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
away 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.
