Some (mostly) good stuff .

 “Farewell and Thanks for all the fish” by Neville Fickling

Neville Fickling is undoubtedly one of Piking’s superstars and despite giving him a bit of stick from time to time, he’s someone I have a great deal of respect for.  His early writing had the same effect on me as the words of Rickards & Webb had on those a decade or so older.  In hindsight the influence of “Fishing for big Pike” is certainly present in Neville’s first book.  This latest one will be his last so he says, which sounds a bit morbid so I kind of hope it isn’t?

This book is Nev’s autobiography which does include a little bit about the man and his family (including a surprisingly ‘wild’ youth) but is mostly a fishing book.  For the first thirty odd years, NF has his own written fishing diaries to refer to so everything runs chronologically; early days in the Fens, then on to various pits and reservoirs, journeys east to the Broads as well as holiday trips to Ireland.  Everything flows and it reads really well.  As someone who was manically Pike obsessed as a younger man, I always thought I put a pretty big effort into fishing in those years.  I now know that I was not in the same league of obsessive insanity as young Fickling, the effort he put into his fishing as a young man was exceptional and probably unequalled.  How did he find the motivation and the energy?  I admire this but I don’t envy it.  At several points in the text the author does question his own actions and sanity.

For the latter years of Neville’s fishing life he doesn’t have diaries to refer to so the time line is much more mixed as waters are dealt with individually or in small groups.  For me this second half of the book doesn’t flow anything like as well as the early years, the writing is a little stodgy with a few mistakes creeping in.  The range of waters NF has caught big Pike from is bloody impressive; apart from those already mentioned there’s Irish Loughs and Scottish Lochs, Rivers of all sizes, just about every Trout water that ever smelt of Pike, stillwaters of all kinds as well as a few trips abroad.  I’ve got my Pike head on so have neglected to mention there’s plenty of Zander in the book too and I wonder if there’s another angler who’s caught two forty plus Pike and two nineteen plus Zander?  Ironically Neville would probably know the answer! 

The book touches on NF’s work and businesses in the fishing trade as well as a bit of angling politics.  I think he’s played down the role in the latter, there is almost nothing about the many positions he held for PAC over many years.  It’s fair to say that nobody has done more for the sport of Pike fishing than Neville Fickling so maybe he’s being modest?  But the author has also skipped over his uncanny ability to inadvertently (or not?) piss people off.  When all fishing gossip was printed in mags and in the early years of the internet age Mr Fickling seemed to take great pleasure in getting under people’s skin.  To be fair he does mention he regrets many of the things he wrote in the past.

So over the seventy odd years this book spans, Neville has caught an awful lot of seriously impressive fish.  The stories are all in there but for me many suffer from being told in more detail elsewhere.  For the ones I was unfamiliar with I would have liked a little bit more depth in the telling, but to be fair this is present in the more recent tales and there’s plenty of these.  I suppose I’d have been happy to have all the detail about all the captures whether I’ve heard it before or not and as such I thought this book would be longer/bigger and I’m a bit disappointed that it isn’t?  The one occasion that Neville and I have fished together does get a mention but you’d need to know the clues to spot it.  I suppose the sum of my waffling amounts to this, ‘Farewell…’ is a really good fishing read but it’s not the classic it very easily could have been.

Good gear/bad gear

Last season with stocks of my regular trace wire running low I decided to try something different and ended up with the Savage Gear “Raw 49” in 35 pounds breaking strain.  This was very different to the kind of wire I’ve used for nearly fifty years as I couldn’t twist it.  I could have crimped it, had I been arsed to buy all the extra paraphernalia required but this stuff is also knot-able so that’s what I did.  When I say knot-able what I really mean is I was able to form loops at either end to attach a hook and a swivel, the top hook I could attach as normal.  This looked a bit scruffy to me so I ended up covering the loops and tags with a bit of shrink tube which I’d bought for something I’d never got round to.  I made it work, the wire was perfectly fine and it never let me down so I can’t fault it where it matters.  But making a trace, which should have been less fiddly in theory actually wasn’t at all and the spool ran out a lot quicker than I expected.
I also tried an excellent professionally made titanium trace from Voodoo and I can’t help being impressed with this bomb proof material which should last as long as I don’t lose it.  Because this stuff will outlast the hooks the traces are made with split rings so the hooks can be changed.  This leaves the hooks, in particular the top hook, dangling from the wire instead of being effectively part of the trace.  I want my wire to run along the shank of the hook, fixing it in that position, this is because I use double hooks a lot for deadbaits and I want that point standing proud.  For livebaits and treble hooks the titanium trace could well be just the job, time will tell.
So after all that I’ve gone back to where I was a year ago and ordered a spool of the simple AFW Surfstrand from Eddie Turner.  The bulk spools last years, I can twist up a trace to any specification I choose in a matter of minutes and after years of fault free use it’s landed me a lot of Pike and I can recommend it without reservation.  People rave about the new improved trace wires out there and they are all very good I’m sure but the Pike really don’t care and they won’t catch us one extra fish.

I bought some of the Korum ‘Bolt and Run’ rig kits in an attempt to tidy up my river rigs.  These things work okay but to be honest I didn’t read the small print properly.  To really make them work I should have tied up some hooklengths terminating in a loop to be covered by the long sleeves provided.  Even had I read this I’m still more comfortable using a swivel so changing hooklengths (which I do often, a time saving idea borrowed from sea fishing) was way too fiddly for me.  Likewise the clip used for changing the lead or feeder was unnecessarily awkward too, most other clips I’ve used are much easier.  For example the Breakaway fast clips are a sea fishing product but I’ve used them in all sizes for most types of coarse fishing for at least thirty years.  So in short, I can see how these things should work but it’s too much faff for me and really just another gimmicky, unnecessary piece of plastic end tackle thrust upon us by the trade.  Reinventing the wheel and coming up with something square.

In the interests of balance I have to say that I like a lot of Korum gear, I’m not convinced it’s any better than another manufacturer but most of what I’ve used has been up to the job.  I use the river feeders out west and I like them.  The hooks have been very good too, almost all the Chub and Barbel I’ve caught over the last couple of years have been on either the ‘Specimen’ or ‘Power’ hooks.  One or the other has a slightly beaked point (can’t remember which at the moment). They are strong and stay sharp.  I do wonder how much thought went into those brand names though? How do they come up with them?

Years ago, Salmo lures always came in for a bit of stick from the lure snobs on fishing forums for reasons unknown?  I suspect it is because they are actually miles better than the cult bespoke jobs, even though these are hand whittled by a toothless redneck in a remote shack in the Minnesota wilderness.  The truth is Salmo lures are excellent; they are tough, have a range of great finishes, sensible hooks and really are idiot proof.  My biggest lure caught Pike came on a 10cm Slider and my best Chub on a lure took the 12cm version.  If I want to fish slowly with an erratic, gliding retrieve the floating Slider is my ‘go to’ and is the only ‘Jerkbait’ (are they still called that?) I use these days.  The Skinner is another good lure, particularly the largest version which is around 20cms but very hard to get hold of these days.  On the very rare occasions I troll lures this would be a first choice and in the days when I done a lot of trolling it caught me loads of Pike as well as a PB Perch.  Another good troller is the Salmo Perch and this little crankbait works very well when cast too, I’ve had Pike, Perch and Chub on this lure.  I’ve caught hundreds of fish on Salmo lures and unlike a lot of hard baits they aren’t too expensive, compared to Rapala for example which never seem to catch as many fish as they look like they should.

Lately I've mostly been doing this.

Local-ish

Back home and back to more ‘normal’ fishing, the stuff I’m more used to.  The spooky Chub on the upstream stretch had been bugging me so I plotted their downfall.  I’d fish pellets and hemp, sneak in an hour before dusk and winkle one out.  Somebody must have warned them as when I got there I couldn’t see a sign of them.  I fished anyway although without confidence, I couldn’t see site nor sign of a fish so doing a bit of exploring would be a good use of time.  I had a couple of moves downstream, searching new swims and learned a bit more but didn’t get a rattle.  I still haven’t caught a Chub from this stretch and on the last two visits I haven’t even seen one.  I like a challenge but this one might have to wait a while.

Autumn is happening quickly this year and the nights are drawing in, soon I’ll have other things on my mind so Mr T and I arranged an evening on the beach while it’s still a comfortable place to be.  In theory at least.  The forecast mid week looked bang on and the high tide was due around midnight so we pencilled in a trip to Radar after Rays.  When I checked the weather on the Saturday morning it was all wrong, fresh to strong from south south west, we’d need to fish somewhere that would give us a bit of shelter.  This didn’t matter one bit as fishing with Mr T is mostly about having a good yarn and a laugh, too many fish could be a distraction.

After a slow drive east we arrived at the Steep beach to find it unusually quiet so we walked down and were fishing the bay by around 1800.  We launched the baits out then sat in front of the shelter with a beer and began to put the world to rights.  The wind wasn’t anywhere near as strong as had been forecast and I thought we’d have been alright at Radar after all.  But as time passed the wind strength increased, it seemed to be getting stronger minute by minute and the rod tips were wobbling constantly, spotting a bite might be a challenge.  Because the wind was mostly off the land the waves weren’t that big, all the movement on the rods was caused by the wind.  As the light faded I had an unmistakable bite on the heavy rod and found myself winching something quite heavy back towards the beach.  Could it be a Ray or a big Bass?  Whatever it was it didn’t want to come into the shallow water but I timed a wave right and there it was - or rather here they were.  I’d mounted a whole squid onto a Pennell and there was a small dogfish on each hook.  I don’t think that has happened to me before?

Darkness brought no drop in the wind, instead it got stronger and it dominated the rest of the evening as there was just no respite.  It was impossible to see any bites but despite this Trev wound in a Dogfish and we both had a couple of Whiting each.  Any time we left the shelter the wind threatened to blow us off our feet and wobbled the tripods on a couple of occasions.  Somehow it was strong enough to blow the material of the shelter from beneath the piles of pebbles I always use to secure it.  It didn’t take off at any point but it splayed and got lower until it touched our heads.  By 2130 it had become ridiculous and the beach was beginning to feel a hostile place to be.  For once we were sensible, packed up quickly and got ourselves out of there.

Six months ago I was embracing spring and a complete change of fishing style now it is well and truly autumn and it’s nearly time to switch back.  Things haven't gone to plan with my 'local-ish' fishing for the last couple of months so a change of scenery could be coming at the right time.  I’ll probably continue to dabble for Chub or maybe Perch in the next few weeks and months but I’m unlikely to visit the beach for a good while now as I’m definitely a fair weather angler in that brutal environment.  The next few months are definitely Pike time though, wish me luck.

Stormy valley

A long ‘A’ road followed by four motorways then another A.  Three to four hours of driving but it had brought me back to the happy valley for the first and probably only time this year.  Kev and Rich would be joining me later but as I’d travelled alone, I was able to get away early and after pitching the tent I still had time to head to the river for the evening.  As it turned out I got lucky as the lads got stuck in the aftermath of an accident and had a long wait and a slow journey west. 

By 1530 I was walking the banks of a stretch that is becoming familiar but I was determined to fish spots I hadn’t tried before.  The day was bright and sunny and the river, although still low was a few inches higher than it had been for months with colour and pace.  In last autumn’s flood conditions I’d caught a few Chub by fishing in a gap between two trees but today I was shocked by the reality of the spot in summer conditions.  There wasn’t even a swim there and in hindsight I don’t know how I landed anything.  I considered fishing from the top of the bank but saw sense and ended up setting up in the nearest swim upstream.  Here I soon found the river was carrying loads of snotty weed which clung to the line and moved the leads after a while.  After an hour or so without any fishy action I considered a move; just upstream there was a spot I’d fished a couple of times before and here the main current was close to the near bank.  I figured I could fish with a shorter line which in theory would be less affected by weed and hopefully fish more effectively.

I was set up here by 1730 and started off with the float rod, trotting corn from the end of the croy.  In the past I’d caught a few Chub like this but tonight I couldn’t get a bite so after half an hour switched to what I prefer, sitting on my arse and fishing a feeder.  It was slow here too but the weed more manageable and I expected the fading light to make the difference.  My first bite came around 2000, it looked very Chubby but I missed it though I couldn’t work out how.  As it grew dark I sat with the rod in my hands and at 2035 I felt it pull round and set the hook.  Whatever was on the end felt decent but didn’t try to steam off down the river and I soon netted a good size Chub.  It was a very long fish which looked a four pounder but wasn’t quite.  Still enough for me so I packed up and went back to camp to share a few bottles with Rich and Kev.  Cooper, Kev’s elderly retriever was asleep in the front of Rich’s tent and amused two of our group by farting loudly and rancidly. The evening stretched a little later than planned but we were all organised for a reasonable start in the morning.

None of us slept well so we were up and away in good time and were soon driving down into the gorge, my favourite part of the valley and probably the most spectacular.  Last year I’d been unable to walk past the first pool I laid eyes on and today I stood at the same spot and made the same decision.  Rich fished just upstream of me while Kev was a way downstream.  The morning was gloomy and humid but this didn’t register and I set up out in the open, halfway along a rocky croy.  The gorge is snaggy so I dispensed with feeders and used leads with groundbait squeezed around them or a PVA bag of pellets and hemp.  My first cast brought a banging bite and I was into a fish that was pulling back but not taking much line.  It was a good Chub that really didn’t want to go in the net but in the end had no choice.  To me it looked a good ‘un but I’m terrible at estimating the weight of these fish so the scales came out and recorded 4.06 which equalled my best from the river.  A bloody good fish in my book and this gave the confidence a boost, so thinking there may be a few more fish about, I put three cricket ball sized balls of groundbait and a few handfuls of pellets into the stream.  Then it started raining.

When I’d set up I’d known rain was likely but in my haste to get fishing I paid this no attention, now as I struggled into my flimsy waterproofs this stupidity dawned on me.  Luckily I found I was able to move just downstream and cover the same area fishing from the bank where I was able to get a brolly set up.  I’d rather have been fishing from the croy, with the glorious view down river but it was much more comfortable here.  At 0930 the tip banged round and I was attached to a powerful fish that took line off the clutch.  It was obviously a Barbel and a few minutes later I had it in the net, one of the smallest I’ve caught but absolutely gorgeous and I was delighted.  I chucked a couple more balls of groundbait out then sat back with a grin.

The morning stayed gloomy with frequent heavy showers along with flashes of lightning and thunder echoing down the gorge.  There was still a lot of weed being carried by the river until it clung to my lines but although frustrating it was manageable.  This meant regular recasting which kept a bit of feed going into the pool, to be honest I’m not experienced enough at this type of fishing to know if this good or bad but I lean towards the former.

At around 1020 the tip banged over again and I was attached to another powerful fish which tried to steam across the pool.  When this happens it can only be a Barbel and this awareness is still an exciting novelty that I hope I never get tired of.  This one was a little bigger and just as perfect as its predecessor.  The foul weather continued but so did the action and in the next hour I had two more bites and landed two more Chub which I didn’t weigh but confidently guessed would be between three and four pounds.  I kept feeding a couple of balls of groundbait every now and then but action on the tip started to slow down.  I stayed in the swim until the early afternoon but by this time I hadn’t had a proper bite for three hours.  I remembered that this time last year the afternoon and evening hadn’t produced anything, Rich was long gone having not had a bite upstream of me. 

It was time to explore further downstream and I had a couple of spots in mind, both areas I’d looked at longingly in the past when I hadn’t had a rod with me.  I checked in with Kev who was fishless and also on the move, he knows the stretch better than me so I took some advice and headed downstream to a lovely treelined area just below a gravel beach.  The water in front of me was inches deep for two rod lengths then shelved towards the far bank where the main current ran.  About thirty yards below me a fallen tree stretched almost the whole way across the river and had to be home to a fish or two surely? 

I started off with the float rod, standing out in the shallows trotting a couple of grains of corn under a large stick float which trundled down towards the fallen tree.  I wasn’t sure if it was my eyesight but I couldn’t see the float so swept the rod back and found myself snagged!  I tried different angles but nothing moved then I pulled a bit too hard and the bloody rod snapped!  I’m not sure what happened downstream but I was able to gain line now and there was a bit of weight on the end, towards which my now two piece tip section was sliding.  It was a job to drag the whole lot back upstream and I expected to see a substantial piece of wood on the end but bugger me there was a Chub attached.  I can’t recall exactly how but I managed to get the thing in the net where I unhooked it.  It was a nice fish another long one which I guessed wouldn’t be quite four pounds.  So back to the feeder rod, which was fine but things weren’t going to plan as second cast I snagged and the line parted.  I decided to rig it up with a float rig for a while, trotting down towards the tree while feeding corn and a bit of hemp but didn’t get a bite in half an hour or so and was back on the feeder by 1630. 

Half an hour passed, I wasn’t getting any action and the weed was still making things difficult.  I wanted to fish a little bit further out and a bit further down so waded out as far as I could.  I cast, then stood in the river holding the rod, feeling the life of the river tingling through the blank.  After only a few minutes the rod was pulled forcefully round and I was attached to a serious fish which immediately bolted downriver in the direction of the tree.  I tighten up and stopped it, I think?  Maybe the fish changed its mind and decided it didn’t mind going upstream?  Either way, this gave me the chance to walk backwards and gather the net, I then shuffled out again with the net between my legs, nudging it forward with my shins.  My memory is hazy but for the next few minutes I played tug of war with a Barbel which I could see clearly in the shallow water and to me it looked a very big fish.  I’d gain line and get it within netting range but I’m not used to playing fish in this kind of water and it would power off again, making the clutch purr.  This happened three, maybe four times but eventually I got it in the net and peered down on a fish that still looked big.  My phone was in my pocket so I took it out and snapped a picture of the fish nestled in the mesh.  Should disaster strike and the fish escape the net, at least I’d have one captured memory.  Such were the thoughts going through my head in that moment.

I was able to secure the handle and rest the fish in the net nicely while I got the essentials ready.  This included a flexible clamp which I quickly attached to my chair to enable a self take on the phone.  Last year I’d caught an eight pounder which had I lost I would have sworn was bigger, so I didn’t want to guess what this one would weigh.  However I was pretty sure this one was at least as big as that one.  The number on the scales delighted me, my first double but only just!  I managed a self take (the results show I need to practice more) and another photo laying on the mat which really shows what a fabulous looking fish it was.  Then I carried it back towards the deeper water, slipped it out of the sling and held my palms against the flanks for just a few seconds before it swam away strongly.  I collapsed back into the chair and let a “Woo hoo!” echo down the valley, followed by some manic giggling.  I’ve said it many times but every Barbel I’ve been fortunate enough to catch has been a thrill and I honestly don’t care what size they are.  But like all species of fish, the bigger they are, the more impressive they are to behold and I was in awe of the thing I’d just caught.

A while later I realised I was fishing again, put a load more groundbait out and tried to concentrate.  To be fair there wasn’t much to concentrate on but did I care?  I tried standing in the river, holding the rod again but I can only do this for so long and this didn’t bring any reward.  At just before 1900, out of the blue the tip pulled round and I hooked another decent Chub.  Having netted it I looked down and thought it was probably over four pounds so I secured the handle again and went rummaging for the scales.  I tried to slide the fish from the net and onto the mat but it had other ideas and managed to slip from my hands and back into the river, oh well.

Around 1940 in the fading light the tip went round once more and I pulled into another heavy fish that took line straight away.  After that first run it allowed me to draw it upstream easily and I was soon able to see another big Barbel in the clear water.  After a couple of minutes of strange circular plodding I realised something wasn’t right, I wasn’t leading the fish by the mouth, the point of contact was the pectoral fin.  I got it into the net eventually and sure enough my hook was where I didn’t want to find it.  I wondered if it was the same fish as earlier and weighed it, the scales said it was an ounce lighter.  It doesn’t count so I’d like to think it was the same fish but I’ll never know.

That was enough for me so I packed up while it was still reasonably light and was first back to the cars where I met up with my pals.  It had been a good day all round, between us we’d caught ten Barbel and as many Chub.  Rich and Kev were happy but I was on a different planet having caught a fish I’d imagined since I was a kid but never thought I’d ever lay eyes on let alone catch.  On the way home we stopped in at the pub to toast our old late friend, no beer ever tasted better than that pint of HPA.

 

The following day was spent at a stretch I’d never fished before, although I’d driven across the bridge at the downstream end many times.  The morning was clear and bright, a dry day was forecast so I’d left my wet gear behind, on top of the tent to dry in fact.  I started off fishing from yet another croy at the top of a nice tree lined pool, which to me looked the part but the fish didn’t agree and I was on the move again before noon.  In my next swim I had to put the brolly up, ironically to give me a bit a shade from the sun.  With a steep bank behind me I was now unable to see the direction from which the clouds would gather so was unaware of the dark clouds approaching until the first roll of thunder.  Who could predict storms on consecutive days?  But that’s what we got and I was aware the stuff I’d left behind would be getting a soaking.

Unfortunately the fishing wasn’t as noteworthy as the weather and by mid afternoon I was settled into another swim which to me looked more promising, (though on reflection not as good as my first choice of the day).  All day I persevered with the groundbait feeder tactics that have become my ‘go to’ on these big rivers. Here I fished until the sun went down and like the rest of the day I didn’t get a single bite but it was a lovely setting with a Buzzard passing over regularly and Kingfishers galore at a lower level.  One of these perched on my rod for a few seconds but of course it flew off as my hand inched towards the phone in my pocket.  At dusk came bats and the owls woke up, it sounded like there were three or four Tawneys in the trees behind us.  Kev and Rich done better though; both caught a Barbel and a couple of Chub which was good news as they would be returning to this stretch on the following day.

 

Each morning we found ourselves getting out and away a little later and it was 0900 before I found myself wandering the banks of the ‘familiar’ stretch, I was fishing solo today.  As I’d fished downstream a couple of days before I headed upstream on this occasion and took a long walk into unchartered territory.  Pushing through scrub willow I found myself emerging onto a little gravel beach I’d never seen before, how had I over looked it?  Obviously the near side was shallow, all the current was on the deeper far side, beneath a steep but bare bank.  The swim looked great to me except for one thing, there was a lack of cover on the far bank where there was just one tree and a couple of bushes.  I decided to set up and give it a go for an hour or so but the morning was cloudless and I felt exposed where I sat on the beach, what’s more there was very little shade on the water.  I didn’t get a bite in the ninety minutes I spent there but I feel certain this swim will produce in different conditions or at either end of the day.

For my next move I went from the sublime to the ridiculous.  I chose a spot in a tree lined area as I felt cover would be important in the bright conditions.  The banks here were steep and I had to leave the chair at the top of the bank, laying my still damp wet weather gear on top of the undergrowth for a seat.  I’d been set up for a while before I realised the drop to the water’s edge was another steep one and I’d need a plan should I hook a fish.  I always have a rope with me on these trips so moved this slightly so it reached further down and positioned the unhooking mat so I could lower my backside onto it and slide over the nettles should I need to get to the water’s edge.

At 1145 the tip went over for the first time in two days, I remembered what to do next and found myself attached to a fish.  This gave me the opportunity to test my geriatric rope slide which done the trick and I soon netted a very welcome Chub of a couple of pounds or so.  In the next couple of hours I caught two more similar sized Chub and lost another unknown fish when I struck a thumping bite to find everything snagged solid.  Sitting perched on a ledge on the steep bank was becoming tiresome and I was aware of clouds building from the south, today I was prepared for any rain.  After an hour without any action I decided it was high time for a move and I had a swim in mind.

My final stop of the day was a swim I’d caught from before which I will now forever know as “Rob’s”.  Here I was able to set up in a little more comfort and loads of confidence.  Ninety fishless minutes did little to dent this as I was getting constant rattles on the tip though nothing I could strike at.  The hour of rain didn’t dampen my enthusiasm either as I’d got the brolly nicely set up and sat in relative comfort.  Then at 1705 I had a proper bite and hooked another Chub of a couple of pounds or so and after that, things were rarely quiet.  As soon as my feeders settled the rod tips would start rattling and I had regular bites.  As the light started to dim I hoped Barbel would move in but despite fishing an hour into darkness this didn’t happen.  I did land another five Chub, the smallest two were around a pound and a half, the biggest not quite four.  It had been a productive, enjoyable day and I learned a lot about this stretch which I’ve now fished several times.  A Barbel would have capped things off nicely though and I’d fancied my chances when the day began.

Back to camp for a late night bottle of beer and a debrief.  Kev and Rich hadn’t caught as many fish as me but both had managed a Barbel so there were three happy anglers again tonight.  The following day would be our last and we’d all be fishing a stretch we’d all caught Barbel from in the past.  I just wanted to catch one more of these bronze fishy creatures and I’d be delighted.

 

The final day dawned but before we done any fishing we had to tidy up and pack away tents wet with dew.  It was around 0930 before we arrived at the car park, having chatted the night before we all knew where we intended to fish and nothing we saw on our brief recce dissuaded us.  I sat in a swim just above rapids while Kev was just upstream in the shady hole I’d fished last year.  Rich went for a wander upstream but the swim he was looking for was now obscured by a fallen tree and was overgrown, so he had to go for a plan B.  Although we’ve all had good days here in the past it’s not my favourite stretch and the main reason for this is there really isn’t much choice for swims.  Because of the nature of the stretch, moving around was difficult so once we all got settled we were pretty much there for the day.  There are other swims but these have never been as productive as the ones we were fishing there and then.  It’s a bit of a mind fuck when considering a move if you have little confidence in the alternatives.

The day was much like all the others, bright and clear at either end of the day but plenty of cloud and a splash of rain in between.  The river looked right and we were fishing in swims that had produced for us in the past but today it was a struggle and the first part of the day was quiet.  At around 1140 I finally had a bite and another fin perfect, mint Chub came to the net.  A couple of minutes later Kev appeared at the top of the bank grinning.  He too had just had his first bite of the day, the result was a Barbel.  Two fish almost simultaneously boosted our confidence but it wasn’t the start of something good.  The rest of the day settled into a day of switching and searching, trying to find a fish and sneak a bite.

Upstream Rich wasn’t doing any better and as the time passed, the clouds dispersed and the sun dropped in the sky. We pinned our hopes on the evening period.  At just before 1900 I had the bite I was waiting for, the rod was yanked over and by the time I reacted the butt was being lifted off the ground.  The bite screamed Barbel but the result was another Chub, which shouldn’t be an anti climax, but in the circumstances…  That was my lot, it was soon time to pack up and load the cars.  Kev managed a Chub and Rich had got himself a Barbel at last knockings, meaning him and Kev had managed at least one Barbel every day which is a right result.  I hadn’t managed to be as consistent but I’d had plenty of action and caught a dream fish so had no complaints.  We said our farewells then drove through the night, east across the country.

Fishing the valley is completely different to anything we do here in East Anglia both in the style of fishing and the landscape around us. As I’m only able to do it a couple of times each year, the experience remains exhilarating and potentially addictive.  I’m looking forward to doing it again next year already.

Not getting it quite right?

After a really good spring on the beaches it’s been harder of late and for the last few weeks I’ve been scratching around to get a fish or two.  Either side of the trip out west, August has been hard work, when I’ve had time to fish the conditions and tide times have often been against me, yes we can always find a way to blame the things we can’t control.  Probably the biggest problem is not getting my hands on fresh wriggling worms often enough and I really should make more of an effort.  This long dry summer has sucked the green out of the countryside and with just a trickle going through the rivers there are only a couple of stretches with enough flow to interest me and there’s only so many times I can fish them and remain interested.  My local River Gipping is in a right state, literally miles are choked with duckweed and on one of the courses there wasn’t enough water to go over the weir last week.  But still I can't resist heading towards the waterside...

Isaac hadn’t been fishing for a while so it was high time we put that right.  A late tide with an off shore breeze should make everything perfect for a Ray at the shallow beach?  Famous last words, when we got to the car park it was obvious the wind would be right in our faces and the sea would be lumpy.  On my own I would probably have been daft enough to sit it out but instead we changed plans and headed to a spot on the estuary that looks the part but I’d never fished before.  We had plenty of squid which accounts for most species but no ragworm which wasn’t ideal as Bass would be our main target.  I did have some frozen black lug so I whipped a couple of these onto our 1/0 hooks and we swung them out.  The other rod was the regular squid on a pulley and it was this that had the first bite after about twenty minutes, I wound in a nice plump perfect Bass of about a pound or so.  Where there’s one…

We spent a nice evening, sheltered from the gusting wind, chatting away with the usual daft stuff.  And we got bites on the black lug.  Fast raps on the tip that stopped before we had a chance to strike, but we tried!  Isaac hooked a fish and it looked like a nice Bass was on its way but the line went slack.  We fished the tide most of the way up and into darkness and were on the verge of packing up when Isaac had a banging bite, it was a mystery as to how it didn’t hook up?  But that’s fishing and that was the lot for the night.  

My next trip was two weeks later, once again the tide was right for fishing the shallow beach but I knew the wind would be fresh and from the north east.  This would make things a bit iffy, would the cliffs give me enough shelter and more importantly, keep the sea from getting too lumpy?  In short the answer was no, but it was a pleasant evening on a quiet, beautiful beach.  Catching a ray never looked likely on this occasion but I did get fast rattles throughout the flood and a couple of small Bass hung themselves on whole squid.  I got a few bites on frozen Lug again but couldn’t hook whatever was responsible.  I fished into darkness but this didn’t switch the fish on and all things considered I’d done well to catch a couple of fish.  But to be honest, if I had half a brain I’d have turned around and headed elsewhere.

I had a few hours free after work so bunged some chips in the oven and while this cooked I filled a flask and got some bits and pieces together; rod, bankstick, net and handle, bag, chair, bait.  That’ll do.  By 1800 I was walking the river bank carefully and I found Chub exactly where I expected them to be, a slightly deeper pool between two thick bushes.  Last time I was here the fish had been really spooky so I set up away from the swim then crept into position.  I wanted to keep disturbance to a minimum so no feeder tonight, instead I clipped on a ½ oz lead, baited up with a couple of grains of corn and plopped the rig out.  The Chub were still there, milling around so I threw a few grains of corn upstream and watched them eagerly as they drifted down towards the fish… which were no longer there!

I had no plan B tonight so I would just have to sit tight, keep my head down and hope the Chub came back.  And this they did, at least four good sized fish would appear in the swim from downstream, circle a time or two then disappear downstream again.  These fish didn’t appear agitated but they didn’t seem comfortable either and they certainly showed no interest in my grains of corn.  After an hour or so, with the coast clear on the fishy front I wound in and replaced the corn for a hair rigged pellet.  By the time I was ready there were a couple of Chub milling about again and they seemed more confident, maybe because there was no line in the swim?  After a few minutes I couldn’t stand waiting any more and flicked the rig out close in and did so without alerting the Chub.  The fish circled a couple more times then vanished downstream again.  I saw this as an opportunity to get the bait          a bit further into the stream but in my haste I managed to snag a branch that had been hindering me all night.  I was well and truly stuck so had no option but to pull and managed to snap the branch with a loud crack.  A load of debris splashed into the river making a mighty racket and I was pretty sure my chances of a fish were all over for the evening.

I sat patiently soaking the pellet for about forty five minutes by which time the light was fading.  I hadn’t seen any sigh of the Chub and nothing had shown an interest in the pellet so I decided to change tactics completely.  I switched back to a couple of grains on a size 10, cast this three quarters the way across the pool then chucked a big handful of corn just upstream.  With no Chub around to spook this surely couldn’t hurt and maybe the smell would draw fish upstream?  I didn’t expect anything to happen but in the fading light I saw a flash then a couple of dark shapes moving, the Chub were back.  Whether the bait had drawn them or the lower light levels had given them confidence I’ll never know but as the minutes ticked by without any action, I wished I still had a pellet on as bait.  Then I had a sharp bang on the tip, too fast for me to react and nothing developed.  I wound in a few minutes later to find the hook stripped of bait and bedraggled with weed.  I recast with a pellet and sat for another twenty minutes or so then gave it up and packed up by torchlight.

All coarse fish love corn but these are tricky Chub who seemed spooked by the stuff in daylight but maybe they’d eat it when the light fades?  Perhaps I’d do better by leaving the corn at home and trying to tempt them with hemp and pellets?  Whatever, I’d got it wrong tonight but next time…

As my day off approached once again conditions seemed to be against me; high tide was due in the early afternoon which is not my favoured time to fish but sometimes needs must.  Also there was a fresh south south west wind to contend with.  This would make my preferred beaches uncomfortable to sit on and the sea would be lumpy, theoretically diminishing my chances of catching Rays.  Add to that a hit and miss ragworm supply this summer and the odds on a Bass are going the wrong way too.  But bugger all that, I had time to fish and didn’t fancy the river so I did a bit of staring at google maps and a bit of thinking and came up with a plan.

At 1150 the following day I was sitting behind my tripod on Fukushima beach.  On the way eastward I’d called in at the tackle shop in Saxmundham (which would have been worth a longer browse if I’d had more time) and picked up half a pound of rag.  The day was mostly bright but the wind was as formidable as predicted meaning the shelter was up providing a small place of tranquillity.  As usual I whacked out a squid on the heavy rod and fished the worms closer on the light one.  This beach runs pretty much north to south so here I’d get more respite from the wind and also a recent report indicated a lot of interesting fish had been about.  With high tide two hours away all I had to do now was sit back, drink tea and play the waiting game.

My first casts saw the tips wobbling in the wind and skipping with the waves a bit but not so much it would make proper bites difficult to see, should I get any.  Or so I thought, despite seeing no fishy movements something was going on as my squid was being attacked and the worms were disappearing, I suspected crabs were the culprits.  Ninety minutes passed in a flash as I was on the go a lot, rebaiting and recasting to keep ahead of the crabs.  As the high tide approached I thought I could see subtle plucks and knocks on the lighter tip.  I tried holding the rod and feeling for bites and managed to convince myself something was happening but struck thin air.  Two hours in, once again things were not going to plan and high tide was nearly upon me.  Behind me was a filthy dark cloud that was travelling northward and dropping rain on some poor soul but luckily it mostly missed me and I just got a few minutes of drizzle.  In the bowels of my memory I thought I could dredge out a memory that this beach fished better on the ebb when I’d been here before, or was this clutching at straws?

Half an hour into the ebb things started to happen, this was in the shape of subtle but definite bites and at long last I winched a small Bass up the Beach.  I was so pleased to see it I made it a photo star which is just as well as I haven’t had much to point a lens out lately.  That was the beginning of a little spell - a couple of hours or so – where I was getting knocks on every cast with the light rod.  Some of these I missed but I hooked a few too, all were Bass but all were small fish around six to ten inches long.  I switched the heavy rod to a python sized ragworm and whacked that out but this just caught me another similar sized bass.  This afternoon was a marked improvement on my recent efforts on the beach, ragworm makes the difference and I was enjoying actually catching a few fish but all the time I was hoping the squid would be taken and the heavy rod would fold over.  By 1800 this hadn’t happened and I’d had enough so it was time to tidy up.  The march back to the car was a grueller as the first part was on soft sand with the wind stinging straight into my chops.  Eventually I made the sanctuary of the car, turned the stereo up and pointed it towards home.

Damn hot in the other valley

Its always hot when the Purple Queen (yes she’s been promoted) and I pack the tent and head west and this time it was fucking scorchio.  The worst conditions to attempt to catch fish from a river that is already painfully low.  This time we pitched up somewhere different to normal but our routine was the same, in the daytime we planned to explore the local Towns and pubs but in the evenings I would be making my first attempts to catch fish from the River Severn.

The whole trip was a bit last minute to be honest so we ended up in a busy campsite with lots of rules and much more hustle and bustle than we are used to.  During the days we toured the towns and pubs in the area; Stourport is a dump but we liked Bewdley, Worcester and Shrewsbury, the latter two seem to be thriving unlike many urban centres these days.  We also had an excursion to Stratford on Avon a place we hadn’t been to since a school trip to see “Twelfth Night” in 1984, I think?  I was aware that Will’s birthplace was on the must see list for foreign tourists but was surprised to encounter bus loads from USA and Japan.  Obviously the town trades on the Shakespeare connection but the way this is milked is crass and spoils the overall effect, it seems tacky, cheap and totally out of place.  We dined in pubs most days, well we had to escape the heat somehow.  The best meal of all was at the ‘Mug House’ in Bewdley, Tuna steak washed down with a couple of pints of Hereford Pale Ale.  Almost perfect.

My first attempt at fishing was a few miles upstream of camp where I was able to park conveniently close to the river.  I left the PQ at the car while I went for a wander, the further downstream I got the more I liked what I saw; shallow rippling rapids and slightly deeper pools, it looked bang on.  There was one spot half way down the stretch which was perfect, rapids upstream and down as well as room bankside for both of us.  By 1715 I was fishing with two feeder rigs and pellets on the hair – basically the same things that have worked on the Wye.  One rod was fishing about one third the way across and slightly downstream, the other I cast here and there, mostly on the upstream side of the swim, sometimes to the far bank trees.  This side of the swim was more rocky so I swapped the feeder for a lead and attached a PVA bag of hemp and pellets to the hook to hopefully avoid snagging.

The water in front of me looked perfect to my untrained eye, I started getting knocks and rattles from the start so there were definitely fish about.  After forty five minutes I had a proper bite on the downstream rod and bugger me I was attached to a fish.  It didn’t fight much but had a bit of weight and it was no surprise to see a Chub of a couple of pounds or so come to the net.  My first fish from the Severn, nice one!  With that confidence boost I put four cricket ball sized lumps of groundbait out then settled back in confidence.

The action on the rod tips dwindled for a while but as time went by and the sun got lower, things started to happen again.  Nearly three hours passed before I got another proper bite on the same rod which I missed, I got this one back out as quickly as I could and a few minutes later it banged again and I was in.  “Serious fish” I said to the PQ as it roared down river taking line off the clutch.  It turned and I brought it back upstream, the fish had power but for its apparent weight and I was pretty sure I had a Barbel attached.  As usual it didn’t like the net the first couple of times but I soon had it in.  A small fish it may be but my first Severn Barbel on my first attempt had me feeling well chuffed and a bit smug.  After that I got the rod back out quickly but was running out of time and all too soon was humping the gear back to the car.

I hoped for more of the same over the coming days but the weather just got hotter and hotter.  I did fish two more evenings, once just outside town where we settled into an idyllic spot with a pool above rapids that looked ideal, then a return to the upstream stretch which was busy on the day and without a plan B I ended up fishing a spot I wouldn’t have picked otherwise.  On both occasions the result was the same, a couple of bites and a Chub of around two pounds landed.  My first impressions of the Severn; the stretches I’ve seen further downstream are big, wide and to my eyes featureless but the river above Bewdley has much more variation and is more to my liking.  I love rivers that have a voice and really enjoyed fishing the Severn and I’m sure I will do so again but it doesn’t thrill me like the other western river.

Variety

I braved the morning rush hour and arrived at the river around 0900, this time determined to fish the upstream stretch. I had only walked this section once before but that was over a year ago so my memory needed refreshing.  What I found was a narrow stretch with good pace and a couple of interesting pools, in one of these I could clearly see three or four good sized Chub drifting around.  A few minutes later I returned, set up quietly then crept into position, everything looked good, I was ready and the Chub were still there.  I put a couple of grains of corn on a strong size 10 then swung the feeder rig into the pool, cue panic, the Chub left at speed.  Oh well.

The spooked fish didn’t bother me unduly.  Fishing in other spots I’d been able to tempt fish back upstream by feeding regularly and keeping a low profile so I was confident this would be the case here too.  With no Chub in sight I started off fishing maggots on a smaller 14 hook and began catching silvers from the off.  I caught small Chub, Bleak and the odd Perch and it was a bite a chuck until I’d had enough.  I switched back to corn and left the rig in place for long periods as I didn’t want to risk spooking anything.  After about ninety minutes I saw two good sized Chub swim upstream in front of me and circle the swim a couple of times.  My hand hovered over the reel but I didn’t get a bite and the fish disappeared again.  I was confident they’d come back again so sat it out for a couple of hours more but that was the last I saw of them.

By the early afternoon I needed a change of scenery so wandered downstream to a gravel run between weed and tried maggots again.  Like before it was a bite a chuck for a variety of species including Roach, Dace and Gudgeon.  Half an hour of this was enough, I then switched back to corn and had a quiet half hour before heading for home.  This is another interesting bit of river and I'd caught a variety of fish but not what i was after.  I’ll be back at some point but I’ll have to do things a bit different.

By all accounts the beaches have been quiet lately but after a few weeks away I felt the need to sit on the shingle and stare at the sea for a while so I set off at lunchtime to fish an afternoon tide.  The weather was a nice mix of sunshine and cloud, the north westerly breeze would be on my back pretty much wherever I chose to fish.  The sensible thing would have been to get some ragworm and target Bass but I made do with what was in the freezer and made my way to the busy beach.  I’ve got into the habit of walking up and down the lane before loading up, getting an idea of where other anglers are pitched up saves crunching across the stones any further than I have to.  On this occasion I found just a short walk would find me plenty of space but there would be anglers both sides of me.  After a few minutes deliberation I decided to get back in the car and try a totally different spot.

A few minutes later I pulled into another car park, one I usually ignore because it is mostly rammed full of desperate day trippers without brains who are likely to box you in then get the hump when you call them out on it…  But on this occasion it was quiet enough so I decided to give it a go.  I don’t know why I came here because previous trips haven’t been spectacular and I recalled my last visit had been a total blank.  Nonetheless by 1400 I was sitting on my backside having cast two stinky lumps of squid to various distances from the shore. 

All I needed now was a cup of tea so while that brewed I started baiting and binding another couple of rigs for the next casts.  Something must have caught my eye because I glanced up just to see the heavy rod bending round and before I could react it went spectacularly slack.  Squid and bait elastic went flying while I lurched towards the rod then wound  down a good few turns before making contact with a heavy weight.  The throbbing presence made me think ‘Ray’ and this one was hanging sideways in the tide making maximum resistance as I pumped and heaved it back towards me.  At one point it all went solid but steady pressure got it moving again and I minute or so later I dragged a brown diamond onto the beach.  The hook came out easily and the scales confirmed it was my biggest of the year so far, happy days!

After that fast start I got another bait out quickly and after tidying up the mess I sat back to drink my well brewed tea, hopeful of a good afternoon ahead.  An hour later high tide was upon me and to this point I’d only seen one fast rattle on the light rod, would the slack water see fish on the move?  The answer was no and the ebbing tide didn’t help me much either.  I did have one fast ‘Bass bang’ on a small squid fished in close but this didn’t hook up and that was as good as it got.  I fished on till around 1900 but it felt like I was wasting my time.  Had I been able to grab some worms it would have probably made all the difference for Bass at least and I should have known better but any day I catch a Ray is a good one.