A bridge too far

Everything looked good for a trip to the shallow beach after Rays.  With high tide at 2315 I could fish it all the way up into darkness and the forecast promised a gentle north westerly which would be blowing over my shoulder.  You couldn’t script it better.  At the car park things didn’t seem right, the air was still, not a breath.  When I broke through cover at the end of my hike I walked into an easterly blowing straight off a bumpy sea, not at all what I expected.  I thought ‘Oh well I’m here now’ and set up regardless, I should have known better.

So I fished the tide all the way up with mostly squid baits and conditions did improve, the wind dropped and the sea flattened out a bit but it was slow.  I had a few knocks and rattles but nothing I could strike at.  I did wind in a small Bass but I’d had little clue that anything had taken the big lump of squid.  Darkness usually switches the fish on but this didn’t happen tonight and by the time high tide was upon me I’d had enough and head for home.

I didn’t fancy a late afternoon tide so for my next day off I head back to the river but this time to a different stretch, one I’ve only fished a couple of times.  The plan was to keep moving and search it out a bit and I started off with a long hike downstream.  Here I stopped at a sweeping bend with an overhanging tree which had collected a raft of debris, this looked as good for a Chub as anywhere, the only thing lacking was flow, there was barely a trickle.  This long dry summer is starting to have a worrying effect on the Suffolk rivers, back home on my local river there’s barely a trickle falling over the weir. 

Back to the here and now, I set up with my normal running feeder rig baited with corn and started searching the swim.  The day was warm and mainly cloudy with the sun poking through from time to time and it was during one of the brighter spells I carefully stood and scanned the swim, noticing there was far more weed than I’d realised.  Over the next few casts, two out of three were coming back with weed on the hook.  There were definitely fish showing and I felt I’d definitely be getting bites if I’d brought maggots.  There were also some sizable fish moving but after one bow wave settled I could see a small Pike sitting there with bristling fins.  My confidence wasn’t improved a short while later by a larger disturbance that was almost certainly an Otter.

I wasn’t happy so wound in and tidied up then went for a wander further downstream where there were more bends and trees.  Most of this water was weed choked but round the corner I found a spot where the river looked coloured and once my eyes were tuned in I realised there were fish here too.  They weren’t Chub so what were they?  It dawned on me that most were Bream but there were also a couple of good sized Roach amongst them and these motivated me to go back and get the tackle.

A few minutes later I was settled and fishing, with fish clearly visible I expected it to be easy but the fish had other ideas.  I tried to keep my head down but my presence obviously disturbed the fish as they mostly disappeared from view but the water remained coloured and I was sure they were still about.  After twenty minutes the tip went over and I was into a fish, the Roach had been out numbered so I wasn’t surprised to see a Bream but it was around four pounds or so, bigger than expected and it fought much harder than Bream are supposed to.  After this I expected a procession but a couple of hours passed without a decent bite so I tidied up then loaded up and wandered back upstream in search of water that looked more likely to hold Chub.

By 1345 I was settled in above another trailing branch/ raft combination, the water here was a little deeper and weed free compared to what was above and below it.  There were fish about here too, mostly small silvers but I was getting a few knocks on the tip.  At 1430 I had a decent bite and lifted into a decent weight that didn’t want to be lead back upstream.  I increased the pressure and a large bronze slab became visible, like the first this Bream fought much harder than their reputation suggests and when it neared the net I realised it was bigger than the first and it was a struggle to get it in.  I’m not really a fan of Bream but this was a lovely looking bronze creature of just under six pounds and is probably the biggest I’ve caught from a river?

I had another cast while I tidied my kit up but by this point in the afternoon the sun had defeated the cloud and was starting to make life uncomfortable.  Bream had been the last thing on my mind when I set off this morning but I’d enjoyed the novelty of catching them although I can’t imagine myself targeting them at any point in the future.

 

Saturday brought the first significant rain we’ve had in Suffolk for months and when the clouds cleared so a window of fishy opportunity opened and I made tracks for the river.  I returned to my ‘normal’ stretch with the intention of exploring way upstream but there were a few cars in the car park and it looked like someone had beat me to it.  Being an anti social sod I decided to head to the stretch I know but I was determined to fish the upstream end of this section.  As I neared my destination I spotted an another angler already in place so I retreated without disturbing him.  That just left the one place I’d been determined to avoid so I settled in above the squirrel bridge without enthusiasm.  At least I’d be undisturbed here and could spend a couple of hours chilling out and listening to the sound of birds and the voice of the river.

I’d brought some pellets and bread with me but as usual started off with corn on the hook, dropping the feeder downstream, just above the raft.  To begin with there didn’t seem to be much about but closer scrutiny revealed the margins were full of fry and these were being bullied by groups of small Perch.  Casts downstream just brought the odd knock so I tried a cast upstream and here started getting sharper pulls and a couple I could strike at.  The second of these saw me set the hook into something that wanted to fight but didn’t feel like a Chub however I’ll never know because the hook pulled.  It might have been a Perch but I have a feeling it was a Trout.

I wondered if this disturbance would ruin things but the opposite happened, in the minutes that followed I started to see a few Chub drifting about.  There were a handful of fish around two pounds or so that repeatedly swam upstream past me, then drifted back down with the current to disappear beneath the raft.  But on two occasions I saw a couple of bruisers, at least twice the size, make the same circuit.  One of these fish would probably be the Chub I’ve already caught this season but the other…  I dropped the feeder downstream again, still baited with corn and sat back to wait.

Around 2000 the tip went round and I was into a good fish.  I leaned in and hung on while the fish thumped about, trying to get into the snags.  This time my luck held and I managed to get the fish into the safe water in front of me and a minute or so later it was in the net.  Of course it was the fish I’ve caught twice already this season, an ounce lighter than last time and although I was glad to have caught something it was a bit of an anti climax.  I switched to pellet and fished on for another forty five minutes, hoping the other big one would show up but no such luck.  When the light started to go I packed up so I could get home in time for the boxing.  Enough is enough, I definitely won’t come back to this swim for a while so I may never know how big the ‘other’ Chub is.  In my imagination it will always be a little bit bigger than its friendly companion.  And why can’t I tempt any of the smaller Chub?  It doesn’t make sense.

The Rematch

The day was damn hot but I finished work early and had time for a fish.  It would have been cooler on a beach but the tides were all wrong so I did the sensible thing and head to the river.  I pulled into the car park a little after six, there was another vehicle there and I thought sod’s law would ensure he was in my preferred swim but happily this was not the case.  The pool above the raft is only a couple of feet deep, a bugger to get to and difficult to get comfortable in but it always seems to hold fish.  Once in position I’m pretty well screened by the undergrowth but getting in place disturbs the fish so I have to be patient here, feed little and often and hope the fish return.  This has worked a few times in the past including a couple of weeks back and I was confident it would work again.  A peep over the top of the nettles revealed a few smaller Chub drifting about and any fish would do me tonight.

With everything else in position, I picked up the landing net pole and it was at this moment I realised the net was in the shed at home, oh shit!  After a bit of thought I worked out I would be able to wade into the river and lift a beaten fish from it.  I positioned the unhooking mat on a flat patch of gravel at the bottom of the slope, I could slide this into the water with my boot if necessary.  I had a plan, not ideal but workable so I started fishing at about 1830.

I had movements on the tip from the start but with two grains of corn on a size 10 it would need a bigger fish to bang the tip, or so I thought.  Second cast I wound in a Chub about five inches long, oh well.  But I wasn’t pestered by these small fish or anything else for that matter, just the odd pluck or rattle that ignited my concentration from time to time as I was otherwise hypnotised by the gurgle of the river and the songs of birds.  The evening drifted away and my flask became empty but I figured fading light would see a fish or two moving and at just after nine the tip bent round and I was attached to a decent fish.  I held the rod well to my left, hoping to hold the fish away from the snags.  It thumped a couple of times and then the hook pulled, bugger!  The hook looked okay but I changed the trace anyway, rebaited and swung the feeder back out.  Fifteen minutes later it happened again- a good bite, I set the hook, pulled to the left and tried to hold the fish away from the snags.  This one didn’t feel as heavy and I was successful in leading it out into midstream where it splashed on the surface and the hook came out…

I got another bait out there as smoothly as I could but had a strong feeling that would be my lot for tonight.  As the evening grew dark I sat and assessed things, six bites in this swim this season, half of these resulting in hook pulls.  Perhaps time for a change of approach?  Maybe use methods that have worked elsewhere?  The more I thought about it the more it seemed like a good idea.

My next day off was another roaster, so hot outside it was impossible to stay comfortable with my ginger skin.  Thankfully it was the first day of the Test match so with TMS on the radio I was happy enough inside, doing a few odd jobs and accruing brownie points.  The following day was much more to my liking, a full ten degrees cooler and a bit of overnight rain had seen the river rise a couple of inches.  The rain continued throughout most of the day so with a TMS soundtrack I was in no hurry to get away and it was 1500 before I was walking the river again.  I say walking, in reality I head straight for the squirrel bridge where I have unfinished business.  I peered over the tops of the nettles but could see nothing moving in the pool which didn’t bother me as I could set up without worrying about spooking anything. This I did and for once I did so without discovering I’d forgotten something important. 

I dropped the feeder in around 1530 and my waiting game commenced, having switched the radio on, just as I was settling back in my chair a decent chub drifted past me upstream, I was confident it would return.  My plan today was to try pellets and fish more like I do out west but I began with bread for a couple of casts, followed by corn.  I fed a few pellets and grains of corn at intervals and my thinking was I’d switch to a pellet hookbait later, when I was more confident the bigger chub would be active.  With cricket on the radio I was deaf to the birdsong and blind to just about everything else.  I had a few knocks and rattles, I actually struck at a couple but was never going to connect and a couple of hours slipped by.

At 1815 I had a solid knock on corn and struck as some kind of laughable impulse/reaction.  Ten minutes later I had a better bite and picked up the rod expecting to feel a fish but somehow I missed it?  After two bites on corn, for some reason I decided now was the time to switch to a side hooked pellet/boilie (we know they aren’t really pellets!)  I think my motivation might have been a few quiet minutes while I made a brew but this didn’t happen.  A solid bite saw me hook a decent fish and I immediately tried to pull the fish upstream and away from the snags.  Peering above the nettles I could clearly see a good Chub that looked like it was under the snag, I lowered the rod and held on, this time luck was on my side and the fish moved in the direction I wanted.  After that it was just a case of letting it tire itself in the clear water and I soon had it in the net.

It was a good fish that gave me a similar impression to the one a couple of weeks ago that I’d been unable to weigh.  This time I had scales and these recorded 4-10 which equalled my PB but this one was especially pleasing as it’s the biggest I’ve caught ‘on purpose’.  I photographed both flanks as I had a feeling this was the same fish I’d caught before and after comparison I’m pretty sure this is the case.  I fished on for a couple of hours but everything seemed lifeless and there was no sign of fish.  I had planned to fish into dark hoping to make it a brace but by 2030 this seemed unlikely so I decided to get away.   After my second trip to this pool I felt like I’d been beaten and needed a rematch but now I feel I’ve had a result and its time to move on and explore a bit more.  

No two tides...

I had a plan for my next beach trip, get some rag and fish the cauldron for Bass but this unravelled when I couldn’t get the worms.  After that I wasn’t sure, could I be bothered?  It was tempting to sit down with the cricket for the last couple of hours but the high tide was around 2015 and I could fish the ebb into darkness so in the end I talked myself into an evening on the beach.  But which beach?  I’d have a good chance at the busy beach but on a warm Saturday it would definitely live up to its name.  I decided to go to the cauldron where I could expect solitude and fish big baits for big fish which are always a possibility here, it’s not always just Bass. 

I’d put the shelter in the car but wasn’t sure i would need it?  It would be frustrating to hike to the beach and be cold knowing it the shelter was in the car so I carried it across the marsh.  The breeze was from the east, straight into my chops but in the end the shelter remained rolled up.  I started off fishing baits fairly close in as the ripping tide was moving rigs cast any further than about forty yards.  On the hooks I mostly used squid of various sizes but also tried crab and a disgusting strip of mackerel that has been defrosted so many times it was probably lethal. I never know what to expect at this spot, it is different every time I fish here but I wasn’t surprised that it started off slowly.  Two hours passed and high tide was upon me but the baits which I’d been recasting regularly were coming back intact.  I tried a long cast but the tide was still raging and it didn’t last five minutes but I kept an eye on any floating debris, it would go slack at some point.

Half an hour after high tide things were calm enough for me to launch a bait and the rig would stay in position for about twenty minutes before starting to roll.  Obviously I was recasting regularly and the baits were coming back chewed but the tips are always wobbling here and I hadn’t seen anything that got me out of the chair.  This changed around 2100 with a definite fishy rattle just after the sun had dipped below the treeline horizon behind me.  This didn’t develop but boosted the confidence and half an hour later I had a proper pull over bite on squid and wound into a decent weight which I pumped steadily to shore.  In close the fish plodded a bit but didn’t run so I wasn’t surprised to see a Ray appear on a wave, a nice fish, my biggest of the year so far.

I fished on for another hour, into darkness but didn’t see any more fishy movement on the tips but when I wound in the heavy rod for the last time there was a bit of weight, unfortunately this turned out to be a big lump of weed which was a bugger to strip off the line.  I loaded up and head back to the car, a daunting hike ahead of me but one bite, one Ray.  I’d have settled for that when I left home.

Another day off and another favourable tide peaking just after 2300 which meant I could go to the shallow beach fish it all the way up hoping for a Ray.  I managed to acquire some ragworm which meant I’d have a decent chance of Bass too, plans set and I was confident.  The tide was right but unfortunately the weather wasn’t, the curve of the coast meant the fresh westerly wind would make life difficult so I decided to head elsewhere and for some reason I talked myself into returning to the ‘cauldron’.  The hike across the marsh was taxing but once I’d unshouldered my gear I was alone in one of the most beautiful spots in the county.

This beach is notoriously inconsistent, heaven or hell and unfortunately it was the latter on this evening.  A day before new moon meant it was a pretty big tide which increases the currents and, on this occasion, made the sea a boiling, raging, scary entity.  Add to that loads of clinging snotty weed being carried on the tide meant holding a rig in position was impossible at times.  Seven ounces cast about thirty yards would start to shift after ten minutes and I was not able to whack a bait out at any time.  I managed a bite on each rod but neither resulted in a hooked fish and I tramped back thinking I should have known better, I got it wrong tonight.