Lumbland

Extremes of sweet and sour

2008-11-16T23:22:00.007Z

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.

Into the lion's den

2008-11-14T08:48:00.010Z

It's something I've been avoiding for over twelve months. Fishing a stretch of river that gets hammered but holds some very big barbel. I don't like having anglers on either side of me when fishing close in. I'm also not a fan of dog walkers with large, unrestrained hounds. A time or two I have set off intending to brave the stretch and bottled it. This session nearly went the same way.

Setting off after doing some work in the morning and eating a bag of chips for lunch I was in a relaxed mood as I arrived at the riverside car park. Having driven through showers, with more forecast, I thought I'd park up, check the river level then throw the thermometer in the water while I put my fishing togs on. As another shower had arrived the waterproofs were required.

The river wasn't quite as high as I'd anticipated, maybe a foot or more on. There was a touch of colour but clarity was good enough to see the leaves going downstream six to ten inches below the surface. With well over three hours before dark I had a wander along the river. I've not fished near the car park before and saw a few spots that looked like they'd be worth dropping a bait in. It was quite a temptation as little walking would be involved, but I'd set off to fish the other stretch. Back in the car and ten minutes later I was pulling up by a couple more cars. Expecting to see a few anglers in the hot swims I decided to go have a look and if they were occupied go elsewhere. To my amazement given the warm day and the state of the river, which was 7.4C by the way, the swims were empty - although well trampled, and muddied by the recent rain. I retraced my steps, grabbed my tackle and headed back to the river.

One valuable lesson that barbel fishing has taught me is to take my time picking a swim. A couple of them looked okay. One was a bit swirly for my liking, and the other had just a little too much pace. The problem of the leaves also had to be considered and after much deliberation I chose a swim that had a current deflection which I hoped would send the majority of the leaves out from the bank allowing my margin fished baits to remain in place for a decent length of time. I reckon if barbel are pressured that leaving your baits alone once cast out is a good idea.

I took my time tackling up and retied both rigs. One went a few yards upstream, the other about fifteen yards downstream. With the baits out I settled down to a brew and a bite to eat. A sparrowhawk swooped along the bank behind me, a dabchick scuttled across the river when it spotted me then worked its way slowly up the far margin, and a kingfisher zipped over the water in a streak of vivid turquoise.

By now the rain had eased off, but I left the brolly up to keep the breeze off me. Two dog walkers passed me by, their animals mercifully leaving me alone. Still no anglers arrived and it was getting dark. The baits stayed put.

After the light had gone the silhouette of a tackle laden angler headed downstream on the far bank. I was listening to the radio, taking in the world's affairs of the day and thinking to myself that fishing makes a lot more sense than worrying about collapsing economies when I heard the zuzzzz of a baitrunner. With both rods being fished horizontally on two rests, rather than beachcaster style on one, it took a second or two to realise which reel was spinning. The single 8mm pellet had been picked up after almost two hours. Whatever had picked it up felt heavy.

Some people claim that they enjoy catching five and six pound barbel more than bigger ones because they give you a better scrap. Well they do charge around the swim like fish possessed. Changing direction many times and with speed. But for me the heavy plod of a bigger fish is what gets my adrenaline flowing and induces a feeling of anxiety not knowing how big the fish might be, or if it will stay attached long enough to put it in the net. When a big barbel makes a run it does so with a steady certainty and power that a five pounder could only match if grabbed by a twenty pound pike!

This fish came grudgingly upstream, pulled a bit of line on a short run into the flow, then popped up and slid towards the net. Almost there it woke up, turning, diving and running back into the flow with a single splash of its tail. Back up on the surface, after a couple more short runs upstream, I had most of it in the net. Fishing with a bit of a drop to the water always makes netting fish tricky. I thought the fish was going to swim over the net frame, but it didn't. A lift and the whole of it's body was in the mesh. Phew!

Sticking a bankstick through the V of the spreader block the barbel could rest in the water without any chance of escape while I wetted the weighsling and readied unhooking mat and camera. The batteries in the camera were flat, so the spares were pressed into service. While I was sorting everything out I managed to step on the bulb release a couple of times and take pictures of nothing...

Take one

Eventually, after just five minutes or so, I lifted the net to the mat, popped the hook free and squeezed the fish into my sling. I managed to hold the scales steady enough without additional support from the landing net pole to read off a very satisfying figure. Another notch on the rod butt! I carried the fish in the weighsling to the next swim downstream where I could get to the water's edge to release it. As usual no nursing was required and she slid into the remains of the marginal reeds and out of sight. By now I was covered in slimy mud, sweating but satisfied.

Take two

Slowly I sorted out the devastation in my swim, rebaited both rods and recast. It was a great night to be out. Warm, dry and quiet. Even the rats I'd expected to be disturbed by were keeping a low profile. I heard a noise behind me and turned to see an angler. He'd just turned up for an after-work session. After a chat he wandered off, came back and set up a couple of pegs upstream. A while later I saw a headtorch coming towards me from downstream. Odd, nobody else had walked past me that way. This bloke, it turned out, had used a downstream access point. He was blanking, trying to fish across the river and struggling to hold out because of the leaves. The silhouette walked back up the far bank, my flask began to grow cold. I packed up. The upstream angler hadn't had anything and we both agreed that the river was picking up a little pace.

To be honest I hadn't expected to catch on my first venture into the lion's den. While it hadn't been one of the 'lumps' that inhabit the stretch the fish has given me the confidence that my rigs will work on the stretch for the supposedly cagey barbel that live there. I'll be fishing there again, but whether I can face it when it's busy is another matter.

Back to the grindstone

2008-11-10T08:37:00.006Z

Rather belatedly here's a pic of the Eustace rods I was working on with their shiny new reel seats and silky smooth cork.

Before

After

Something else I'm doing at the moment is assembling a fly rod kit for a customer. It's an expensive Sage blank which was supplied with (to my mind) some rather average fittings. I've swapped the stripper guides for a couple I think are smoother, the tip ring was a slack fit and the fighting butt and pre-shaped handle somewhat ugly. So it has become a bit more than a straightforward assembly job. The blank and the Struble reel seat (covered in tape for protection while I was lathing the cork) are nice though!

Work in progress

Next on the 'odd job' list is the strip and complete rebuild of three Armalites - including a fettling job on badly worn spigots. Joy...

You never can tell

2008-11-08T22:10:00.004Z

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.

Chub by design - and by accident

2008-11-05T10:53:00.009Z

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.

Chub by design

2008-11-02T21:14:00.008Z

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...

Trick or treat?

2008-10-31T23:11:00.011Z

It must be nigh on forty five years since I first sat by running water with faith, hope and a toy fishing rod given to me by an aunt and uncle. Why they bought me that outfit, complete with red and white plastic 'bob' float in Ross on Wye I have no idea. Nobody in my family fished. But I sat there at the edge of a crystal clear rivulet only inches deep waiting for the float to sink. Even at that short-trousered age of four or five I was aware that the silver paper my dad had put on the hook was a poor bait, and that there were no fish to be seen. That was also the first time I had to make 'one last cast'. I was entranced.

That blind faith and irrational hope that a fish would come along against all the evidence and odds was what I experienced today and sparked this burst of nostalgia for my little metal rod with black plastic rings, handle and integral reel that I can't remember ever 'fishing' with again, although I did play with at home until it eventually broke.

Work had kept me away from the bank for most of the week, the recent night time frosts having pushed thoughts of barbel from my mind when I missed that slim chance last weekend, but I had to get out and wet a line somewhere. I had three options; perch on a commercial, chub on a river, or a speculative roach session on a pit. Reasoning that the roach fishing might be more interesting I set off with that in mind. I also fancied a session sitting in one swim making cups of tea!

With temperatures set to fall once more after dark and my intention being to fish at least an hour after the light had gone I wrapped up well. I also put on the Wychood boots I had bought about three years ago and hardly worn since as they were (are) uncomfortable to walk in. They are warm though, and walking wasn't to be much of an issue. After thirty yards or so I was reminded what is wrong with the boots. It's hard to explain. They simply don't fit where they should. The foot part is fine, the laced up bit is okay. It's the bit in between that flexes. Once sat down and not moving they're great!

These boots aren't made for walking

It being a sunny day there were a few pikers on the water. Two of them fishing the spot I had in mind which rather scuppered my plans. So I started plumbing up a couple of swims past them. There was a lot of floating weed in the margins, and some drifting about, nonetheless it was difficult finding a really clear patch to cast the feeders. After a while I found a slightly less weeded spot a good cast out and put out a few feeders of maggots before attaching the hooks. Further down the bank I could see that there was still pond weed reaching the surface in places. It will be a month or so before the weed is really on its way out.

Two rods fished feeders and maggots, one fished a 10mm pineapple boilie. This third rod was cast out and left in one place while the feeders were reloaded, hooks rebaited and rigs recast at intervals. Even in the 'clear' area I was picking up weed on every retrieve. Admittedly much of it was accumulating once the feeder started moving, but I couldn't be certain the rigs weren't buried.

All marked up

At first the wind was coming out of the north, but I had settled in with a bush to my left and was sheltered from it's chilling effect. All set up and on with the kettle. My brewing equipment hadn't been used since July. This was more than apparent when taking the sugar tub out of my mug revealed and encrustation and some furry stuff. After pondering the health benefits of this I boiled the kettle and poured the boiling water into the mug to stand for a few minutes. Then I swilled it out and wiped round. It smelled clean enough, so the kettle went back on for the first of many brews.

Around three thirty the wind dropped and swung round to come off my back. As the air temperature was starting to drop this seemed to make it feel less cold. I was expecting it to turn really chilly at dusk, but cloud cover had moved in and the temperature held up. It was five to six when I had my one and only indication. A single bleep on the left hand rod that didn't develop into anything. When I wound in for a recast after leaving things to see if a bite might develop the maggots didn't look to have been sucked. I'd tried my tricks but there were no fishy treats for me this Halloween. I gave it another half hour and, all hope having faded, I packed up hatching a plot...

The plot was, as it was still fairly warm, to call in at a car park swim on a river, take the water temperature and spend an hour or two hoping for a barbel. As I headed to the river the car's thermometer showed the air was cooling, the gritters on the road suggested it would cool some more from 4C later. The river was low in level and temperature at a chilly, but not hopeless, 6.3C. Nonetheless I decided to carry on for home.

Things are set to warm up over the next few days. The barbel might be beckoning again.

The end is nigh

2008-10-25T12:57:00.007+01:00

Air and water temperatures are falling, frosts are on the way, and the clocks go back tonight. The end of easy barbel fishing is imminent.

Hoping that the rain of Thursday had fallen in the right places, and with the encouragement of petrol being less than £1.00 a litre when I filled the tank, I set off down what proved to be a congested motorway. A sunny Friday afternoon made sure of the slow progress and a later arrival at the river than planned. The popular pegs were well staked out, but the Rat Hole was free. I thought I'd give it another blast having finally caught a barbel from it last Sunday. Unlike Sunday the swim lived up to its name with rustlings and squealings, not to mention splashings and swimmings. Roland wasn't on his own.

Unfortunately the rain must have fallen in Spain, or somewhere else away from the river, because the level was low and the clarity good - if you like clear water. The temperature wasn't too bad, but lower than earlier in the week. There would still be a chance after dark.

While I was setting up an angler I had met before stopped for a chat - he'd expected more coloured water too. After a few minutes set off and set up somewhere well away from me, unlike the bloke who arrived shortly before dark, tramped noisily up and down the bank and ended up fishing on the downstream side of the willow I was fishing to. There were only three of us fishing this bank...

Shortly before Kermit arrived a kestrel had dipped over the river, up over the willows and down onto a patch of dried mud where it started to have a dust bath until it spotted me and flew off over the recently seeded field behind me. The willows are almost stripped bare now meaning that the flocks of long tailed tits working up and down the river are easy to watch. They are lively little birds and soon flit away. Wrens are lively too, and surprisingly noisy for such tiny creatures. One entertained me singing in the branches for a few minutes. I'd have taken a photo but I'm rubbish at wildlife photography, as the picture of a merganser (or goosander?) below illustrates perfectly!

It could be anything...

There was a bit of weed coming down the river, but not enough to cause problems like the leaves did the other night. Not enough to dislodge a three ounce lead in fact. Unfortunately nothing fishy dislodged the leads either. About half past eight Kermit packed up (noisily) and wandered off bemoaning the fact that 'they weren't having it'. Maybe I'd have a chance after the swim had quietened down after another hour or two now?

Despite logic telling me I was wasting my time I had a feeling a barbel would make an appearance. It wasn't to be. Although the sky was clear and the air temperature down to just six degrees I stuck it until my flask was cold at half past twelve. I wasn't surprised to find the river deserted as I walked back to the car.

There might be one half decent window of barbel opportunity before the forecast cold spell arrives next week. I think it will only open a crack though.

Leave me alone...

2008-10-23T09:01:00.007+01:00

Listening to the weather forecast for today I was glad to be able to get work boxed off early enough yesterday to hit the river before nightfall. This isn't an option for most people now the nights are well and truly drawing in, so I wasn't surprised to have the river to myself, but I was surprised to find a branch pushed in the bank as a makeshift bankstick.

Noddy or poacher?

The river looked really good. Well up and coloured with not too much pace. The deposited leaves on the bank showed that it was falling. Unfortunately they suggested that the water would contain plenty more, blown in from the woods along the valley by the recent strong winds. I set up in a swim I hoped would see the bulk of the leaves avoiding my lines. After three quarters of an hour it was apparent that I had guessed wrong.

Fetching in the washing

I moved upstream to a point where the main flow pushes across the river at quite an angle with much slower water between the crease and the bank. I'd taken the water temperature when I first set up. It was a couple of degrees down on last week, reading single figures for the first time this season. In a month or two I'd be overjoyed to see the thermometer reading 9.0, but the drop in temperature might just make the fishing hard. However, in the new swim I saw the river was warming slightly. This gave me hope, and a really savage chub rattle that actually bounced the rod in the rest cheered me even more. So long as I could dodge the leaves I'd be in with a chance.

The rod tips were taking longer to pull over with the line's load of leaves in this swim. I was watching the down stream tip take on a gentle curve when it pulled down decisively, and before I could grab the rod the baitrunner was spinning. It took a while to get the fish to the net with the extra water pushing through, even in the slacker area, but not too long. I thought I might have another double resting in the net, but the fish proved to be on the lean side.

A result in difficult conditions

I'm not sure why, but I moved the rods upstream about ten yards shortly after landing the fish. The first bait hadn't been out for five minutes when the rod slammed over, the baitrunner whizzed, I struck in to nothing and wound in a severely tangled rig. What had happened was a complete mystery.

The sky had been cloudless when I arrived, the stars coming out after dark. However, cloud cover had built up and the air temperature held fairly steady. The wind picked up though; a herald of what was predicted for today, causing a chill factor on my neck. By eleven I felt it was time to play Dodge the Cow Pats and head for the car.

Had I been able to hold a bait out for longer further out in the flow I'm sure that more babrbel could have been had. The conditions were pretty good apart from the debris coming downriver - not just leaves and twigs, but less savoury items too. The obligatory football was spotted heading for the sea while it was still light. Where do they all come from?

A long day out

2008-10-20T09:54:00.008+01:00

Sunday was the first day of the two day Tackle and Guns Show for the tackle trade. That meant heading back down at Stoneleigh where I'd been for the PAC Convention a few weeks ago. It's a good day out, partly to see what's new in the tackle world and make new contacts, but as much to meet up with old friends - and Neville Fickling.

As usual there wasn't a lot setting the fishing world alight. Lots of 'new' bait and firms bringing out their version of existing products. Fex do indeed have a multiplier coming out. It's a smallish low profile reel in both left hand wind and right. The fact that they are dropping a lot of their large pike lures and introducing a range of small and medium sized hard plastic baits, some small soft plastics and a range of nice feeling light lure rods suggests to me that the European market is where their real sights are set. They'll also be able to target the lure dabbler in the UK with this sort of stuff. I guess a mass market makes more sense to a big firm than selling specialised niche products like big jerkbaits. The rods were actually quite tempting for perch. Really soft tips with a bit of steel lower down. I didn't like the handles though.

I spent some time on the Hopkins and Holloway stand and discovered there is still no sign of the trigger grip reel seats I'm waiting for. They had some interesting new handle fittings to look at, and a 50mm guide for people who like training hamsters to jump through hoops.

The new products that most impressed me were possibly the smallest on show. New fake maggots and corn! The Enterprise maggots catch fish, but they are not a very convincing imitation. The ones that Anchor are launching under the Carp Logic brand are something else. On the stand they had a couple of tubs filled with them, sneakily dusted in maize flour, and apart from them not wriggling they almost had me fooled. The corn looks like any other fake corn, but both baits are very slow sinking. I managed to blag a pack of each, so the tench will be having a look at them next spring!

Good enough to eat

The Korum stand had a few new items that I hope to be playing with soon. Their big, heavy open-end feeders look the absolute dogs. Pity they only go up to five ounces... The smaller ones should be good for chubbing too. I might have to scrounge a selection along with a tripod and some other goodies.

After a couple of hours walking round in circles, and chatting to people I was in the car park a little earlier than I'd planned where I spotted one of the saddest personalised number plates I've seen for a while. I had to snap a piccy.

I wonder if the owner is a pr4t?

Time to hit the road and head up the A38 to the Trent and the stretch where I can park by the river. The first time I fished there the river was up about four feet on what I found this time. It looked totally different. There was one guy trotting a float down a nice big crease sheltered from the strong wind, and another fishing the tip further upstream on a straight. I had a chat with the second guy and he was moaning that it was hard work because it was too windy and there were a lot of leaves coming down. When I saw he was casting downstream to the middle of the river I wasn't surprised he was struggling to hold out for long.

I droppered some pellets into the same swim I fished last time as there was a crease and some shelter from any debris coming down the main flow. Before I had my second rod rigged up I'd had a chub rattle. The leaves didn't bother my rigs, but neither did any more fish.

A nice mix of pellet sizes and breakdown speeds

Out of the wind it was a really warm day. The air temperature was 14.5 and the river 11.7. Very promising. Nonetheless I only gave it a couple of hours then put my gear in the car to drive the length looking for a new spot.

The lazy way of roving!

Despite looking at a few swims I didn't really fancy any of them. I parked up and walked the downstream section. I kept telling myself I'd just look round the next bend and ended up a long way from the car. This wasn't good for my hip which started grumbling. There was something nagging me to go and have a try for one of my latest capture's big sisters. An hour and a half later I was loading myself up like a Sherpa for the walk to the swims I fancied. There was one car parked up, so I guessed the 'Rat Hole', a noted producer of big barbel, would be occupied. Sure enough it was. By a pike angler! I carried limping on to my second choice swim. At least I knew the piker would be gone when it went dark.

One bait went downstream and close in, the other across to a bush. The level was down about six inches on Thursday and some colour had dropped out, but I was still confident. Nothing had happend before dusk then as I was thinking it might be time for the head torch to go on my head I heard a whoosh-whooshing coming upriver. Before I could take evasive action the rod fishing across the river flew round and the baitrunner whirred madly. I managed to flick the line off the young swan with no harm done and recast.

An hour into dark and I still wasn't happy. Into the Rat Hole - which proved devoid of rats, thankfully. With one bait to the overhanging willow downstream and one on the upstream crease I settled in for the duration. Zip. Nada. Nowt. By ten the wind chill, although the wind was warm, was making me think of home. So I put the brolly up. That was more like it. An hour later and I was about to sit down after stretching my legs by walking round the brolly and the swim lit up with red flashing lights and a high pitched whine filled the air. Yes, I had put my bite alarms on as I thought I might nod off having been up and about from early doors.

I conected with an obviously not-too-big barbel which charged around the swim, including around my other line a couple of times. There was a right mess to sort out before I unhooked the fish. Such was the tangle that I managed to cut the wrong line to let me lift the net ashore. The fish (which was about ten pounds lighter than I was hoping for from the swim) was released, and fifteen minutes later I had two more baits in the water.

There was heavy cloud cover keeping the air temperature up but no sign of rain. I could happily have stopped until dawn if it hadn't been for a lack of food and drink. At midnight I turned into a pumpkin and packed up. The walk back to the car did me no favours and I was walking like a sheep with foot rot - limp for a few yards then stop, limp for a few yards then stop. You get the picture. Sheep have the advantage that they can save face by nibbling some grass each time they pause so it doesn't look like their in pain. Sheep are sensitive about these things... The thermometer in the car read a positively balmy 14.0.

A simple twinge of fate

2008-10-17T09:27:00.007+01:00

What I think I like most about barbel fishing is how civilised it is. There's no need to rise early! Being self employed this means I can get half a day's work, or more, out of the way then go fishing. I know some people manage to go fishing before work, but for me that has a number of drawbacks. If the fish are feeding it means that work gets pushed back because I can't drag myself away - usually to the point where it's not worth starting work at all. If they are not feeding then I'm usually tired and ratty for the rest of the day. Yesterday work was out of the way by noon when I headed for the Post Office and the chippy. I was on the road shortly after one - complete with boots!

It was strange driving down the motorway in sun so bright I had to drop the visor down, and rain so wet I needed the wipers on. By the time I reached the river the rain had cleared and the sky was blue. Better still the river was looking nice and muddy, but pushing through at a fair old pace. My intention had been to enter the lion's den and fish one of the popular swims, but I drove on to a point downstream where I could look at the river and get my fishing gear on - on drives longer than an hour I usually get changed when I arrive at the water.

There was a cool wind blowing so the bunny suit was required. For the hell of it I walked upstream for a look at the river. I spied out four or five spots that looked eminently fishable on the slower side of creases. Things had changed since I last fished the stretch towards the end of last season. A big old willow had cracked, part falling in the river, creating a fishy looking feature, the other falling across the path. It all looked quite inviting. So did the overgrown and deserted nature of the stretch. I was developing a twinge that suggested the call of the wild might need answering.

Back to the car and on with the mountain of tackle then take the easy route along a farm track to the upstream swim I fancied. Sure enough, by dropping the rigs in the slower flow I was able to hold out with three ounces, almost completely free of debris, while the main flow charged past in mid river. I spent over two hours in that first swim, scurrying into the bushes when the twinges got to critical mass... Just a chub knock or two were had, but there were fish about and I was sheltered from the wind.

Another glorious October day by the river

It was still light when I moved down a swim for a similar result in terms of bites. Here my radio was competing with a tractor working on the other side of the river into darkness. Oddly, I didn't notice the engine fall silent as theme tune to The Archers started, but I did hear it fire up once again when the tune played at the end of the show. Thanks!

Half an hour later I moved again. This was quite a chore in the dark as I had to get past the fallen willow. Some gear I carted the long way around it, some I dragged under the bough, taking three trips in all. With both rods fishing again I was sweating a bit. The swim was deceptive underfoot. What appeared to be a tangle of plants creeping across the earth was actually suspended over a drop and I nearly lost my footing a time or two. There was another chub tap but I wasn't confident. I moved again.

This move entailed packing everything away and negotiating the winding and slippy path through the tangle of nettles and balsam. I was looking for a swim about half way back to the car. When I dropped my gear down I was surprised to find that I had actually walked past that swim and was in the one nearest the car park. I couldn't be bothered going looking for the swim I'd had in mind and determined to give this one a go for an hour or so, then drive to the stretch I'd originally intended fishing for a couple of hours before midnight. Before casting out I swapped the snake for a single 8mm crab Pellet-O. I'm not sure why. I just did.

I noticed that the wind had died down. Although the sky was clear it didn't feel cold - even after I had been settled in and stopped sweating. Like last night it was great to be by a river after dark just enjoying being there. It's that time of year when the Himalayan balsam lives up to the name I knew it by as a child - the popper plant. The seed pods are ripening and every now and then in the still of the night I would hear seeds pattering through the dying stems of thinning undergrowth.

Thinking about a move at half nine, which would give me at least an hour and a half further upstream before a midnight finish I rested my eyes. They sprung open when I heard a rustling in the dead stems. I looked round expecting a rodent, but saw my downstream rod was arched over and the front rest was doing it's Tower of Pisa act.

I braced myself against the fish that was thumping away on the end of the line and somehow managed to get down the bank to the flat bit by the water's edge without slipping on my backside or sliding into the river. Then battle commenced. All I was doing really was hanging on while the barbel used the current to its advantage. A couple of times it got in the main flow, but slowly I made some progress and gained some line. At one point it came to the surface making thin, splishy-splashy sounds suggesting it was a middling fish made to feel bigger by the extra water in the river. That was until it surfaced again. Tiring, laying on its side in the light of the silvery Petzl it had a deep golden flank and looked extremely long. Another short run against the clutch and I gained the upper hand.

Lying in the folds of the mesh the fish lost some of its length, but was still the deepest barbel I had seen for some time. I leapt up the bank to get the scales out and grab the sling and sack to wet in the river. This time I did end up on my arse going down the bank - and nearly in the river too! When I popped the hook free I was surprised to find it was the one that had been fishing the single small pellet. In my daze I had completely forgotten which rod was fishing which bait.

It was difficult to keep the scales steady and the needle was flickering wildly between a very impressive weight and one almost as impressive. I remembered that I had bought myself a pair of 'S' hooks from the DIY shop for just such an occasion. I put one over the 'V' of the spreader block of my landing net, and hung the scales on it. Success. The needle settled. Not beyond the mark I'd guessed it would, but close enough for rock and roll. I was happy. I almost smiled.

Sacking the fish in the margin it was obviously in no distress so I dried my hands, had a cup of flask tea and set up the tripod. The bank was sloping quite awkwardly and I struggled to get things as sorted as I would have liked. It would have to do. No matter how well the fish had been photographed a picture would never do it justice. There was something about it's bulk that no two dimensional image could ever capture.

That'll do nicely

I popped her back in the sack to be carried back down the bank for release. I thought I'd try and get a snap of her going back, but once her head was out of the sack she was away. Sod that final move, I'd stick it out where I was until I'd had enough. That was a little over an hour later. Maybe I'd have caught something else if I'd stayed longer, but what the hell? I'd a new PB under my belt, and a really belting fish it was too.

The journey home was notable for the attack of the dopey fly. Where it came from I'm not sure. I suspect an escaped maggot. This creature first crawled across the windscreen evading my swipe at it. It's next move was to land on the side of my face. Luckily there wasn't any traffic about as I swatted at it in surprise and zigzagged across the carriage way. Then it laid low, leaving me hyped up anticipating it's next blundering move. This was to land on my head. Missed it again! More time passed waiting for another assault. I heard buzzing to my right. Then it was on my head, from where I flicked it to my neck. I had it on the back foot (or feet - it having six of them). I felt it's body squish under my hand and roll to the floor.

At last I could relax and reflect that if the fish had weighed what I first thought it might I could possibly have lost my urge to barbel fish. As it didn't I still have the pleasure of increasing my personal best in increments to look forward to. Does fishing get any better?

A bit of a waste

2008-10-15T22:28:00.008+01:00

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.

Underneath the branches

2008-10-13T11:39:00.004+01:00

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.

Blast from the past

2008-10-11T11:00:00.011+01:00

I can remember the days when a Terry Eustace pike rod was to be aspired to. It took me a while to scrape the cash together get myself a Big Pike blank and build it up myself. The rod, built on one of the last of the dark brown blanks, soon became a favourite. When carbon came along, and I was still hard up, I sold all my glass pike rods; bar two - one of which I had broken and one which I had butchered. Parting with the Big Pike was the hardest of the lot.

Even today the Eustace Pike and Big Pike rods still have a following (the brown ones being preferred to the black ones), and I occasionally get them to refurbish or modify. It's no coincidence that the most popular pike rods in my range are the P-1 and the BB350 - 2.75lb and 3.5lb test curve respectively just like the Pike and Big Pike!

Those were the days

Usually the Eustaces are showing signs of wear and tear but the three butt sections I'm working on at the moment don't show much. I'm not one for preserving rods, but the Big Pike is not only in excellent nick, it's a very old model where the 'weave' in the glass is visible and is more a honey-brown colour. It's actually the first I have seen like this and, although I'm no tackle collector, I would have left the rod as it is. But the customer is always right. All three rods are so old they have sliding rings that never held reels securely so, as the owner of the rods wants to actually use them for fishing, I'm fitting screw reel seats to the rods and re-corking the handles.

After three quarters of an hour's work with a penknife the parallel glass butts were ready to be revitalised.

Sacrilege!

I suppose it's some consolation that my work can be undone and the handles returned to their original spec quite easily because of the parallel butt construction of the rods. Had the tapered blank continued right through the handle it would have meant removing the rings and destroying the original finish on the whippings and the blank. It would have been a lot less hassle though!

Much as I liked the Big Pike in its day, having run line through one and given it a bend more recently I have to say that nostalgia really isn't what it used to be... Glass rods are heavy and floppy in comparison to carbon. Maybe not as horrible as rods made from panda fodder, but pretty bloody awful nonetheless! Some people still like them.

No two days the same

2008-10-09T09:16:00.004+01:00

I thought I'd walk a length I'd not seen before, and although I spotted a couple of interesting slacks decided to go to familiar ground. It was a pleasant walk in the sunshine, with birds singing as if it were spring, albeit a bit muddy underfoot.

Not fancying the prospect of fishing the same swim as last time I set up about fifty yards downstream. The river was up and dropping, the colour was also dropping out of it, but the temperature was stable. I wasn't bursting with confidence, I wasn't demoralised.

Soon enough something picked up one of my baits and bounced the lead down the river. Whatever it was fell off. Then I started finding snags. After an hour I moved down about twenty yards. There it was even more snag infested. I landed two smallish barbel and lost two more when the rig snagged up. One rig I got back with a straightened hook but minus the lead, the other snag claimed the lot. A few more rigs got fouled up and I was fast running out of leads.

The weather was a bit odd. The warmth of the day brought the bats flitting about wel lbefore dark. With the sky still clear it went quite cool when the sun sank below the hills, a mist rising from the river and the damp fields. But it was forming and clearing so I thought I'd have a chance of a fish when I saw some clouds moving in from the west. Indeed, that was when the action occurred. Eventually the clouds moved further eastwards. That was when I called it a night and drove away through a heavy mist with the air temperature down to 8 from the afternoon's high of 14.5.

With conditions changing as rapidly as they do on spate rivers success and failure can be decided by a mater of hours. One thing's for sure, it's no good relying on the EAs Rivercall as by the time you phone it the level has often changed. Angler reports on the internet aren't much more reliable. The times I've returned from a river and read a report that conflicted with my own experience are too numerous to mention. No. All you can do is keep an eye on the weather and trust your own judgement.

Today I shall be working. I'll probably read that someone's been bagging up tonight...

Up and down like the proverbial...

2008-10-07T23:36:00.011+01:00

I didn't blog Sunday's session immediately because not much happened. The river was dropping, up about five feet and peaty stained, but the newly deposited logs and clumps of leaves on the bank showed it had been considerably higher. The afternoon was sunny and warm, which accounted for there being a few anglers on the banks. Not all had been catching, but at least one had.

I decided to fish the 'flood swim' I'd fished the last time the river was up. Nothing happened, except the river continued to drop. Although the sky was clear it took a while for the air temperature to start falling after dark. I was glad I'd planned ahead and donned the bunny suit when it did though. When I decided to move upstream a hundred yards or so the sky was filled with stars. It wasn't long before the upstream rod started bouncing and I was briefly connected to a fish that fell off. A small one stayed hooked on the downstream rod a bit later, but when the mist rose over the river I called it a night. The car's thermometer read 4.5 when I set off for home, the river had been 10.8.

I was treated to a display of shooting stars while I sat watching the isotopes. One of which was the most spectacular I've ever seen. On clear nights like that I often think of how our ancestors must have stared at almost the same starry sky. With no street lights to cast the orange glow on the horizon, and with no knowledge of the universe it's easy to imagine how myths and gods could be created.

Two days later and I was able to get away after an early tea. On arriving at the car park a departing salmon angler told me the river was rising, an awful colour, and that I'd be better off going back home. I crossed the field eagerly with a spring in my step! The level was down on Sunday by about three feet, the flow manageable to fish on a good chuck, but best of all the water, which had looked like strong, milk-less tea the other day had had milk added. It was a lovely muddy colour with next to no visibility. Taking the temperature it was 11.2. Woo hoo!!

I expected a take as soon as the first bait had settled, but it was not to be. In fact it was almost an hour before the upstream rod jag-jagged and the baitrunner spun. A fish was on, then all went solid. After a bit of heaving and walking up and down something gave. The paperclip had opened out and a small barbel was soon unhooked and released.

Another hour passed before the downstream rod took off resulting in a slightly larger barbel. While I was sorting the rod out for a recast I heard the upstream baitrunner creaking and I pulled into something more substantial. This fish I let run down with the flow away from the snaggy area. It took a bit of effort to get the fish back upstream to the net, and a bit more to lift it ashore. After weighing the fish was sacked and I noticed the stick I had pushed in at the waterline on setting up was submerged. After sorting out the chaos and getting two fresh baits in the water I took a few snaps during a lull in the rain and returned the lively fish.

Note the new jacket...

Two more small, but cute, baby barbel came along later. Then around nine thirty the heavens opened and the wind got up. I was cowering under the brolly watching the rod tips pulling round slowly under the weight of leaves collecting on the lines. When the rain eased I decided to make for home. Both rigs had been dragged out of position and were festooned with leaves and twigs. When I'd started fishing there had been very little 'washing' collecting on the lines. Checking the level it had risen almost a foot in three and a half hours.

Ironically, I had only been discussing with someone the misery of packing up in the rain that very morning as we commented on how warm it was. And here I was doing just that a few hours later. I hadn't needed the bunny suit though. The air temperature was still 12 when I reached the car.

I much prefer a river that is just starting to come up for barbel rather than the much touted falling water level. I think the increase in flow and colour spurs them on to feed. By the time the river begins to drop they are almost replete. On a spate river timing it to hit the rise before it gets difficult to fish is both critical and difficult. The window is a narrow one. This time I'd managed to get it just right. The colour was good, the temperature was up, and I got there before the rubbish started getting washed into the river. Once the debris gets to the stage it had when I packed up it's time to seek out spots where you can shelter your line from the main push of water.

It's a funny thing. You might imagine that a few good sessions on the trot would make me want to take a break, recharge my batteries, even take time out to decorate the kitchen. Not so. It makes me want to replenish the PVA mesh, top up the pellet bucket, refill the flask and get back out there!

Fish Prints from Chris Turnbull

2008-10-03T22:08:00.003+01:00

I've never been one for hanging pictures of fish on my walls. Most fish prints I've haven't struck me as worth having. I was, therefore, quite surprised to find myself tempted to keep and frame a print of Snag Swim Barbel that I had told Chris Turnbull I would return after writing a review of it.

You can read my brief review on Barbel Now or get a better look at Chris's prints at his new website - www.christurnbullart.com

Leaving the comfort zone

2008-10-03T09:25:00.006+01:00

Although I have already caught more than twice as many barbel this season as I did in the whole of last season the average size has dropped considerably. This is down to where I've been fishing. With over 50 fish from the Ribble in the last few weeks, and with the rivers all carrying extra water, now I had a day free it was time for that trip away that I had been promising myself. Despite my good intentions a heavy shower while I was drinking my postprandial mug of tea almost dissuaded me from loading the car, but it soon passed, the sun shone again and I was on my way.

Even so, I drove through rain and doubted the wisdom of my trip. Would the river be fishable? It was, and the sun was shining again as I walked the banks. Then it clouded over as I tackled up. That was to set the pattern for the evening - sun and showers, and the night too (without the sun..). I would have taken the water temperature, but the battery was flat in the thermometer. Still, the river was not too high, a muddy brown the way I like it, and not many anglers were about. I picked a swim on the heavily fished stretch I usually avoid. It's all or nothing on this river now. I want to catch one of it's biggies, and this is where they hang out.

Both baits were dropped in the margins to avoid any debris coming down the river. If fish are pressured I think it pays to leave the baits in for as long as possible and avoiding weed and autumn leaves helps this cause. A 'snake' went upstream and a couple of Monster Crab and Mussel Tuff 1s downstream.

Raining again

Baits out, brolly up and I set about tying some fresh hooklinks. Good job too, because when it got past six I decided to recast in readiness for the anticipated dusk feeding frenzy. The downstream rig was snagged solid. A firm pull saw everything gone with a clean cut on the end of the braid. Commencing to retackle I spotted a frayed section of line a few feet from the end. If I hadn't snagged up I wouldn't have noticed that. Once retackled I put a single Tuff 1 on the hair and cast - more accurately, swung - out the rig.

Then I tied up PVA mesh bags of pellets until I ran out of mesh. Out with the tub of mesh and make a start on reloading the bag filler. Almost done and I'm disturbed by a baitrunner whirring angrily. The PVA is slung in the bait bag and I lean into a fish on the downstream rod. It feels the pressure and heads out into the main flow and steadily upstream. This is more like it! The fish gets a few yards above me then I turn it. Line is taken from the clutch, the rod bends. No eight pounder, but probably no real monster either. The six ounce watch lead rises through the murk and into fresh air. The barbel rolls almost ready for the net. Then it's mine.

Lying on its back in the net it has that width behind the gill covers that barbel develop when they get beyond the ten pound mark. Sling ready I lift her ashore, pop the hook out and read the scales. A bounce to 12, then back a few ounces. Two quick snaps of her lying on the sling and back she goes at a spot downstream where I can get to the water. Before I get here free of the sling she's already fighting to get back home. Sliding into the water she slips downstream, turns to face the flow and sinks out of sight.

I was too lazy to set up the tripod

An angler had turned up on the opposite bank shortly after I had got settled in. After asking if I minded him fishing across from me he threw some groundbait in, set up his rods and net, then wandered off for a chat with another guy upstream while he let the bait work its magic. Although he wasn't a floppy hatter and his rods weren't cane (in fact he was a Realtree junky - even his landing net pole was cammoed up) his reels were centrepins. Not my approach, but each to their own.

I hadn't realised how annoying centrepins are. When he did eventually cast out they would click loudly as weed dragged his baits down the river. Each time I would spring towards my rods thinking it was one of my baitrunners making the noise. Thank goodness he didn't get a barbel take while I was there! Thankfully he had the decency to switch the ratchet off when he reeled in. Even when weed is collecting on my lines my baitrunners rarely make a sound. Unlike some people who adjust them to match the flow, just stiff enough not to give line, I screw my 'runners up as tight as I can without fear of a fish dragging the rods in. Unless weed is dragging my baits out of position I let it collect on the line. It doesn't mask the bait, and at close range will not be so far up the line as to make netting a fish difficult. You don't catch fish while you are taking the 'washing' in!

In terms of fish the hours of darkness were uneventful. I didn't hear any fish being landed on the other bank, and I had no more action by the time I packed up at eleven. The highlight was a vague off-white shape lazily flapping across the river towards me like a giant moth, pausing briefly over the downstream rod at eye level, turning upstream and away along the river edge. A close encounter of the barn owl kind. I'm sure many a birdwatcher would have paid handsomely for that experience. There is more to fishing than catching fish, but without the prospect of catching a fish or two I'd never have been sat by a river side, in the dark, on a rainy night in October.

Counting chickens

2008-10-02T13:15:00.008+01:00

There'd been plenty of rain on Tuesday and the river was up, as expected. Higher than anticipated but plainly dropping. The colour was excellent and my confidence was sky high.

With nobody else on the bank I dropped into a proven floodwater spot and took my time setting up. I put out the same two Tuff 1s that I'd wound in at the end of my last session, close in and slightly upstream. The second rod was rebaited with a 'snake', a bag added , and as soon as the rig hit the water the other rod tip started stabbing downwards and the front rod rest toppling over. I got the second rod in the rests and the baitrunner on just before the first rod hit the deck!

It had taken all of five minutes to put a fish on the bank. A fish that had fought a good 50% above its weight too. This time I rebaited and added a bag of pellets before recasting. It was a whole quarter of an hour before the downstream rod lurched over - this time the bankstick collapsed before the baitrunner whirred. Somehow I failed to connect. Not to worry. With the prevailing conditions I was sure of a mega-haul of barbel.

The day had started wet, turning fine and sunny in the afternoon. After dark the heavy showers arrived, accompanied by a strong, gusty wind. The air temperature was only 12 as I arrived. The drop in air temperature being one possible reason why the bats were absent at dusk as they had been on my last session - a sure indicator that winter is approaching.

When I noticed how quickly the river was dropping, over a foot in three hours, my confidence ebbed away, especially as there were a lot of freshly fallen leaves fouling the rigs. By ten o'clock I had packed up. The cows had had enough of the weather too and had taken shelter behind a hedge. The roads on the drive home were awash in places, the car's thermometer reading a meagre 8 degrees - the first time it's dropped to single figures this season - maybe the bats have it right when they hibernate...

Wild night

2008-09-30T09:18:00.007+01:00

The Indian summer ended yesterday. Last week would have been ideal for that late bream session I had hoped for, but clearing a backlog of rods and getting ready for the PAC show put paid to that. This week I have the time available, but the temperature is dropping and the rain arrived last night. Wind had been forecast, and as per the predictions it got stronger as the day wore on. This added a chill factor to the still mild day, so I donned the bunny suit and set off for the river.

It wasn't long before I was wishing I'd left the suit at home as I was soon working up a sweat scrabbling about on the bank after netting fish. The first one only took twenty minutes to appear, and after less than four hours I'd totalled seven to just shy of nine pounds. I packed up earlier than usual at quarter to eleven when a heavy shower had passed by, blown by the strong wind which, during the strongest gusts, had been cracking branches on the far bank wood and blowing my lines so hard they were pulling the rod tips over!

Another fun session, but with no real lessons learned. The same baits produced, although I did search around the swim (which I'd only fished once before) catching from various parts of it.

A few things to ponder though. Like why do cows crap in exactly the place you want to put your rucksack? And why do so many barbel anglers stay away from the rivers when they are low and clear? The former is imponderable, the latter I don't really care about because it means a better choice of swims for me!

Back in 2005 when we had a proper summer the Ribble was pretty much deserted. Most evenings I had it to myself where I was fishing at the time, and caught consistently. Nice fish too. Yet all over the place anglers were moaning about the green slimy weed, the clear water and how it needed a good flush through. More fool them. You can only catch fish with a bait in the water - not with your feet up the chimney back.

As I type the sky is leaden, the wind is howling and rain is falling. I guess the rivers and their banks will be full soon.

Still dull

2008-09-25T09:38:00.008+01:00

After working too hard (by my low standards) and waiting in for parcels and couriers, I finally cracked and dropped everything to head for a low and clear river with a couple of pints of maggots and a tip rod. Although I thought the river was at NSL last time I fished a week of dry weather showed I had been mistaken by about a foot.

What a waste of time the maggots were! I got bites okay, but the one fish I hooked was a minnow. When it came to dusk the bites dried up. At least I could see my newly painted rod rest heads in the low light!

That's more like it!

Luckily I had taken my barbel gear too. When I say luckily, no luck was involved whatsoever! I have almost as little patience with quiver tipping as I do with float fishing. Although I plan on doing some serious tip fishing this winter if conditions are favourable. I've told myself that before though...

Just before it got properly dark a barbel of about a pound and a half hung itself on a single 8mm pellet. Then when it was properly dark I wound the other rod in to find I'd been slimed. An eel of about a pound, yet again hooked in the back. As I was stripping snot off my line I heard the other reel zip into life as another barbel made off with the pellet snake I had swapped over to. This fish fell off, but the bait was taken almost straight away on the recast by a barbel about twice the size of the first one.

Quarter to nine and the same rod, after a chub bite that didn't stop (suggesting a hooked chub), produced the smallest barbel of the season so far - maybe one whole pound. This was a bit grim. I chucked the snake further across the river. After five minutes it was away resulting in a leviathan that was easily six pounds!

After losing an end rig I stuck two 15mm Tuna Wraps on the upstream rod, for no other reason than the only spare rig I had made up had a big hook and a long hair. After a long wait the rod tip started dancing. I picked the rod up and there was a fish on, probably a chub as it wasn't going anywhere. Then it felt the pull of the rod and headed downstream at a considerable rate of knots. A brief but spirited fight ensued and I had something worth weighing in the net. As I was wringing the water from the sling the downstream rod took off. This was another schoolie, unhooked in the water like all the others. The one I weighed was a nice solid fish. Too short to go doubles, but one that made the night worthwhile. Half an hour later another little one came along to a single 8mm crab pellet.

Sometime back I posted a picture of the landing net attachment of a zinger for my forceps. Not long after that post it exploded into its constituent parts and, Humpty Dumptylike, refused to be put back together again! The next attempt was a coiled plastic 'spring' which worked well, but stretched - rather defeating the object of the exercise. I might just as well have used string after a few weeks. The MkIII version is made of hollow pole elastic - which is amazingly streeeeetchy! Early days, but having the forceps on the net does save a lot of messing about. The rubber band retainer needs some refinement!

MkIII forceps attachment

The day had been cloudless and warm. Even with a starry sky it stayed quite mild, and when the cloud cover came in after eleven it warmed up. I wound the rods in at half eleven and spent a while in another swim with one of them. All that resulted were a few fast chub bites.

It's good fun catching a few when you haven't been out for a while, but I really must try to get a session in somewhere that's more of a challenge.

Oh well, the PAC Convention looms on Saturday. Up early, long drive there, set up my stall, spend all day on my feet talking fishing, pack up, long drive home. If you are attending the Convention come and say hello.

I'm a dull boy

2008-09-18T17:00:00.007+01:00

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...