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.