Under the Squirrel's bridge

Another week crawled by but the fish shaped light at the end of the cliché got bigger and Saturday came with a late tide and a forecast that looked promising.  Bloody football started again, no dream start for the Blues but never mind. I left home in the early evening and found my way obstructed by a closed road and weekend drivers.  The car park was busy but I found a space and after the hike found the beach much quieter than I’d expected given the weather which was clear, hot and still. The tide was an hour into the flood and looked pretty flat, the waves just folding gently onto the sand.

Tonight I was trying to catch Rays so the regular squid on a pulley was launched and I stuck with a running leger on the light rod, a long hooklength baited with strips of mackerel to begin with although this changed to bits of squid after a couple of casts.  I thought I might have a chance of a Bass or two early on and as things have been going more or less to plan in recent weeks, I was confident.  After an hour the heavy rod bent and bounced, a proper bite indeed and to begin with I thought I’d missed it but as I gained line I felt weight, there was good resistance and a fish boiling in the shallows.  I wondered if it was a Hound but no I dragged a good sized Bass onto the beach.  I was unaware I had an audience but when I picked the fish up a couple of day trippers were very excited.  Normally I’d have taken a quick snap but after showing off the fish and answering all the normal questions I just slipped it back. 

Shortly after this I had another rattle on the light rod but this didn’t develop.  So it looked like my confidence was justified and I looked forward to what the rising tide would bring, surely a Ray was on the cards?  After a couple of hours I changed the leger rig for another pulley with slightly bigger squid and crab baits, in theory going all out for Rays and I felt it was just a matter of time…  I talk about the pulley rig every time so here’s a picture of one loaded with a whole squid on a 2/0 Pennell and ready to cast.

But tonight it just didn’t happen, the Rays didn’t show up.  Everything had looked and felt right this evening but I had just one more half hearted rattle on the light rod around dusk and that was it.  I packed up just after high tide scratching my head again.  Still it had been lovely sitting there on a deserted, moonlit beach on a pleasant summer evening.

Seven straight shifts then my next days off are mid week which is fine as I always prefer quieter waters.  I looked at the tide times and couldn’t make anything work that didn’t involve either an early start or a too late finish.  I considered trying one of the estuaries with a lure rod but this didn’t motivate me so freshwater it would have to be.  There’s one stretch on the ‘other river’ that I had yet to fish so decided that would have to be put right.  The sensible thing to do would be to travel light with either a lure rod or a float set up, that way I’d cover more water and learn along the way.  But could I be arsed?  I struggled to find any enthusiasm.

By the time I got up I’d made up my mind, I’d fish this ‘new’ stretch but not fish either of the roving methods.  What I wanted to do was sit on my arse staring at a rod tip and try not to do anything strenuous but as I was fishing blind I packed a float rod just in case.  I had a lazy breakfast then slowly got some kit together and by the time I left home the morning rush was just about over but with so many trucks coming in and out of the east coast ports our roads are always moving slowly.  I reached the river around 1100, put a rucksack on my back and had a bundle of rods in one hand and my chair in the other. 

After getting lost in the woods I eventually found my way to the river and immediately liked what I saw.  Here the river was shallower and had more pace flowing over gravel, with patches of weed here and there.  But the top of the stretch was open with no bankside cover or chubby looking snags so I kept walking slowly downstream past water that was mostly shallow with a wandering deeper gulley.  Then I came to the perfect swim.  A fallen tree was propped up on the far bank but branches trailed into the river, here a nice green raft had formed and leading up to this the bottom dropped away to become slightly deeper.  What’s more there were Chub here too, a couple of good sized fish held station in front of the raft but by the time I’d noticed them they’d already noticed me, I watched them turn and disappear beneath the cover.

Should I keep walking downstream?  To keep pushing through an overgrown path would only cause more disturbance so having found what I was looking for I unloaded the gear and got myself set up and in position as quietly as possible.  I hoped that if I could be patient and quiet, keep trickling feed into the swim and maybe the fish I’d seen might regain confidence and come back?  By 1120 I was settled and fishing an open end feeder on a simple running rig, inside the feeder was a mix of Van den Eynde Special with a load of crushed hemp chucked in to keep the bait bubbling.  I used a hooklength of about two feet, six pound mono with a size 12 hook onto which I carefully hooked a large grain of corn.

I had rattles and taps from the word go and struck at a couple of these so recast regularly, under arming the feeder to land on gravel just short of the raft.  I also threw a few grains of corn into the faster current every few minutes but after an hour I’d seen no sign of the Chub and was starting to get impatient.  Ten minutes later I could stand it no more so wound the rod in and took a wander further downstream but after pushing through another hundred yards of nettles I hadn’t found anything that looked better than where I was sat.  Returning to the swim I peered over the undergrowth and could see plenty of small fish moving over the gravel but there was also something Chub shaped that was certainly big enough to get my bait in its gob.  I swung the feeder out again with renewed confidence.

The walk had been worth it just to settle my mind, the water in front of me was the fishiest looking area I’d seen and what’s more tall trees on both banks kept me shaded all day.  The fallen tree provided an easy bridge for a fearless Squirrel to cross the river, surely too gig for the Sparrowhawk that zipped past soon after?  Then the tip went round, a proper bite and what’s more I had a fish attached.  There wasn’t much weight but the fish was certainly spirited, charging around and at one point trying to go ariel.  It was a funny coloured Chub that might have measles…  No it’s a bloody Trout!  Not only that a Brownie, my first ever!  I know many rivers have these things but few here in the east and I honestly don’t know if this was a real wild one or if it had escaped from somewhere (though I can’t think where?)  This wasn’t what I’d set out to catch but honestly I was chuffed as nuts to have caught something new.

I figured the swim would be well and truly disturbed now but was happy to keep dropping the feeder into the river and sit staring at the tip with a contented smile.  Then about half an hour later I had another proper bite and this time hit into something with a bit of weight that was determined to get under the raft.  Strong tackle and a nicely bent rod done the trick and once the initial rush had passed, I pulled the fish easily upstream and got it into the net without too much fuss.  This was what I’d come for, a Chub and by my standards a big one.  The scales confirmed it was actually my best from my home county and the biggest I’ve managed to catch by design.  This fish was deeper and chunkier than the ones I’ve caught out west and was a beautifully coloured creature.

I sat back with a grin, my first proper Chub from the ‘other river’ and it was exactly the kind of fish that had led me to try my luck here in the first place.  It isn’t quite ‘mission accomplished’ as I know there is a chance of something a little bigger and plenty of water to keep trying.  Earlier today I’d seen two good sized Chub so that meant there must still be one out there? I fished on for a couple more hours receiving rattles on most casts but no more proper bites.  I did catch one more Chub which was just about big enough to get a size 8 and a lump of flake in its mouth but that was my lot.  I left the river in mid afternoon and head home before the evening traffic seized things up.  I don’t know what I expected when I left home this morning but it certainly wasn’t that!

The weekend arrived and with it unfriendly weather, the cloudy skies made a nice change but the fresh easterly meant all the beaches would be uncomfortable.  To fish or not to fish?  Had I been on my own I’d probably have gone back to the ‘other river’ but Giles was keen to look at the sea and I let him talk me into it.  It wasn’t weather where we could expect to catch rays, so effectively we were fishing for Bass, ragworm a must.  The trip was nearly called off for a second time because we couldn’t get any rag but Giles managed to come up with some in the nick of time.

So we head eastward in the mid afternoon listening to sport on the radio, England dominating the Test match and Town got a 1-1 draw.  We arrived at the beach to find big waves rolling in from a distance and smashing into the shore, at this point we should have turned around and found ourselves a sheltered spot in one of the estuaries but we carried on regardless.  We’ve not faced with these kind of conditions too often but “they” say this is proper Bass weather so we gave it a go.  I’m beginning to wonder if this ‘Bass weather’ thing is a myth just like the cold and frosty weather for Pike legend.

We persevered and Giles was rewarded with a couple of fish, a Bass and an Eel but with all the movement on my rod tips, from wind and tide I couldn’t tell what was going on.  I may have had a couple of bites through the night, I probably did but I was relying on the fish to hang themselves because it was impossible to tell.  Still we fished the tide all the way up and I enjoyed sitting in the breeze with the roar and crash of waves, it was relaxing but it definitely wasn’t quiet.  Was it worth it?  Yes, if only in the hope I’ll remember this the next time I’m faced with this kind of weather and make a more sensible decision.

Back in the salt

Back in the flatlands again and being a glutton for punishment I braved a couple more hours of stifling heat and nettle stings whilst exploring the ‘other river’, this time with a float rod and corn.  I saw Chub in three places but they were spooky and buggered off before I could tempt them.  The river was sluggish and I should know by now that I need a bit of pace to fish like this.

The following day was cooler, I headed back to the coast and with a high tide around midnight I decided to fish it all the way up hoping the Rays would show.  In theory conditions looked spot on but I’ve thought that a couple of times this year and been left scratching me bonce.

I was fishing by 1800 at the bottom of the tide, as usual a whole squid was heaved out as far as possible on the heavy rod but on the lighter one I fished a two hook rig with small baits, strips of squid or mackerel on size 2 hooks.  Last time out I’d blanked and today I wanted to start off scratching around, trying to catch anything that happened to be about.  And it worked, a bite on the first cast produced a small Bass and the blank was avoided.  The evening was lovely and comfortable after the heat of last week, there was just a gentle sea breeze but still large waves were breaking and these got bigger still as the tide rose.

For the first couple of hours I kept recasting the light rod regularly, mixing up distances trying to see what was around.  I had two decent bites in this period and added two more, slightly larger Bass.  All three had preferred squid to the mackerel strips.  On the heavy rod baits were coming back barely touched so I was able to leave this in place for longer periods.  By 2130 I hadn’t had a bite for an hour or so and it was getting dark so I decided to switch the light rod over to another pulley rig with a bigger bait on a size 3/0.  In theory I was going all out for Rays but you never really know what is on the end when the tip goes round.

An hour later it was fully dark and I thought I saw a strange movement on the tip of the heavy rod, further investigation revealed the line wasn’t going in the direction I thought it should be.  I wound down, wondering what was going on and it soon became apparent I was attached to a fish with a bit of weight to it.  I pumped it back slowly, a heavy throbbing presence that occasionally tried to heave the rod over.  As usual it was particularly reluctant to come into the shallows but I used the momentum of the next wave to drag it up the beach.  A Thornback as I expected and a decent sized one at that.

With a fresh squid whacked back out I sat back with a smile but a few minutes later I was on my feet again, the heavy rod was being yanked down nicely.  To begin with I thought I was into another good fish but sometimes the small ones put up more resistance than they really should as was the case tonight.  Still it was another Ray which is exactly what I set out to catch tonight and a welcome confidence boost.

I sat it out right up to high tide by which time it was Sunday but that was the last of the action.  Tonight things had gone pretty much to plan, five bites and five fish but next time I head out I’m sure things will be as unpredictable as ever.

The weekend came around again and this time me and Giles set off hoping to catch Bass.  We left around midday, with a pit stop at AD to pick up some ragworm but on the way we found heavy traffic which stifled us all the way up the coast road too.  Somehow we’d talked ourselves into fishing ‘shit or bust’ beach where we never know how the sea will be behaving and we’re often still scratching our heads when we get there.  Conditions around us were warm and cloudy with a light south westerly and lugging the gear to the beach worked up a sweat.  At the shore we looked down on a boiling expanse of water with a bit of swell and big waves, the kind of scene people tell us is good for Bass…

I was set up with the usual two rods.  I tried whacking out a squid on the heavy rod but on this occasion I couldn’t get the rig to hold any further than about forty yards out.  On the lighter rod was a simple running leger, a long hooklength and ragworm on a size 1 and this rod began rattling from the off.  My first cast produced a couple of rattles but I saw nothing that I could strike at.  To be honest at this point I was distracted by the heavy rod constantly shifting out of position but once I’d sorted this I was able to concentrate.  The next cast on the light rod soon saw the rod tip bouncing violently, a bite not even I could miss and I was attached to a decent fish.  On the tackle we have to use these fish will rarely tear off stripping line but in situations like this they are able to hold their own and will drag the rod tip down.  This was obviously a decent Bass, confirmed when I saw it in shallow water, but getting it the last couple of yards up the beach took patience and the right incoming wave.  The fish was a little beauty, a couple of pounds or so which I suppose would have the commercial carp hauler wondering what all the fuss is about and after a quick photo was returned to the water in perfect condition despite a total absence of what we call ‘fish care equipment’.  Sea fish are tough.

After that the bites continued, not thick and fast but every cast would bring some kind of attention.  Sometimes this would be a series of plucks and trembles on the tip, other times something more positive is easily seen and occasionally there is a violent wrench on the rod.  What we imagine happening out there is Bass of all sizes moving in and out of the area, the smallest ones can steal bait without being hooked but the bigger they get the more chance we have.  When it is like this we miss as many as we hook.  Over the next hour I managed to beach two more Bass, one of which might have been the smallest I’ve ever caught but with high tide at 1545 things slowed up.  At this time, in theory, the tidal run should be manageable but another long cast with the heavy rod proved this not to be so.  After that I changed this rod to a heavy running leger and a big bait on a long trace, this was dropped in close hoping a big Bass might show up.

We had a quiet ninety minutes or so but the sun poked through and the cloud sailed away to the east, the rugged coastal environment came alight.  Suddenly a quick flurry of bites saw me land two Bass in no time but then things went quiet again.  Around this time our ol’ pals Kev and Cooper arrived for a catch up and a look around.  Kev is a long time carp angler who nowadays despairs at what that sport has become; here he enjoyed the surroundings but I’m not sure we’ll tempt him into having a cast just yet.  We did have a planned trip out west to talk about though, heading back to the happy valley soon.

By now we were about two hours into the ebb, the outgoing flow was boiling the surface of the flattening sea but for some reason, probably a quirk of the ever shifting shingle, there was a back eddy in front of us and more by luck than judgement our baits were right in it.  What’s more we had another spell of bites, firstly all on Giles’ rod – three or four in quick succession.  Then I had a spell of rattles and landed a couple more myself.  We hoped for another better sized fish but all the ones we caught were small.

After a couple of hours of chat Kev and Cooper wandered off, the bites had dried up again but we decided to sit it out and wait to see what darkness would bring.  Earlier in the year this had definitely been a trigger but tonight the fading light didn’t bring any more action and for once we hit the road home on the right side of midnight.

Damn hot in the Happy Valley

After an easy, Sunday drive west the Princess and I pulled into a now familiar campsite, within four hours of leaving home we had the tent up and the kettle on which is pretty good going.  So there we sat, sipping tea in a chilled out campsite, a flat lush green field bordered by tall trees and on two sides the Garron brook (which is not polluted with carp).  A lovely base tucked away in a quiet corner of this wonderful river valley from which we explore the bandit countryside.  But before any exploring there’s a Test match on the radio!  The kettle was hardly cold before Mark Wood had blown away the tail and had barely boiled again before Stokes had smashed off the runs, game over – an emphatic win.  In the evening we ventured into town but the first two pubs weren’t serving, thankfully it was third time lucky in the Kings Head.  I’d never eaten Pollock before so felt compelled to try it, not bad.  I had drunk ‘Butty Bach’ before and it was as good as I remembered.

This break out west wasn’t a fishing trip as such.  The plan was to go out exploring during the day, taking in the sites and doing the tourist thing with a pub lunch thrown in.  However, the evenings would be spent chilling out on the wild river, a water I’m slowly getting to know and love.  There’s just nothing like it in East Anglia.  So Monday was spent in Ledbury which was a pleasant little town with historic buildings and an impressive church which allowed us to escape from the heat for a bit.  When visiting an old religious building like this I’m often struck by just how much effort would have gone into building it, how great was the motivation and who paid for it all?  Anyway, lunch was a steak pie in the ‘Seven stars’ which wasn’t bad but I wasn’t so keen on the local Ledbury bitter.

We had a siesta at the campsite then when the sun began to cast shadows we loaded up the car and headed towards the river about fifteen minutes away.  At the bottom of the long narrow lane things didn’t seem right, there were about half a dozen cars parked up in a tight space and one of these was straight across the fucking gate I needed to go through.  We hung around for a while but there was no sign of anyone so were forced to give it up and go back to camp frustrated.  Honestly what kind of person does this?  What is the thought process? ‘Fuck it I don’t care’.  How fucking self important are they, how fucking ignorant?  Honestly I was tempted to wreak my revenge but I didn’t, though all the way back to camp I regretted not keying the fucker and snapping the wipers.

The following day was even hotter and we spent it across the border in Abergavenny, which sounds about as Welsh as anything could be.  The drive there was slow and steady through some lovely countryside but the Town itself seemed unloved as it withered in the heat.  Dinner was tapas at a café but I can’t recall its name and they didn’t serve any local beer.  On the way back we called into the castle at Skenfirth, sitting beside the river Monnow.  There are a few of these little castles in this part of the world which seems strange but then again no stranger than the ones in obscure parts of Suffolk?

We head towards the river again in the early evening with fingers and toes crossed.  Tonight there was no moronic parking and I got through the gate to find we had the stretch to ourselves.  I chose a nice flat, comfortable swim – actually a former salmon groyne with room for two although only I would fish, the Princess was busy with her camera.  There was good pace here and nice looking overhanging trees both upstream and down as well as the far bank, plenty of choice, almost too much.  I dropped a feeder to the upstream bush, flicked the baitrunner on then commenced trotting sweetcorn down the stream.  This turned out to be a piece of accidental good angling because not only did I catch half a dozen small Chub but I worked out the downstream margin was a little deeper and the vortices mid river where my float would catch bottom made me wonder if there was a boulder or something out there.  Either way my feeder rig was swung into this area with three cricket ball sized lumps of groundbait chucked on top.

By now the shadows were long and the river was a thoroughly pleasant place to spend the evening.  Three small ducks joined us on the groyne for a while but buggered off when they realised the café was closed.  Almost straight away the tip folded over and I picked up the rod and struck thin air, how on earth did I miss that?  There were definitely fish about, every cast brought some kind of action, liners or sharp pulls – a couple of which I struck at, nervous desperation!  As the light faded I sat holding the rod and feeling the rhythm of the river, more liners and more little pulls then another proper bite and the rod was bent!  But I was snagged solid and ended up having to tackle up again by head torch.

Out went another feeder with an oily pellet on a two foot coated hooklength, (it doesn’t tangle and the fish don’t mind so it’ll do for me).  I should have caught tonight, have I blown it?  I was still feeling the movements on the line, there were definitely still fish about but things did seem to be slowing down and I was running out of time.  Then the rod pulled over and I pulled back into a living creature with a bit of weight and power.  It took a little line off the clutch to begin with but then I clamped down and pumped it slowly upstream and away from the snag.  The fish plodded about in mid river, I some gained line and got it close, a decent fish appeared in the torch beam, here it woke up again and surged away.  I got it close a second time and almost in the net but it wouldn’t quite go!  I’m not used to these faster rivers and had forgotten to get the fish upstream of the net but remembered in time to make it third time lucky.  I’d only gone and caught a Barbel!

This was a modest fish by most people’s standard but I’ve not caught enough Barbel to make this nothing less than a very big deal for me!  I was delighted.  With that we packed up and went back to the campsite, had a brew and sat stargazing for a while.

The next day was hotter still with the temperature reaching 28 degrees but undeterred we went to Hereford which has a cracking looking piece of river running through it and a cathedral but otherwise is just like any other city of this size across the country.  There is a statue of a Bull complete with huge knackers and the city shows its pride in the infamous regiment that is stationed here, which is fair enough but kinda ironic in a way.  No pubs could tempt us in so we head back to Ross and had dinner in the Royal washed down with a pint of Butty.  That evening we returned to the river.

Once again we had the stretch to ourselves so I dropped straight back into the same swim as before, if something works then try to repeat.  I swung the feeder rig downstream again and had a go with the float rod, this brought a small Chub first trot and a handful of others only one of which required the net.  After half an hour this was put to one side as I wanted to concentrate on the feeder rod as this was surely a banker?  To cut a long story short it just didn’t happen tonight, there wasn’t anything like as much activity in the swim and I didn’t get a proper bite.  Maybe an experienced Barbel angler would tell me never to go back in the same swim?

The following day was hot again and we spent four hours in a car on choked roads slowly heading back to the flat lands.  Camping in the happy valley had been fun again despite the heat, every single time I go west the thermostat gets cranked up!  I spent less than six hours actually fishing so all things considered, a Barbel and a dozen Chub – thank you very much.