Heatwave

We used to call it global warming, for some reason nowadays we call it climate change, either way there are still people who refuse to believe it, saying it’s all a hoax.  Coincidentally many of these people believe in the trickle down economy and considering the amount of evidence they choose to ignore, presumably a flat earth too.  Whatever, I cannot remember such a run of high temperatures this early in the year and it’s been too hot for fishing really but I can’t resist going anyway.

After a Saturday shift finished I made my way to the river, I knew where I wanted to fish on a hot humid evening, the shade of the ‘squirrel bridge’ would be perfect.  However, when I got there I carried on walking towards the perfect pool at the far end of the stretch.  I’ve made this long walk a couple of times and the swim looks bang on but I’ve never had a bite there.  Tonight would be the night so I carried on in the oppressive heat, pushing through head high nettles and eventually made it to the pool, which didn’t look anything like as good as it had in my mind.  I gave it forty five minutes here without a bite then loaded up and done the hike again in reverse.  Back on familiar ground I realised how low the river was and this often prolific swim appeared lifeless.  Another three quarters of an hour without a bite confirmed this and I had to reflect on my decision making.

I had a few days off in early July, the plan was me and Rich would head out west for a couple of days but the closer we got, the worse the weather ahead looked.  It was too late to cancel the days off so we decided to carry on regardless, knowing full well it we would most likely struggle.  We reached the happy valley in the early afternoon and headed straight for a pub instead of the river.  After a welcome pint and a bite to eat we were refreshed and ready to go.  In the heat of the afternoon we found ourselves humping our gear along a stretch which is slowly becoming familiar.  The valley looked glorious, bathed in the brightest light. The afternoon was just as slow as we’d expected but I was confident the stretch would come alive as the light levels dropped.  This didn’t really happen but we managed a bite apiece and a Chub each, mine was a couple of pounds or so but in mint condition whilst Rich’s was an old warrior of over four pounds.

We pitched up at a picnic area and spent the night on bedchairs under brollies and had a surprisingly comfortable kip.  The following morning we made it back to the river on a cooler, murky morning and the river looked lovely.  The fish didn’t agree though as neither of us had a bite despite a covering a bit of water with a couple of moves.  By lunchtime I was back at the car where I spent a couple of hours having a siesta in the shade of my brolly then got everything sorted and ready for the evening.

For some reason I walked in the heat once more, to the upstream end of the stretch.  Over the next few hours I worked my way back downstream, catching up with Rich along the way.  Both of us had seen taps and tremors in the rod tips but neither of us had seen any proper bites.  With a couple of hours left we decided to pitch up side by side in a large swim I’d fished early morning.  I’d not had a touch then but this evening we started getting rattles straight away and the river really did come alive.  I had the first proper bite but missed it then on the recast the tip banged over and I found myself straight in a snag.  While I was clipping on a new hooklength and cursing, Rich had a Chub of a couple of pounds then followed this up with another that was a little smaller.  Then it was my turn again; thump thump on the tip, I found myself holding a rod in full bend with a tick, tick, tick on the clutch…  Barbel!  I started to gain line but it felt all wrong, I could feel something grating.  I hoped it was weed but no, the line parted on what was almost certainly a rock.

And that was our lot.  A day and a half of slogging in the heat then a couple of magical hours that were as eventful and exciting as fishing gets, the sense that anything could happen at any time.  I’d caught bugger all, lost a decent fish in a snag yet still I’d still loved it.

Back on home turf, my next trip came the following week, the heat was still suffocating the east and it was hard to get motivated to do any fishing but with an evening tide and half a pound of ragworm I fancied my chances of a Bass and maybe a Ray at the shallow beach.  The fresher air at the coast was as tempting as the fishing and was enough to convince Giles and daughter to join me.  It was a lovely evening on the beach but a north easterly had picked up and any chance of a Ray was gone, and as it turned out the Bass weren’t too keen either.  I managed three small ones but Giles had the fish of the night with a Sole, a species we rarely see.

2026 started with what at the time felt like endless days of rain making rivers unapproachable for weeks.  Now we’re stuck in this spell of oppressive heat but looking at the forecast it appears we’ll get a few days of cooler weather, or perhaps less roasting is a better description?  What we really need is rain but judging by the forecast this is unlikely until the end of the month at least so I don’t know when I’ll get the rods out next, I’m sure the urge will come at some point not too far away.