Up and then down again

 

There’s been plenty of rain lately and consequently plenty of water in the rivers, levels going up and down.  I may loathe government but the river gauges found on the .gov.co.uk website are bloody useful, how did we ever get on without them?  I can be at home yet have a good idea of how the river is looking at that moment and make a decision on what to do, when the river is carrying extra water it makes me feel like trying to catch Chub for a change.  

The day was ‘orrible, gloomy with a fresh south easterly whipping light rain in squalls, visibility was bad on the A roads but I was in no hurry and it was past 1030 before I parked the car.  I had a half mile hike that was slippery under foot in places before I was able to put a brolly up and start fishing.  I’d chosen the swim where I’d had a fish before Christmas and today it looked even better with a large raft of debris lodged against the fallen tree.  I fished with a feeder rig using a meaty groundbait as well as a meaty hookbait hair rigged on a size 8.  I’d also chucked a couple of slices of bread in the bag for an alternative.

I felt confident in this swim, so confident I stayed put for ninety minutes without any sign of a bite.  I felt totally content watching flocks of Fieldfare fly across the sodden meadows as well as Long Tailed Tits who used my rod and net handle as perches on their progression down river.  But by 1230 the weather was a bit more comfortable and I was more than ready for a move.  I spent half an hour fishing a gap between trees and another thirty minutes fishing a bait back upstream to an overhanging tree that was hidden behind thick reeds, so easy to walk straight past as I must have done a few times in the past.  By 1330 I was fishing just above a long bend, dropping my feeder a couple of yards short of a semi sunken tree.  It looked Chubby and snaggy so I’d have to bully anything I hooked but by this point my confidence was gone and I didn’t believe this would be an issue.  Then bugger me after fifteen minutes the tip pulled sharply round and I was attached to a fish which was thumping around a bit.  I couldn’t give an inch and didn’t, therefore the Chub didn’t find any snags.  Once pulled out of its sanctuary it gave up pretty quickly and I had it in the net, at which point I realised it was a decent fish too.  I let it rest in the margin while I got the scales ready and wet the sling.  I also attached my self-take clamp thing to the chair as this was more welcome photography practice and by God I need it.  It doesn’t look what it weighed!

I stayed put in this swim for a while longer but after half an hour without a pull it was time for another move.  I settled into a gap amidst what was effectively a tunnel of reeds and swung a bait along the near side.  Fifteen minutes here brought nothing so I lobbed the feeder across the river and within a few minutes the tip was twitching.  This continued, sporadic rattles that had me poised uncomfortably on the edge of the chair, of course these stopped until the second I settled back comfortably again.  After about twenty minutes of this I had a proper bite and hooked a second Chub which moved quickly downstream, swinging round with the line.  It then allowed me to lead it back upstream then after a bit of plodding it rolled over the net.  Another good ‘un, smaller than the first but a nicer looking fish.  I stayed put a while longer here and had a few more fishy movements on the tip but no proper bites. 

With daylight fading quickly I realised the roads would be going mad again soon, so packed up in a hurry.  I’d really enjoyed the afternoon, for most of my life the colder months have been spent Pike fishing exclusively so mixing it up is refreshing.  It struck me that most of the fishing I enjoy these days is very similar, apart from when I’m out in the boat, pretty much all of my fishing is within forty five minutes of home. It’s relatively simple fishing; I travel light, find myself some space and solitude then try to catch the most interesting fish available which usually means rod tips pointing upwards.  I’m unlikely to catch anything big enough to raise any eyebrows other than my own and not a fuck do I give.

The days passed, most of them grey and wet.  The river rose significantly, plateaued then started to fall again which coincided with me having some time off.  I fancied another go for Chub, the where and the how didn’t need much thought, same again thank you very much.  The conditions seemed good, dull and gloomy with barely a breath of wind, I was keen enough to get to the water a bit earlier this time.  The river was up a bit since I’d last fished but I knew it was falling and it looked good to me.  The current was a fair bit stronger too but it took me a while to realise this.  I wandered downstream but as I crept through the start of the interesting water I noticed another angler further down.  I slowed my walk to a standstill beside a swim with an interesting upstream cast and started fishing here at just after 0900.

Half an hour later I was settling into another swim, one I’d caught from last time so I felt confident but I spent a fishless hour here.  Swim three was the other one that was home to a fish on my last visit and I did manage a bite, a fast rap that I’d never hit in a million years but that was my lot.  I tried three more swims, two of which I’d not fished before but nothing fishy happened.  By the time I was tidying up I’d come to the conclusion that I should have paid more attention to the slacker water but this realisation came a little too late.  I still have loads to learn about this Chub fishing lark, I’ve been able to catch a fish or two but I’m far from consistent.  This kind of fishing is tricky and interesting, it’s my cuppa tea.