On the tourist trail

I was in hunter gather mode this morning after visiting the Post Office. Among other things, I hunted down some pork pies and gathered a packet of frozen peas as I roamed the supermarket! Those tasks complete I filled my belly with sausage and mash then made two corn dog butties and was on my way.

After lugging my tip rod and a pint of maggots to a coloured river yesterday I almost left them behind. Reasoning that I might as well throw them in the river as leave them to turn into casters I took them back again. The river had dropped - in level, colour and temperature. Having arrived around two the maggot feeder seemed a good option. The upstream rod fished a piece of Spam for a change.

Although the day was overcast it was warm, almost 13c, and the wind light again. Only one regular was on the bank, just having a look before fishing so I let him have the swim I fished yesterday - he'd been blanking and I felt generous. Besides, I was going to fish upstream anyway...

It wasn't long before the double red maggots were picked up by a small brown trout. A blank saved after a fashion. An hour or so later on an identical bite produced something that fought differently and felt a bit bigger. I was hoping for a big chub, but it was a small barbel. Definitely a blank saved this time.

They look a bit different from this angle!

The next bite was identical. It produced another sea trout, as did the following bite to maggot. I've said it before that I don't understand why people fish for these spotty creatures. They fight like mindless idiots, dashing all over the place with no sense of purpose and then they cartwheel out of the water for no apparent reason. Maybe when they get bigger they are worth standing in a river wafting a stick and a bit of string about for like two loonies on the river today.

A tourist

By the time the third trout of the day had been returned it was time to prepare for dusk. The tip rod was stowed and a pellet rod broken out, the bait cast to the area the maggots had been going in. Things were quiet. It really was a joy to be out on a day that was almost warm. Lambs were playing King of the Castle on a pile of hay, their plaintive bleats echoing along the quiet valley. Bats were on the wing as dusk fell, no doubt feasting on the glut of small flies that had been drifting past all afternoon.

There was a slow, deliberate pull down of the rod tip followed by a sharp spring back to the meat. Probably a chub backing off with the bait then dropping it. The next bite came after dark to the pellet. A tip bouncer that resulted in a three pound chub. Half an hour later the tip did it again. This time it was a hard scrapping, but smallish, barbel. I'd heard there was a kinky one in the stretch. If that wasn't it there must be two.

Another for the oddity list

Thirty minutes later and the tip bounced for a third time. Another barbel, but normally proportioned and straight of spine, if a little smaller. The evening was warm enough for me to have to remove my woolly hat for a few minutes. I was getting the urge to dust off the bivvy and do an overnighter. By nine I thought it would be a good time to leave. Back at the car and the thermometer showed it was still 12 degrees. On the drive home the cloud started to clear and the big, bright moon was shining again.

Not much work to do tomorrow. I should be out and about after lunch - if not sooner. If only I could make up my mind where to go.

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River 4, Feeders 0

Things had warmed up a touch. There was no frost this morning. Not that it was warm. It still made me feel like wetting a line again and I was walking the bank eating a still-warm sausage roll by quarter to one. The river was low, as low as it gets, clear but with a greenish tinge in the deeper spots. There was a cool breeze coming off my back and ruffling the water towards the far bank. Unusual as the wind tends to funnel up or down the valley. The sky was overcast. Not bad conditions.

I selected a swim midway between the popular end pegs and cast out one rod fishing an in-line maggot feeder with two red maggots on a 14, and a cage feeder loaded with liquidised bread, Hemp and Hali Crush and a good dose of corn steep liquor with a pinch of flake on a 6. The bank was still rock hard and pushing the banksticks in was a trial. Downstream on a shingle bank there were icy puddles still. A thaw is slow in coming.

A simple mix for the cage feeder

After quarter of an hour or so I decided to recast the flake rod. Winding in the feeder it came to a halt in mid river. I tried upstream and downstream pulls to free it before the weak link on the feeder snapped. Having struggled to tie four pound links with cold fingers in the dark in the past I now carry a few made up links consisting of a hooked snap-link at one end and a loop at the other to speed the process. One was attached to the swivel on the main line, a new feeder clipped on and filled, then the hook rebaited and the rig cast out again.

I'd seen a big black bird flap up into a tree on the far bank and while watching to see if I could tell what it was (crow or woody) I spied a buzzard wheeling beyond the trees. Not so long ago buzzards were unheard of in these parts, but they are a fairly common sight these days. Still a fascinating sight to watch, even so. As it wheeled it came closer and I was leaning my head further and further back to keep it in view. When my neck was straining too much I gave up and looked back at the rod tips. The quiver was straight, all tension gone, and the line hanging limp. I wound in the slack like a mad thing and connected with something that I was dragging towards me. Then it went solid in the same place the first feeder had been lost. Bugger.

Opening the bale arm some line was taken so it was a fish, and it was still hooked. More pulling from above and below failed to make any impression. I started a straight walk back. Something gave and I carried on walking back to keep it on the move, then began to take up the line while walking towards the landing net. A chub appeared. In the clear water it looked quite small at first, but as it came closer it began to look bigger, and bigger. Whether it was the cold water, 3.6c, or the fight had been taken out of it while snagged, it did nothing and was netted without hesitation.

I'm not very good at catching chub, and equally inept at guessing what they weigh. For some reason chub can look fat, but weigh light. Possibly the flabbiest fish around. This one looked plump, and apart from a slightly deformed dorsal fin, was in superb condition. I wasn't going to bother weighing it, but seeing as it was the first deliberate capture of the year I did. It weighed seven ounces more than I'd have guessed.

My, what a big mouth you have

Losing two feeders in two casts decided me to move down a few yards so I could bring rigs, and hopefully fish, back without mishap. I could still cast upstream to the same spot but without getting into trouble. That was the plan. The maggot feeder had hardly settled after the move when the tip tap-tapped and I missed the bite. It was a promising restart though.

By now the wind had dropped and it felt quite mild. It wasn't, but we become accustomed to low temperatures after a couple of weeks of them. My feet were nice and warm in my Baffins though! Time for the third, and now decidedly cold, sausage roll and a brew.

The sky began to clear. The Evening Star shone brightly. A full moon rose. Just before five when it had got darker than I thought the isotope on the maggot rod tip signalled a bite. The fish wasn't doing much as I wound it in. Then it came on the shallows and began to turn cartwheels. A sea trout.

I had been contemplating trying for trout on the fly this spring after reading a few trouty blogs, but quite honestly these last three I've caught have put me right off the idea. I've caught trout before (browns and rainbows) and they have always struck me as daft fish. They don't fight properly. They charge all over the place, changing direction on a whim like bluebottles do when buzzing around a room. Then they start leaping. Not like pike do, with purpose, but pointlessly. I'll stick with tench and bream come April.

A silly sea trout

There was quite a covering of frost on my rods and tackle box by the time I recast. Another hour and I'd pack up. I'd started alternating between flake and cheese paste and shortly before the appointed hour I thought I spotted a bite to the paste. One more cast. A cast that sent the feeder flying unfettered by line. Damn. I was sure the line hadn't been tangled. On with a fresh link and feeder then check the line was free. This was when I discovered it to be frozen in the rings. That must have caused the crack-off. I sucked the rings to de-ice them and readied myself for the cast. Another feeder headed for a watery resting place. Feck. The line had frozen again. If it hadn't been the last cage feeder in the bag I'd have given it a third attempt, but I was scuppered now.

The grass was quite crunchy as I walked back to the car. The car white over with frost, the thermometer reading -2.0c as I fired up the engine and set the heater going while I changed my boots. A more hardy soul was still fishing as I drove away. Maybe he'd got glycerine on his rings?

There's warm, wet air forecast to move in over the weekend. I doubt the barbel will get moving for a few days though.

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Chub crazy

I was fishing for chub, but I must have been crazy...

First of all I carted all my gear to the river, walked up and down the stretch, in the 'heat' of the afternoon sun, took the water temperature then carted my gear back to the car and drove elsewhere. The elsewhere didn't look like it had seen the sun all day as the bank was frosty and rock hard. For some reason the river was a tad warmer though.

I started off on the maggot feeder. At least the leaves were less of a problem than last time. Occasionally the tip would pull down slowly then spring back as the feeder moved. A couple of times it pulled down more sharply before springing back. Far more fishy. The next time it did that I struck and was amazed to find the size sixteen had connected with something wriggly rather than a leaf. It was quite a surprise to see a small, out of season, sea trout (a first) in the net. After dark I went over to a cage feeder with liquidised bread and alterneated cheese paste and bread on the hook. All to no avail.

Despite intending to fish until six I'd had enough by half five. The ground temperature was below freezing and my tootsies numbed. There was a hint of frost on the car roof, more than a hint on the tackle that had been exposed to the air, yet the car's thermometer read 2c.

There are more cold nights to come, according to the weather people, before warmish rain arrives towards the end of the week. I'm not sure I can face any more of this failing-to-catch-chub madness though!

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