Extremes of sweet and sour

Come January 5th 2009 the Specialist Anglers' Alliance will be no more. It will have become part of the Angling Trust - the great hope for a unified voice for angling. I'm sure most anglers couldn't care less, but some do. It was the last ever SAA meeting today. I attended the meeting as I have been doing on a regular basis for nigh on nine years now, and as usually the PAC was well represented. Pike anglers have historically faced more threats to their sport than other specialist, which is probably why they are more politicised. There are two benefits I have gained from attending these meetings. One is the free lunch (which isn't free as I have to pay for my fuel to get to the meetings), but as they have been held the other side of Loughborough and finish around two o'clock I can manage to call in somwhere on my way home for a few hours fishing! That was my plan today.

Driving along side the Trent it looked good. About three feet up and well coloured. I headed for the spot I last fished in July. The floods that I had driven through back in September had made a few changes, and anglers had made a few more. There were now about four new pegs in the area I like to fish. One looked enticing, but more recent floods and rain had made it a bit slippy-slidey at the water's edge. I went back to the car to get my fishing gear on and discovered I had done it again. I'd forgotten to throw my blasted boots in the car...

Not fancying sliding around near deep water in my day boots I jumped back in the car and headed elsewhere. The lion's den would be equally muddy and probably packed out on a pleasant sunny Sunday afternoon. Sure enough the car park was brimful, the next access point would have let me fish from less trampled and grassy banks but there were two more cars there than I would have liked to see. The third spot was far less busy, but borderline muddy. There was one peg I could fish from in comfort, only I'd have to chance the mud near the water if I hooked a fish and especially if I had to return one. The grass was wet though and my day boots were already getting damp. Undeterred I got my tackle and set up in the swim. A swim that had a nice pace, a willow at the downstream end and a crease above.

A wintry sunset

With the baits out it was time to take preventative action to stop my feet getting too cold. I have taken to keeping a few cheap carrier bags in my rucksack. They come in handy for putting rubbish or damp slings and sacks in. Amongst other uses. This time they made boot liners! I won't pretend my feet were toasty warm, but at least they didn't feel cold and damp.

Who needs Thinsulate?

The air temperature soon started to drop when the daylight began to fade. The sky was clear. The weather men and women were forecasting a frost. The water, however, was much warmer than I expected at almost 9C. Despite the lack of heavy colour at this venue I wasn't despondent. I'd have been really confident if I'd had my fishing boots and more up for a move or two. I'd stick it in the one swim until eight or nine - or when my feet got cold.

After dark a fish crashed out on the far side of the river and downstream. This buoyed my hopes. What the fish was I haven't a clue, but it sounded to be a reasonable size. I'd been watching The Plough slowly falling behind an almost leafless alder since darkness fell when I noticed clouds extinguishing the stars. The air seemed a tad warmer too. The two baits had been in for almost two hours at this point when the upstream rod tip sprang straight, then slowly pulled down a touch. I picked the rod up and took up the slack to feel a fish charging downstream. When I got my act together and applied some pressure it thrashed on the surface in midstream and carried on down with the flow. I was gingerly making my way down the bank, keeping just enough pressure on the fish when I felt a discernible 'ping' as the weight went from the line and the bend from the rod.

The hooklink had parted, seemingly at the knot. I have no explanation for this. The rig was tied the same way as always. The braid has landed me two PB's this season. It must have been a poorly tied knot, unless it was a cut-off. Either way I reckoned that was it. I'd blown it.

An hour later the tip of the downstream rod pulled down a little, bounced, bounced again. At first I thought it was a small barbel. Then it gave up and I knew it was a chub. A long and lean specimen that I weighed out of curiosity. An ounce short of four pounds I'm sure it could have weighed nearer five had it been as chubby (pun intended) as some I have caught.

Consolation prize

When I pulled my forceps from the rubber band I secure them under on my net float to unhook the fish there was something wrong. I had one finger in a handle ring but the other one was groping vainly about. When I looked it was because the damned thing had snapped! I had my 'lucky' forceps (which must be 30 years old and have been lost, and found, twice in their time) in a side pocket of my rucksack so I didn't struggle to unhook the fish. One more item for the shopping list, though.

Buy cheap, buy twice.

I'd forgotten my boots, lost a fish through tackle failure and my forceps had snapped. What more could go wrong? Only the batteries in my radio dying before I could listen to The Archers!

Inspired by the arrival of the chub I fished on until the church clock struck nine. Then I packed up and headed to the car where I removed my improvised boot liners and looked forward to the heater blasting my feet with warm air on the drive home - which it did while the thermometer reading fell from 6 to 3.

There's probably still going to be chance of barbel early in the week before the frosts arrive. Unfortunately for me I don't think I can get to a river before Wednesday. That smelly cheesepaste I concocted last week might be getting an outing.

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You never can tell

The overnight rain had cleared and the day turned sunny but breezy. With havy rain and gales forecast I thought I'd get an afternoon/evening session in. The river looked bob on, up a little on Tuesday with a hint more colour, but much warmer at 8.5C.

I dropped in to the big slack and put a barbel bait in the deep channel and fished a maggot feeder downstream. A half-moon appeared long before dark, wagtails worked the far bank perching on stones and singing. The high bank kept the wind from chilling me. After three-quarters of an hour the bites started coming to the maggot rod. When I dropped the feeder slightly further down the swim they increased in frequency. Delicate bites that pulled the tip down slowly and were all missed when I struck, the maggots either sucked or missing.

Towards dusk fish started topping in the swim and around it. Dace sized fish. The bites grew more sporadic. I reckon it was dace giving me the bites and they had moved up in the water. When I looked at the swim and the flow rate I thought it would be a good place to run a float through. Pity I'd left the float rod at home.

By five thirty the sky had clouded over enough to obscure the moon. I moved to a banker barbel swim which was also well sheltered and put two barbel rods out. It was eight thirty when I packed up in the predicted rain, the wind rushing through the half-bare branches of the trees on the far bank. Some of the gusts were uprooting the brolly and I had had just a few tentative chub pulls. Shining the beam of my head torch into the margins it seemed like the river was colouring up.

I'd have put money on catching a fish or two under the conditions. It just goes to show, you never can tell. And Emmylou agrees.

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Chub by design - and by accident

Fired up by my new-found ability to catch chub I was back on the river on Monday fishing a new swim. I'd also packed my float rod as I fancied trotting a maggot with the water so clear. This proved to be a frustrating move. I'd loaded the old 501 with fresh line and couldn't make a decent cast with even a four BB Loafer. Like a fool I'd put the whole of a hundred yard spool on the reel. By the time I'd realised the solution the light was starting to go. I fancied a move. The gear was packed away and I headed to my usual spot to find the two favoured pegs occupied. The first two casts with the feeder rod saw crushed maggots from a spot mid way between the two 'hot' pegs.

Because the river had been warming on Sunday and was getting warmer still I had put two barbel rods in the quiver. I was falling between two stools really and not fishing either the tip or barbel rod well. On darkness the angler fishing upstream left for home so I dropped in his peg and concentrated on the tip rod. It took a while for bites to materialise, but they did eventually. The idea I had for improving my feeder rig worked to a degree, but needs modification. I caught three chub, two small ones and one about three pounds before I called it a night at half past eight. I had to be up early to go and steward a pike match - of all things.

I set the alarm on my phone for 6.00 and my bedside alarm clock for the same time. The phone went off first and after shutting it up I checked the clock which read five. I was confused. Then I realised I hadn't changed the time on the phone when the clocks altered! Back to sleep. I awoke again, before the alarm and looked at the time. Five past five. The blooming clock must have stopped or something. Digging my watch out it read five to seven. Damn. Then I put my glasses on and had another look. Five past five. I'd had the watch the wrong way round. When the alarm finally did go off it was at six o'clock...

The match was to be fished with deadbaits and lures only. I didn't expect much to be caught so my plan was to sit by my car sorting out my chub tackle.; removing line from the 501, tying up PVA bags of pellets, making another adaptation to my feeder rig and so on. Within seconds of the 'all in' there was a shout for a pike to be weighed. Off I set with the scales and Steve, my co-steward, with the clipboard. Before we'd logged the first tiny pike another two shouts had gone up! This set the scene for the day. We hardly go any rest having to dash round the lake, about fifteen acres and a good fifteen minutes walk to do the full circuit, at all too frequent intervals.

I did get to sort the tackle out eventually, but every operation was interrupted by a call to weigh a fish. In the end we logged sixteen or seventeen pike - my weigh sling had more pike in it in one day than it had in the last four years!

I'm no fan of pike matches, but this one (which I have helped steward in the past) is well run. The fish are retained in the angler's landing net until a steward arrives when it is weighed and returned. Most of the participants know what they are doing and those who are less experienced are willing to take advice. It's also a match run as much as a social event with teams travelling from around the country - the same old faces every year by all accounts - and they are there as much for the get-together in the bar the nights before and after the match. There's not a lot at stake financially so runs aren't left to ensure the pike are hooked.

A monster is returned to the lake

Once the 'all out' was called I was in my car and off to the river, arriving just after dark. There was one angler on the bottom peg and as I knew who it was from the van in the car park I went for a chat with him before setting up. He'd had a few barbel and said I could drop in his swim as he was due for packing up. He landed a barbel as I was talking to him, a fish of six or seven pounds - his best of the session.

With his rod out of the water I stated arranging my gear in the swim while he packed his away. Then I cast the first rod out with an 8mm crab Pellet-O. Before Eric had sorted all his gear out or I had got my second bait in the water a chub of three or four pounds had hooked itself! Once I was alone I put the thermometer in and noted the river was even warmer than Monday.

Action wasn't hectic but in a little under three hours I landed another chub of a similar size to the first one, an eel and three barbel - the biggest just on eight pounds, the smallest of maybe two pounds trying to drag the rod in as I was packing up completely tired out and ready for my bed. All that walking round the lake was more exercise than I'm used to these days.

When I got home I found an interesting slug on the garage wall.

Interesting if you like slugs

A batch of rod blanks has just been delivered. I'll not be fishing for a few days now. Probably just as well as I need the rest.

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Chub by design

Chub are a fish I have always struggled to catch intentionally. Decent sized ones at any rate. I have fished for chub I could see and they have always ignored my baits. I have quivertipped and touch legered for them without consistent success. The only way I have managed to catch them has been by fishing water slack enough to allow the use of a light bobbin indicator. However, I did catch my first five pounder after thinking it out. I'd been getting chub bite after chub bite when barbelling one night on the Ribble and I determined to return the following night with my irresistible chub paste and hit every sharp rap I saw. It worked, but it was difficult. Since then I have been threatening to fish for chub 'properly' when the river is low, cold and clear. Today I actually got round to doing it.

The river was indeed low, cool and clear. It was borderline barbel friendly at 5.7C when I set up. A barbel rod was cast out - just in case. Then it was out with the tip rod. This started life as an Interceptor with a spliced in carbon quiver. The solid tip was way too stiff and last winter I removed it and spliced in a glass quiver which is much more like it, and still gives a fairly progressive bend into the rod tip proper.

I still had some maggots left over from Friday's failed roach session, and I had bought a fresh half pint yesterday to use as hookbaits. As soon as I hit the road I realised I had forgotten the loaf I had also picked up for bait. I stopped at the Spar shop and rectified that error, buying a Twix and a Mars bar to sustain me as I hadn't packed any food, only a flask, and was intending to be home early enough to cook something hot.

It was three by the time I got to the river and there was nobody about. The swim I fancied had a new feature since I was last there. A huge branch had been deposited right by the water's edge where you fish from. The banks also had a fresh layer of sandy silt. Each flood changes the river a little, or a lot.

It felt a bit odd to be fishing the river with five pound line, four and a bit pound hook and lead links and a size fourteen hook. Two red maggots and a 1.5oz feeder completed the set up and resulted in a sharp bite on the very first cast. Eat your heart out Stef Horak! The second cast was less successful resulting in a snagged, and lost, feeder. Third cast lucky. A more positive bite materialised but was still missed. It looked like I still couldn't master the quivertip.

After about three quarters of an hour an angler who had been fishing upriver stopped to have a chat. I refilled the feeder and recast. The bait had hardly settled when I struck and felt resistance. Not massive resistance but a fish had definitely been hooked. It was a chub of about two and a half pounds. Success! Two casts later and there was a pluck. I left it. The tip pulled down again and this time there was more resistance and I backwound a turn or two. Once netted the chub looked like it might make four. I nearly didn't bother weighing it though. When I lifted it into the sling I realised how chunky and solid it was.

Result!

I've caught bigger chub, but catching that one by design was more satisfying than any of the others. It was also nice to have to play the fish on suitable tackle and not merely wind it in on barbel gear. Having someone on hand I took the risk of passing him my camera for a couple of snaps. When I slipped the chub back it gave a cough, if fish can cough, and expelled a cloud of red maggots. It had been on the bait all right.

Things went quiet, my spectator headed home for tea, darkness fell, and the rain arrived. Only light showers, thankfully. The night was staying warm, and the river temperature was rising slowly.

Another chub of a couple of pounds or thereabouts came along, followed by an unseaonal eel. I was starting to feel peckish and considered a half-six finish. Then thought better of it as another shower passed over. At twenty to seven I got a dithery bite, struck and connected with something small. In the light of the head torch it looked like a chublet so I swung it to hand where I relaised it was a dace. I thought I'd weigh it out of curiosity - not being a good guesser of dace weights. Far from a large fish it didn't quite make half a pound. But as I'd never seen a dace that big before it was still a personal best!

They don't have to be big to be the biggest

Half an hour later my stomach told me it was time for home. A pity because I was enjoying myself and the river had just reached 6C - barbel temperature. Still it had been a successful few hours. I'd caught a new PB, and got the urge to catch more chub by design. I already have an idea to improve my rig...

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A bit of a waste

It was a glorious autumnal afternoon as I readied my gear. Then the phone started ringing. I wasn't in a rush so I answered it, not that it got me any business as I don't stock Fex pike rods. I finished loading the car and set off.

Autumn in the valley

There were three cars parked up when I arrived at the river. No worries, I'd put my Smartcast in and wanted to give it a run through a swim I hadn't fished before. Usually I drive to the river kitted up and ready to hit the ground running, but today I had to call at the Post Office en route and my fishing boots were still covered in mud from the last session. As I was still running early I could get changed at the river. I opened the tailgate to spy the rod quiver, bait carryall, chair and rucksack plus my fleece and bib and brace. No boots. No boots! "Oh, ffff-fiddlesticks." That phone call must have distracted me when loading the car.

It was fine and the grass wasn't too wet, but I had a horrible feeling that my feet would soon get damp and cold. I wasn't driving all the way home and back again for my boots. A plan was hatched. Not a very appealing one, but a plan. The only good thing was that I hadn't set off for an away day and I could face just a short session. The plan was to fish until my feet were uncomfortable.

I ran the Smartcast through the swim a few times and found it to be completely different to how I'd imagined it would be. Quite interesting in fact, and well worth a few hours. One bait fished the crease and the other the tail of the slack. When the sun sank too low to light up the trees the chub knocks commenced. Nothing conclusive though, but there were obviously fish around. Maybe there'd be a barbel or two down there.

Bad moon rising

At dusk proper a bat appeared, and after dark a tawny owl settled in a tree to my right and began too-witting. It stopped and then flew upstream to carry on its noise making, answered by a too-wooer. After some minutes it flew back downstream too-witting as it went.

Bites came to an end. My toes were beginning to complain. Although it was a lovely night to be on the river I'd had enough. If I'd had my fishing boots on I'd have moved swims, but tramping through damp grass would have aggravated my tootsies. When I got back to the car I threw my gear in the back and turned the heater up to blast warm air on my feet as soon as the engine was running. Ten minutes down the road the heavens opened. I drove through rain that really bounced off the tarmac and consoled myself that although the session had been a bit of a waste of time I'd not got completely soaked. Not a complete waste of time as I had learned a bit more about the river's topography and had another swim noted down for the future.

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Underneath the branches

It took me an age to get on my way yesterday. The road to the motorway was closed and the Sunday drivers were out in force with the sun shining and the day better than many we had during the summer. Given the weather I was surprised to find only one car parked up when I arrived at the river. Naturally the angler was in one of the swims that I had in mind to start out in. Not to worry there were others. So I went for the long walk confident there'd be nobody else on the stretch.

Imagine my disappointment when I rounded the last bend to see an angler casting out in my banker swim. It turned out he'd parked up at the next bridge downstream and walked up. Never mind the 'under the tree' swim was free. It had changed a bit since I last fished it. There has been some bank erosion and the platform of earth beneath the branches might not be there for much longer.

Underneath the willow

I had cunningly planned ahead with a new tactic. A barbel rod went out to the downstream raft of rubbish while I set up a tip rod to fish a maggot feeder on the crease created by the upstream bush. I'd fish for whatever might like a bunch of three maggots on a size fourteen until an hour or so before dark then put out a bigger feeder on a barbel rod fishing two plastic casters. Fishing the tip would get some bait down, attract small fish and draw the barbel in. With the river almost back to normal level and carrying a mere hint of colour I thought this might be worth a try.

Bites came immediately, the first fish landed being a small chublet. I hadn't blanked... The second fish was a grayling, my second ever and a new PB. I don't know what it weighed but it was a bit bigger than my first! On release it swam around upside down. So I fished it out and gave it a 'torpedo release'. That did the trick. A minnow followed, then a slightly smaller grayling which I torpedoed back and watched swim happily away.

The Lady of the Stream

I was first introduced to the 'torpedo release' by zander anglers. Apparently in Holland this is the preferred way to return zander - another species that can prove problematic to revive. What you do is throw the fish head first at the water as if it was a dart. It sounds awful to anglers brought up to hold fish level in the water until they regain their strength and swim off, but for zander, and it seems grayling, the torpedo release appears to revitalise them more quickly. Maybe it's the shock factor or maybe it forces water over their gills. Whatever the reason it's worth a try.

Plenty more bites were had, all from plump little minnows, so I swapped the rods over and cast out the big feeder in anticipation of some dusk barbel action.

Shortly before dark Roland came out to play. He's the only drawback to the 'under the tree' swim. Oddly, when it had gone dark he disappeared. I wasn't too far behind him in leaving the swim, as around eight I decided on a move to a spot I have fished before and really fancy for a barbel. Despite a clear sky, and a bright shadow-casting moon, the night was pleasantly mild. Or it was until I'd been settled in the new swim for about an hour when a chilling wind sprang up. One bait was fished close in and down to a bush, the other recast occasionally to the far bank and mid river. One chub bite to the close in rod was all I got. Shortly after eleven, feeling that nothing more was going to happen, I headed for home before the mist that was threatening to descend closed in.

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I'm a dull boy

Given the flimsiest of excuses, I wanted to try out my new rod rest heads, I stopped work and managed to get to the river by seven fifteen. The rests are nice and wide to make dropping the rod in them a cinch, and are deep enough to prevent it then getting blown or dragged out. Should be good for pike fishing too.

Any excuse to go fishing...

As I walked to the river the rain stopped - for a pleasant change. I'd taken three rods with me, the third one being a lighter rod than I normally use and rigged up with mono. I want to see what the set-up feels like with a barbel on the end. So far I have failed to get a bite on this outfit on the few occasions I have used it. It comes in handy as a spare though, and this time it came out of the quiver straight away as I had forgotten to change a frayed end rig. It was quicker to grab the spare rod than tie up another hooklength.

That rod was cast upstream, the river was back down to NSL and clear, and the other one downstream and across. The second rod had only been fishing for ten minutes when, as I was sorting out the frayed rig, I heard the baitrunner squeal into life. The rod was arched over in typical barbel-take fashion. Gazelle like I leapt upon it to do battle with a leviathan. However the fish on the other end of the line soon revealed it's true colours. A chub of about four pounds that I unhooked in the water.

It was a slow night. Even after dark indications were few. Plenty of what I imagine were sea trout were leaping around like the members of the idiotic trutta family that they are. One or two sounded quite large. Only two barbel came out to play. A small one, and another between seven and eight pounds. Both fish coming when I had retired the mono rod for the night.

With the overcast sky it stayed quite warm and the damp held off. So it wasn't a chore being there. The rod rest heads did the job and were easy to locate the rod in during daylight. They'll be getting painted white, like my old ones, before the next night session though. It's surprising how well white (or shiny) things show up after dark, even when not illuminated.

Whenever a rig gets battered I throw it in the bottom of my bait bag. I had a clear out and below you can see the results of a couple of Ribble sessions. When a rig snags up it's either the lead or feeder that's wedged behind a rock, or the hook itself caught up in or on something. Leads come free of the paper clip quite easily, but 30lb Power Pro really does help open out the hooks. The bottom rig shows what the snags can do to 20lb braided hooklinks - the others are a little stronger and tougher!

You can get through a fair few hooks on the rocky Ribble

With an Indian summer having arrived yesterday the river will remain low and clear for a few days by the looks of the forecast. I'll either have to change my tactics or fish for something else. If I get the chance to fish at all that is. There are rods to fettle for a Monday despatch, stuff to sort out for the PAC convention, and more rods to make a start on since a delivery of rings arrived. I'm sure I'll find a window of opportunity to escape through though...

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Ducking and diving

With the only other angler in sight some fifty yards away from me on the far bank I was looking forward to a quiet evening. Despite rain during the day it was sunny as I started setting up. One rod was out when I heard someone behind me. Expecting to see another late arriving fisherman I was somewhat taken aback to see an old gentleman (a little older than me that is!) with a shotgun broken over his arm. He had come to warn me that if I heard shots from downstream it would be him. Which was thoughtful of him. I wasn't aware of it, but the first day of September is the start of duck season. To think there was a well grown brood of friendly mallards that I had been feeding pellets on the stretch who were now in danger of lead poisoning.

With two baits in place it took forty minutes for the first bite to come. Not without hearing the first shots echoing up the valley and seeing a few ducks and goosanders heading upstream at high speed. This was a real barbel bite with the rod hooped over and the baitrunner protesting loudly. The fight was a good one too and lead me to believe the culprit might have made double figures, but it didn't quite manage nine. The river was a foot down on my last session and running clear. I wonder if that was why the fish made off at speed and fought well? It could see where it was going!

There was big black cloud over in the south-west and blowing rapidly towards me. Sure enough the raindrops started to patter on the calm surface of the river. Then all hell let loose. There must have been a group of wildfowlers out of sight because the fusillade that broke out sounded like the troops were going over the top. When the sound of the guns faded it gave way to the honking of many geese. They flew over head, going downstream, to be met with yet another barrage from more guns. The geese turned tail and the guns fell silent again. I decided to keep my head down below the top of the floodbank!

Ready and waiting

The peace didn't last long. "How big was that one?" I feigned deafness. "How big mate?" I hoped a reply might shut the idiot up and shouted him a rough estimate. A few more shots were heard just on dark. At last I hoped for some respite from the assorted cacophony and was pleased to listen to only the owls - and the baitrunners.

Around nine thirty I heard matey on the far bank landing a fish. Following some flashing of his head torch the cry went up, "Five and a quarter pounds!" "Well done, " I responded. Muttering something quite different to myself... He then tried to engage me in conversation, yelling something about the shooting. Ye gods!

As well as getting some rod building out of the way over the weekend I had moulded up a dozen and a half more three ounce leads and slipped a few in my lead bag. Just as well because the tackle losses continued where they left off last time out.

How long will this lot last?

Mishaps of other sorts materialised too. Having pulled for a break on the upstream rod I was winding the limp line in between my fingers feeling for the frayed end when the downstream rod was away. I leaned into the fish which kicked a couple of times then fell off. The size four C-4 had opened up. I've no idea how, as they take some opening on a snag. Hey ho. I attached a ready baited snake and chucked back out again before re-tackling the upstream rod.

I was fishing the swim I'd had my eye on previously and was moving baits around to get a feel for it. Again it felt shallower on a very long cast with a channel two thirds of the way across. Casts to the shallows produced chub bites. The barbel bites, and the four fish I landed, coming from the channel. At least that's the way I read the swim so far. As with the first fish the other three all screamed off with the bait and fought hard for their weight. A lone chub even tried to drag the rod in. It didn't fight hard though and after the initial two wags of its tail gave up the ghost.

I saw much shining of a head torch on the far bank. "He's packing up at last," I thought. "You still there mate?" 'Mate'? 'Mate'?!! Like a fool I replied in the affirmative. "I'm away now. Good luck." I shouted something non-committal back, poured myself a cup of flask-tea and began to relax. The great thing about fishing at night is the way the world quietens down. traffic noise fades, people go home to watch the telly - even annoying birds shut their beaks. I can do without people intent on carrying out shouted conversations. I suppose I should be thankful for small mercies - he didn't put a Tilley lamp on and light a fire to keep the bogey man away...

As well as moving baits around I tried change baits too. When there are numbers of barbel in an area bait choice never seems to be too critical to me, as well as the snake producing again (including the chub) I had one fish on a Hali-Hooker Tuff 1 and another on one and a half Oyster and Mussel boilies (which I thought had hardened up since I opened the packet last March). Not having enough spare rigs tied up I even landed two fish on a mono hooklength I had kicking around. I do prefer the limpness of braid for hooklengths, but I'm not convinced it matters too much to the barbel.

Unlike last week the air turned cool after dark, with a light mist up the valley when the rain cleared. After the chub bites dried up, so I packed up before midnight and trudged through the damp grass to the car, the windows matted with dew. It won't be long before the bunny suit is required for evening sessions.

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Snakes alive

Yesterday I went for a look at a stretch of the Ribble I hadn't fished before. There were four anglers fishing who had caught a couple of barbel between them. The river level was about normal with the colour well dropped out. After walking the banks I plonked my gear in between the anglers, there was plenty of space, and started a slow setting up.

Not having a clue what I might find in front of me I cast an unbaited rig out to see if it would hold. Three ounces didn't shift, so that was okay. It felt like there was a bit of a channel, so casting to the far bank didn't look like it would be worth the effort. The angler downstream of me was casting just short of mid river, and he landed a fish shortly before dusk. I put my baits out a little further to what looked like a change in the flow pattern - although the upstream wind ruffling the surface might have fooled me.

The chub taps started when it had gone dark. By half past nine the river was just the way I like it - deserted. More chub bites came to the pellet snake. At ten thirty another chub bite developed and kept on developing, turning into a small barbel of four or five pounds when I wound down to it. Five 8mm Crab flavour Pellet-Os fished as a 'snake' did the job.

Success for the 'snake'

The evening turned damp, with light drizzle hissing on the brolly, but it was still mild. The swim was quite comfortable for the Ribble, being grassy and almost flat. My boots soon had it turned into a mud slide though. Still, you can't have everything.

By now the bats were out and it looked like I was getting a few bat bites on the downstream rod. Just before eleven one of them turned into something more positive and I was attached to a fish that felt a bit bigger than the first one. There was a weight on the end of the line all right, but it wasn't doing much fighting. Straight in the net it was a pleasing fish for a first session on a length of river. A little bit lean, and judging from it's mouth a regular visitor to the bank. The drizzle stopped briefly and I took two quick snaps.

What big hands you have Grandma!

I fished on until just before midnight. The air was dry so I put the brolly away, packed up the rucksack, and then started to get wet as the rain returned. Picking up the 'snake' rod I got an instant reminder of one of the many 'pleasures' of fishing the Ribble. I could feel the writhing of a small 'snake' of another kind. Sure enough there was a bootlace eel, foulhooked in the middle of its back, on the end. Over the years I have foul hooked numerous eels of all sizes on hair rigged baits on the Ribble. Almost always they are just there when you wind in, invariably following a few 'chub bites' and a period of inactivity. I have no idea how they manage to hook themselves half way along their slithery bodies, but they do.

With the slimy mess sorted out the second rod was wound in uneventfully and I headed home with the windscreen wipers on all the way back.

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A quick addition having seen a link to the following clip which might be of interest on Barbel Fishing World.

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Quote of the day

I believe the solution to any problem - work, love, money, whatever - is to go fishing, and the worse the problem, the longer the trip should be. - John Gierach

For a regular QOTD and some good reading have a look at Pure Piscator - yes, it can be a bit ''floppy hatted', but there are gems hidden in there.

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Friday saw me snatching a few hours on the Trent on my way home from a 'business meeting'. As the car was loaded up with swag I needed to park behind my swim. I decided to call in at a length I had yet to set eyes on, although I had seen the next stretch downstream from the opposite bank about a month ago. From what I saw there the river was fairly shallow, gravel bedded and had luxurious streamer weed.

A hardcore track ran along the edge of the river, but only a couple of swims looked like they had been fished this season. One of which looked worth a shot with a couple of other places looking like they could be turned into fishable swims. Not knowing the river in this area I'm not sure how much extra water it was carrying, but I'd guess maybe two feet. It was certainly a lovely colour.

With slower water close in and the main push hitting the bank downstream of the swim I was pretty confident. After about an hour I had a typical chub bite and struck into nothing. For some reason bites only came to a Hali Hooker pellet. I was alternating these with the Monster Crab pellets on each cast with he downstream rod, but the Monster Crab ones remained untouched. I had a pellet 'snake' on the upstream rod, which was fishing the edge of the faster water. This was also ignored. Eventually a chub of some four pounds hooked itself on the Hali Hooker. Then the bites ceased. Was there just the one fish in the swim?

The first flappy thing of the season

At dusk fish started topping, not in great numbers, and there were fry in the margin - along with something that viewed them as food. Although it was a pleasant evening after the cool wind had dropped, by half past ten I'd had enough. It didn't feel like anything was going to happen.

Trent sunset

I stopped on my way back to the road to have a mooch around. I still found no well beaten swims even though the river looked interesting (from what I could see in the dark with my headtorch on!), with bends and narrows to alter the flow. I suppose that unless a stretch gets a reputation for producing big barbel to attract people most won't go looking for fish, and there aren't many anglers who want to fish rivers for anything else these days with their steep, overgrown banks and lack of burger vans. Not to mention the water moving...

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Return to the valley of the slugs

Tuesday saw the gasman decide to inform me that he wouldn't be turning up - half an hour before the last time he was scheduled to call. If I'd known sooner I could have gone fishing earlier. As it was I managed to get down to the Ribble by eight o'clock to find it about three feet up and carrying a nice amount of colour. I spent some time walking the stretch to find a fishable swim, this being a length I hadn't fished in these conditions before, and chose one that looked to have the right pace close in. I elected to fish just one rod as the swim was quite tight, and the amount of grass and weed coming down on the current would have made fishing two rods a bit tricky.

The rain had stopped some time before so I had left the umbrella at home and spent a pleasant evening watching the rod tip. At about ten o'clock it pulled down and sprang back a couple of times as the six ounce lead was dislodged by something other than weed. Sure enough there was a barbel on the end making the most of the flow to take longer than normal to land. Don't let anyone tell you that six ounce leads stop barbel scrapping well. I guessed the fish at around eight pounds while playing it, and stuck to that estimate once it was netted. The scales decided to knock an ounce off though. A nice way to get back into the Ribble barbel after a couple of seasons away from them.

I was less impressed to reacquaint myself with the masses of slugs that inhabit the valley. Not just the big black ones, they come in all hues and sizes. Small white ones, medium grey ones, brown ones. Nice. Not!

Luvverly sluggerly

Wednesday evening I was back, an hour earlier this time, to discover the river had dropped a couple of feet. Such is the way with spate rivers. The colour still looked good, but a change of swims would be in order. Although I was confident the rod tips were stationary until the bats appeared - the light level that gets them on the wing being the same that spurs chub to start feeding. Both the pellet 'snake' and the Tuff 1 were attacked by chub during the hour either side of nightfall. None were hooked though.

This time I had put the brolly in the quiver. Just as well because there were a couple of showers and I needed to tie up some more PVA bags of pellets. The extra dampness had really got the slugs on the move. They must have a really good sense of smell the way they home in on bait. At one point I reached into my rucksack to pick up a tub of pellets to find a big black slug on the tub. Yak! What they were looking for on the inside of the brolly is a mystery. I removed one while I was fishing, two more and a snail when I packed up, fishless, at quarter past midnight.

On arriving home I emptied the car, dumping my rucksack in the hall, then removed my boots and socks before making a nice mug of drinking chocolate to take to bed. Stepping out of the kitchen I felt something cold and sticky between two of my toes. A slug, which was swiftly condemned to a salty end in the bin. This morning there was a silvery trail on the kitchen floor. There's another one on the loose...

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Egrets. I've seen a few.

What an appalling blog title. Please don't blame me. They were making awful egret puns on Today on Radio Four the other week! However, I have seen a few white egrets over the last few years when I have been fishing the Trent, in both the upper and lower reaches. Until last night I had never seen one locally (in the North West), but just before dark one flew in to roost in the trees of the steep bank on the far side of the Ribble. I was spending three evenings a week on the Ribble a couple of years back and never saw an egret then. I tried to get a picture of the bird, but by the time I had sorted the camera to get a fast enough shutter speed it had gone deeper into the wood.

An egret yesterday

This was my first session back on the Ribble for almost two years, and it brought back to me what is great, and awful, about the river. The good points are the wildlife and the location. It is a nice place to be once you get higher up the valley. The bad points are that most of the swims involve a fair old hike, and when you get to them the banks are bloody awful. If it's not pebbly, it's sandy (the grit gets into everything), and all too often the bank slopes in such a way that getting a chair level is nigh on impossible. Flat grassy banks are something of a rarity. At least where there are fish to be caught. But that is all part and parcel of the topography of a spate river.

Spate rivers also go up and down like nobody's business. It takes very little rain on the fells for the river to start rising. It can rise rapidly too, a foot an hour is not uncommon, but it can drop just as quickly. Getting the timing spot on can make a big difference to success.

Last night the river looked in good form and was carrying some colour. The day had been sunny and it was a pleasant evening to be out. I didn't get set up until nine though,but had chub knocks immediately. Nothing major, but there were fish around. I wasn't happy with my swim choice, so after an hour I moved. The same thing happened, and with a few minutes of casting out a couple of Tuff1s, with a PVA stocking bag of dampened Hemp and Hali Crush on the hook, I got a typically fast chub bite. As is usual on the Ribble it didn't hook itself. Some days they do, but mostly they don't. This went on for every cast until the mist arrived.

The clear, starry, sky was ominous and sure enough mist was soon rising across the fields, over the water and along the valley. When it's like this the chances of barbel are reduced in my experience. I sat it out until quarter to one, but the loss of the second lead of the session made my mind up. I tramped back to the car glad that I had put my waterproof overtrousers on as the dew was thick on the vegetation.

The session got my barbel head firmly screwed back on, and I'd like to say that it was good to be back on the Ribble, but I'm not sure it was. The valley is a great place, and the river is somewhere to fish for a short session with the chance of a good fish, but my mind kept drifting to other rivers - with shorter walks and more comfortable swims!

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All good things...

As the sun sinks slowly in the west I'm amazed that I've managed to keep this blog going as long as I have on a fairly regular basis. In my early twenties I kept a diary where I wrote each trip up in detail when I got home. That lasted a couple of years before dying the death, and it looks like this blog might be going the same way. I have an inherent loathing of routine and 'having' to do things. That's why I stopped pike fishing and writing articles - neither are compulsory activities, and neither is writing this blog.

There may be a few rig thoughts to come, probably some tackle reviews, and possibly a tale or two if anything really interesting happens. But but for now, that's about it.

The Rig

As promised here's a description of The Rig that I have been using with some success for a number of species. There are a number of variables that can be changed to suit the baits being used and fish being sought but two constants are 14lb ESP Power Gum and Drennan Grippa Stops.

I don't claim this to be an original idea, far from it, as it is in fact a variation on the helicopter roach rig described on FISHINGmagic by Andy Nellist. I wonder if Andy has ever been a carp angler? Because his rig seems overly complicated to me! Admittedly the Grippa Stops weren't around when that rig was described, and they do make the rig more streamlined.

The first thing I got rid of was the upper hook. I have a hatred of double hook rigs ever since I watched an idiot (there is no other word for him) fishing one with two hair rigged boilies for tench in thick weed at Sywell back in the dark ages. He was getting runs okay, but unsurprisingly losing more fish than he was landing (which wasn't many). Why he couldn't work out that the hook with no fish attached was the problem I haven't a clue, but I saw him retackle with the same double hook rig...

Anyway, here's The Rig.

I first knot the Power Gum to a size 10 Power Swivel using a four turn Uni Knot, then add a Grippa Stop followed by a size 12 Power Swivel and the second Grippa Stop of the pair. Finally a Hiro Rollsnap is knotted to the other end of the Power Gum. The snap link can be any kind you like really as it only serves as a quick change device for removing the feeder when packing the rods away, so it doesn't clatter about when the rod is broken down rigged up with the hook placed in a rod ring, but the Rollsnaps are quite neat.

The length of the Power Gum isn't critical, but should be at least twice the length of your hooklink and no more than twelve inches. I suppose that the longer it is the more shock absorbancy there is - which would be handy with very light hooklinks. The hooklink should be no more than four inches long, it's strength and the hook size being determined by what you are fishing for. I must say that I have found that with these short hooklinks fine line is not too critical, so I rarely go below 0.11 Reflo Powerline even with a size 20 Animal.

You can either tie up your own hooklinks, with a loop to make gauging length easier and to facilitate quick changes with cold hands, or if you find small hooks fiddly to tie you can buy hooks to nylon which you can cut down to suit.

Some people might prefer to set the Grippa Stops closer to the Rollsnap so the bait lies at the side of the feeder, but even with the little bit of silicone tube over the small swivel acting as a boom I find the hook can get stuck in one of the holes in the feeder. Placing the stops so the hook lies just above the lower knot makes the rig less tangle prone and doesn't seem to affect catches.

On stillwaters you fish The Rig on a tight line with a heavy bobbin to show dropbacks, which is what the vast majority of bites are unless you are on a commercial full of daft carp! Where carp are a possibility then a baitrunner should be used and engaged, but where they are not a problem I have managed fine with a standard fixed spool reel. I've even used this on rivers using a quiver tip as bite indication and it has worked superbly.

As well as using The Rig to catch my target species I have also taken to using it to supply myself with livebaits as it requires no effort and is a pretty foolproof self hooker. Just cast out The Rig with a size 20 and a single maggot and wait for something to hang itself. A packet of hooks to nylon and a couple of Power Gum links now live in my pike box!

One word of caution. Make sure that the hooklength is always lighter than the main line, and certainly no heavier than five pounds, just as a safety measure. For use with heavier hooklengths then a safer feeder rig is this one. I have recently streamlined this rig by swapping the Run Ring for a Rollsnap, and replacing the upper bead and stop knot with a Grippa Stop. So far it seems to work.

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Last minute Lumb

Not being able to face a two a.m. start in order to be certain of a peg on a popular day ticket stretch of the Trent I headed elsewhere for the final two days of the river season. I was surprised to find only one other barbel angler out and about when I arrived so walked a stretch I hadn't fished since July and picked four swims to fish during the afternoon and evening. The river was up a touch and carrying a healthy amount of colour to fish well during day light. The first two swims produced nothing but just as I was readying myself for a move to the third one two more barbel anglers arrived, walked past me and dropped in swims three and four.

I'd not taken the water temperature at the start of the session, but when I did I found it to be a disappointing 6.2C. With my plan thwarted I made a hasty decision to move venue. After a minor detour I arrived to find one car in the car park. Walking down the bank my fancied swims were vacant. However I walked on for a chat, to discover that one of the anglers had caught an eleven pound barbel, and that they were packing up. Not one to look a gift horse in the chops I went back for my gear and fished the 'going swim'. That was at five o'clock and by half ten I hadn't had a knock! Still, it was a mild night, with the brolly keeping the wind off me, and there is no finer way of spending an evening that fishing while listening to Test Match Special on the wireless. Especially when England are doing well.

I soon nodded off in the back of the car, after wrestling with the broken zip on my sleeping bag - which was undoing itself as I drew the slider up. When I awoke I was surprised to find a light frost. The sunrise was quite something, and the day promised to be less windy than of late and dry.

Settling into the swim I had vacated the previous night it wasn't long before a chub of about three pounds was landed from the far side of the river. There being a crease at either side of the river, which narrows up at this point, gave a few options for bait placement. So I moved the two baits around the area for a few hours. Nothing else came along, so I wound the baits in and went for a wander with the spare rod to do some feature finding. This didn't reveal the deep channel I had expected to find on the outside of a bend, but it did show up a run of deeper and slower water, under the rod end, with shallow gravelly water above and outside it. The bed of the river was also a jumble of rocks in the slower run. A move was in order.

I gave it a couple of hours in that spot, getting attention from chub on the 10mm pellet rod, before moving again to another similar section upstream. This spot was given another couple of hours, during which time I took the water temperature again to find it had risen from the morning's chilly 6.4 to 7.1. This gave my confidence a boost. A funny thing, confidence. With my lack of barbel success I'd been suffering a minor bait crisis. If it hadn't been for occasional chub falling for my usual boilie and paste baits I would have thought there was something wrong with them. Even so, when I moved back into the double crease swim I decided to replace the pellet with a Dynamite Oyster and Mussel boilie - a tub of which had been in my bag for about six months.

About half an hour after dark the rod fishing to the far crease did the repeated spring-back-pull-down thing that indicates a bite when fishing upstream. The result was a five pound chub. Not the barbel I was hoping to end the season with but a reasonable consolation prize.

By eight o'clock I was wondering whether to call it a season or have one more move. The gear was packed and I headed back to the car, knowing there was a banker swim to be passed on the way. Stopping to look at the swim, which was well sheltered, I dropped the gear and carried on to the car for more water to brew up with. I took my time setting my stall out and chose to fish one rod to the snag. For some reason I picked the rod with the O+M boilie on it, put on a fresh bait and a small bag of mixed pellets, then whacked it all out with a six ounce lead attached the twenty or so yards required. Amazingly the lead landed pretty much where I wanted it.

On with the radio, brew made, biscuit half eaten when the rod tip lurched downstream and the baitrunner creaked grudgingly. How I managed to put the biscuit down where it wouldn't fall in the mud I don't know! But I was almost immediately hanging on to the rod as something thrashed on the surface and tried its damnedest to find sanctuary in the tangle of roots and branches. After a few seconds, that some might think of as minutes, I was able to start pumping the fish upstream. I had a horrible feeling that it might be a carp the way it had felt initially, but when a slim, golden shape rolled in the light of my Petzl I knew it was a barbel. "Please don't fall off!"

It had been October when I last hooked a barbel, in the very same swim, and that one had come adrift. This fish was well beaten and slid easily over the net. After weighing and sacking the fish I finished my biscuit and brew, then the trouble started. The usually speedy process of setting up the bulb release on the camera was thwarted. The tube on the release had split where the connector fits, my efforts at cutting back the damaged portion and refitting the connector failing. In part this was due to my increasing frustration at not being able to see what I was doing. Playing the fish and clambering up and down the bank with it had caused me to work up a sweat that was steaming up my glasses. Eventually I had to set up the self timer - when I remembered how it worked.

Photos taken It seemed wise to keep an eye on the fish when returning it. Two swims downstream there was a flat ledge at water level that seemed to be ideal. Carrying the fish in the net I walked quickly down to it and made my way to the water's edge. Only one problem, part of the slope down had crumbled away. Not to worry, I could step across it. I dunked the fish in the water, and holding the net pole found a footing. A footing which promptly gave way. I was now straddling the water with no idea how deep it was below me, one foot on dry land the other slowly sliding deeper. At this point the fish was on its own. I cast the net aside as I struggled to cross the gap.

At one point I was clinging to the vegetation on the sheer bank behind me, with one foot in the water over my boot top, the other foot slipping around in mud. After a minute or so I had my right foot firmly across the gap and managed to pull my left foot, which was stuck below the water in mud, out. I was safe. Now I could reach across and get hold of the landing net pole and recover the fish. The ledge I was to release the fish from was narrower than I remembered it, so I had to be careful not to topple in the river. After all that messing around the fish needed no nursing and was fighting to get out of the net! I watched her swim off, then mounted my assault on the bank to get out. The things we do to make sure fish go back okay...

I needed another brew and a rest after all that! Another bait was cast out, although more out of a sense of duty than expectation. By ten o'clock I had recuperated, and it was time to end the season as I was starting to nod and there was a long drive home. It had been a pleasant two days - coming good at a point I could so easily have given up.

The weight of the barbel? It was yet another of my nine pound plussers, well it was a couple of ounces over ten to be exact!

Happy flappy

I said that I'd be not catching barbel next time out. And I was right!

The afternoon was one of those February days that lets you know spring isn't far away. There's heat in the sun when it shines during the middle of the day, new growth is starting to poke it's way through the dieback of the winter, buds appearing on the willows. All was right with the world. Even the river looked encouraging with a tinge of colour, obviously on the way down and a confidence inspiring 7.4C.

After walking a stretch for a nosey I had worked up a bit of a sweat, so stripped off fleece and sweatshirt for the walk down the bank with the tackle. I set up in a swim I had fished only briefly before, intending to move after no more than a couple of hours. However, it looked so inviting I stopped into dark because it felt 'right'. After I'd been there an hour or so the downstream rod, fishing a big hair-rigged lump of my 'secret' paste, jagged down sharply and I failed to connect. No doubt a chub. The bait was freshened up and recast. This time slightly further out so I could draw it back to lie under the trailing branches.

Just into dark the tip pulled over and stayed there. There was definitely something on this time and I pumped what seemed like a lifeless lump upstream. Then it carried on past me. Until it broke surface I wasn't sure if it was a lazy barbel (I have had one or two behave like this) or a flappy thing that wasn't flapping. It turned out to be the latter, and an impressive looking fish for a flappy thing. So much so that I dug the tripod out for a self take. I got two half decent shots then it remembered what it was and wouldn't stop flapping. So I put it back. Not quite as big as I had first hoped, but the best fish of the year so far.

After the disturbance I decided to move. With the sun gone and the sky clear the air temp was plummeting. I gave it an hour and a half in the new swim, having had a few chub bites to the paste and returned to the car to find the air temperature was down to 4C. That would account for the damp on my hat, bunny suit and the rest of my gear. I contemplated an hour or two in a different area, but it was a bit chilly. Of course, half an hour down the road cloud cover rolled in and the temperature shot back up to 9...

Out with a whimper

One final attempt to catch a fish, any fish, before the year's end came to nothing despite the river looking great and rising in temperature. Still, it was a more pleasant experience than last time with next to no wind and an overcast sky keeping the air temperature up after dark. Even though I blanked it's made me keen to get out again. Things can only get better!

If 2007 had carried on as well as it started of I'd have had a phenomenal year's fishing. As it was things started to fizzle out around October. Even so I'm not complaining. I beat my bream pb three times, my perch and tench pbs twice, caught a pb barbel and my first ever grayling.

Unlike 2006 I got the springtime perch fishing in, paying off big time, and the tench campaign worked more or less to plan this time round. The double figure bream were also a nice interlude. Again I enjoyed the fishing, especially exploring new-to-me stretches of river in search of barbel. Fishing new and different places - and catching fish doing it - is always enjoyable and enlightening.

• Tench - 9-04
• Barbel - 13-09
• Perch - 4-12
• Bream - 12-06
  
• Roach/Bream Hybrid - 4-11
• Chub - 5-04
• Carp - 13
• Grayling - not very big!

Here's to a great 2008!

A month's a long time

At last I managed to drag myself to the river almost a month since my last session. Now all the leaves were gone from the riverside willows and a flood a few weeks back had cleared away most of the remains of last summer's bankside vegetation. It was truly a bare and wintry scene. But not unappealing. After a couple of days rain I thought the river might be well up and coloured. It was up a little, carrying some colour and just about warm enough to give me hope. Within twenty minutes a chub pinched my luncheon meat. Then things started to go down hill.

The next three quarters of an hour were spent with the bait in a snag. I got the rig back and moved. During the afternoon I fished four more swims without a touch. Although the air temperature was around seven degrees and the sun was shining it felt a lot colder owing to the wind. When a shower came along I risked the brolly and it was quite pleasant sat in its shelter. However I noticed that there was debris starting to accumulate on the line, one or two branches were coming down the river, and it was on the rise.

Walking into the wind to fish a fifth swim was quite a struggle. But once set up again it was fairly cosy with the brolly up. Then the rain set in. This made it all very miserable. The wind also strengthened. This made it extremely unpleasant. Had it not been so wet and windy I'd have stayed later, but I was indeed 'glad when I had had enough'!

So strong was the wind that on the way back to the car I had to stop twice as gusts hit me as I could hardly make any progress against them.

The video clip doesn't do the weather justice.

Another target achieved - by accident

With foul weather forecast for the weekend I took advantage of the mildest day of the week for a final attempt at catching a barbel this November. Despite the river being warmer than last week it was carrying less colour, but the afternoon was pleasant as was the evening until the rain set in and the wind picked up.

I'd picked up some maggots on the way to the river to see if I could catch myself a chub or two by design, and to try out the MkII quiver tip section for one of my Interceptors. The rod worked a treat and the glass tip was soon registering a bite. When the second bite came I was ready and hooked something small and wriggly.

One of the targets I had set for myself this season was to catch my first grayling. I hadn't expected to do it on the maggot feeder, but that was what was wriggling on the end of the line. Far from a specimen I suppose it's still another personal best!

Very pretty fish. Even so I was tempted to stick it back out on a set of trebles... If we get another cold spell I might dig out a float rod and have a serious try for some more - although I'll probably catch chub!

After dark the rain arrived, but only stayed for an hour or so. Conditions seemed pretty good, but by ten o'clock not a bite had I had. With more, and worse weather on its way I packed up. Sure enough I drove home through a wave of torrential rain. Sure was glad I missed sitting out in it.

Not a good month for some reason. I have lost touch with where the barbel are. Time to give last winter's haunts a bash to see if I can get another barbel before the year is out.

Temperature's falling

For once the weathermen got it right, and I snatched a couple of days before the temperature dropped. Saturday afternoon saw me, pursued by frisky bullocks, heading for the bend I'd looked at last week. It was late on by the time I had done some depth finding with my Smartcast fish finder and scouted out the glide downstream of the bend. Certainly an area worth more attention, and it did look as pikey as I thought in my last blog post. In fact as I retrieved my 3oz gripper lead from my first exploratory cast to check the depth and feel the bottom make up a pike of four five pounds grabbed it! I'd thrown a few small curly shads and a wire trace in the rucksack in case I fancied trying for perch, but not wishing to miss an opportunity for what was obviously an easy pike I cut off the barbel rig and tied on the trace. After a dozen or so casts the lure got nailed, and after a surprisingly lively fight in the fast flow the fish was in the net.

Small but in good nick, apart from a chunk of its upper tail lobe being missing, it was my first pike by design for almost twelve months!


After returning the pike I put the barbel rods out. The air and water temps were encouraging, but the wind was strong and with more than a hint of the north in it, and a little rain. Definitely brolly weather. Not long before dark the upstream rod started tapping out it's chub message and a three pounder was landed. For whatever reason my heart wasn't in it and I packed up at seven to head for a more sheltered spot. The rain showers got heavier after I settled in to the new swim, but apart from an odd chubby rattle that was my lot. It was still a mild 11 degrees when I got in the sleeping bag at eleven.

The river was up a good few inches on last week and carrying more colour so I was confident of a fish or two early doors on the Sunday. But again they failed to materialise. The cloud cover had broken up and although the clearing sky brought sunshine it was still fairly cool. I jacked it in at eleven and decided to head for home. A few miles down the road I changed my mind and called in for a look somewhere else. It was sheltered from the wind, which was easing off anyway, and quite pleasant. More importantly the river looked to be quite well coloured. A quick bacon sandwich in the car park, to the envy of a couple of dog walkers, and I was off down the bank.

The swim I picked to start off in was a sure fire chub swim, a lovely crease with a good depth under the rod top, but I had caught a barbel from above the bush on the opposite side of the river a few months back so I knew they liked the area. Things looked good. I tried to fish a bait to the bush but there was a lot of weed coming downstream, some big clumps too, so both baits had to come in close. Pretty soon a chub came a knocking, but didn't hook itself. However I knew it wouldn't be long before it made the fatal error. Which it did in good style, really banging the rod tip. It was small. About a pound! But it saved a blank!

I made one more move before dark, but as the light faded and the air temperature started to fall I lost what little confidence I had left. I'd tried to make the best of the conditions before they took a turn for the worse as far as barbel are concerned, but failed. Accepting defeat I headed home watching the air temperature plummet from 4.5 to almost zero by the time I pulled off the motorway.

I can't see me fishing again for over a week now for various reasons. What I'll be fishing for next will be decided by the weather.

Where have all the barbel gone

My last trip of October resulted in one four pound chub. The water temperature was up on the previous session, but I had missed out on the river rising a bit during the week. That's my excuse. That or poor location. Fished four swims, two I hadn't fished before and learned a bit for the future. So not a total waste.

The same can be said of my first trip for November on a stretch I had been meaning to fish all autumn. Walking the length I found four cracking areas, all different in their own ways. Two look like they'd be worth fishing earlier in the season, but the others have slower flow and more depth. One looks particularly pikey.

The day started foggy but cleared and warmed up. The Trent was plenty warm enough and in the afternoon the chub were active. Only one was caught but I had feared the slower water might be full of the beggars. Just before dark the mist started to rise from the water and hover over the fields. This knocked my confidence as I can't remember catching anything when the river has been shrouded in mist. I fished on until six by which time the landmark I had picked out to use to cut across the field to the gate was invisible! Undeterred I set off to take the long route back following the edge of the river. I hadn't gone far when the mist started to clear and I managed to spot the landmark.

By the time I got to the gate the mist was all but gone, so I dropped in another swim intending to give it a few hours. After less than one the far bank had disappeared from view! So I wrapped up and started the a foggy journey home.

I thought I'd try out the video facility on my pocket digital camera. So here are the edited 'highlights' for your delectation!

Rubbish, innit?

Someone was catching

The river seemed lower than ever, and the water temp was down again. Hopes weren't high, but so long as there's a bait in the water there's a chance. One good thing was that the after-dark air temp stayed up and it was a pleasant evening. But I'm running ahead.

As I was settling in to the swim a kingfisher was active on the far bank. Perching in the willows and diving for fish with more success than I was to have.

With the low, clear water I opted to fish a small hookbait on one rod. In this case a piece of plastic maize. The bags of pellets were kept small, about walnut size, on both rods. Leaves weren't a problem, but there were clumps of weed coming down with the flow which made it difficult to hold a bait on the far side for long. Nonetheless, shortly after a recast the far bank rod top started tapping in the manner symptomatic of a chub that isn't going anywhere. I picked the rod up and struck, connecting with a fish of some sort, and a large lump of weed on the line. This lot then kited across to my side of the river. I could see the weed on the surface and what looked like a gaping chub mouth under the surface a few feet behind the weed. When everything got directly downstream of me the fish woke up. Turned. Slapped its tail on the surface and was gone.

I fished into darkness in that swim, then moved to another spot around seven thirty, where I remained biteless until midnight. The only thing of interest (if you can call it that) was a cow on the other side of the river staring at me for almost an hour. No, it wasn't interesting. But it was strangely unnerving.

From bad, to worse, to flappiness

Wednesday saw me snatching a few hours on a clear river with the air temperature dropping fast after dark. Hopes were not high. I blanked.

Sunday was another bright autumnal day, the Trent had a touch of colour but was still low. Apparently it had risen a foot in the week and dropped straight back down again. I settled on the dreaded burdock swim, and within forty minutes of casting out the expected rod pulled round and I connected with.... Nothing! On recasting I pulled a bit of line from the baitrunner and remembered that I had slackened it off while packing away on Wednesday. I have a horrible feeling that whatever made off with my bait had simply failed to get hooked against any pressure.

As the sun dropped in the sky it became noticeably cooler and I donned the trusty bunny suit. While it was still light the same rod lurched again. This time I felt the fish heading for the snag. then the line went slack. I'd lost the lot, and the lack of any pigtailing on the mono suggested it was not knot failure but a cut off.

Around five hours later, with my scarf pulled up over my nose and my eyes closed I heard something that sounded like a rod falling over and line being taken. Surprisingly it was the upstream rod that was lying on the deck. Connected to it was another 'flappy thing'. As with the last couple of five pound 'flappy things' it went back without a picture.

When I packed up at eleven the air temperature had dropped over ten degrees C from when I arrived to a positively wintry 4!

The most interesting aspect of the session was some strange noises coming from the margins. Three times after dark I heard very loud 'clooping' sounds from close to the bank. One that came from almost directly in front of me was accompanied by ripples. I'm pretty sure that fish were not responsible as the noise was very loud. Strange...