click on ‘block this page’. 

This has come to a head recently on Youtube with 3 minute heroes making videos showing bad Piking practice then not taking kindly to any criticism, constructive or otherwise.  The star then uses his or her ‘influence’ to belittle those who really do know better.  I’m told there are Youtubers putting out good advice and proper practice but the ‘stars’ I’ve seen on my infrequent visits are mostly frauds, I‘ve said it already, a truly experienced Piker wouldn’t be using that media anyway.

And another thing, anyone who pops up on the screen and has the word ‘angler’ as part of their name gets blocked too, (I think you’re spelling that wrong mate).  It’s like the ‘angler’ bit is tagged on because the person in question thinks it will add a bit of credibility and imply a degree of ‘fame’ but if they were in any way renowned they wouldn’t need it.

I suppose I shouldn’t be too harsh on the social media wannabees because if I’m honest, if my angling obsession had begun forty years later, I’m sure I’d have been doing all of the above and more and thinking about it at the time I was trying to do the nineteen nineties equivalent.  But it was a different time and angling ‘media’ was mostly far more honest back then.  I’m not certain that angling as it is sold to beginners today would appeal to me at all?  I’d probably be living in a wooden cabin with a secret cellar, stashing food and hiding weapons.  Happy new year, assuming we get that far 😊

The Dark Month

November ended with my first trip in the ‘other boat’ of the season on a mild but gloomy day.  Mr W was my guest for the trip, the first day out together we’d managed for a couple of years.  We float fished static deadbaits and moved regularly throughout the day, at our first stop I had three fish all on the same rod in ninety minutes with the biggest just about double figures.  Thankfully the fish were more spread out in our next swim and we managed a fish apiece then it was the turn of Mr W who had the only Pike from the next spot, by this time noon had come and gone.  I was confident we’d keep picking off fish throughout the afternoon but the next couple of moves were uneventful and we packed up in fading light without adding to the score.  It was a nice day in a lovely spot with good company but nowadays not something I want to do too regularly.  This place has become too familiar in recent years, it doesn’t fire me up the way it once did.

Not going to plan...

Early December saw storms with names and heavy rain and consequently the rivers rose for the first time this season.  Where would the fish go in these conditions on the river?  On my visits I’d noticed a couple of spots that might fit the bill and I’d only find out if I gave it a go.  So once again I braved the morning rush hour on roads that are little more than dual queues heading in each direction.  When I pulled up in the car park I had a surprise, the river had certainly flooded and the water had come up much further than I’d anticipated.  I loaded up and waded down the long path towards the river and to cut a long story short, I couldn’t get near to the spots I’d earmarked to fish.  Nowhere I could reach inspired any confidence so I retraced my splashing steps, put the gear back in the car and went home.

Me and Rich had planned a trip to the fens months ago, we wanted to revisit some old haunts that we’d fished regularly through the nineties but these were places we’d barely laid eyes on for a quarter of a century.  Once the Pike season started we’d kept the idea bubbling and narrowed the location down but a couple of pencilled in dates had been scrapped due to extreme weather.  Finally in mid December we head west for our nostalgia trip with high hopes on a mild, gloomy day; we hoped to become reacquainted with the pike on the big Fenland river.

Our destination was the very first stretch we ever fished in Fenland with two consistent swims half a mile apart, we aimed to spend time in both.  But our plans went up in smoke as soon as we arrived with a big unfriendly sign telling us the stretch was now private, no day tickets available…  Still there were other places we knew where we’d have a chance but the first of these was no good because the reed beds had encroached so much we couldn’t get near the river.  It was surreal to see thick beds of Norfolk reed stretching out and filling the shallow margins right up to the top of the shelf.  With piss easy commercial fisheries stuffed with mutant ratfish the ‘go to’ venues for most these days the rivers are neglected, there is no incentive to keep the rivers fishable, from the bank at least.

We turned around and drove back upstream a way and finally found a bit of river we could fish, a short stretch of reinforced bank nestled between more reed beds.  We soon had a live and dead bait out each then settled back for a brew and a chat.  Everything looked good, the river had a bit of colour but wasn’t pushing through and there were plenty of silver fish topping at first light.  It was a nice morning in pleasant surroundings but was lacking the important ingredient - Pike so in late morning we decided to have a move and packed up.  I had a bit of a surprise back at the car, I almost never take live bait with me these days but it was a bit unnerving to see my motor sandwiched between two Environment agency vehicles.

An hour later we were fishing again at a different venue, somewhere I’d had fish in more recent times which is reed fringed and intimate but has swims here and there.  Once again it all looked good but our baits weren’t interesting any fish and a move upstream didn’t help either.  Here we’d obviously found the popular swim as the litter was disgusting, I filled a bag full of other peoples’ crap but still had to leave a bit behind.  With the light fading we decided to hit the road earlier than planned and on the way home we reflected on the day.  The Fenlands are a bleak looking place in winter, dark and depressing until you get to the waterside.  The rivers and drains are another world and beautiful in their own quirky way.  But to get to these waters you have to travel on the fenland roads which are shocking; suspended above the fields these make for nervous travelling, they look slippery but are often corrugated.  This doesn’t stop people from driving right up your backside until they recklessly overtake, I was glad to get out of there.

Over the last decade I’ve revisited several places that were regular venues in the eighties and nineties; reservoirs, pits, rivers or drains and every case it’s been a disappointment, even if I’ve caught a few fish.  Time passes, places change and the spark of intrigue that once captured me isn’t where I left it. 

Another river

Another day and a leisurely start saw me make my first casts on the river around 1030, half a bluey legered upstream and a float legered smelt was fished in various places on the downstream side of the swim.  The weather was dull, mild and dry but there was a westerly gale which had convinced me to carry the oval so I ended up settling into the swim I’d caught from last time.  I sat here beneath a shelter content to wait it out a while.  After forty five minutes the ‘billy’ sounded, the arm had dropped fractionally so I picked up the rod and opened the bale arm, a little line trickled out so I wound down but there was nothing there.  I inspected the bait which may have been picked up but nothing definite and soon had it back in position.  Half an hour later the alarm sounded again, the arm dropping back then pulling back up as a fish moved upstream.  I set the hooks quickly and had a tug of war with a spirited fish but once I had it in front of me it rolled over and into the net.  Six or seven pounds of lovely spotted river Pike was most welcome after recent excursions.

I sat in the swim for a couple more hours as I’m getting better at this patience game but with the wind easing I packed away the oval then made a move downstream and spent an hour fishing an area I’d not yet tried, but without success today.  With the light starting to fade I decided to cut and run to get home before the roads went mad.  It may be well worth staying into darkness some time soon but I’ll save that for a weekend.

Another spare day with just enough time for a mornings fishing but where do I go?  I was tempted to head for the Drain where I’d have a good chance of catching a few fish but here I would learn nothing new.  The River interests me, it runs through quiet, pleasant meadows and I haven’t much idea what I’m likely to catch, there’s loads to learn here.  With that in mind I planned to cover water today and fish some different spots, that said I started in a swim where I’d lost a fish last month, just downstream from a sweeping bend.  I was fishing by 0825, both rods with inline float leger rigs, I dropped a smelt in close just upstream and half a bluey in mid river downstream, both areas screened by tall Norfolk reeds.  I didn’t have long to wait, after fifteen minutes the upstream float bobbed then started to head in towards the reedbed.  I pulled into it quickly and pulled it away from the reeds and into open water.  This was a small Pike and I soon picked it out of the flooded margin, unhooked it and slipped it back.  Another smelt was dropped into position then I sat back again.

The day started off cold with frost on shaded ground and steaming breath, it turned out a mixture of cloud and occasional periods of rare December sunshine, a moderate south westerly kept the clouds moving.  The river was running quite clear with good pace, causing the floats to sway in the current.  Using an inline float and a high rod tip I could keep most of the line out of the water and so avoid the worst of any floating debris.  I could hear the hum of traffic from afar but mostly I listened to the sound of birdsong.  After a couple of hours it was high time for a move, just a short way downstream I set up again at the end of a tunnel of reeds.  This spot looked the part but nothing showed so after an hour I was on the go again.  This time I yomped a couple of hundred yards and came out at an area I hadn’t yet made a cast in.  The recent floods had flattened a lot of bankside vegetation and so allowed access.  Here the river looked cracking with good depth and loads of features, I spent a couple of hours working my way further downstream catching nothing but learning loads.

By early afternoon I was back on the road with just the one fish under my belt but a load more knowledge gained which would not have been the case had I taken the easy option and gone to the Drain.

Unfamiliar

I was up and about fairly early, out in the half light and had to scrape the windscreen for the first time this year. Then Monday morning A road hell, not one but two major hold ups saw me arrive at the river an hour later than planned, the morning mist had almost burned away and a bright day was in prospect.  The stretch was still unfamiliar so I took a slow hike upstream and ended up in an interesting area with reeds and features.  This’ll do.  I was fishing by 0825 with a float rig slowly dragging a herring down river, just touching bottom and holding from time to time.  The other was half a bluey on a float leger, swung upstream and in close.

I can’t sit still nowadays and after a few minutes I picked up the lure rod and clipped on a shad, as much as anything I used this to count down and check depths, any fish would be a bonus. Or not as in this case.  After an hour I wound in and went for a wander upstream a bit further, once again counting down the lure finding a bit of depth variation and spying a nice reedy bay as I did so.  A move was in order and I was soon settled in again.  The morning was pleasant and quiet with the loudest sound the cawing of crows and there were loads of birds about, most too quick and too brown for my eyes but I saw Kingfishers regularly, a Red Kite drifted over and several times a Sandpiper.  But as the time ticked away I’d seen no sign of a Pike and any confidence was dwindling.

By 1100 I was tidying up and planning my next move, one rod was already wound in when a too loud blast from the micron spun me around, something had picked up the bluey and was moving upstream.  I wound down quickly, felt a tap and then nothing, I’d messed it up.  Bugger! With this I decided to stay a while longer so got the rods back out and settled down for another hour without anything else happening.  By midday it had clouded over a bit and I’d moved downstream a way.  I started off spending twenty minutes or so casting the shad around and identified a couple of promising areas then settled into a tight swim where I was hidden behind reeds.  An hour passed quickly and I was weighing up another move when I noticed a float jab, the herring almost under the rod tip was on the go.  This time I connected with the fish which ran around in front of me and felt decent but then the bloody hooks came out!

I had another move but in my heart I knew I’d blown it, for today at least, but there’d been enough going on for me to look forward to a rematch and next time I won’t be going in blind.

I’d had a plan for the weekend but the anti-social weather we had coming in meant that was a non-starter, rain and strong wind ain’t really what you want for mobile fishing in the flatlands so if I was going to fish then sitting behind buzzers beneath a pegged down oval brolly seemed far more sensible.  The only question was where.  In the end I decided to head back to the new stretch again, it’s not how I’d usually fish this kind of venue but today I felt I could make it work and besides, there was nowhere else I really felt like fishing.

I walked a fair way upstream before stopping at one of the spots I’d fished last time.  I swung a legered bluey upstream and round the corner the dropped a float legered herring downstream before quietly setting up camp a few yards back from the water.  Now it was just sit and wait fishing, something alien to me these days, years of boat fishing makes it frustrating for me to sit still but I wonder if I’m sometimes too quick to move these days?  Even within the confines of this static fishing I still kept the float rod on the move, dropping the bait into different areas around the swim.  Meanwhile the leger rod was just left in place as I’d had a take from that spot last time…  The weather actually wasn’t that bad, yes the wind was gusting but the rain seemed to be mostly staying away.  This enforced hand brake on my movements may have done me a favour as the clock ticked round to 1050 before anything happened.  I’d recently recast the herring, under arming it about 1/3 across on the edge of the flow.  After a few minutes the float wobbled a bit then slid under and travelled upstream.  I set the hook and a spirited fish charged around under the rod tip but didn’t manage to take any line from the clutch and I soon had a nice fish of around six pounds on the mat.

I swung another herring out then sat back once more, content for a while longer. I’d sat in the same spot for three hours before a fish found my bait, I’d almost forgotten this was possible.  Meanwhile the day was growing gloomier, the wind was gusting ominously but the threatened deluge was little more than the occasional spray of drizzle.  Not good weather for bird watching but I did see an Egret fly languidly by.  But I couldn’t sit still forever and after another hour had passed without Pikey interference I tidied up, stowed the oval and lugged it all downstream a way, a few minutes later everything was reassembled in a tight swim just below a bend.  The area looks the part and I sat back with a boost of confidence but two hours here passed in a blink, it may have looked good but nobody had told the Pike.  I wondered what to do next but without anything to motivate me further I decided I’d had enough and got away home. 

Damn wet in the valley

The trouble with this big river fishing is its bloody addictive and at a time of year I’d usually have Pike and only Pike on my mind, I managed to convince the Princess she wanted to spend a few days out west once more.  It’s too late in the year for camping so we booked a cosy chalet and set off.  As usual we planned to spend time exploring the area and enjoying long pub lunches then I’d head off to the river for a bit of fishing.  We had an easy drive apart from the rain which battered us for the last hour but things had brightened up by the time we reached the valley and we settled into the digs and chilled out.  After going out for a pint and a steak (it was still raining but this didn’t really register…) we returned and I sorted my kit out for the following day, everything was set.

The following morning I looked out of the kitchen window and had a shock, the brook had burst its banks and what is normally the campsite now looked like a brown lake.  I checked the levels, three metres up and rising, the river had come up over a metre since the previous evening.  Still I set off undaunted, Barbel like these conditions don’t they?  I’d be sure to find somewhere to fish even if I had to do things a little different.  A flooded road meant a slightly longer journey but I was squelching through a soggy field by 0930, then I came to the river which was a foreboding sight.  The water was at the very top of the banks, a good ten feet above the level when I’d last visited this stretch, swims I’d previously fished were completely underwater.  The river was a torrent carrying all kinds of debris including what looked like whole trees, this was way beyond my angling experience.  I only felt able to fish fairly close in as the main river was scary and after a good look around found myself a spot to fish, a large eddy between two semi submerged trees. 

I foolishly started off with feeder rigs but the swirling current kept shifting these and after losing a couple in snags I switched to moulding groundbait around the lead.  Not that this made much difference as what is normally bankside vegetation had become tough snags and things were becoming farcical.  I moved upstream to a spot I’d fished before and here I was able to fish without too much trouble but I had to admit I was out of my depth in every sense.  I’m sure it’s possible to catch in these conditions but that would require far better knowledge of the river than I’ve been able to build up thus far.  I told myself I was gaining experience and when I returned to the water I’d be better equipped to give it a good go.  I packed up in the early afternoon by which time the river was over the bank and filling the field behind me.  A half day had been the plan all along as we were off to meet my nephew and his girlfriend for dinner in the evening and a great time was had by all!

The next couple of days were frustrating on the fishy front as the river continued to rise, peaking at 4.85 metres above the normal level.  The fields beside the main road were under water so I didn’t bother to try and find the river thinking I’d have time before we had to leave.  Just when things were going in the right direction the river rose again, then surely Sunday’s storm would wipe out all my chances?  Maybe not, by the evening the river was dropping again and it looked like I’d get one more chance.

The following morning I returned to the same stretch again, the water had dropped six feet or so and was a lot more friendly looking but was still a formidable beast. I walked past my previous starting swim to find there was a third bush which had been completely submerged before, no wonder I was snagging!  I started around 1100 in the swim where I’d ended up the previous trip.  I fished either groundbait squeezed on the lead or PVA bags of pellets and hemp, hookbaits were mostly pepperami or boilies wrapped in paste.  The day was dull and mild with barely a breath of wind and I found the river much more manageable with considerably less water in it.  I started with confidence and felt I was fishing effectively but despite sitting it out here until the early afternoon no fish proved my assessment right.

What do I do?  Should I move or should I pile a load of bait in and hope to tempt some fish into the swim?  Usually I’d go with the latter option but I’ve gradually realised that this rarely works.  If there were fish about surely I’d see a sign?  I wound in and went for a wander and liked the look of the next fishable spot upstream which had shady bushes either side and I was soon settled in again. 

Here things improved, no snags and after forty five minutes or so I had a fast chub rattle which had me half out of the chair and boosted the confidence but nothing further developed, at least by now the sun had come out.  After two hours in this spot I realised that if I was going to move again today it would have to be soon and after convincing myself for a second time that it was the right thing to do off I wandered downstream.

The trouble was nowhere I could get to the river looked anything like as promising as the two spots I’d already fished so I ended up opting for the snaggy eddy I’d fished on the first day.  Out went the rods again and I sat back with little confidence but happy to enjoy the pleasant weather, the sounds of the birds singing and the river rippling.  Throughout the day I saw many birds that were too quick or too small to identify but I recognised Kingfishers, Great Tits, Long tailed tits, Bullfinches, Buzzards and maybe a Kite?  I’d only been fishing for fifteen minutes or so when bugger me the tip banged over and I actually hooked a fish!  Thankfully it didn’t want to fight and I soon had a nice Chub in the net and I was well happy as it’s a long way to come to blank!  Twenty minutes later the other rod banged and I was into a second fish which had a bit of weight but this one didn’t want to fight either.  Another good Chub went in the net and this one required the scales.  I’d barely got settled again before a third proper bite produced another Chub, the smallest of the three but still very welcome!

By now the light was fading, Tawney Owls were waking up amongst the trees and I chucked in the last of my groundbait hoping the dusk period might produce more fish and hopefully a Barbel?  Unfortunately despite fishing into darkness the opposite happened, there were no more banging rod tips but I was privileged to watch a Barn Owl fly across the river to within a few yards of me where it swerved nonchalantly and followed the near bank upstream.

So that was that, I’d headed west with high hopes but all my plans were thrown up in the air when I was confronted with a river that was way beyond my fishy experience.  I’d made the mistake of just assuming the river would be within its banks and I’d be able to find some fish and have learned the hard way that you can’t take these proper rivers for granted.  

Just once more

I’ve got plenty of fishy plans for the coming weeks but on Saturday afternoon I found myself home alone so figured I might as well go fishing, the question was where?  I hadn’t fished in the sea for a month and hadn’t planned to head east again this autumn but with high tide due around 1900 if fit the time slot perfectly.  So I put some gear together, rummaged in the freezer for bait and off I went.

I ended up at the Steep beach, somewhere I hadn’t fished all season and today it was purely because the fresh south westerly would be blowing over my shoulder, making the threatened heavy showers more manageable.  I usually avoid this area because it is so popular but tonight there were only a couple of anglers away to the north and a group about half a mile to the south.  I set up pretty much bang on where I’d planned, my thinking for this being it was the least taxing walk, if not the shortest.  For once I got the shelter set up first and made sure my camp was comfortable before getting the rods out.  Tonight I had pulley rigs on both with a whole squid on the heavy rod and smaller squid or strips of mackerel on the lighter rod.  I was fishing by 1515 and just got everything shipshape before the rain came and the dark skies promised it would be here for a while.  The shelter was already rustling in the wind and this was joined by the splatter of rain, add the waves smashing the shingle and there was quite a racket but sea fishing is rarely quiet in that sense.

Over an hour past, I’d recast both rods a couple of times but the baits were hardly touched so I was happy to leave them out longer than normal and so avoid the rain.  But these casts can’t last forever and I wound in the light rod for the third time after ninety minutes or so to find a Whiting attached to a lump of mackerel.  It’s about this time of year that these things can become a nuisance and I hadn’t seen anything that looked remotely like a bite.  Inland the sky looked a dark and threatening shade of grey but offshore I could see blue sky, it seemed the rain was hugging the land today.  It was another hour before the rain had passed, leaving spectacular skies in its wake but no more fish hung themselves in this time.  The wind had dropped and the evening felt warmer, the light was beginning to fade now and high tide was approaching so I was confident of catching a fish or two, maybe a Ray if I was lucky.

At 1755, an hour before high tide I saw some fishy movement on the heavy rod, was that a bite?  Maybe not…  But when I wound in a few minutes later the Pennell was tied in knots.  Over the next few minutes I kept thinking I was seeing something fishy on the tip but lets be honest, most of the time we don’t think, we know.  At 1820 I knew, the heavy rod banged over then fell slack and I was on my feet winding down as quick as I could, that had to be a fish?  Yes!  There was a decent weight on the end and whatever it was didn’t want to visit the beach, I suspected a small Ray so was pleasantly surprised when I dragged a good sized Bass up the beach!  A result that made braving the rain worthwhile.

The next casts saw the tip lights attached and as the light fell quickly the torch strapped to my head.  Shortly after getting the heavy rod out again the tip started rattling, I expected it to bang over again but this didn’t happen and when I wound in I found the Pennell in another tangle, whether this was down to fish or crustaceans I don’t know.  In the approach to high tide another hard shower swept in and this was uncomfortable for a while but thankfully soon cleared and as the clouds travelled northward I could see flashes of lightning.  But this was the only moving light show I did see as the tip lights weren’t moving in any kind of fishy fashion.  Despite this I was catching Whiting regularly, I couldn’t see the bites but I was winding one in on every cast, no matter how big my baits were.  After an hour of this I’d had enough, I didn’t think my baits were unmolested for long enough for a serious fish to find them so I packed up.  Both rods had Whiting attached when I wound them in for the last time.  It had been an enjoyable few hours but that will certainly be my last casts in the sea this year.

Being there

Most of the fishing I do nowadays could be termed convenient, I don’t travel too far, don’t take much gear with me and fish in a relatively simple way.  But the autumn is different, it’s the best time of the year so I go all in, push out of the comfort zone and make a big effort.  Over the next few weeks this will become the normal then by the end of October I’ll be knackered and sanity will prevail once more.  Before all that I had time for a couple of short trips on the other river.

Another midweek day off and I’ve been really enjoying the feeder fishing on the Other river so why not give it another go?  We’d had a wet night and the rain carried on into the morning so I didn’t hurry out so it was 0950 before I got to the river.  By this time the clouds were breaking up and the sun was trying to squeeze through, the river looked okay, a bit of pace but clearer than I expected.  I’ve now fished two promising swims on this stretch and would feel confident in either, do I go upstream or down?  Last time I’d gone up so today I walked down and quietly set up just above the Squirrel’s bridge and this saw plenty of traffic during the day. 

I’d mixed some groundbait and had half a pint of maggots and planned to switch between two feeders during the day.  I started off with an open end feeder and corn on a size 14 hoping for an early Chub that I hadn’t managed to spook.  After half an hour I switched to a maggot feeder with three wriggling on a size 16, this brought literally a bite a chuck from a variety of species; four more Gudgeon and they’re getting bigger! Perch to 8ozs, Chublets, Bleak, Roach and a Minnow!  Probably the first I’ve caught this century.  When I fancied a break I’d switch back to the open end feeder with a couple of grains of corn on the bigger hook and a break I certainly got with just taps and plucks on the bigger bait.  A switch back to maggots and the action started up again and all this time I was drip feeding the swim, hoping something a bit bigger would be tempted upstream.

Late in the session a tapping tip suddenly pulled round and I’d hooked something substantial that was pulling back, a good fish that felt very Perch-like and looked it when I got a brief glimpse.  Then the line fell slack and I wound in a tiny chublet that was battered and very dead.  I enjoy fishing with maggots on a river like this, it’s fun as you can catch literally anything but it is distracting.  When they’d all gone I switched back to corn and the bites dried up again but I felt this was how I really should have been fishing.  I started to pack up about 1500 and was wondering what else I could put away that would delay finally winding in when the tip yanked round.  I decent fish pulled the tip over as it tried to head towards the tree but I didn’t give an inch so it was forced to circle in the pool.  After that it was easy to lead a decent Chub upstream above the net and let it drop back in.  A nice fish of three pounds or so and it would have been the perfect ending but of course I had to have one last cast.

A few days before the madness commences, a Saturday with a few hours to kill, I had a sudden urge to go back to the river but this time with a lure rod, some Pike sized lures and minimal tackle.  I went to a different stretch today, here it is slower and a bit deeper and looks the part.  The afternoon was sunny and bright but the north westerly kept the temperature down to something even the Pike police would approve of.  The river was up a bit with a dark stain and this stretch had more flow than normal. To me it looked pretty good.

I started at the upstream end of the stretch with a shad and worked my way down, moving fairly quickly as on these small rivers I feel I can cover the water in front of me in three or four casts.  I started off with optimism but this ebbed away as the river seemed lifeless but halfway along the stretch I noticed a bow wave, had my lure had awakened something?  A couple of casts later I had my answer, a fish grabbed the shad and tried to do battle but didn’t have the size to resist for long.  I pulled a small Pike into the margin and grabbed the trace, the fish shook its head and released itself, job done.

I carried on downstream, switching different coloured shads but whatever I tried failed to raise any interest.  I stopped for a brew and surveyed a likely looking bend that had deep water and cover, it looked spot on but I couldn’t raise any interest today.  After that I clipped on a Slider and made my way back upstream at a bit quicker pace, a few casts here and there but had no more interest before mine ran out.

After this I had a trip to Norfolk on a day which started with fresh winds and drizzle but then got steadily worse.  A sane person would have put the cuddy up and sheltered but I kept moving and managed to find a few fish to get the season underway.

Friday 4^th October, Giles, Rich and I loaded the motor then head off westwards again to say goodbye to a friend.  The musical menu was curated by Rich and included selections our friend would have enjoyed alongside us, all of us wore a Tee shirt featuring a beloved band, a theme for what was to come.  It was a long journey but we just had to be there.  We got into town a couple of hours early and the only thing to do was go to a pub.  The local pale was good and could have flowed freely but I’m older now and if not wise I have learned from experience.  At the chapel there were a few familiar faces including Steve and Dave, the service was musical and moving, red eyes and choked throats but we recognised that many others were hurting more than we were.  We said goodbye to Rob and only now we begin to realise how much we are going to miss him.

As we were three quarters of the way there we carried on to the valley for a couple of days but it didn’t feel so happy this time around.  The first day was a stretch further upstream than we’d fished so far.  The river was up and access was tricky but there were enough swims for the three of us to have options but I didn’t make the most of mine.  Wherever I tried all I managed was fast Chub bites that I never could have connected with.  I considered scaling down and sticking a couple of bits of corn straight onto a hook but ended up sticking it out with pellets and meat for Barbel and blanked.  Giles had a decent Chub and Rich had a handful.  Still the stretch was pleasant as was the weather although my mood stayed gloomy.

The following day was dull, damp and dark but we were on familiar water having fished here from the opposite bank in September.  Today we arrived with confidence having caught fish here in the recent past but there were five anglers on that opposite bank!  I started off way downstream in a spot I’d fished in 2022, here the fast Chub bites followed me.  Really I should have stuck at it and caught a fish or two from this swim but an angler somewhere on the opposite bank was playing Radio 1 too loud and I could only stand it for ninety minutes or so.

After this I humped my gear all the way to the upstream end of the beat, fishing as close to the successful September swim as I could.  Here I had a proper bite on the first drop and managed to land a Chub of about three and a half.  I fished with confidence for a couple of hours but all I had there after was the lightning fast chub rattles.  We suffered a couple of hours of rain despite which I moved a couple of times but didn’t find any more fish.  Rich made better swim choices and managed a Chub and our only Barbel of the trip but today Giles didn’t trouble the scorers.  A surreal weekend came to an end, we loaded the car and drove home through the night.