Road trip

My friends have been visiting the big midlands river for a while now, catching Barbel and Chub including big ones and in the case of the former, fish that would have been British records when we first fished together.  I’d had an open invitation from day one but for a variety of reasons I hadn’t been able or willing, in one way or another life had intervened or I just hadn’t felt the urge, until now.

A couple of hours in the car, heading northward through rain and sun, a RHCP classic oozing from the speakers.  In mid afternoon we arrived in a busier landscape than we’re used to, there was a bit of brick and bustle but we weren’t here to stay, just for chips. But Sod’s law struck, the chippy was closed for renovation so no hot food.  If I had half a brain I would have gone to the nearby co-op and got a load of fuel on board but…  A while later we were driving alongside the big river which was certainly a mighty piece of water though not entirely to my taste.  We soon pulled up at the car park on a warm, humid afternoon; the sort where Jimmy would swing it round corners but the bastard Hundred has gate crashed summer.

I’ve owned a fishing barrow for well over a decade but it had only ever been loaded with festival kit but today, for the first time I loaded it with fishing tackle.  There can’t be too many anglers of my generation that can say that?  Oh well my proud record has gone forever and it’s just as well because even with the barrow the slog to the chosen area almost killed me and from here on in I’d have to ration what food I had and save some grub to give me the energy to get back again.  But to be fair the walk was worth it, this stretch was quiet and beautiful with only the occasional cheerful hiker and the odd boat.  My friends insisted I fish the downstream swim, feeling this would give me the best chance of a Barbel, Rich fished just upstream of me whilst Kev and Cooper were a little further up.  We each had plenty of water but were close enough to make assembling in Richard’s middle swim a viable option but this did mean I had to turn the alarms right up, these are an item of tackle I’d rather do without these days.

I had my rods out by 1730, fishing pretty much how I do on the western river but it was all scaled up a little, alongside my Barbel rod I had an old century twelve footer with 2.5 test curve.  I used a big feeder stuffed with groundbait on this rod while on the other I moulded groundbait around the lead.  Following my friends lead I balled a load of groundbait and ‘pulted some boilies into the middle of the river and it was here I fished the heavier rod.  For some reason I cast the Barbel rod slightly upstream and away from the area, I don’t know why, it seemed like a good idea at the time.  With this done I set up camp, everything fitted nicely underneath the oval brolly and I felt comfortable and content.

I’m not going to describe the ‘where’ too much because it’s someone else’s paradise but suffice to say it ticked almost all of the boxes.  The river itself was big, wide and powerful and apparently up a bit, it certainly had a tinge of colour but catching fish wasn’t really on my mind.  Despite my friends assurances I was fishing blind and had just copied what they did.  Recent trips had seen the fish coming out after dark so once we had got ourselves sorted we assembled with various beverages and relaxed on this pleasant summer evening.  As we put the world to rights the sky dimmed then darkened and we layered up.  There was the occasional beep which snapped our heads round but apart from that it would have been easy to forget we were fishing.

Just after 2200 the tranquillity was shattered by a screaming alarm followed by a buzzing baitrunner and it was mine.  Within seconds I had a bent rod in my hand, this was the fastest I’d moved since I disturbed a bees nest a couple of years ago which was just as well as this fish had been steaming down river.  It had to be a Barbel but after the initial run it was just plodding, allowing me to draw it slowly upstream.  At some point it registered that this was the rod cast away from the baited area.  By now I had company, Rich and Kev were as excited as me, offering abuse and encouragement in equal measure.  I was glad I’d hooked it on the lighter rod as I’d become comfortable using this set up out west in June.  When the fish neared the shelf it woke up and tore off again, all the way back across the river, this it done twice more before Rich scooped it up in the net.  By fuck that was fun!

We done the right thing, rested the fish in the net while we got everything ready then got the formalities done quickly.  It was obviously a PB, Rich said “maybe a double?” I hoped it would be but wasn’t the slightest bothered that it wasn’t quite.  Then a couple of quick photos and I held my perfect Barbel in the stream until it kicked away, still visible in the torch beam before vanishing into a black river.  Grins all round and a group hug; Kev and Rich were buzzing, they’d wanted me to catch and felt as much satisfaction as me, result.  After that things were rarely quiet for long…

I’d hardly got settled again before the other rod banged over hard and I found myself attached to another fish.  This had a bit of weight but nothing like the power and soon I drew a Chub over the net and by my standards it was a big one.  After that the action moved upstream to Kev’s swim, in a short space of time he netted three Chub, all bigger than mine and three Bream, two of which were proper ones.  Then when things tailed off in Kev’s swim, Rich fishing in the middle got in to a couple of good sized Chub.  By this time midnight had long passed and we were all laid out on our bedchairs grabbing some rest.  After a spell of around three hours the bites had certainly died down but all through the dark hours I was stirred by sporadic bite alarm beeps.  One of these, on my rod, was more persistent and I winched in a Bream of a couple of pounds.  After this my swim was quiet and I managed to have a couple of hours kip.

Sometime later an alarm screamed out, a proper fast take, it wasn’t my alarm but I swung my legs off the chair and staggered out into a misty daylight.  To my right Rich was doing battle, his rod had a proper bend on so I shuffled up to his swim, stumbled down the bank and took position with the net.  A few minutes later I returned a favour and slipped the net under a nice sized Barbel for Rich, it looked big to me but apparently this was a run of the mill fish for this river so it was slipped back without a fuss.  Last night the first Barbel had sparked a spell of activity and we hoped this would be the case again but as the sun climbed higher so the life seemed to drain out of the river.  In the dark of last night we’d had an electric couple of hours but the day became soporific and we spent the morning dozing, resting our eyes and our bodies, saving energy for later.

In the early afternoon, having dodged a shower we tidied up, loaded the barrows and pushed our way back upstream.  Kev and Rich were looking for new water in which to spend the second night while I was happy to break my up my slog back to the car with a couple of hours soaking pellets as I had to be off, work had got in the way this time and I be back at it the following morning.  These couple of hours were uneventful and to me the river still seemed lifeless but part of me was envious as the lads were confident the fish would be active after dark and so it proved…

The push back to the car was more manageable and maybe my body was a little more used to the exertion.  I turned the stereo up and pointed the car in the direction of home.  It had been hard work for a couple of days but I’d enjoyed myself, a couple of ‘champagne moments’, the company was the best and yes I’m sure I’ll find myself back there sometime.