So we go on

So we go on.  Back to the unpredictable east coast, one last go for a big Bass, a creature we haven’t been able to track down with any consistency and tonight we’d opted to fish the most awkward beach we know.  So we set up at the ‘cauldron’ both of us with a bass rig each baited with ragworm and a ‘big bait’ rig, squid in my case.  The evening was comfortable with a south westerly on our backs and a clear sky, on this occasion the sea in front of us was relatively placid and the leads mostly stayed where they should be which can’t always be guaranteed.  There was a method to our madness however as this area has turned up plenty of Bass in previous Septembers, with a couple of bigger ones thrown in.

Our ragworm baits got attention right from the start, Giles beached a tiny Bass and was striking at bites regularly but without success.  I wasn’t seeing any bites but my bait was being stripped every cast.  After ninety minutes of frustration, out of the blue the heavy rod whacked once and slackened off, big Bass bite?  I wound down quickly hoping to catch up with a fish but I just wound in a battered squid…  I got a fresh squid out and a few minutes later something made off with it and banged the tip over.  This time there was weight on the end and a fishy resistance was it a good Bass?  No it was something totally different and always welcome, a Ray.

By now it was getting dark and once I’d clipped the tip lights on, the fish seemed to have woken up as the light on the Bass rod wobbled regularly.  In the run up to high tide both of us were getting bites regularly but hitting them was the problem, we guessed there were loads of small Bass out there, but would there be anything trying to eat these?  If there were we didn’t manage to tempt any but we did catch a couple of Bass each, averaging about twelve ounces apiece.  An hour after high tide the bites slowed up again but there was enough attention to keep us interested and we fished on until we ran out of worms.

That will probably be my last trip off the beach for a while, the Bass will be moving out soon and the Whiting will move in.  When these fish arrive in any numbers it’s hard to keep a bait in the water long enough for something interesting to find it.  I’ve enjoyed the sea fishing again this year but it’s been a season best described as an inconsistent.  Just when I think I’ve started to work things out I’m reminded that to attempt to do so is madness but I am learning to spot the days and tides when it’s just not worth the bother which is something.

A mid week day off, a nice time to have another look at the ‘other river’ in the hope of a Chub.  My last visit here had seen a good result and made me realise that as much as I like watching a float, I’m not very good at it.  I fish more effectively when I’m sitting still, probably because any fish I spook whilst setting up have time to regain confidence as I make less disturbance whilst fishing than I would waving a float rod around.  I like fishing with a swim feeder and I like watching a rod tip which I’ve learnt is far more sensitive than I thought possible.

I arrived at the river around 0900 planning to go back to the spot I’d fished a couple of weeks previously but would you believe it there was somebody setting up there.  I retreated quietly and made my way upstream to look for another spot.  I passed water which looked the part but the lack of any cover put me off so I kept going until I came across a spot which looked too good to be true.  This was an area shaded by tall trees which had a nice flat bank with shallow water beneath my feet but a deeper channel roughly mid river with decent flow.  I was shaded from the sun and sheltered from the breeze.  Upstream a fallen tree formed another bridge across the river, there was a row of overhanging trees lining the far bank and a big tree overhanging to my right, downstream.  Where do I start?

The first cast with an open end feeder and corn was upstream and brought a nice Roach on the first cast.  I kept plopping this rig into the river, working my way downstream I had a few bites and landed another Roach but it seemed my grain of corn might be a bit big?  Today I had a plan B which had been fermenting in my addled brain for a while. Back in December 2019 I made myself a couple of silly targets for the angling year to come.  I realised I couldn’t remember the last Pike I’d caught from my local river Gipping and I managed this at the first attempt a few weeks into the new year.  The other was another fish I hadn’t caught for years, a humble Gudgeon.  Then came lockdown and the restrictions over the following year saw me fishing close to home and presenting maggots in spots I really should expect to catch a Gudgeon from but I never did.  It’s ridiculous that I’ve managed to catch several Barbel in the last few years but not s single Gudgeon.

I clipped on a maggot feeder and scaled down to two maggots on a 16 hook swung it out and started catching fish straight away.  Upstream casts produced small Bleak but there was more activity on the downstream side of the swim.  I caught a good sized Dace then a Perch that needed netting followed by a couple more smaller Perch.  Every cast was depositing more maggots into the swim and it seemed like the frequency of bites was increasing.  Then a bite and a fish that put a proper bend in the rod and jagged the tip nicely until the hooklength bust, bugger!  I tied on another hook, this time a 14 as my eyesight isn’t good enough to tie any smaller unless I’m under a bloody light!  I will go to the opticians soon!  The lost fish hadn’t disturbed the swim and the bites continued, I hooked something small and long and brownish…  Yes it was a Gudgeon!  My first since God knows when and although not from my local river as I’d hoped it is from Suffolk, kinda.

After that I caught two more Gudgeon quickly and wondered if the bigger hook was pinning the bait to the bottom?  The half pint of maggots was diminishing which was fine because when it was all gone I’d happily go back to the open end feeder with a bigger bait and sit it out knowing there was plenty of food out there.  The tip jagged again and I found myself with a bent rod and a fish with attitude which didn’t want to pay me a visit.  Was this a decent Chub?  No there in the clear water was the unmistakable form of a big Perch, at least bigger than I’d hooked for several years.  Thankfully this one stayed on the hook and went in the net.  The Perch was a big old bruiser and I got the scales out as I thought it might be a two but it missed by a couple of ounces.

After that the maggots were all but gone so I reverted to the open end feeder and either corn of flake on the hook.  There were still fish about and I got regular movements on the tip though far fewer bites.  I was hoping a big Chub or two might show up and when the tip went round again it looked like I’d got one on corn but another bloody hooklength parted.  After that it just went dead and I didn’t get another decent bite and then as time passed the tip wasn’t moving at all.  I had half an hour in another swim slightly downstream but that move didn’t improve things so it was a good time to hit the road.  I'd set out to fish for Chub and managed to catch everything but.

Saturday was a bright, sunny day but cool in exposed areas like this with a wind from the south east.   When my shift finished there was still time for a couple of hours fishing so I joined Giles and his Daughter D.  The drive was tense, Town were a goal down and running out of time but before we parked we were cheering an injury time equaliser.  Today the three of us would be fishing from a boat, mooching about on an old lake armed with lure rods.  Yes shock, horror we were fishing for Pike!   We found Pike at the first stop near the edge of large weed bed, I hooked one on a shad but it came off just short of the boat then another nipped the tail off my shad.  Three of us in a boat casting lures could have ended badly but we were careful and there were no disasters.

We moved to the upwind side of the lake, the plan was to let the wind move us along, then we’d drop a weight over here and there so we could stop and cover the water.  Giles was on the oars and I took the opportunity to work a slider behind the boat, jerk trolling anyone?  Well the Pike liked it, I bumped one then hooked the next and managed to get it to the boat, my first of the season.  At our first stop I had two more both on new lures; a large twin tailed rubber frog type thing scored first cast then I had another on an articulated Fox shad thing but that one fish has practically wrecked it.  The Pro Shads are tough and catch plenty of fish, this new thing isn’t and I won’t be buying another. Shortly after this daughter D had her first Pike for a while, this too on a shad, all of these were the same kind of size, four to six pounds or so.

We moved on and just about everywhere we stopped we had some kind of action, a swirl or a thump but we didn’t set the hooks into any before the light faded and we ran out of time.  So that’s the Pike season started and there’ll be a lot more of this to come over the next few months but it’s not going to be all Pike.  When conditions are right I’ll continue to fish for other stuff too.

Forever changed

Last week the whole time I sat on the beach in front of the pounding waves my mind wasn’t on what I was doing.  I wasn’t thinking about how to combat the conditions and winkle out a fish, in my head I was in the valley sitting beside a quiet, tree lined river.  I tuned out the roar and rush of the breaking waves and in my head could only hear birdsong and the river rippling over rocks.  This river calls to me, more than anywhere else at the moment and I want to be there as often as possible.  The major obstacle to this is the river is on the other side of the country.

The next week crawled by with me paying careful attention to the weather reports out west, happy to see plenty of rain and a rising river.  Saturday 7^th September, Rich and I rolled down the A40 and into the happy valley after an easy drive, we pitched camp at Elmsdale then went to the pub.  A couple of pints and a steak filled the tank while we babbled on like excited kids, the following day we’d be on the river!  Together with Kev and Cooper (who’d be joining us there around lunchtime) we were booked on to four different stretches all of which I’d fished before but I hadn’t managed to catch a Barbel from any of them.  For some reason I was confident of putting this right.  Having a little bit of experience on this river now I had a good idea of how I wanted to fish, basically big open end feeders, a two foot hooklength made of coated braid and a hair knot-lessed onto a size 8 hook.  The groundbait was basically a hemp and halibut mix with added hemp, pellets and sweetcorn.  I varied the hookbaits boilies or pellets, all simple basic stuff that has worked for me before.  Saturday had been a day of cloud and drizzle which turned to rain in the evening and overnight it pissed down. We only know the river in summer conditions with an easy flow which everyone tells us is the worst conditions for Barbel, all of this rain has to be good right? 

Sunday morning, two excited anglers set off with “London Calling” blasting out of the speakers, heading for a beat on the lower river.  Despite having only a vague idea of where we were going we recognised a couple of landmarks which inspired some guesses and ended up at the wrong stretch.  Eventually after a tight U turn and a couple more miles Rich and I managed to find our way to the correct piece of river.  When I’d been here before last year I’d fished the downstream section but on this occasion we’d ended up at the upstream car park.  We stuck our boots on and went for a wander, the river was up a bit as expected and looked like a stream of milk chocolate in the gloomy morning light.  After walking to the upstream boundary we had both come to the same conclusion, the area nearest the car looked the best.  Here there were two swims fairly close together and these were alongside deeper water just above a stretch of rapids and shallows.  We flipped a coin, Rich won and went for the swim closest to the rapids which was perfect because I’d preferred the look of the other one anyway.

Here the margins held my attention which was just as well as low trees would make casting difficult.  Upstream there was a nice overhanging tree stretching out and touching the water, a shady haven for fish if ever I saw one.  Downstream there was a fallen tree but the more I looked at it the more I realised it would be foolish to cast too close to it, it looked like a snag that wouldn’t be shifted.  I set up slowly on an uneven, sloping bank that was very slippery after all the rain, thankfully I had a rope tied to a tree at the top which literally kept me on my feet this day.  At 0830 I swung my feeder rig out to the upstream bush feeling strangely confident.  This first cast brought a sharp rap on the tip but I was busy arranging my kit around me to keep movement to a minimum and would never be fast enough to react at the best of times.  The second cast brought a good bite and I had a fish on the end, a bit of weight but not much fight, my first fish of the week was soon in the net.  A nice Chub which I thought might go ‘4’ but weighed in at 3-10.  

After this things went quiet for an hour or so, the morning was cloudy but warm and strangely humid.  I realised how little room I had to fish, it was margins or bust but it was deeper this side with a slack and I fancied my chances.  I swung the feeder downstream slightly knowing I’d have to bully any fish I hooked.  A few minutes later the tip went round again and I found myself on my feet, hand over the spool hauling the fish upstream.  The fish felt heavy and was trying to pull back, I was thinking ‘barb’ but it was actually a Chub and I couldn’t be disappointed because I thought a PB was on the cards.  In fact it was a few ounces short but a mint fish, deep dark and solid.  I’d barely dealt with this when a shout came from downstream so I quickly wound in and hauled myself up and out of the swim in time to net the first Barbel of the trip for Rich and it was only 1030!

After that I continued to get taps and rattles on the tip which I put down to Chublets and liners but enough activity to make me think there were fish about and I had a chance.  Every time I dropped the feeder into the stream I was adding a little bit more feed into the swim.  But the longer I go without a bite the more my mind plays tricks, should I be fishing further out?  Should I move?  At just after noon I decided it was time for a recast but when I picked up the rod there was a weight on the end.  What’s more the weight was alive and powerful!  I was awake enough to move to the right of the swim and haul the fish upstream with me where I managed to keep it and it didn’t take long for me to realise I wasn’t playing a Chub.  I gave Rich the shout and he arrived in time to take the net and slip it under a my first Barbel of the trip.  This looked like being one of my biggest so far and the scales recorded 7-06 which confirmed this.  I know this would be considered small on the east midlands ship canal and other rivers but to me every Barbel I catch is an event and long may it continue.

Maybe I’m easily pleased but fuck it, I was now happy to sit it out in this swim with the feeder dropping regular portions of fish food into the swim.  I knew it may go quiet at times but I was confident of catching another fish or two.  Around 1400 I heard a car crunch down the track and guessing it was Kev I decided this would be a good time to wind in and go back to the car where the stove and food was stowed so I could fill the flask again and catch up.  After our siesta Kev and the dog wandered upstream to fish and I tried to do the same but was regularly called upon to assist as the Barbel really switched on in Rich’s swim.  Through the afternoon he added another four Barbel all around five or six pounds, beautiful dark bronze fish typical for this river.

In my swim the thick trees and darkening clouds made things gloomy but not even the rain could affect my mood.  I was sure I’d catch another fish and sure enough at 1720 the tip bent round and I had a decent fish that was determined to power downstream.  I’ve heard Barbel don’t usually go for snags but nobody had told this one, I kept it out but I don’t know how.  After that the fish decided it wanted to be on the other side of the river and made a good effort at getting there before I managed to turn it.  My shouts had alerted Rich who stood ready by the net and after another tug of war he lifted it around my second Barbel of the day which was almost the twin of the first.

We fished on through the rain for a couple of hours by which time it was getting dark quickly, Rich had his sixth Barbel of the day and Kev got off the mark with some good sized Chub but I didn’t trouble the scorer further (a bit like most of England’s batsmen as it turned out).  Two of each on the first day?  Thank you very much, I’d take that any day thank you very much.

 

Day two saw us fishing on the lower river again, a two car convoy set out for a short drive but most of this was on single track down deep into the gorge, to what is probably the most beautiful part of the valley.  I’d walked along here a few times and my first casts on the river were made here although I blanked on that day.  All that was over a decade ago and I realised I’d never actually caught a fish from this stretch.  Kev pulled over so I followed, we all got out and walked for a couple of hundred yards upstream, the river was pushing through and coloured but looked spot on to me.  We reached the ‘Slaughter pool’ where a groyne reached out into the river, about fifty yards below this were boiling rapids, I liked what I saw.  Rich and Kev decided to get in the car and go further downstream for a look.  I was about to follow blindly but thought ‘what the hell?’  and made the decision to have a go on the Slaughter pool, if it didn’t work out I could always have a look downstream later.

So I set up precariously on the groyne, my chair a couple of yards back from the end, where I’d manage to jam a rod rest between cracks.  Most of the day I’d be holding the rod but I’d need to remember to flick the baitrunner on when I left the rod on the rest.  This part of the river is notoriously snaggy so my methods were slightly different today.  Instead of feeders I used flat 3oz leads which I could mould a ball of groundbait around when I wanted.  I also used two piece hooklengths made of a couple of feet of coated braid between two swivels with a short length of 10lbs mono tied to one, this had a hook and hair on the end.  Feeders and leads are always attached with a paper clip which will open up with a pull, I was likely to snag so this set up would minimise tackle losses (Thanks again Mr Lumb).

I was set up and fishing by 0800 on a cloudy, warm morning with a bit of breeze which made it fresher than the previous day.  The first hour was slow but there were enough tip movements to keep me interested.  Something bow waved upstream and I expected an otter’s ugly head to poke up but whatever it was disappeared beneath far bank bushes before I could identify it.  At 0930 I had my first proper bite which I somehow managed to miss.  Time continued to tick by, I felt sure there would be fish in the pool and if there wasn’t there bloody well should be.  I switched to loading hemp and pellets into big balls of PVA mesh thinking this would get more feed into the swim at a quicker rate and at 1105 the tip pulled round and I was in.  I was slowly bringing a decent fish back against the current and was beginning to think ‘barb’ but it soon surfaced and I could see it was a good Chub, maybe even bigger than the one I’d had yesterday?  It fought well but steering it into the slack water below the groyne helped and it was soon in the net, I’d finally caught my first fish from the gorge.  In the end it was certainly a longer fish than yesterday but without the depth and weighed a couple of ounces less. 

After a quick photo I slipped the fish back and got my bait back into the river, putting the rod on the rest while I tidied up and made a few more PVA bags.  I hadn’t finished this job before my tip bent round and by the time I’d stumbled along the groyne the baitrunner was purring.  I was into a good fish and this one was pulling back giving me no doubts as to what was on the end and a couple of minutes later I netted my first Barbel from the gorge, I had the big grin, the world was a wonderful place.  Not long after this the sun broke through the cloud and lit up the valley, bathing the treelined slopes in sunshine.  Crucially though (?) tall trees on my bank kept the pool shaded well into the afternoon.

The next ninety minutes or so were quiet but I was content with my morning and began to think about tidying up and having a move.  Then I heard a shout from downstream and saw Rich setting up about a hundred yards below me on the opposite bank.  I wound in and wandered downstream and had a chat with Rich, the noise from the rapids meant this had to be louder than normal.  With company of sorts I decided to give it another hour on the groyne so after boiling the kettle to fill the flask again that’s what I did.

I had no bags tied up so squeezed a ball of groundbait around the lead and cast a halibut pellet downstream then left it on the rest while I got tangled up in PVA.  A few minutes later the baitrunner was ticking and after another precarious shuffle along the groyne I bent into another fish.  This one took line straight away and bringing it back against the flow was hard work, I got it into the slack water but couldn’t keep it there.  I just had to be patient and eventually lifted the net around another Barbel and was surprised that this was greeted by cheers from hikers up on the path.  If I’d known they were there I would probably have messed it up.  I thought the Barbel was a bigger one so got the scales ready but when I lifted it onto the mat it shrunk to just over six pounds.

With a couple of bags tied up I hooked one on and recast then returned to the chair to finish the job.  This I soon done but the rod was still sitting on the rest when the tip yanked round again.  Another nice fish, another Barbel which didn’t fight as hard as the previous one and was a bit smaller so I unhooked it and slipped it back.  Meanwhile Rich was downstream watching all this and laughed out loud when I hooked another fish, this was another good sized Chub as big as the first but I was getting blasé by now and slipped it back quickly.  That was enough for Rich who’d had a wander and found a spot he could squeeze into at the downstream end of the Slaughter pool, he asked if I minded and I said “fill your boots” so off he went for his gear.  By the time he returned I was on my feet with a bending rod again, this was another Chub and I was sure it was the same one I’d caught this morning.

By now it was late afternoon, the sun was above the trees and the shade had gone.  I’d had four fish in an hour but after that the action slowed up and I didn’t get another proper bite.  Also the river was now steadily rising and my lead was starting to roll and this snagged a couple of times. I should have moved but hoped fish would switch on again as the light levels dropped.  Instead I sat and watched Rich catch fish after fish the poacher!  He found a deep gully close in and extracted four Barbel and two Chub from it through the afternoon, we are almost sure that one of the Chub was the friendly one that had paid me two visits earlier in the day.  It had been a lovely day in the gorge under the autumn sun listening to water rushing across the rocks downstream.  Wet met Kev back at the car to find he’d had a couple of Barbel and a few Chub so a good day all round which was capped with a pint of HPA on the way back to camp.

The third day was spent on the middle river and after a longer drive in a different direction we rolled down the rocky slope to D & C, the stretch that haunts me as I always get it wrong here.  But today I got out of the motor feeling confident, I felt I knew the stretch a little and had arrived with a plan, today I knew where I wanted to fish.  This all went Cheech and Chong when we found the river had risen sharply overnight and was raging through.  The downstream area I’d planned to start at was completely underwater so I ended up hiking back upstream and perching myself on a slippery slope and flicking my feeder upstream towards a chubby looking bush.  I actually got off to a flyer with a bite on the first cast resulting in a Chub of three pounds or so but after that things went quiet. Kev and Rich were a way downstream of me but the phones were not pinging very often, it was slow all round.

After a couple of hours I went further upstream for a look, here the famous Salmon pool looked spectacular but I couldn’t get my head around fishing it.  I met the others back at the cars for a chat and on the way scoped another swim which was large and flat with slack water in close and overhanging bushes upstream and down.  After two and a bit days of sitting precariously on swims I had no business staying upright on and a forecast of heavy rain due later in the day a bit of comfort appealed.  Kev and Rich had decided to go to the far downstream end and brave the killer hill but my plan B was to move into the flat swim, pile in a load of bait then sit and wait for the fish to turn up.  The truth is I had no experience of fishing this kind of river in these conditions and felt my best chance to fish on the edge of the main flow and the slacker water in front of me which today had seven feet of water.

So I chucked in six cricket ball sized lumps of groundbait and started fishing (bloody cricket, honestly don’t get me started…), put the brolly up, cast out and relaxed. It was slow to begin with but I was getting rattles on the tip which encouraged me as it was more than I was getting in the previous swim.  I kept casting and added the occasional ball of groundbait and after a couple of hours had a proper bite on a big bait swung downstream.  I struck into a decent weight which stayed down and I started to believe I’d broken my Barbel jinx on this stretch but instead another big Chub popped up.  Once again I got excited and over estimated but the fish was another good one, at 4-04 I’ve only had a handful bigger.

I hoped this was the start of something, that fish would move onto my bait but it was not to be.  I did see something roll and I’m fairly certain it was a Barbel but I couldn’t find a way to tempt to it.  The afternoon was wet as expected and with this I couldn’t get motivated to move as I should have done and paid the price.  The rain cleared in the evening and I watched the sun sink beneath the hill opposite.  As the light started to fade I decided it would be a good idea to get the car up the rocky slope and onto tarmac while there was still light in the sky.  When I met up with my pals I was happy to hear they’d both done better than me with a Barbel apiece and a few Chub.

After a cool night in the tent the final day dawned, it had come round too quickly as usual.  We decamped and loaded the cars up, Rich and I were heading home later but Kev and Cooper were staying for a couple more days.  Still we were on the road at a good time heading towards another stretch on the middle river and were soon pulling into a convenient car park, actually there were several places the motors could be left.  We’d fished here before in 2022 on a wet day when all of us had caught Chub but we’d failed to find any Barbel.  However that day we’d been on the opposite bank and we knew the access was much better on the side we were now standing.

The day was bright and clear with a gusting wind but we knew there was a bit of rain forecast for later.  After a walk along the banks to re-familiarise ourselves we spread out; Rich fancied a spot in a straight section but Kev and I set up further downstream fishing from old groynes.  Today we were able to fish with two rods so what the hell, why not?  Along with my Barbel rod I put together my old century carp rod which has a 2 ½ lb test curve, standard spec for a lot of Barbel anglers nowadays.  Both of these were set up with identical feeder rigs. My swim looked cock on, with a slack and a crease and bushes etc. but none of this impressed the fish and after a couple of hours I hadn’t even had a bite, neither had Kev fishing fifty or so yards below me.  Not only that, the uneven concrete of the narrow groyne forbode disaster and the gusty wind threatened to dump items of kit into the river at times.

We both head back upstream, passing Rich we learnt he’d had a couple of Chub and was sitting tight for now.  Kev settled into a nice looking piece of water with tall trees around him but I kept going, passing a couple of likely looking places before dropping my gear behind a really nice looking spot.  I left the gear and kept going upstream to the end of the beat but didn’t find anything that looked inspired me to pick up my kit again so set up where I’d left it.

By 1220 I was settled in on a bank flat enough to prevent my gear from sliding to a watery grave and I was able to get fairly comfortable.  Opposite me was a large tree that I could have cast to on another day, upstream to my left was a row of small willows that formed a line of shade with the outer branches touching the crease.  Here I dropped a feeder using the carp rod and I intended to pretty much leave it there, recasting infrequently.  I haven’t caught many Barbel but a good few have come from spots just like that.  Downstream to my right was a dead snaggy tree that I’d want to avoid so the Barbel rod was cast into the stream, either an underarm to the edge of the crease or a short punch a little further out.  I chucked two cricket ball lumps of groundbait to the edge of the bushes then sat back.

The left hand rod banged once on the first drop but otherwise I didn’t get any proper bites but for the next ninety minutes or so I was getting fishy movements on both tips.  I don’t know if these were from Chublets or maybe liners but it did tell me there were fish in the swim and as the time passed this activity increased.  At 1420 the tip of the barbel rod knocked then fell slack and I wound down to a fish with a bit of weight but little power and soon had a good Chub in the net.  I checked the weight at 3-12 then slipped it back and got the feeder back out there confident of more action which I had but only in the form of plucks and rattles.

At 1600 I had a break to fill the flask and while I was rummaging in the car I found half a bag of Source boilies which I’d forgotten about, I stuck a handful in my pocket to maybe try as a hookbait at some point.  Kev had moved again and was now fishing a little way below Rich in the middle of the beat.  I wandered the upper end of the stretch again, I’d pretty much discounted the far downstream end and of the swims in this meadow none looked better than the one I was in.  So I returned to my swim, lobbed two more big balls of groundbait by the bush along with a few handfuls of pellets into the stream and got fishing again.  By now some showers had blown in so up went the brolly but for once I was sitting comfortably.

Within a few minutes the rod cast into the flow whacked over but whatever it was got away with it.  Out went the feeder again baited with a halibut pellet and I sat back expectantly, it was just at the point where my mind started to wander when I was rudely awoken by a classic three foot twitch.  This not even I could miss, not least because there fish was almost certainly hooked already and I found myself playing what was obviously a Barbel.  It fought hard in the flow but the slack margins made netting much easier and I soon lifted it around the fish.  This was one of the smallest of the trip but was a little beauty and after the tough day before I was well pleased to get another Barbel.

Just like before the swim went quiet after the fish, the rattles remained but nothing I could strike at.  I was happy and it wouldn’t matter if I didn’t catch another fish but I felt confident and kept feeding balls of groundbait and handfuls of pellets, little and often.  A text from Rich perked me up too, he’d had a his first Barbel of the day.  An hour or so passed and I remembered the boilies in my pocket so wound in the carp rod, hair rigged one and dropped it back beside the bush.  That spot looked so good but I hadn’t had a proper bite here yet.

That changed at just after 1800 when the tip banged and the line fell slack.  By the time I felt weight the fish was heading towards the dead tree and I had to prevent at all costs.  Somehow I managed this and the fish circled in front of me then powered off out into the river making the clutch tick nicely.  I pulled it back towards me and into the slacker water but it didn’t like it here and bolted back out again.  I managed to regain the line once more and once back in front of me I was able to keep it there, mostly.  At around this point I realised I hadn’t seen the thing yet but its identity was obvious.  The fish tired and came up, yes it was a Barbel of course and by my standards a big one!  Although tired the fish still didn’t want to go in the net but eventually it rolled onto its back and in it went.

I left the fish in the net while I got the bits together, how big was this thing?  I weighed it at 8-11 which was less than I expected but still my biggest from this river and an absolute beauty.  A photo on the mat and a rushed self take then I slipped it back and watched it glide away into the stream.  I got the swim reorganised, more bait balled out and the rods back nodding on the rests then sat back with the grin.  Maybe not a big fish by today’s standards but a good one from this river and definitely the strongest eight pound fish I’ve ever caught.

The clouds cleared and with no more threat of showers I packed up the brolly and enjoyed the sunlight on the valley one last time.  An hour past before the boilie was taken again and I hooked what I think was a small chub but it dropped off before I got a glimpse, then half an hour later the right hand rod banged and I pulled in a Chub of two pounds or so.  I fished on into darkness but that was my lot and I was well happy with it.

We met back at the cars, Rich had managed a second Barbel and was in good form but Kev had endured a grueller, still he had two more days to put this right which he did!  With the motor loaded we wished our friend and the coolest dog well then followed his tail lights down to the dual carriageway.  We flashed our lights goodbye then drove east through the night.  Tired but still buzzing, the valley looks nothing like 'home' but the pace of life feels the same and i feel at ease.  The style of fishing is unlike anything we do at home either and i want to do more of it, much more!  I've subconsciously fought against it but I can't deny it any longer, my fishing world and what I want to do in it is changing.

I arrived home in the early hours and climbed into bed just before 0200 but was still up at a decent time.  I switched on this computer while the kettle boiled, wondering what had been going on while I’d been out of the loop, I was unprepared for the news that faced me.  I couldn’t believe it but a phone call confirmed the worst, a friend had died.  Cruel irony, this was the friend that introduced me to the great western river and helped me catch my first Barbel. We fished together just a handful of times over the years out west for Barbel or here in the east for Pike and we’d meet in the middle from time to time for a punk gig and a few beers.  When we last fished together, out west a year ago, he netted for me what was at the time my PB for the river.  Great company, great times and we assumed there’d be many more to come.  As a man and as an angler they don’t come any better, the valley won’t be quite the same anymore.  Bless you Rob, wherever you are.