From the banks of the Wye

Credit where its due

2012-01-25T10:07:00.003Z

During my winter period of illness, apathy and excuses, one fellow angler has been pestering me to join him on the banks. I've not fished the Wye for ages and still struggle to summon any enthusiasm to sit and work my socks off for a few meagre chub but Paul - the current Mayor of Brecon - has persisted and each week has fished at least once catching chub and the odd pike.

Well, yesterday it all came good for him. He had a 12lb pike and an 8lb barbel from one swim then moved to targetthe chub but took along his pike rod on the long walk as a bit of an after thought. His reward was a magnificent pb pike of 29.7 which, he reckons, fought like a 30lb barbel. Unfortunately I was 120 miles from home when he rang and couldn't do the honours with the camera, I'd love to have had a close up view of that particular monster.

So, congratulations to Paul, a fish well deserved by an angler with true dedication and an unbeatable knowledge of our section of the river, I doff my hat to you good sir. I just hope that it doesn't go to his head or his official Mayoral chains won't fit :-)

I've promised myself to shed the apathy when I return from a week or so in Devon and I'll have something fishy to write about. In the mean time I have booked some accommodation on the banks of the River Lot in May for our continued search for a river monster, but more of that later.

Brrrrrrrr!

2012-01-15T17:04:00.004Z

There's no better angling story than to catch against the odds, to rise above adversity and to win the day with a broad grin and a hearty handshake from your impressed peers. Well, my weekend was nothing like that.

I had an evening with my old (literally) fishing mate Bunny. We sat amongst his magazines, model aeroplanes and latest ebay acquisitions and discussed all of those things that matter in life like fishing, politics and women. I love Bunny's company and look forward to our next French trip together.

That night the mild winter gave way to a cold front and I woke to a white, frosty vista and the diminishing chances of a fish wanting to feed. I found Paddy (eventually) at a little carp water in deepest Devon where, despite numerous attempts, Paddy has yet to land a fish. Over a much needed coffee we discussed tactics and the appropriate approach for these telling conditions. Despite the chill there was a fair amount of activity in the pool with fish topping and rolling so I was confident but Paddy reckons this is usual and that they rarely follow it up with a wild feeding frenzy.

I put a couple of rods out with small pva bags and a pop up on one and a bottom bait on the other. Paddy did likewise and we sat back to await action............

I had a run on the pop up. Paddy made some caustic comment or other as my rod bent and I landed a little common of about 7 or 8 pounds. Not exactly a monster but a welcome diversion on such a chilly day. I slipped it back and relaxed, maybe it would take off from then on and when Paddy hit a run I thought things were well and truly on the up ............................. but it came off. Once again the curse that follows Paddy wherever he fishes had struck and he was left to rue the loss and practice his Anglo Saxon. I was, of course, the very epitome of sympathy and support as I laughed and told him he was crap :-)

The surface activity died around midday and it got colder. We packed at dusk and went back to Paddy's cottage on the edge of Exmoor where the evening was spent going through Paddy's newly acquired tackle and explaining what the various bits and pieces do and how to attach or tie them together. This was done as ever more malt whiskey was consumed so most of the lessons were a tad confused or just forgotten by the morning.

A harsh frost settled overnight and although we tried a different, hopefully easier venue, it was obvious that our chances were minimal. And so it turned out, a bitter East wind drifted across the water that was surprisingly busy despite the conditions. To say that my heart was not in it is an understatement and the prospect of returning to Hereford where freezing fog had been settled all day meant that I left for home at about 3pm.

It was, in all fairness, about all that I could have expected from such a weekend. It was great to catch up with old mates and any time spent fishing has a value. I saw a marsh tit (my first), heard a woodcock in the undergrowth and met the intinerant peacock that has adopted Paddy's garden for the time being so how can I complain about the fishing?

Update

2012-01-11T20:12:00.002Z

Just a quickie; we heard today that our little hedgehog is doing just fine and has gone from 350 to 550 grams. We also learned that its a she hog and we shall collect her in the Spring and reintroduce her to our garden. Makes you feel warm inside doesn't it?

I'm off down to Somerset to see my old mate Bunny tomorrow, no doubt we will talk a load of nonsense and have a few laughs as well as doing a little 'deal' as he buys a bite alarm remote sounder from me ;-)

Then, on Friday, I'm meeting Paddy on the banks of some heavily stocked carp water (shock horror) where we are having a day or two in an attempt to get Paddy (and me) some long overdue fish. The temperature is due to plummet which is far from ideal (get the excuses in early) but we'll have a go, we can always revert to the pike waters instead.

Freedom!

2011-12-31T10:32:00.003Z

I picked the lock and snuck out of my prison cell yesterday - I actually went fishing! For the first time in a month I felt able to have a dabble and seized the moment. The river seemed a tad daunting so I went to my syndicate lake for a spot of spinning - well, it seemed appropriate.

I'd love to report on the excellent fighting qualities of the large perch or the dramatic lunges of the angry pike but I failed to move a single fin. I didn't really mind, I only fished for an hour or so when you deduct the time spent cutting out the biggest bird's nest I've ever had on a multiplier.

Catching something would have been nice but just getting out was enough really, I won't pretend that I felt as good at the end of the session as I did at the start but I was fishing rather than staring at my own four walls and I'll be out again very soon.

How was it for you?

2011-12-29T10:37:00.002Z

Christmas is a bit like sex. All that build up and anticipation then pop! In a very short time its over.

(At this point I would just like to dig myself out of my analogy. Obviously, I could have written "its over for another year..." but that may imply a certain lack of energy or ambition on my behalf and I would also like to take issue with the "short time" element of that sentence, again, it is not meant as an accurate description of yours truly .... Shall I start again.)

Anyway, there is was - gone!

As I sit here in the post coital lull between Christmas Day and the effort to get excited about changing the date on the calendar that is the New Year, it is time to reflect on the holiday period. How was yours? Mine was just great. Giddiness aside I had a really good Christmas day with my lovely lady and favourite (only :-) ) son. Neil had spent the night with his girlfriend and her little boy and tasted for the first time the joy of spoiling a youngster on this special day. It was a revelation for him and he knows that it will be the norm for him from now on. Nicky and I also realised that it will be our last Christmas with Neil - singular, it will be the family hereafter.

We spoiled him rotten of course. We do like giving gifts and to see Neil's face when we dumped a sack full of goodies before him was a treat. I'd been to a tackle show and got a tremendous deal on a magazine subscription with £400 worth of gear for a mere pittance, it was just what he wanted Santa to drop by for him, that plus books booze and a pile of odds and ends and the set of Delkims that Santa also brought his dad - joy!

I even surprised Nicky and bought her some things that she wanted - result.

Star of the day was a poor waif that needed some Christmas compassion and was welcomed into our humble abode where he was given food and shelter. It was a juvenile hedgehog, the one we had fed all summer in an attempt to get it up to hibernation weight. It seems we fell short as it weighed a mere 12oz about half what is needed to get it through the winter. We've 'rescued' a few hedgehogs in the past but usually, by the time you find them in distress, they seem to thrive for a couple of days then succumb to the dreaded lung worm or some other parasitical invasion. Branston (Branston Prickle), ate its way through countless mealworms which it would happily take from my hand along with meat, fruit, cat food, cereal and cheese but alas, it has not increased in weight. Yesterday we made the 100 mile round trip to a rescue centre where Branston will join the other 160 rescued hogs and hopefully we shall collect it in the spring and release it back into the garden. Fingers crossed.

You may recall from a previous blog entry that my neighbour found a Manx Shearwater in her garden back in back in September. Well yesterday I learned what the animal rescue hospital staff did to repatriate them. It would seem that, after a good rest and a bit of a feed they were taken to the Severn Bridge where they were thrown off the side! It may sound drastic but Shearwaters cannot take off from land, they take flight from water where they can paddle up some speed into the wind or the drop in from a cliff edge so 300' of bridge is just like home to them. Makes my stomach go over just thinking about it. I've been over, inside, under and up the towers of that bridge, I don't relish the thought of the quick way down though. Incidentally, of those that were taken to the Beckford animal hospital all but one survived.

And finally, my giddiness is on the wane and I even drove for a while yesterday so I shall be up to my old tricks again very soon. About bloody time too.

Happy New Year to everybody that stops by.

Merry Christmas from the Weeble

2011-12-23T10:21:00.002Z

Remember the Weebles? They wobble but they won't fall down - that's me still. As you can guess, I haven't fished for a few weeks and shan't be out for a while yet :-(

I did accompany Neil on a short and unsuccessful pike trip the other day and on the way back to the car I stopped and looked at our footprints across the field. There were Neil's in a direct line and mine veering left and right like a drunk's course home from the pub. Still, it was nice to be out.

Enough of my woe's, I trust that you will all have a great Christmas and hope that 2012 brings you success and contentment. Thank you for looking in and I'll see you again soon.

Spinning

2011-12-01T16:28:00.003Z

No, not throwing bits of flashing metal at pike and perch, something more akin to your youth.

Do you recall those days when you and your friends would stretch out your arms and spin around and around until the world distorted and you fell into a hilarious mess on the floor and enjoyed the sensation that everything around you was animated and wobbly? Or maybe, as an adult, usually at a barbecue, you have played the 'broom game'; spinning - head down- ten times around a broom stick before attempting to run back to a given point only to end up off to the side and led - giggling - in a flower bed.

Yes, the Theme Park in our heads can be great fun and it can cause more hilarity if somebody else has succumbed to its imbalance as a result of alcohol. But, what if you have an involuntary bout of this loss of equilibrium? That's what has happened to me. Its called Labrynthitis, an inflammation of the inner ear canals that effect your balance and what's more, its bloody awful!

It hit me the other day with a bout of mild giddiness as I left the excellent Carp Society show at Sandown Park and I at first assumed it was the effect of having my wallet lightened so rapidly such were the bargains on offer. Within a couple of days I was unable to walk in a straight line, drive or focus on reading matter. I had a day of severe vomiting and felt like death warmed up. The good Doctor brought me some pills but their effect so far, is minimal.

I bring you this news not to ask for sympathy but to explain the lack of current angling tales. Following on from back troubles, a bout of flu and now this, I have been a right 'sick note' of late and I am gagging for a spot of fishy action but I know that I have to be patient. I have booked to fish two particularly wonderful chalk streams at the end of next week, I just hope that I can get around in straight lines as opposed to the stumbling gate of a drunk in a train corridor.

I leave you with my current theme song ;-)

A Near Miss

2011-11-25T20:03:00.004Z

I've had a late afternoon session on the Lugg this week. The river looks so different compared to a couple of months ago - winter is almost here. The trees have shed almost all of their leaves like tears for the summer gone and the countryside is bracing itself for the lowering of temperature which must surely come - eventually. This has the advantage of opening more of the bank to the wandering angler who can drop into swims that were inaccessible before.

I'd made up some cheese paste and had a tin of meat ready cut into strips and flavoured with a special ingredient ;-) Tackle wise, an 11' Avon rod and centre pin is perfect for the little river and, to keep up with the different conditions in each swim, I was using Plasticine as a weight on a free running rig with a size 8 or 10 hook at the end. I was experimenting with a circle hook that I started using in the depths of last winter, my logic being that as bites may be of a premium I wanted to hit any that came my way and circle hooks are excellent hookers. The model I was using are fine wire and although suitable for chub and when worming for perch, I wouldn't usually use them for barbel.

The 'clever' bit of my rig was a bead attached to the hair by one of those V shaped hair stops that buries itself into the hole in a pellet. Using this I could mould paste around it securely and, if I wanted to change to meat, just remove the bead and use the hair stop as normal. Changing weight, bait or method to meet the needs of each swim was simplicity itself and even a lazy angler like me was fishing thoughtfully and diligently.

The Rig but with a better hook

It took a while to find some fish, they were small chub but they helped to keep the enthusiasm up and I was pleased to catch them. I had tugs and pulls from several spots before discovering the culprits when I foul hooked a gudgeon. In one swim a number of small silver fish topped and rolled on the surface, I'd like to have run a spinner through that area - maybe next time.

As dusk approached I made for the swim that I thought would give me the chance of a decent fish and, as the sun gave up on us for another day, the rod jabbed and I had a chub of about 3lbs. I walked well upstream and released it before lowering another knob of cheese paste to the point where two creases met and walked the seven or eight yards back to my chair where I sat back, holding the rod and feeling for bites with my index finger over the line. When it came it was a beautifully solid pull and it fought deep and hard, I was surprised when the chub rolled into the net that it only looked to be a mere four pounder, it had felt bigger in the fast water.

No matter, duly returned I went through the bait lowering procedure again only this time I had removed the bead from my hair and had slipped a lump of meat on. The bite was soon in coming and quite savage as a barbel felt the weight of my line and bolted. However, the contact was short-lived and everything went slack. Confused, I reeled in and found that the circle hook (that I really should have changed), had snapped!

Certain that the swim would be spoiled and lured by the thought of a hot meal I packed and walked the long walk back to the car. A very pleasant session during which I fished well enough but that one lapse in attention to detail cost me the best fish of the day - but isn't that usually the case?

The Pond

2011-11-17T21:42:00.002Z

Joni Michell's 'Carey' played in my head as I walked, full of optimism, along the mile or so of lanes toward the pond. It would have been late July or August – school holidays. I was staying with my grand parents once more, avoiding the boredom of a family holiday to go and stay with my favourite relatives and indulge in some fishing.

The last turn was made and, from the top of the slope, there it lay before me – heaven.

Emborough Pond or, as everybody referred to it 'The Pond', was an estate lake, large, shallow, weedy and full of tench, roach, perch and pike. I say 'full', I rarely caught anything in those days other than diminutive perch but I acquired a catalogue of 'one that got away' stories as a series of slipping knots, snapped lines and just plain bad luck (okay, angling) made me avoid the capture of a tench for many years. It mattered not. It was a 'proper' lake and was therefore the home of monsters and that kept my imagination fuelled.

Maybe I should first take you back to the little terraced cottage in Gurney Slade where my grand parents lived. By the time I was taking my holidays there the outside toilet (a hole in a bench with a bucket below) had been replaced with an inside lavatory but there still wasn't any electricity in the back bedroom where I slept so the night time assent of the steep staircase was done by candle light and yes, there was a potty under the bed.

Each morning I'd be woken by the commuter train coming up the bank towards the station. The sound of the steam engine working hard against the gradient was a magical alarm clock and I would peer out of the window to see the coaches at rest in Binegar station. Sometimes a freight train would pass and of course, I had to stop and count the wagons. The walk to the pond went under the railway bridge and to have a smoking, gasping monster pass overhead was overwhelming; sometimes the driver waved back. That railway bank produced wild strawberry plants, their fruit as sweet and delicious as any morsel can be but we always had to beware of the adders that shared the sunlight.

The main room of my grand parents home was small and dominated by three things. The fireplace, the heart of the house where Edith, my beloved grandmother, always in her apron, would prepare every meal and all of the hot water in the two enormous black kettles. She seemed to be permanently stoking the coals and moving saucepans and kettles to catch the heat, her leather shoes, like little boots seeming too small for a grown up.

Then there was the television, still bearing its price tag (quite deliberately), loud and usually showing horse racing although I recall watching Top of the Pops and being scorned for liking David Bowie as he sang 'Starman'.

The last feature was the table, adorned with its floral patterned plastic tablecloth. Maybe this wasn't the last dominating feature as, sat behind the table, facing the TV, was my grand father Charlie. He would always be there when you arrived and would have the racing pages of the newspaper open as he checked his results. He never placed bets though, that would be far too extravagant.

Charlie had worked on his knees with pick and shovel for fifty years beneath the Somerset countryside, digging coal. This entitled him to a retirement certificate from the coal board, a pension and free coal for life. Not the good stuff that the coal man delivered to most of his customers but poor quality stuff that was hard as stone and difficult to light. But, it was free and “I didn't work hard all those years to get free coal so that we can waste our money on electricity”. So, if they were brought home late after a visit to our house, you had to wait for 'Mother' to light the fire and get the kettle on rather than plug in the electric one.

But I was too young to be judgmental and, in my eyes, my grand father could do no wrong as he was the only other family member that fished. I would sit next to him at the table and ask question after question. He would show me his entire tackle collection, held in a couple of tins in his old canvas haversack. There were the peacock quills, and the paper floats he'd been given (and that I still have). His cork, wrapped in lead so as to make it sink slowly and rest on a silty bottom, his assorted hooks and split shot in little tins with sliding lids. His rods were better than mine but not much in hindsight. An 8' solid glass affair and something constructed from a 2^nd world war tank aerial that I could barely hold let alone cast. I always remember his reel with its 'camouflaged' line, wiry multi coloured stuff that was supposed to blend into the background but I wasn't convinced.

In the drawer of the sideboard was one of my favourite items, an old 'baccy' packet filled with comic strip cuttings from the Daily Mirror. These were mainly done by none other than Bernard Venables although there were others, each describing a different aspect of angling, each a gem of information to my hungry young mind. The smell of the tobacco added to the magic that they possessed. I loved that smell. I would have a good lung filling sniff of Granddad's tin, a two compartmented device that held tobacco and papers. He would let me roll his cigarettes, chiding me if they were too loose or too thin but, in a short time I was rolling them to his standard. He once offered me a 'drag' when I was about ten. I refused of course, I didn't want him to know that I was already a regular smoker.

He would take me out into the garden, having first put his cap on (I never saw him outside of the house without a cap), to turn the compost heap for red worms. These in turn would be kept in damp moss in a small tin and turned daily to clean and toughen them. They were certainly lively on the hook and attractive to perch.

He accompanied me out to the pond on many occasions. I was always too impatient like every other small boy that's fished but he would try to instil some sort of discipline into my approach. It was frustrating fishing, the float dithering and bobbing for an eternity before sliding away. The strike was usually met with a diminutive perch, deep hooked but bristling with defiance.

We had a favourite swim in the wooded section, a fallen bough made for a perfect bench where we sat, watching the red tips of our quills in the shade of the overhanging tree. I would be lectured on how I should strike in the opposite direction to that which the float was heading and how I should keep calm and apply gentle side strain. Then, at dusk with the lake alive with rolling fish, his float sank and was met with a wild upward sweep of his rod which was then thrashed this way and that as he hurriedly brought a fighting bar of silver to the net. It was a beautiful roach just a few ounces below the magical 2lbs, he was rightly pleased and excited but came back to earth to tell me off when I said “what about the precise strike and gentle side strain”. I had to turn away and laugh discretely up my sleeve.

But it was in that very swim that we shared his last day's fishing. At the end of the day he struggled to stand up and I had to pull his not insignificant weight from the bough. I thought it was funny but then I saw the look on his face and the slight panic in his voice as he declared that “his legs had gone!” It was a mighty effort on both our parts to get him up the little bank to the path and that was the last time he was to put himself in that position, he was too old to fish.

Not that it stopped me. I would still visit and fish with the lads from the village. We were always there, come rain or shine. I'd fish the morning, return for lunch then go back for the afternoon and sometimes for the evening after tea. This was much easier when I could borrow Granddad's bike but I punctured one of the tyres once and was told that it was my job to repair it. I hadn't a clue how to do such a technical job so I walked along the long, narrow and at times quite creepy lane. I'd have all my gear in one hand and a metal rod rest in the other just in case it was the Bogeyman coughing behind the hedge instead of a cow.

Time moved forward and both of my Grand Parents had to leave their house and enter retirement homes. Gran succumbed to a stroke and Granddad's memory lapsed as he suffered dementia. He died, ironically, on March 14^th, the last day of the season.

But, when I started working in Bristol I again rose early in the morning to fish the Pond. I arrived one day with just a few slices of bread for bait. Two anglers were already in my chosen swim so I fished on the other side of the dam wall but it was weedy and I was not getting on very well. I went to talk to the other guys, one of which had taken a tench. To my surprise, I was invited to join them and even given some maggots by the affable Chris Newton. I later caught my first ever tench and was elated that it should come from the Pond, the location of so many mishaps and lost fish of my youth.

The next time I visited the Pond was almost a year later when Nicky and I happened to be driving by as the season approached. I just had to have a look and who should appear from the undergrowth, camera in hand, than Chris. He'd been photographing fritillary butterflies, another passion we would share in subsequent years and it was also the first time he'd been back since we last met. Such serendipity would follow us through the years as I would walk into a tackle shop for the first time in literally years only to find Chris on a rare visit there too. We were destined to fish together and having arranged to meet up that opening day, have fished together ever since although less so over recent years due to Chris's lust for sea trout and women - but that's another story.

Having broken my duck I found the tench fishing much easier and caught regularly. Chris dropped in on me one day as I had my best catch there of sixteen tench and a couple of roach. Oddly, the next trip saw me catch eight tench and one roach. This day became a very special one as I left the Pond mid morning with Paddy, my lifelong fishing buddy, and we drove to the Bristol Avon where I caught my first ever barbel, what a journey that fish started.

Several years later I returned to the Pond and was horrified by what I saw. It had been taken over by a club obsessed with match fishing and, as I walked through the woods to my special place, huge painted peg numbers scarred the trees and the swims had been made 'comfortable' for those with a mountain of rods and tackle. The lake looked soulless and cheap, I quickly left, choking back my emotion and I have never returned.

A hectic weekend

2011-11-01T19:45:00.003Z

Traditionally, I used to start my pike fishing on October 1st and would target them for much of the winter. Over the last ten years or so this has changed and there have even been years when I haven't lifted a pike rod in anger. This year has been like that so far. Yes, I know where a big girl may be laying up and yes, I have miles of wild river and a large lake to explore but I can't get into pike nowadays. I'm certain that will change when the frosts arrive but, for now......

Anyway, October 30th - normally an early start in the fog or frost was, this year, mild and sunny. It was my birthday and despite ruing the passing of yet another year and being painfully aware that the number left are heavily outweighed by those that have passed, I set off to the river for an afternoon session with Neil.

I knew that he planned to visit the love of his life during the evening and that would effect his concentration, making an early finish likely but I only wanted to have a dabble - a little birthday treat if you like, a fish would just be the candle on the cake.

I dropped into a swim that had potential and Neil dropped downstream into a spot that usually produces as the river is rising as it was on the day. It was an uneventful first hour or so and I wandered down to see how the boy was doing.

As I got to him I could see that he was intently touch legering. He recounted several missed bites when distracted by rolling cigarettes or looking at yet another text message from the little lady. He was now determined to hit the next caller. I strolled a bit farther downstream, checking out the prospects and returned after a few minutes. Neil was rebaiting and muttering under his breath about fishing like a plonker. I left him to it.

Back at my spot I put some feed in, sat back and relaxed. I was disturbed by simultaneous noises in front and behind me. To the front a screeching reel from behind, a dejected Neil dropping his packed gear in disgust. He soon rallied and netted by birthday fish, a small but perfect specimen that had scrapped well. A quick picture and we left, it felt good to be alive.

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Halloween is a fun day. I remember, as a kid, the excitement of hollowing out a suede or mangel wurzel (a field beet grown as cattle feed) to put the candle in. We used marbles for eyes and hung the finished 'heads' by a string, carrying them to hopefully scare the neighbours. I don't remember many treats coming our way but we all had fun especially if we'd been given an old sheet to make us look like ghosts.

Nowadays, Halloween is a much bigger deal and we still enjoy taking part. Nicky and I like to decorate the porch with a variety of skeletons, bats and the obligatory pumpkin etc. The local kids love it and word gets out that someone is up for a spot of 'trick or treating' and we have a succession of callers throughout the evening. This year I rigged a large spider to descend on callers as the door was opened - that caused a laugh or two :-) Neil carved the pumpkin, I think you'll agree he did a good job.

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Today is Nicky's birthday so, quite a busy weekend all round. We've had a day out, a meal and I'm now sipping champagne, like I said earlier, it feels good to be alive.

An autumn day

2011-10-28T19:46:00.004+01:00

I woke with post concert tinnitus ringing in my ears. Nicky and I had done the 300 mile round trip to see Lenny Kravitz at the 'ammersmiff Apollo - not a bad show (appreciated more by Nick that me), the band all had their instruments set to 11 and everybody seemed to be enjoying themselves. A black girl danced in the aisle next to us moving like a hunting snake which I seem to recall noticing momentarily out of my peripheral vision ;-)

The biggest draw back was that it meant setting foot in London a place I abhor. I worked in Bristol for years and visit other cities quite regularly if unenthusiastically but I find London a charmless place and I avoid it like the plague.

What I needed today was to get myself to a quiet place, to redress the balance of my being. So I went fishing.

The river was up but not as high as I'd hoped. Had it been higher I would have adopted my two day flood approach which has produced some big fish in the past but, alas, there was just over 2' on so I had to look for a suitable swim for the conditions.

I fished a long crease that gave me a great feature to fish as well as deflecting some of the debris that the river carried. Out went a big feeder filled with broken boilies and a bit of groundbait to hold it together for the cast. Below that I fished a second rod, something I haven't done during the summer, with a pva bag of 10mm DT Baits Oily Chicken boilies and a couple on the hair. Its an approach that has done me well many times before.

Sitting there in the weak sunlight I was at peace. The air was keen, the sky bright with puffy white clouds (a Simpson's sky), with few birds to be seen as we are between the mass autumn exodus and the winter influx of visitors. The river burbled and gurgled over a sunken log the pitch rising and falling as the river surged, I cannot help but look up toward the sound every time it happens. The only sounds of mankind were of distant traffic and the occasional aircraft, I was content.

I worked at building the swim for a couple of hours, then the phone rang. I was happy to chat with Phil and hear the excitement in his voice as he prepared to make his first trip to his winter carp venue. The call was abruptly halted as I tightened into a fish that pulled hard in the heavy flow. When it surfaced it was just a scamp of a barbel with delusions of grandeur but was welcome on a cold afternoon.

I stuck at it for another hour or so but the sun was getting low and I was wishing I'd put on an extra layer or two of clothing. The rod twitched again and was in my hand as it bent toward the running fish. This one was slightly larger and had a very fat belly (I can talk), but, I noticed, a withered pectoral fin. Other than that It was a fine autumn barbel and was slipped back into the coloured water. That was enough for me. Rather than sit it out for a dusk fish I packed and headed home for a hot meal.

It was then that I noticed that my ears were clear - job done.

Ooer!

2011-10-23T19:17:00.003+01:00

Now I don't want to cause alarm and I certainly would need to see a little more proof before sending the balloon up but I found something today that has sent a shiver down my spine. On the banks of the river Wye, whilst walking the dog, Nicky picked up an item that could have far reaching repercussions - a claw.

There can be just one possible owner for an appendage such as this - the dreaded Signal Crayfish.

Of course, it could have been carried there from some distant location in the mouth of a bird, it may have been left there by some visiting angler with a warped sense of humour (if it was, I doff my hat to you Sir), or there may be some other perfectly logical reason for the remains of one of our least welcome alien species being on my patch, I just don't know - yet. But take a look again at that picture, the claw is massive! If anybody reading this has any idea what size of beastie a claw of this magnitude would belong to then please, tell me.

I have heard of signals on some of the upper stretches but nothing around Bredwardine due mainly to the bed rock which prevents burrowing, hopefully this is a freak incident - hopefully.

Motivation

2011-10-13T20:01:00.004+01:00

My season took a sharp nose dive when I screwed my back again, all of my plans were abruptly shelved and my momentum was lost. As one who frequently needs a sharp toe cap in the trousers to attain a modest degree of motivation, this was a serious hiatus and I knew I would need to be jump started back into action.

Mixed metaphors aside, as my mobility improved I found that I wasn't as eager to fish as I should be, I needed a goal. I was reluctant to target barbel for now, the Wye season rapidly comes to a close as the weather chills and I wanted to spend this time of the year after perch and roach. So, that is what I opted for and off I went to my carp lake armed with float gear, feeder rods and a mixture of baits.

Cutting to the chase, I have to say that results have been modest. I've caught dozens of fish but nothing of specimen size and the main lake has seemed almost devoid of life. I did contemplate a carp session but it seemed like a lot of effort - I guess I'm just lazy.

I have tried a couple of times for perch on the river but I'm fast coming to the conclusion that targeting them is quite hard work. Better to be equipped with a standby rod or spinning outfit and grab an opportunity should it arise as each time I've targeted a known perch swim they have been absent or at least they have not been chasing the fry to any degree.

The other day I was given some information about an enormous pike that grabbed a 4lb barbel as it was being played. Now that is motivation but there's more to catching fish like this than just having a clue to its location, but I'll try.

I went to the river today with an open mind. I had a selection of baits with me, left overs from the last lake trip. I was amazed at how warm it was today, hardly predator fishing conditions but I decided to split my attentions between two rods. The first was sent downstream a few yards with a pva bag full of small cream and pineapple boiles, well, conditions were great for a barbel so I would be daft to ignore the fact.

In front of me I fished with a feeder baited with soaked pellets, hemp, maggots and chopped worms, on the hook went a lobworm. My cunning plan was to draw all manner of fish to this smorgasbord which would hopefully mean one of two things. First, loads of small fish would gather around the feeder which, in turn, may attract a good perch or two and if not, then a decent chub or barbel may grab the worm. Second, any fish attracted to the scent would pass the lower rod and the boilies should sort out a fish or two.

I was bothered by tiddlers trying to steal the worm but nothing could get it into it's mouth. The boilie rod was untouched for an hour and a half so I changed to a CSL boilie. Five minutes later I had a bite! The fish fought hard and stayed deep in the strong current. It went about seven and a half, maybe eight pounds and was immaculate, Wye fish are beautiful in the Autumn.

I carried on but slowly, I could feel my back seizing up. I sat back, reluctant to move as conditions just felt right. I knew another fish was coming it was just a matter of when.

In the mean time I watched the changing colours in the sky and listened to and watched the various bird life going about it's business. I saw a sparrow hawk swoop at a kingfisher! The raptor got wet feet and the kingfisher the fright of it's life but tranquility was soon restored.

Light was fading, 'how long shall I give it?' I was asking myself when the downstream rod folded around and line poured from the spool. This fish stayed deep like the first but it felt bigger, there was always a sensation of weight and, for a fish of its size, it had plenty of energy. When it eventually surfaced and slid across the edge of the net I was happy that it would go nine plus and I nearly left it at that and slipped it back but I had a look as I unhooked it and decided to put a number on it. I was glad I did, it went 10.7.

More than satisfied I packed and went home. I still don't know what I shall target on my next trip but that pike is in my thoughts ;-)

From the Web

2011-10-05T19:12:00.004+01:00

Not much to report of the fishing side of life, I've had a day or two drowning maggots and catching stacks of small fish, a perch of 1.10 was the best of the bunch but it was thin and weighed less than its head suggested.

The news of the day is that Nicky (my lovely wife) was bitten by a False Black Widow spider in the garden at home. Now, I've seen one or two of these around here before especially when turfing out the garage (an annual chore). I looked them up on the Intergoogle then and was aware that they have settled in parts of the UK due to the climate increase. I thought they were harmless but Nicky disagrees with that supposition.

Pulling ivy from the fence she recoiled in severe pain claiming to have been 'stung'. Nicky is allergic to wasp and bee stings but there was no sign of a sting just a tiny drop of blood. I investigated and soon found (after gingerly peeling the leaves back), a small, insignificant spider not much bigger than my index finger nail - including the legs. I recognised it for what it was and took a couple of pictures.

According to the Net the False Black Widow does have a painful bite, one chap spending three days in hospital after a meeting with one. We were the talk of the day at the doctor's surgery where antihistamine and pain killers were prescribed. There was much breathy inhalations through gritted teeth and heavy exhalations accompanied by Anglo Saxon utterings for some time after but, and much to my chagrin, Nicky is showing no signs of developing super spidey senses and has yet to make a web or walk along the ceiling. I remain watchful and will inform you of any change.

The Fish-in

2011-09-26T17:54:00.009+01:00

Well, I survived another fish-in weekend pretty much unscathed. I certainly avoided any fish but, in my defence, I didn't fish too much (have I told you about my bad back?) but where I did fish didn't produce - even the bit I prebaited!

I started in a swim that has given me barbel on just about every other occasion I've visited it this year but, it was not to be. I only gave it an hour before I had to quit but that's usually long enough to at least get a chub.

I had a mooch around the fishery, visiting the motley crew that had descended. Everybody was optimistic and in high spirits but the river was in dour mood and it was, quite frankly, a bit of a struggle.

Carl landed this perfect little chap

During the evening we mulled over the catches and postulated on the coming day. Saturday is always the day when everybody tries hard so there was much planning and 'bagging' of swims. There was a period of oohs and aahs accompanied by much drooling as Des showed off his new cane rod but, as the evening the evening progressed, the conversation swayed onto other topics and some of the old stories were retold - usually by Carl - and we all had a great laugh. I left at around midnight but Conrad stayed at it until nearly 5am!

Saturday was one of those perfect autumn days, warm and dry with little or no breeze. The river, fining down from a little spate, looked absolutely cock-on for a great day's fishing - alas, it wasn't quite what happened. I met 'Trussers' on one of the syndicate beats where the fish usually gather at this time of year. I'd even pre-fed a pool for a few days and felt confident of action - it didn't come to either of us (sorry Keith)

However, I didn't really give it my best shot. After a few minutes of fishing I had a phone call about some poachers on the day ticket beat. Off I went only to see them just leaving having been given the elbow by Mike Joyce (bless him). Having moved I decided to have a look for casualties i.e. those with the worse hangovers. Last time we had one of these do's I probably saved Eelfishers life with a well timed tin of drink, God he was hanging. Serves him right for drinking so much :-) But this year most of the team looked in fine fettle, even the old night owl himself, Conrad, looked good on two hours sleep as he set about competing with Rich Walker - he failed, of course, but he did catch a few barbel and chub.

Elsewhere, Tony was fast asleep but then he's like that on a good day - poor old sod, he's getting on a bit you know ;-) I woke him up by repeatedly tickling his ear with a piece of grass, hiding behind him as he 'swatted' at it and looked accusingly left and right. I had to bite my finger to stop from laughing - I'm a rotten so and so but I know he'd have done the same to me.

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz!

I got a message from my lad Neil. He'd gone onto the day ticket section and had dropped into a good looking swim. A chap new to the water (not one of the fish-in), asked him for local knowledge so Neil suggested his second choice swim (he was going to try it later but was feeling generous), but felt miffed when, an hour later, his new friend told him he's had three barbel to 9.8. Neil finished biteless.

I made my way back to my tackle and fished for a couple of blank hours, even the chub, usually so plentiful, were absent. My back ached so I headed home for a bath and some stretching.

The evening was slightly more subdued than the one before, Scotty looked particularly sheepish as he'd really gone overboard last night and Conrad was almost sober when he left for an early night. Tales of the day's events were swapped across the room, the best fish being two perch of 3 and a 3.5 taken by two lucky chaps. Monty Dalrymple (Jason Speck) had taken a good nine pounder and Rich Walker had four barbel from the swim next to Conrad. Other than that it was bits and pieces until Paul's dad (I can never think of his name), came in late and related his catch of three barbel to 10.5 - the best of the weekend.

Lincolnshire's finest cocktail, Guinness with a Tia Maria chaser

Specky and Tony - man love is a beautiful thing

Another night of beer and banter followed. I love these get-togethers, the fishing really is ancillary -well, it is when you don't catch anything. We may all be getting that little bit older and bits may be dropping off but we will continue to meet up for some time yet and I wouldn't miss it for the world.

Martin

2011-09-18T13:30:00.004+01:00

Its been way too long since Martin and I fished together. To be honest, its not something I would recommend to most, certainly not without a safety net as Martin is one of those people that attracts 'events'. His life is a collection of hilarious tales - all of which are true. The one about donning chest waders that had been laying on a red ant's nest then his hopping and dancing moves as he tore off tackle and clothing had me chuckling all afternoon. Between him and the other perennial victim Carl Salter there's a book just waiting to be written.

We arrived at the river early in the afternoon full of fried food and optimism. My choice of swim was all about ease of access but I put Martin nearby where I thought he'd be in with a good chance as that swim gave up several barbel earlier in the week. I put some bait in and hobbled around for a chat.

Back at my spot half an hour later, I lowered a pva bag in place with a long hooklink and one of Dave Mason's latest concoctions on the hair. Barbel baits are a mute subject but I'm always game to try something new and it was quickly accepted by a hard fighting fish. It was a chub with the look of a fish that has circumnavigated the block a fair few times. It was easily over 5lbs but I'd taken the batteries from my scales to replace the dead ones in my radio and, as Arsenal were losing - again, I didn't want to miss the action. I slipped it back and sat there wondering whether to rest the swim or fish on.

I fished on and soon the rod folded again. This time the fish ran upstream at pace and I instantly felt the weight of a good barbel. I bent into it and the rod arched into an impressive curve until eventually it stopped and I could feel the line grating against a sunken branch. I backed off to allow the fish the next move which was instant and I leaned into it again - this time I got the upper hand and the fight moved to open water.

Safely in the net and Martin came to photograph my prize. I was happy to swap the batteries back for this one, it went 10.1 - just over the magic number and I was feeling quite content.

Martin moved into my spot and I went to his. He got the better end of the deal with a smaller barbel later on whilst I sat writing my diary and playing Angry Bird on my phone whilst sheltering from the heavy showers.

Despite him staying for a second day's fishing, I wimped out and left him to it, I don't know if he's caught yet, I certainly hope so.

I doubt I shall get out again until Friday which sees day one of the great annual fish-in. The Northern and the Midlands crew combining to attempt to drink the Red Lion dry whilst catching a fish or two along the way. Being a sober, sensible type I obviously don't approve of such behaviour but I'll go along anyway, just to keep an eye on those naughty boys. ;-)

My Mistress

2011-09-15T19:35:00.004+01:00

I have a mistress, I am not ashamed to admit it. I fell for her allure many years ago and more will follow. When I first cast eyes upon her I was in awe of her beauty, a beauty that reflected all that was radiant around her. She is a celebrity, famous and familiar. I summoned the courage to ask her a question and, to my surprise, she spoke to me in a brief but knowing way, I was smitten.

Since that day we have met on many occasions and I have learned much of her ways yet, I seem to know so little about her. I will tell you this, she is always in a hurry, frequently aloof and moody yet she sings with a voice like an angel's giggle although it can become a growling bark should she feel the need. She is always, always in control, I forgive her that.

As the weather cools she will don her winter garb and will hide her glamour from the casual eye, yet it remains, you just need to look a little deeper. Then, as she warms, she wears that light, flower patterned cotton dress that clings to her meanders, the one that lets the sun shine through it revealing a little glimpse of what lies beneath. Occasionally, when the light is just right and if you appear indifferent yet watch carefully, she will show you more. Is it a careless lapse or a flirtatious tease? I am never sure but there, deep down, a flash, a peak at her jewel. I am left spellbound and even deeper in love.

Then she is gone, sweeping her way toward her next victim, she may speak to him too and he will no doubt fall for her charms. We are all susceptible. I don't mind sharing her affections but I do have a wish that one day it with that she shares her greatest secret.

My mistress whispers "Goodnight"

Tales from a suburban garden

2011-09-13T10:39:00.005+01:00

God I'm bored. Nearly five weeks without fishing, crippled (again) with a duff back and as frustrated as a caged tiger. Have you ever seen that Laurel and Hardy film when Ollie has gout - that's what I've been like, I'm not a very good patient.

I've spent a lot of time looking out of the window -Rear Window, Hitchcock, a classic - haven't witnessed any murders but came close. A young squirrel came into the garden but set off at pace as the neighbour's cat sprang from the undergrowth. In police parlance, 'a high-speed pursuit ensued' which ended as the squirrel took refuse at the top of a lamp post where it sat chattering as the cat circled.

Nicky decided to intervene and shoo'd the cat off, at which point the squirrel took a flying leap from the top of the lamp post and with legs spread, 'flew' but landed with a heavy thump on the pavement. It must have hurt but squizzers are as tough as old boots and it ran down the road like it's tail was on fire.

It had been fairly quiet on the bird front, just the usual sparrows, starlings, finches and four types of tits. Late August and early September are doldrums in the bird watchers calendars unless you get a big wind and that is just what has happened. So, when Laura, (my cake making neighbour) knocked the door this morning, it was to see if I could identify the bird she'd found in her garden. It was a Manx Shearwater, a bird that spends most of its life out at sea and has absolutely no right to appear in Weobley some 85 miles from the coast.

I did some ringing around and it seems that this is just one of hundreds of birds that have been found or sighted well inland. Apparently, the wildlife centre at West Hatch in Somerset is currently home to over 70 other Shearwaters. Ours is on it's way to the vet and will probably end up with the others.

The accounts of rare birds has sent some twitchers in a spin and, one for Two Canes to keep an eye out for, there's even been an albatross off Lincolnshire.

Anyway, enough of the wildlife. I'm feeling more mobile so the walking stick can be replaced with a landing net handle and I'm off to the river for an hour or two this afternoon, I'll let you know how I get on.

Change

2011-08-24T10:44:00.003+01:00

It happened about a week ago around the time of the full moon. One morning the air felt that little bit thinner, cooler. A look up and the sky was bereft of swifts, their three month stint of screeching and zooming aerobatics over for another year as they spend the next nine months in constant flight in warmer skies.

Over the subsequent week I've noticed that the sparrows have formed into busy flocks and the starlings are losing their first brown coats to acquire speckles which will in turn darken and take on that iridescent sheen. They descend upon the feeders like inner city gangs, looting all in their paths and driving the other birds away. Yet I love to watch them, whilst my neighbour bangs her window to scare them off, I enjoy watching their squabbling antics and their communal bath at my garden pond is always entertaining.

Yes, the first signs of autumn are here.

The river is still low and no doubt proving difficult but rain is due - soon. The new water will provoke an urgency amongst the fish as they recognise the change and feed hard to gain the strength and reserves to combat another winter. Next week the fishing will become easier and the barbel will be at their peak of condition.

Autumn is the time to fish. I have plans for chub, barbel, carp, perch and roach fishing, all to be crammed into the next six or eight weeks. I love this time of year. All I have to do is sort my back out again. I am confined to barracks and have been since last Friday, will I never learn? Picking your boy up when he is three is one thing but at thirty! Its my own fault, we mess around - horse play - but if I was a horse I'd be glue by now :-)

One last autumnal thought for now. This time last year I was amazed at the amount of berries on the trees and the portent for a harsh season ahead. Tosh and nonsense say some yet, what followed was the hardest winter for a generation. Look at the hedgerows as you pass, the hawthorn bushes for example, are bowing from the weight of all those red berries - I reckon we could have another cold one.

Sticks and Stones

2011-08-21T10:29:00.006+01:00

I've always been fascinated by erosion. I love the way that stone steps can be shaped by years of use or the smoothing of a piece of wood, touched lightly by thousands of hands.

I also see shapes in inanimate objects. Our brains are hard wired to recognise faces and it seems that every tree or cloud has a face in it somewhere. Its all subconscious but I have found myself staring at a stain or scratch and can see it as something else, I am always on the lookout for the unusual. Its like a four-leafed clover, you have to look for them to see them and, if you have the shape of those four leaves in your mind, you will find quite a few.

So, as I wander the banks of the river or the sea shore I am constantly scanning the ground for anything of note. Nicky has a large collection of little stones, pebbles and shells that have come from everywhere we have travelled, each a little reminder, each a little bit different from the norm. There are a couple of stones that are almost perfect spheres, a larger, porous stone that actually floats, although that may be an eroded building block but it looks good in the pond.

Here are three of my favourites.

The first is a heavy piece of stone that looks like it has been melted and hardened into its current shape. It was lodged amongst other stones in a fast section of water and appears to have formed naturally. Either way, it is pleasing to look at and handle.

As is number 2. I found this just a few weeks ago on a shingle beach by the river Wye. It is beautifully smooth and must have taken eons to create. Any stone with a hole eroded into it is a good find but this one, this is just wonderful.

My last item of note is an oak tree that stands at the entrance to our fishery. Years ago a large bough fell or was cut from the main trunk. The damage has repaired, softened and has formed the most gorgeous shape. Known locally as 'The Bum Tree', it makes me smile every time I look at it.

Keep your eyes open, there's a world of treasure out there.

2011-08-13T10:23:00.002+01:00

The promised rain hasn't arrived this week which suits me. I love fishing the Wye when its at rock bottom. Okay, last weekend, when Paddy was here, it was in a dour mood and reluctant to speak to me but, if you find the fish they are very catchable. I've found a few ;-) and, despite just fishing short sessions, sometimes less than an hour, I've caught on each visit.

I went again yesterday fully intending to drop into a little swim that is producing regularly but, on the way down to the river I gave Tommo a ring. I haven't fished with him for ages and we have been trying to catch up with each other for the last few weeks but we seem to live in opposite planes. Well yesterday we aligned.

I set up in a spot that would accommodate both of us but, having stopped for a chat, Tommo opted for a swim that has produced good fish for him in the past. I stuck at it and had a couple of seven pounders along with the inevitable chub. Then I heard a whistle.

I got to Tommo as he netted his prize, "Its a good 'un" he smiled. He was right. Ten pounds four ounces good in fact. I called him a few choice names but I was delighted for him, it was a beautiful fish.

Paddy

2011-08-07T17:36:00.006+01:00

Last week started well, the fish fed and it was almost easy, then my life-long fishing buddy Paddy arrived. Oh how things changed!

Thursday evening and unable to contain his excitement, I took him down to the river for a couple of hours fishing in one of those dead cert swims that you love to put your mates in just to see them catch a fish. Well, that didn't work. Paddy hooked something but it came adrift after a couple of seconds. Not to worry, plenty of time yet.

Friday - we found stacks of barbel but none that would feed. I had some chub but poor old Paddy managed just one fish - a gudgeon, taken on a size 6 hook and two pellets. Not to worry, plenty of time yet.

Saturday - new day, new ideas. Paddy fished a good low-water swim whilst I went for a mooch. I started getting some nice chub and, eventually, Paddy moved in next to me. I kept catching but..... well, I'm sure you've guessed. It was about then that the first of a flotilla of canoes passed. I don't mind canoeists that slip quietly through your swim but these (and there were lots) were all in fancy dress and out for a jolly. What would people say if you walked through a golf course dressed as Marge Simpson and making a complete racket?

During a lull in the armada I went for a walk and found a good fish in a difficult position off a high bank. Paddy - who caught a chub at long last, came along and, despite the difficulties, got his first cast exactly right and we sat, expectant.

Enter phase two of the happy boaters and the fish responded by departing.

Back at the swim, I tried for another chub but a canoe upturned just ten yards above me and the occupants made a big disturbance getting themselves sorted out. It was only as they passed me that they even acknowledged my presence.

Earlier, we had seen a canoe go into the bank up where Paddy had left some of his tackle. On our return to collect his gear he found that they had stolen his rod rest! Charming!

We moved down river and again, I sat Paddy in a really productive summer swim whilst I went farther to a spot in which I had yet to catch a barbel. I soon had a nice chub not far off of 5lbs and, just as the sun dipped, a barbel of just over eight. Convinced that Paddy would be next, I packed and went up to him, he'd just had two bites but missed them both. He was getting a little down hearted but, plenty of time yet.

Sunday and the rain, that would have improved the river, hadn't arrived - ah well, at least we were dry. We set up in a swim that I thought ......................... It didn't. It also didn't help that another canoe tipped over right in the middle of that swim and that the accompanying canoeists all stopped to 'help', then had an impromptu and very noisy gathering.

So, off I went again, bag of bait and my polarised glasses on, searching. I found some big chub and, as Paddy was comfortable, got my rod. On return to the swim I saw a barbel on the gravel. Twenty minutes later it was in my landing net. After all the effort of the last few days and this capture was as simple as you like.

After resting the swim for a while we returned, this time it was Paddy's go. The simple 'lowering the bait, and feeding the fish to it' routine worked again and, after just ten minutes, Paddy's rod hooped over. Of course, being Paddy, nothing is simple and he found his line snagged just in front of us. The fish was still there and he had no option other than to go 'in' after it. Well, the other option was for me to go in but that wasn't going to happen now was it?

Off came the boots and trousers, in went Paddy and out came the camera - well you do don't you? I managed to record him hand-lining the fish away from the snag, the fight and get some fine images of my good friend's spindly white legs as well. At last, a barbel - I felt enormous relief.

He later took a chub from a nearby swim but the barbel didn't want to come out and play any more. What a gruelling few days but, at least everybody else seems to have been struggling in the same way, we actually did quite well by comparison.

It was great to catch up with Paddy and the banter was, as always, constant and unprintable. Despite the somewhat challenging conditions, its been a good weekend.

This 'n that

2011-08-02T14:42:00.004+01:00

Since I've been blogging I've had a few emails offering paid links for advertising but have ignored them. So, when Fishtec contacted me about linking to their site I was suspicious and initially said 'No'.

They'd emailed before, some time last autumn, to say that I was one of their 'featured blogs', which was nice. They did the same again a few weeks ago before the email and I was flattered but the idea of a commercial link was not to my liking. However, they made contact yet again and I'm now happy with the arrangement. So, I am now blogging on here as usual but every now and then, I'm re writing a blog or two in a different style which allows links to certain products etc. That's no hardship, I enjoy writing and doing it in a different way will be a challenge and hopefully enjoyable. In return I get some discounts and may be asked to do a few reviews.

If you want to view any of the blogs, articles etc featured on the Fishtec site (and they cover all forms of angling) then have a look on http://www.fishtec.co.uk/blog/

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On the fishing front, I had an evening with Neil the other day. I had a drive around the fishery in the afternoon intending to find a quiet spot and put some bait in. I headed for one of the beats that sees little pressure with a mind to look at a couple of spots there. Of course (and it happens so many times), there was someone on each of them! One of them went on to take ten barbel - another near miss.

Plan B was to find another swim which I did and in went a mixture of boilies and pellets. This we fished for a couple of hours and pretty soon I had a rasping take. I landed a barbel of six pounds or so and immediately, Neil's rod went off. We then had an opportunity to take a 'double shot' with us both holding fish but could I get the damn camera to allow me 10 seconds delay? Could I heck!

Next best thing was a shot of each of us with the two fish, not really what I wanted but it will have to do until we next get a double hook-up.

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I had a couple of hours on the Lugg this morning. I got some fish out of their hidey hole and soon they were chomping away. Then I scared them off with an atrocious cast but eventually they came back. Long story short - my first Lugg barbel for many years and very pleasing it was too.

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My old mate Paddy is coming up for the weekend, I cruelly keep texting him to tell him how well the river's fishing - he gets so excited about fishing I know that he won't get any sleep this week.

I'll let you know how we get on.

Chub, chub, more chub and some idiots

2011-07-24T19:32:00.003+01:00

I think I may have to wash all my kit a it seems to have become tainted with a chub attractor.

We've had a spate, 5' of water has flushed through the river and it should be red hot for some barbel action. Its also that time of year when the fish should be moving to their summer spots, leaving the post spawning areas and spreading out. Trouble is, nobody has told the barbel.

I've fished a few different spots over the last few days and have only had chub. barbel are being caught by other anglers but I'm trying places where they should be as well as a few spots where I've never caught one. Avoiding the often fished and downright hammered sections means catching less but I don't mind, a barbel from a new swim is always welcome and counts high on my 'achievement' list.

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My club ticket for Hereford and District AA should arrive this week and the challenge of the Lugg awaits. Target? Barbel - obviously and I'd like a good 'un. I'd like a big chub too, 6lbs is a possibility from what I've seen and of course, there's that perch that Conrad saw - he put it at over 3ibs. Can't wait.

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I lost my glasses yesterday. Somewhere between the car and my swim, across 400yards of long grass, they fell from my pocket - bugger!

Today, I decided to at least have a cursory search for them and, after twenty yards of field - there they were, slightly bent but otherwise okay. Finding stuff you think lost for ever is great, I hate the emptiness you feel when the search is in vain.

That done, I had a check around the fishery and found a car parked inside an area fenced off by the farmer. He closes half of this big field for a few weeks each summer for hay making and it is closed off with an electric fence. To stop the anglers that cross the fence (on foot) from getting a shock, we have put some lengths of insulating foam over it. These herberts said "That fence has been there for a year" (Obviously they last came in early summer 2010). Then one of them said, "The farmer closes this half of the field because there's nowhere for the cows to get a drink." I pointed out the cattle drink not 15 yards from them!
Then they said, "We thought that the rubber on the wire (insulation material) was there for us to drive over." I asked him if he had noticed there were no other tyre marks in the field?

I don't know of these guys were stupid or just too plain lazy to walk the 150 yards to the swim they were fishing but I have asked Mike (the guy that owns the fishery) if I can have a cattle prod as some people really, really do need a jolt now and again.

Windy

2011-07-18T10:06:00.003+01:00

I don't intend including every trip on here but I'll give last evening a mention.

It was windy! Now I hate fishing in a wind. I'd rather sit it out under a brolly in a downpour than contend with a blustery breeze. I am certain that our ancestors stayed in the cave on such days as an unsteady wind destroys our hunting senses - hearing and scent especially.

But we don't use scent when fishing do we?

No, but its a general feeling of being stifled by the buffeting breeze that effects me. Its only air on the move, what has air got to do that requires it to be in such a hurry?

I began, as I have been intending to do all season, at a spot unfishable from the bank. I waded to a shallow gravel bar in mid-stream and threw a few freebies toward the bank into a deep glide. I followed up with a rolling rig, plasticine for a weight and a hair rigged boilie as bait. Due to the windy conditions I lost contact with the weight and the rod felt heavy each time it was hit by a gust.

I increased the amount of weight and tried again but again lost contact. I decided to try something different and tightened to reel in only to find myself playing a nice chub. Oh well, who needs skill when you have luck on your side.

I kept at it, changing the weight to a lead, rolling, static, nothing felt right - so I moved.

I found a spot - an old faithful - and settled down at water level to negate as much wind as possible. Out went the same combination of feed and bait and very soon the first fish was on. Well, it wasn't quite like that. I actually decided to reposition by bait and again, reeled in only this time I felt the fish 'take' as the bait moved. I was convinced it was a perch as they sometimes snap at a moving boilie but no, there was chub number two.

The next three were far more conventional bites and the last was well over 4 pounds in weight. But, despite only fishing for couple of hours, I'd had enough. I could have continued catching chub after chub with an outside chance of a barbel but the wind had rattled me so I left, content with my rewards for a short session and glad to be out of the wind.

The Lugg

2011-07-16T10:27:00.002+01:00

The Lugg is a small tributary of the Wye. It is a pretty little river with countless features that look 'fishy', unfortunately, very few are inhabited.

I fished the Lugg on my second season over here. At that time I was learning the Wye (a mighty task) and flitting back and forth to the Teme and occasionally the Severn for some easy fishing, so the Lugg was a side dish, a distraction. Had it produced a few more fish I would have spent more time there but....

For a river where fish location can, at times, be quite easy, the fish were extremely difficult to tempt. I once found a shoal of chub just hanging in mid-water below an overhanging bush. I was on a high bank, out of sight and my approach was (for me) quite silent. I flicked a pellet upstream and a modest fish intercepted it. I threw two more above them, they fell, slowly, toward the fish which all parted and let them sink beyond them. Within seconds the fish had drifted away.

How was I to catch fish that were this spooky?

I did, no fish are impossible but these were all a challenge. I had a few barbel, none big. The river record is just over ten pounds although I have spoken to those that claim larger and I tend to believe some of them. I had a good catch of chub one evening but was distracted for a while as I watched two hot air balloons lock together and appear quite stuck (mating?) for some twenty minutes before drifting apart. I scanned the local papers that week - no mention - one of life's mysteries.

It was also on the Lugg where I spent much of the day prepping a swim for the the evening 'hot period'. I crept into position as the light fell, carefully placed my bait and sat back. I had a couple of 'liners', they were in my swim..... just a matter of time when - Spaloooosh!

That is the sound that a cow makes as it (Bambi on ice style), loses its footing and falls flat on its side into the river - directly opposite my position. As the tidal wave subsided I packed my gear away and watched as the hapless beast swam - spluttering - to the cattle drink and out of its unexpected bath, all this watched by an audience of silent, chewing cattle. What was going through those bovine brains?

Anyway, after a long leave of absence, I returned to the Lugg yesterday and joined wandering barbel fanatics Conrad, Richard, Steve and Hobby as they experienced the delights of the river in their quest to catch barbel from as many rivers as possible.

As I waited for them to arrive from their travels from the frozen north (I'm sure there was snow on their cars), I had a wander and saw a fish flash over a gravel run, that'll do for me.

The lads all went their merry ways and I set about introducing some feed. Despite my best efforts and keeping low amongst the thistles - ow! I only had a modest chub enter the baited area...... then leave immediately.

I gave up with that swim but put a few visible baits on a spot before I left.

I tried a few more swims without a sign of a fish, stopped for a chat with Rich and Conrad then wandered back downstream to go and find the others. On my way I looked in on the swims I'd been fishing for any signs of feeding fish, there were none until I reached the first spot - the baits had gone.

I put more in and and waited. I saw a puff of silt drift beyond a feeding fish, then - a flash! This continued for a while but still no bites until three swans started feeding in the shallows upstream. This had the effect of sending a 'smoke trail' of coloured water through my swim and, as it passed, my rod bent forwards.

I was taken somewhat by surprise by the size of the fish. I had seen and expected just small barbel, maybe a five or six pounder, this fish was at least two pounds bigger and looked huge in such a tight swim. It fought well but I soon had it over the net, in it went but then - splash! Out it went and the fight started again. Annoyed at myself, I played it back to the net and said to myself, 'you won't do that again'...... it did. This time however, the lead caught in the mesh and the fish snapped me and escaped....... Bugger!

I haven't lost a fish like this for ages, I was not happy, I had that fish all but landed and, either through bad luck or, much more likely bad angling, it was gone.

I quickly recovered my composure, packed my gear and continued downstream to catch up with the others. Hobby - the Ninja Barbeller - had caught but then he always does. He'd also found some more fish and decent chub in another swim.

I'm looking at the Lugg in a different way now. I used to see it as 'not worth the effort' but nowadays I value fish that require a bit of brain power above all others. I shall return.

Where else but France

2011-07-14T12:29:00.012+01:00

I'll come to the fishing later but that was only a minor part of the trip.

I love France, always have and see no way that my opinion will change any time soon. Despite the, so called, animosity between our two nations I have always found French people to be friendly and obliging and, I think, they seem to like us. Yes, I know that they are useless at fighting and let us down badly during the last war, I know that they help to make Euro laws but then ignore them and their football team are a bunch of cheats but that aside, I love 'em.

I driven around most of France and I always enjoy the countryside, the open spaces and the wonderful architecture be it a beautiful chateau looming out of the wooded landscape or a medieval town so unchanged that it requires minimal imagination to wonder how life was lived there hundreds of years ago. This time we passed hundreds of fields full of sunflowers, like triffids at the electric fence each facing the same way, slaves to the light.

And where else can you be driving along, looking for a particular feature on a river, when you happen across the most wonderful collection of sculpture you could imagine? We did.

Just outside of Saintes in the Charente Maritime we saw a sculpted boat alongside the road. I slowed to look at it and beyond it we saw some standing statues and a number carved into the limestone rock face. There was a car park and that was us for the next hour. It transpires (from talking to one of two woman learning their sculpting techniques in an otherwise empty place), that the sculpting had been going on here for over a decade and that famous artists from around the world are invited to spend three months or so a year to indulge in the special qualities of the stone face. The results are incredible and it must be one of France's greatest secrets as even people living in the area seem oblivious to the place.

Here are a few pictures of some of the works. The scale is difficult to take in but most of the pieces were at least life size and the baby in the womb was about 10' across.

Pretty awesome eh?

You could never do this in the UK. For one thing, it was open and unsecured. At home, I am ashamed to say, the pieces would have been damaged and daubed in graffiti. What is more, it was a work in progress and we walked through a small quarry, under overhanging rocks, through tunnels and around a wobbly wooden scaffold that the artist stands on. What? I hear you scream, without a hard had, fluorescent jacket, torch, and a safety rope? Yup! And neither of us got crushed, fell or died. At home this place would have the 'what if' health and safety loonies running around in a frenzy. Another massive plus about the French - a modicum of common sense.

So our holiday was a success. We camped for the first time in years and, apart from forgetting the air bed! everything went smoothly. It was hot and we were so relaxed, any thought of serious fishing seemed too much like hard work.

But I did a bit. Not in the Loire as I couldn't find it! The drought has hit central France hard and this mighty river is, in parts a trickle......

see?

So we headed south and stayed between Royan and Rochefort where we camped next to a 4 acre lake. I fed the area outside of the tent. It looked very good with about 6 - 8' of water overhanging trees and some fallen ones in the margin.

Next morning I baited again and, when we returned later, I had a cast. Alas my first effort failed as a fish took me straight into a snag despite me hitting the run very early. This had taken about twenty minutes from casting in so, I figured the chance of another take was high and, as I started to sort the end gear again, I lobbed some pieces of bread just out from my position. Two minutes later a fish started to take them. I don't need a second invitation in these circumstances and bit off my rig and tied on a size 6 hook with a big lump of bread on it.

Thirty seconds after lowering the bait it was taken. The fish, a common, gave a really good account of itself and was in mint condition. It went 19.03 - job done. I packed up and opened a bottle of red.

Next day I sneaked down and lobbed some more bread out. It didn't take long and a couple of fish started to suck down the pieces. One was a half decent mirror but, when I lowered my bait, it was slurped down within 5 to 10 seconds but and very athletic thirteen pound common.

I again rested the swim, topped it (and another) up with a few more boilies and relaxed for the evening.

On the next day I decided to go for broke and try for a decent fish. Don't get me wrong, I was more than happy with two off the top but I wanted to see if there was anything else to be had. I'd only seen a few single or low doubles cruising elsewhere on the water. I set up two rods and cast them between the two fallen trees. I hunched over the rods, hot and uncomfortable, waiting..... ready to hit the first sign of a bite. Bites came alright, lot of them and, when I eventually hit one, it was from a diminutive Poisson Chat. To those of you unfamiliar with poisson chat, they are small catfish perhaps better described as three large spines joined by some meat and fins. They are veracious feeders and the bane of all French carp anglers.

I moved back to the front of our pitch and cast a rod under the overhanging trees baited with a (allegedly) chat proof Rosehip boilie. A bite came some half hour later and I had a right old tussle with a powerful fish. It was a mirror (the one I saw before?) and went 22.13. Although it is small by French standards, I was happy with that.

After this capture the lake went quiet. No more fish would rise to bread and the fish that had rolled near the snags stopped doing so. I tried again on a couple of evenings but the lake floor was paved with poisson chat that could reduce 20mm rosehip boilies to the size of a sugar cube in about ten minutes. I think my feeding had drawn them in and driven the carp out.

Not to worry, I was so relaxed I just happily watched the water and listened to the myriad of bird song.

We spent our last couple of days in Honfleur and, as I shut the car boot having packed everything away, it started to rain. Very timely. Our last night was spent in a luxurious chateau before the long drive home.

Sitting overlooking a little port whilst eating moules mariniere and frites, sipping on a cold draft beer and people watching. All just memories now but I'll be back again in September. It will be cooler and my fishing head will well and truly be on.

Another special memory

2011-06-24T09:44:00.003+01:00

Nicky and I strolled upstream leaving Neil to drop into a favoured evening swim for a dabble. The evening was warm and the clouds were lifting from the threat of a shower to a wispy backdrop across the broad horizon that the Wye offers.

The river was up a foot or so and had too much colour to spot fish, just the occasional salmon betrayed its position with a swirl or enthusiastic leap. I busied myself along a high, flood swept bank, kicking the turf to remove dangerous overhangs that may catch out our less observant visitors. It was difficult at times but Nick held my hand to stop me from joining the sods in their introduction to gravity, it was strangely satisfying too.

We returned to Neil's position where he was retying a rig having just landed his first chub. I sat beside him and watched as he attached a pva bag of boilie crumb to his lead and, with a Nottingham cast (yuk!), lobbed it back into position. It didn't take long, the rod swept back and a chub of around 4lbs came to the net. "Must be your Dad's turn then"

It shows how his attitude to his fishing has changed over the last few years. Neil said, "Next fish'll be a barbel", handed me his precious gear and, with a hidden smug grin, I Wallis cast to the baited spot. Cane, pin and touch legering, does it get any better? It may not be the most efficient way of angling but, for us, it is the most pleasurable.

I felt a pull, a tightening really. "That was a barbel" i said, the crafty so and so was checking my bait for resistance. I've played this game before.

In came the rig and I shaved the boilie down to its core. Back in position I waited, tense and expectant. There it was again, that little tester. I relayed the event to Neil who opined that it was suspicious because mine was the only bait object that was neither a whole boilie or a flake of crumb. I simply pulled a foot or two of line off the reel to give it some slack to play with. It worked.

I hit the next, more deliberate pull and the rod swept over. I'd only ever caught a modest chub on Neil's Excalibur but now it bent into what was quite obviously a barbel. What a beautiful rod, what a joy to hold and feel the lunges of a lively fish. Okay, it was only a 5 or 6 pounder but I can see why Neil is so protective of his most treasured possession.

I'd been sat there for twenty minutes, had a fish and was prepared to wait for Neil to get another but, he was tired and wanted to get home and have a glass of cider, so we left.

Another special memory.

An overnighter.

2011-06-22T11:48:00.003+01:00

I arrived at the lake just after lunch and set about sorting my gear and the thousand and one things that I carry for a session. Hot and sweaty, I sat back to make a cup of ..... a cup.......a cup? Oh bugger! I always forget something. Ah well, I sat back for a bowl of coffee.

On my last visit the lake didn't 'feel' right and I caught nothing yet here I was, sat in the same area but brimming with confidence, I just knew I'd get a result. The first call was from a bream of about 6lbs which deposited slime all over me and my gear but I knew that more was to follow.

I sat back and waited, restlessly. The trouble with hopping between rivers and lakes is the mind set that is required between bites. I see the two disciplines as the difference between driving a car and riding on a train. In the car - the river - you are constantly making decisions, changing course, reacting. Even at the traffic lights you are looking at what is coming from behind and planning your next move forwards, it is completely absorbing. On the train however, it is possible to sit back and just think about the destination. Sure there are things to see outside the window but you have little influence over them. On a train I become stupefied and just doze or read. Bored may be too strong a word for it but it can come close.

I had a visitor, a kingfisher that sat on my rod. I tried to slowly move into a better position to watch it as it fluffed its feathers and bobbed up and down, alas it spooked but I took it as a positive omen. Its been a while since one landed on my rod. The last was when I was touch legering and the surprise from both of us was transmitted through the rod and the visit was far too brief.

As dusk reluctantly fell a carp rolled over one of my baited spots, it was just a matter of time. I lay in my sleeping bag unable to get comfortable. I cannot sleep in my clothes and they came off layer by layer until I wore just a T shirt.

At 2am I was woken by a run! I hit a solid object that begrudgingly came through the weeds until it got its head down and stuck fast. I gave it line but it refused to move, I could feel it throbbing through the line. I put on some more pressure, as much as I dared and with a reluctant kick, it came free. It rolled in front of me and I smiled - job done. In the weigh sling it went 20.01, a common and a fine fish that I slipped back after a couple of snap shots.

I wonder what it thought of the half naked angler it had met?

It was cold and I was tired. I didn't even recast that rod but settled down and tried to sleep. The rain, rhythmically pattering on the bivvy sent me into a light sleep that was again disturbed by the strident demands of an alarm. This was a smaller fish, a common of about 12 or 13 lbs but I was happy to make its acquaintance.

I slept like a bird, waking and opening an eye at every splash from a turning fish or bleep from my last rod. At about 8am I met another angler on the lake, the first I have seen so far this season. Soon after he left to set up, I missed a stuttering take from what must surely have been another bream.

Tired but happy, I decided to call it a day. I had thought about staying for another night or two but I was more than satisfied and packed up straight away.

Tom Herbert Stole My Blog

2011-06-20T10:25:00.003+01:00

I was going to write something about the irresistible lure of running water and how it can cast a shadow over plans to visits lakes but Tom got there first. Well done Tom on a blog that hits the target so succinctly but it means that I'll have to come about this from another angle.

I wasn't going to even take my gear with me. The 16th is usually a disappointment and I am trying to get my back fit again so, I figured I'd sit this one out. Trouble was Neil (my son), was bursting with enthusiasm and I got caught up in it.

So, there I am, waders on, stalking rod in hand and trundling a bait through a shallow swim that was going to give me a bite or two. But it didn't. It felt like the swim had been fished already and try as I might, I couldn't find a fish in what is usually considered a banker. Mind you I only fished for 35 minutes. My back ached and I knew it was time to stop, so I did. I wanted to try another spot but it was occupied and I went home.

I don't mind blanking especially on such a fleeting visit but I was left with a yearning. I'd been touch legering, feeling my way through the swim and waiting, expectantly, for that contact through my finger tips with a wild creature. Fishing is all about the 'bite' and I needed that sensation of life like a drug.

Next day I was back. The river had come up a few inches and felt cold, not ideal but I needed my fix. Again I fished for just half an hour (why I didn't find a swim to sit in I don't know) before I knew that the fish were not in residence (its a very immediate swim this one ;-) ) and I needed to sit down. I left Neil to go exploring and retired.

Yesterday the old back was giving me jip but the call of the river was too great. Neil and I shared a few hours in the evening (sitting in my comfy chair this time) and it was just what I needed. First because it was a beautiful evening on the stunning river Wye, second and most important, I was sat, sharing a swim with my lad with no competition, just two guys enjoying the moment - a real Father's Day treat. Last, because I got my fix. I held the rod and felt all those twitches and pulls as well as the urgent tug of a taking fish. For the record I had four chub and a small barbel, Neil had just the one chub but the result was immaterial (especially as I caught most), the only reason I had more being that I could cast that little bit farther with a fixed spool to his 'pin'.

I did extend a cast down the swim but my light feeder got pulled off line and I feared it would cross Neil's line. As I wound in Neil struck wildly and cursed his dear old dad (with a big grin on his face) as my catching his line was a very good representation of a barbel bite.

It cooled down at dusk, both the bites and the temperature, so we stopped off at the pub before returning home and a night cap. A perfect evening.

Ow!

2011-06-13T21:14:00.014+01:00

Eager to get back to my secret lake I decided to give it a go for a day or two. I was amazed at the amount of weed that had grown in a fortnight. The whole place was in full summer bloom and buzzing with life.

I fished an open swim with a platform that made casting and hopefully, landing fish easier due to bankside reeds and trees. I was happy with my lot and settled back for the evening full of anticipation.

The only thing that disturbed me during the night was Buddy, my dog, who leapt up the bank to investigate every single sound in the undergrowth. At first light he saw off a magpie which later returned only to be seen off again. The amount of arguing from the bird showed it was not used to being bossed about.

A shaft of dawn sunlight burns off the mist

I had a stalk around the lake and saw plenty of fish but they were totally disinterested in food. I assumed that they were about to spawn and felt I'd gain some Brownie points by going home early and doing some gardening.

The next day I removed three elder trees that were a problem in the garden, physical work but I felt no after effects - until the morning when my back started to stiffen. Nicky drove us towards Gloucester where we had things to do. We stopped half way for a coffee and I could hardly get out of the car! My back has been a problem for years but, over the last year or so, it has 'gone' a few times, getting steadily worse. This time was the big one. I was completely crippled with it and have been walking with a stick for over a week. Ah well, the Osteopath is doing well out of it.

So, its been an inactive, boring sort of week but at least I've been able to sit and give the new issue of Riffle my full attention. As I type this, there's only an editorial to write and it will go out in a day or two. This edition will only be displayed on the Association of Barbel Fishers site, so if you want a peak - join :-)

When you are under the weather its always nice to get something in the post. So, I was very pleased when my brother Chris, who had been sorting out his spare room, sent me some of the stuff he's unearthed. With a postcard of Ron and Nancy Reagan (the last card he sent me had King Kong on it along with a badge, now on my fishing hat), was a photograph that I'd wanted to see for years. It's of me and my brother, both looking very guilty, having apparently damaged windows with our air guns. It was taken for an open day at Taunton police station back in the mid-60's. I'm the little fella' with the pistol. I wanted to hold the rifle but my brother is bigger than me.

The other items were some of my first rod licenses. I was certain that they had been stolen, along with a load of other documents, during a burglary but, it would seem that they were at my parent's house and had been given to Chris to sort out.

I can't tell you how pleased I was to get those licenses, well, the first one anyway. As an angler I'm a bit of a hoarder and I'm also quite a sentimentalist when it comes to my fishing past. I can recall my first fishing trip with crystal clarity as I set off with Bob Boyland who was five years my senior (I was 8), on the 1 mile cycle ride to French Weir on the river Tone. We tried a couple of spots but, eventually, by leaning over the top of a fence and lowering my maggot baited size 14 hook into clear water just below the weir sluice, I watched as the minnows surrounded it. I caught 6 of the little brown and black fish, winching them up the side of the high wall and fence with my 2" Bakelite reel - cane and pin don't you know. It was a magical day that I shall remember as long as I hold breath and it was the first step on a very long road.

That first licence cost 6d or 2.5 pence in modern money. It had the sizes on the back of all the fish that you could take home but it took me another year before that was even a consideration as minnows dominated that first summer. I never did find anybody that measured a bream at 14 inches and thought "Mmmm, yummy yummy".

France 2011

2011-05-24T19:18:00.015+01:00

Now I don't want you lot thinking I was carp fishing. Nothing could have been further from my mind and that I caught a barbel, some chub, lots of bream and even more bream hybrids, then it was exactly what I was after and, as a look at my set up will show you. Three 3.25 rods on a Euro pod is exactly what we all use when targeting those species isn't it?

Right, that's got that out of the way, now I can tell you all about it.

When travelling abroad to fish it makes sense to have a game plan. We (Bunny and his son Phil), had one and that was blown, literally, out of the water when we arrived at the tackle shop. The woman who served there did her best to explain but unfortunately, she kept talking in French and no matter how hard I try, I listen in English. The upshot was that the night fishing zone was closed. Closed? Why? We never found out but a couple of smaller areas were pointed out and we headed for one of them.

Now, many of you will have fished rivers such as the Trent or Severn, you know, about 50yards across, quite deep. Have a look at the following pictures and it will explain why I shall complain less about canoeists in future.

These barges were 90 yards long and 10 yards wide plus the boat that pushed them! There were even some slightly smaller ones that went past being pushed two at a time. To give you some idea of the water displacement, when this boat was still 200 yards upstream of me, the push of water ahead of it made my bobbins drop. How does that effect your carefully laid loose feed?

I didn't like this spot, I never felt close to a carp but was way too familiar with a billion mozzies that lived in a small, lily and frog strewn pond behind us. I got mullered by the bitey little bastards.

We moved to a gorgeous spot where a long, broken island 3/4 of the way across was full of lily beds and snags and which looked very promising. We heard a couple of big fish crash out behind one of the islets but again, nothing stirred.

Bunny had his birthday on the bank. I adorned his bivvy and presented him with a thoughtfully chosen gift which he opted not to wear to the shops, pity, it suited him.

On our last evening here Phil managed to get a catfish of about 10lbs, although it had about 3lbs of boilies in its belly.

We moved again, this time to a more prolific part of the Seine - allegedly. Again, the game plan was thrown out when all of the locations that had looked so good on Google Earth, proved either inaccessible or impossible to fish. We did settle in a wide section that was away from the boats (which may have been a mistake), as some of the barges here were the size of small countries.

Here we started to see carp moving, usually way too far to cast to but they were close. I decided to bait heavily and hope for them to come in but it had the side effect of drawing a few bream along too. Well, not too - instead of. I caught loads and, despite Bunny's claim of a 5.8 roach, there were a lot of hybrids amongst them.

It all became a bit of a chore. Not being able to provoke action and being so restricted as to where we could fish was very frustrating. We spoke to some local carp anglers and they told us that the river's been right out of sorts this year. The swim we ended up sharing had been the scene of a catch of 33 carp in a night at this time last year (I think, language difficulties and all that), but they had been struggling in their spot despite prebaiting for three weeks with over 100 kgs of maize. If that seems like a lot, they have another swim that they keep topped up and have put in over 1000kgs of maize plus a mass of boilies. They were keen anglers.

Bait robbing bream apart, the only fish of note was another, slightly smaller cat to Phil. After all of our efforts we had to come home empty handed. I packed away all of my mountain of kit and returned to see if Bunny wanted a hand. As I did so, right over my bait, a bloody great carp rolled! Isn't that just typical?

So that was that. A very hard effort for very little return. I should be sat here with tears in my eyes, beating the keyboard in frustration but I'm not. I enjoyed most of the trip and have learned more about the French rivers and about myself along the way. Within an hour of getting home Neil and I were discussing our next trip.

You will no doubt read about it here.

France 2 - The Return

2011-05-09T19:49:00.005+01:00

Coming to a blog near you soon, the adventure continues.

A Man - alone against the elements.

His goal - to catch the impossible.

Can he succeed?

Last time he faced adversity, this time its personal!

See how he deals with the toil, the tumult, the tantrums, the technical trials....

Appearing here, on this very blog - France 2 - The Return

Here Thursday May 26th for one week only

Noises in the Night

2011-05-05T10:28:00.004+01:00

My post yesterday was all about the fishing which is not surprising as I was on something of a high at my result. But there was so much more to the trip. Sitting in a little tent in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by wood and fields, it brings you right into nature and the wildlife was bountiful and at times, surprising.

As I walked the lake, looking for a swim to fish, I heard my first corncrake. This is a bird that I wanted to see or hear ever since I got into birds at the age of 7 or 8. I remember hearing a raucous call from my house on the edge of Taunton and I poured through the big bird guide I'd had for Christmas, to try and identify it. After much reading and interpreting the ornithological language of descriptive terms for bird song, I settled on a corncrake. My mother wasn't so sure but it made sense. Imagine my disappointment when, whilst walking toward town one day, there, at the top of a tree was my bird, a bloody crow!

With modern computer discs and the Internet, it is possible to identify bird calls very easily and one of the first I looked up was the corncrake so, the second I heard it the other day, I knew exactly what it was but I double checked on my return, just to make sure.

That was good enough but at night I was entertained by a passing nightjar and the eerie barking/howling of Munjacs. Laying there I couldn't help but let my imagination try to add pictures to the sound and, no matter how hard I tried, my mind could not attribute this unworldly sound to a tiny deer! It was the sort of sound that, in a movie, would be followed by the local saying to the back packer "Don't go onto the moors tonight", only to be ignored and end up..... well, we've all seen An American Werewolf in London haven't we :-)

Many of the other noises came from creatures moving in the dry undergrowth. Every now and then the dog would rush off to investigate and would chase something off be it badgers, rabbits, rats or whatever. But oddly, he ignored the bipedal footsteps that approached from my right. I fully expected another angler to appear but, when I stood to look in the direction of the noise - nothing! It was obviously one of the many pheasants but I never did see it.

The last noise woke me from a light sleep. As I said, when I hear a sound I instantly know if its new to me or not and attempt to either identify it or at least give it a mental picture. So there I am, bemused by the sound of what my mind has attributed to a minute space craft spinning past the bivvy. A couple of 'ticks' as it headed across the lake gave me a different image but when it returned a few minutes later, it was still a space ship!

On the Intergoogle I confirmed my suspicions. One of the few bats that I can still hear nowadays is the greater horseshoe and this one was sending out a barrage of sonar pulses as it flew beneath the trees, (check it out on http://www.bats.org.uk/pages/uk_bat_species.html). Pity really, a spaceship would have been even more exciting.

Pinch Me!

2011-05-04T12:58:00.004+01:00

When I arrived at my secret lake (shhhh!), I had a feeling of trepidation. Would it live up to my expectations? Was it all show but with a hidden flaw - like admiring a beautiful girl only to find she has an Essex accent?

It was blustery and my six month absence from a carp water was apparent from the off as I made a complete mess of everything. I moved from my first choice swim to a point where the lake narrows. I have seen plenty of fish basking on both sides here and I also expected cruisers to visit morning and night to feed on the stream bed. Plus, it meant some shorter casts which, in a swirling wind, was a bonus.

I took ages to get sorted but eventually had three rods sensibly placed to cover fish moving or browsing. I sat back and relaxed only to be rudely awoken by a run! I made a complete hash of it and brought back a straightened hook. That wasn't in the plan.

Nick and Neil came out for a picnic and, as Nick and I sat in the sun, Neil went fish spotting and assured me that there were fish quite close to my bait. When they departed I had the place to myself - no road noise, no voices, just me, the birds and the wind above - bliss.

It got chilly but, due to the snug nature of my swim, my rod butts meant I couldn't close the bivvy door. I led there, in my bag, dozing when, at about half ten - beeeeeeep! I was away on the middle rod but, as I lifted into the fish, my right hand rod was away as well and gaining pace. This was hectic enough but to add to the confusion, my head torch was shining directly into my eyes. Not quite understanding what was happening I lifted the bit that aims the beam but it fell back and blinded my left eye. Was it on upside down? I changed it but to no avail. I had tightened down on the running fish to stop an overrun and bent into the distant fish which promptly fell off. Oh well, still got a smoking reel so I lifted into the other rod and pulled.... into nothing!

I sat down, my swim a war zone. The head torch had broken and was hanging by a wire. Luckily I carry a spare so that was job number one, to swap the batteries then get everything back how it should be.

I was jolted from a cold night's sleep by an alarm at 3ish and landed a bream. Not what I wanted but a start. Soon after, the nearside rod shot off and I landed a very hard fighting mirror of 20.7. Not a bad opener. I was ecstatic and losing another fish later on didn't lower my mood.

Not me at my best -20.7

The second day was quiet but I spent it reading, dozing or watching the lake like you do. It got cold in the shade so I sat up in the sun behind my swim and threw a stick for Buddy. I had a run, again on the right hand rod. This one also fought hard and was another mirror of 22.4 - Fantastic!

I decided to eat some tea and listen to the footie so, at 7.15 my ravioli has just got to the switch off point when, off went the left hand rod. Again, I was beaten up my a scrappy fish which, miraculously, went 22.14! Am I dreaming? Three twenties!! Reheated ravioli tastes great in some circumstances.

It was really cold at night and I didn't really want to be disturbed, a good sleep would go down well but alas, it was not to be and I had to climb out into the chill, dressed in pants and T shirt, to land yet another fish. It was 3am and the fish came in doggedly . I was shivering when it rolled, at last, over the net. What a brute - 25.9 and a glorious specimen. I rattled off a quick picture and slipped it back. Leaving that rod on the rest I jumped back into my bag and shivered some more.

At about six, with mist rolling across the water, I had my last run, a 'tiddler' of about ten or twelve pounds. What a session, four twenties, five carp for over a hundred pounds. Pinch me, I think I'm still asleep!

25.9

The only hiccup was the remote on my camera gave up the ghost so I've only got a couple of terrible snaps of the first fish and just unhooking mat shots of the rest but who cares, I've had the trip of my life on the loveliest lake I've ever fished.

To add to the sense of elation, I was on a new bait that seems to be of liking to carp, another lad on it had five twenties from another water. The success of the bait will add to my confidence as I'm taking a load of it to France next week for a go on the river Seine with the Bunyans. I've set the bar quite high but confidence is a vital a ingredient and today, I have it in spades.

Tinkle Tinkle

2011-04-18T20:43:00.003+01:00

No, its not a misspelling of our favourite spring fish, its the sweet sound of revenge.

Last year at about this time, I was in Spain along with five stalwart anglers and friends one of which being the renowned Tony Rocca. We had a great time although the fishing was a tad off the banter ran as freely as the Spanish ale.

There was little in the way of practical jokes but I was the butt of one particular gem when young Tone attached one of those bells, as used on pier rods, to the back of my shirt as I walked into the Carrefore supermarket. My hearing isn't all it could be and I didn't suspect a thing until I walked back to the car across a relatively quiet car park. I could hear the tinkling sound but wasn't sure quite what it was or from whence it came. I stopped, had a good look around then walked on only to repeat the process twice more. When I got to the car the bugger Rocca was crying with laughter along with the rest of the crew. "I'll get you back" I promised.

So, last week I stayed in Tony's flat :-) Big mistake because I'd spent a fiver on Ebay and had secured a number of double bell rod top jobbies. Vengeance will be mine.

I was going to affix one or two to the underneath of his bed to give a little musical accompaniment to his night moves but alas, there was nothing to fix one to without a needle and thread (and I was going to pack one of them). But I found a place or two for some time bombs and I giggled as I closed the door.

Earlier today I had a text from Tony, I quote "It took me about five minutes to find those bells". I sent one back this evening asking how many he's found? He rang me. "I just found another beneath the cutlery drawer", he said. "How many's that so far?" I replied. "Three ....... is there more?" came the voice of a man with shaken confidence. "Keep looking" I said, "You've a few to get yet".

Do you think he'll find them all boys and girls? Will he know when to stop looking? :-)

NB

Its Thursday the 21st. Tony texted me yesterday - twice. Each time proclaiming the discovery of more bells. His total is 7 which, incidentally, is the number that I secreted but, do I tell him? Should I just tell him that I bought 10 and leave him searching? What would you do? :-)

A True Gent

2011-04-16T17:01:00.003+01:00

Fishing today is filled with controversy and back biting from a lot of stroke pullers and ner do wells, I should know, I fish with some of 'em :-) But amongst the dross there are a few gems, true angling gentlemen that I admire and look up to. One such chap is Dave Steuart and today I made the long journey across to Reading for his book launch.

I've known Dave for a few years now and to see such a gathering of fellow anglers come to his special day was great and completely deserved. He really is a top bloke and when I've spent time on his fishery I usually spend much of it chin wagging with Dave rather than fishing. Having said that, when Dave starts chopsing he's a bugger to get away from!

If you haven't got a copy of his book Minnows to Marlin then you've dipped out as they've all been sold, so you'll have to wait until the speculators start selling them in a few months so, start saving.

Apart from the central figure, this was a gathering of plenty of 'names'. I won't tell you who I spent my time chatting with as you'll accuse me of name dropping although I did find some time for the little people like Jason Speck :-)

I expect that Dave is very tired this evening and his arm must ache from all the signing.

Spanish Interlude

2011-04-14T14:41:00.007+01:00

On arriving at our destination in deepest Spain, Nicky and I walked out onto the bridge for a quick look at the river. We were accompanied by hundreds of martins and alpine swifts each swerving and diving to catch the myriad of fly life that swarmed over the placid water. They should have tried the flat, there was enough flies there to keep a family of swifts going for a few days :-) Not really, Hobby did some excellent Ninja maggot hunting and only a handful escaped his highly tunes skills, these were dispatched with a few well aimed swipes of the Carpworld magazine.

Anyway, back to the bridge and, as my eyes grew accustomed to the light conditions, I spotted a few small barbel drifting here and there then, suddenly, at the tail end of a pool, a shoal of at least thirty fish drifted into view. A very welcoming sight.

The flat was bigger than I expected, Tony's got himself a brilliant bolt hole hear and we quickly settled in.

Day one was spent sorting bait and provisions as well as a drive to one or two spots on the river to get my bearings, with the afternoon temperature topping 30C there was little point in rushing anywhere.

On Friday we went to the weir, a beautiful fishing location that, were it in England, would have queues of people waiting to fish it. I started catching almost straight away and, after two double hook ups, used just a single rod. I couldn't sort out any of the bigger fish, just loads of little fella's the males of which were in full spawning colours.

Find of the day was a diminutive turtle that was waddling about in the shallows, his shell was the size of a 50p - very cute.

After a dozen or more fish I started to wane. The sun was beating down and the car gauge showed 32.5C when we left.

We were there to sightsee as much as anything and Saturday was taken up with a long drive around the two large reservoirs through a spectacular and varied scenery. We saw plenty of bird life including rare Egyptian vultures.

A stop at one dam revealed some carp. "Go on then", I said to Nicky, "You've seen plenty of carp, how big do you reckon these are?" She paused and gave a considered reply "They're 'kin huge!" I couldn't argue with that, they were.

I only fished for an hour and a half on the Sunday, it was at a spot where I blanked last year (despite assurances as to it's abundance of fish) and I again went biteless. I was not feeling too special so returned to Castle de Tony and fully embraced the local custom of siesta.

It was now Monday and time had passed quickly. We went to an area of the river where matches are held and where, unusually, the fish are used to angler's baits. Within a few minutes of introducing a pint of maggots I was getting bites. I had a few small barbel but the rest were from an annoying little carp that has no doubt been introduced to bolster match weights. These things are small - pasty sized - don't fight very well and greedy. After about fifteen of them, one small common and the barbel, I left. I'd not been there two hours.

We went back to the weir and I had another half dozen barbel up to about 4lbs. No Comizo's this time but one or two of the fish showed that beautiful two tone effect of the Andalucia strain, not as orange as the fish from the south but some bright yellows - nice.

Last day and another drive to catch the scenery. Again, we saw birds aplenty including Spanish Imperial Eagle and we had to swerve around a snake. Off one of the dams we saw hundreds of small carp basking and sipping in flies and some locals catching good sized bass on lures, the potential in some of these waters is incredible.

Wednesday came all too soon and the long drive up to Madrid felt like a real chore. It was a glorious week, cloudless skies, plenty of fish and loads more to see and enjoy. I must say a massive thank you to Tonio for the use of his place and thanks to Faye for the loan of her pajamas...................... not really :-)

NB

Did any of you spot the deliberate mistake? One clever little boy did and has informed me that the fish pictured at the bottom is indeed a small Comizo. Well done Leo but no prizes available on this occasion. I am amazed that such small Comizo's were frantically spawning, I assumed that they would wait until they were a little older but hey, the warm Spanish air, a glass of Rioja and if the mood takes you....

A Change of Scenery

2011-04-04T19:34:00.006+01:00

I figured that those that have looked in on me of late will welcome a change of scenery, me too but more of that later.

I love this time of year, the new life bursting out of the ground. I had a walk around my new syndicate lake the other day - shhhhhhh! Secret squirrel. The sun was out and basking under the overhanging trees I found a few carp, nothing big, maybe upper doubles but it was really good to get a first look at my targets for the year. Then, out of nowhere appeared a lump. A big, pale mirror that was a pound or two either side of the thirty mark. Now I'm not that worried about size, a double stalked from the margins is always a worthy fish, but seeing things like this can really get the juices flowing. Roll on May 1st.

Alas, Neil can't get a ticket on my water so he's opted for the Cotswold Water Park. If you've never been there, its a vast series of gorgeous looking gravel pits and Neil's ticket enables him access to half a dozen of them with massive carp, tench, bream etc available. We had a wander around a couple of them last week and on one of them we witnessed three carp caught in ten minutes! Now that got the boy's enthusiasm on overload. The best of the three was this heavily spawn bound (on April 1st!) twenty two pounder.

As I type, Neil is setting up his bivvy for a three or four day stint - I hope he has a flyer.

I see that Fish N' Bits fell at the first, an event that makes me feel that there is still some common sense in angling. The idea that there is an 'all new readership' out there is such a flawed business plan it beggars belief that it ever got beyond the planning stage. The other failure was in the 18 to 30 demographic. They should have aimed at years of age rather than IQ but hey, someone's last a bob of two so let's not go on about it.

I saw this above a doorway on the Cob at Lyme Regis the other day........

Looks like I could be around for a while yet then :-)

My change of scenery comes on Wednesday when Nicky and I visit the country mansion of the infamous Tony Rocca. Nestling in the Spanish heartland it will be a welcome change from the UK after such a long and, at times, tedious winter.

I'm really looking forward to showing Nicky the Estremadura region, it has some magnificent scenery and the bird life has to be seen to be believed - can't wait. Our only trepidation involves the welcoming committee. When Tony and Hobby were there a few weeks back there was something of a mass escape from the detained maggot fraternity. Apparently 'Hobby' did some ninja stalking and wrestled many of the itinerants back into their box but, and it is a big but, how many did he miss?

I'll let you know in a week or so.

The Big One ('s)

2011-03-14T09:55:00.003Z

After a week when only a handful of barbel were landed there was a relative deluge of fish taken over the weekend as the weather turned mild. I however, was not there to enjoy the bounty as I was touring the Big One at Farnborough, scoping out the goodies. It was my first time at this show and it was quite impressive. Not as grand as the heady days of the NEC but plenty to browse and a good list of notables doing talks, not that I had time to attend any.

It was one of those shows where you can buy as well as look which is usually great for snapping up bargains but I did notice that they were a lot thinner on the ground. the 'Show Special' prices were quite stingy and some stands seemed to be asking prices higher than normal! Obviously it's just a sign of the times and the tackle industry is feeling the pinch. That said, I did manage to get a great deal on a bivvy so I went home a happy bunny.

One thing that I do not understand about these shows is the blatant use of good looking girlies in tight or short clothing, to sell tackle/holidays/magazines. Are we men that shallow that we would rather miss out on a quality item elsewhere just to have some unavailable babe flutter her eyelashes at us? Well - yes. it works. The way some guys behave when these girls are around is unreal! I just think that its a bit sad - maybe I'm just an old grump.

But its reached an all new level, enter the introduction of a new fishing magazine 'Fish 'n' Tips. On their stand a couple of beauties (on each of them) smiled and handed out free copies of the latest angling mag to hit the shops. The front cover shows one of the babes posing with a carp, her blouse is undone and her ample frontage strains the polka dot red bra to the point of overspill. Do we want a magazine full of girls in waders and not much else? Does that really enhance the content? There are no exposed naughty bits, in fact the only tits you will see are some of the contributers :-) But I just think that its a bit sad.

The sight of the huge Mark Barrett, the mag's editor, sat between his Bivvy Babes was reminiscent of a scene from a Sci Fi film, now what was it?.....

Last night the temperature plummeted so I doubt that I shall make the effort to fish today, In many ways I shall be glad to see the back of the season as it has been my least productive for years but I am looking forward to the summer and I shall no doubt find something to blog about along the way.

Well Spotted

2011-02-24T19:08:00.006Z

I've got 9 miles of the Wye to choose from but when I have, for whatever reason, my heart set on just one swim, its uncanny how often the only other angler for miles is sat right where I want to be. This happens way too often for it to be anything other than a massive conspiracy probably backed by the KGB, CIA or KFC.

So, when I decided to fish a sheltered spot for perch I was not too surprised to see the other angler already there. He'd not faired well and, to be honest, I wasn't surprised as the water was a bit lower than I expected and it is flood water that forces fish into this area. He was about to move on to pastures new but rather than fish that swim I moved around the corner to a place where I have seen plenty of perch activity in the past.

Circle hook, ideal for predators and worm fishing

Overhanging trees and a blustery wind made my float difficult to control so I took it off and paternostered a worm on a two swan shot link. I used the float rod and set it between two rests with a mud bobbin for bite indication - all very advanced stuff ;-) The hook was a size 10 circle which is great for worms. I love circle hooks for my predator fishing and it again proved the right choice when I had a drop back bite. The fish roared off at a phenomenal speed, surfacing twenty five yards away before I could tighten the clutch. It was a trout, out of season and an unintentional catch but a magnificent fish none the less. At over 3lbs I'd love to get it in May on a fly but these old fish are as wily as you like, until they see a big fat lob worm that is. The hook was, of course, lodged in the scissors and he went back none the worse for his little adventure.

I had every intention of staying into dark but Neil, who was fishing downstream despite suffering all week with a virus, faded somewhat so we packed up early. Not to worry, there's rain on the way and next week I'll be back for another go - lone swim pinchers permitting.

The Thick End

2011-02-17T12:42:00.006Z

Whilst the bacon cooked we tackled up, me Mike and (newly retired) Pete were sharing a day on the delightful river Wylye that runs through the Wiltshire water meadows on its way to join the Hampshire Avon. Its been a while and I felt quite rusty as I sorted my self out. I kept hearing Mike shout "The thick end!" and eventually cottoned on. Its been so long since I've fished I was holding the rod the wrong way around.

Anyway, with a belly full of bacon butties we set off to a new section (for me) and I settled into a glide above a sluice. It looked spot on but my trotted bread and maggots failed to get a response. Its the problem with grayling at this time of the year, they are often tightly shoaled and can be hard to find but, once located, they are dead easy to catch. Pete was beyond the sluice in a little pool and his rod seemed permanently bent.

I leap frogged past Mike who had found a few good grayling but my wanderings were rewarded by a solitary trout and the sole falling off my wader boot.

A couple of hours later we moved and I returned to a tiny pool on a tributary where I had a score to settle. Last time I fished it, a couple of years ago, I lost a good fish so I wanted a rematch and this time I came armed with those superb grayling hooks - the Guru QM1's.

Mike trickled a few maggots in and suggested that I fish close in rather than the attractive main flow. I took his local knowledge on board and tucked the float right against the nearside rushes in a little back eddy. First go and I had a small trout. Next 'trot' and I had what I had come for, a proper grayling. It looked all of 2lbs in the water but in the net I estimated it at about one and a half. It may have gone bigger but I didn't bring scales, they don't seem relevant some days.

More grayling and trout followed over the next half an hour before we had a tea and cake break. We then moved to the bottom of the fishery where a few coarse fish are on the cards. It looked really nice and I couldn't wait to run a small piece of flake through a slightly deeper section I had found. I only had one bite but it came from a beautiful roach that may have reached a pound in weight. To be honest, I was satisfied and went for a chat with Mike and Adrian, the river keeper. When I got back to my swim I knew I'd had enough, I ached from the exertions of the other day and a three hour drive separated me from a hot bath and a glass of wine so, rather than fish into dusk, I bade farewell and drove home fully sated.

Danny Glover

2011-02-15T09:46:00.002Z

You know him, the black bloke in the Lethal Weapon films who played alongside the anti Semitic drunk one. Well, his catch phrase was always "I'm too old for this shit" and yesterday I had my Danny Glover moment.

Nicky and I were driving in Leominster when two yobs ran out in front of us carrying large bouquets of flowers. Their speed, an alarm and the shop assistant in hot pursuit were all indications that they had not fulfilled the standard prerequisite purchasing procedure.

They legged it down an alley so we had a drive around the other side and saw them disappear into some derelict buildings. By now I had reverted to my old instincts and after first checking they had not come around the other side, went to see if I could find them. I did and it was then that I realised I had made something of a schoolboy error. I didn't have a clue as to the name of the street or how to describe my location to someone sat in front of a computer screen in Birmingham. Whoops!

I bluffed it out and, when they reaised I wasn't going to leave them alone, one legged it whilst the other tried to vault a wall. Well, he was easy to grab but the momentum of him coming off the wall at a rate of knots was enough to make me tumble. I was then running like a fat lunatic after two chavs. Nicky had blocked their exit and gamely grabbed the tallest - exchanged a few pleasantries - but could not stop him from getting away. Seeing dearly beloved in the clutches of another man - on Valentines day - I increased my wobbly speed but before I could get there I fell ass over tit in the most spectacular way. They both escaped.

Police arrived, we found the shop where the theft had occurred and were greeted with the underwhelming response of "Oh, I never fawt we'd get them back". They even looked a little disappointed that I had bled on the ribbons.

One of the baddies gave himself up at the local nick and will have a 'Community Resolution' which basically means that he will have to apologise to the shop keeper - big bloody deal. Whatever happened to the stocks I say.

So here I am this morning, I've lost skin and gained bruises to my hands, knees and side and last evening my left elbow was the size of a cricket ball! Was it worth it? Yes. Little shits that commit what are deemed 'petty' crimes should be hammered as, in my opinion, the little crimes that go unpunished are the ones that effect society the most. Would I do it again? In a heart beat but and I really mean BUT, next time I'll stand back and let the current police officers do the difficult bits because I really am way, way too old for this shit.

Plans

2011-02-05T17:52:00.011Z

I had some bad news in a phone call the other day. Paul Ashton rang to say that there had been a fish kill on one of my old carp waters. It is suspected that the prolonged ice lid on the pool had lowered the oxygen level to a fatal level and carp, bloated with gas, had popped up to the surface all around the water. To see those enigmatic fish distorted by death was sad and one wonders how long a water like that will take to recover. Still, its given the otters plenty of easy meat.

It has happened all over the country of course and this last winter will remain in our memories for a long time to come.

Still haven't been out. The river has had that green tinge which means tough fishing and the lakes are still pretty dire. My self imposed angling break will continue for a bit yet.

That doesn't mean that I'm not thinking about my fishing. I've been pouring my laptop and have been deep in preparation for the coming year. I have plans aplenty and they have been kick started by a visit to my new syndicate water. Now, unfortunately, there is a total publicity ban on this water so I will not be able to report from there. This is a pity as it is a venue that will inspire many words, it is quite simply stunning and I consider myself extremely fortunate to have the opportunity to fish there. So, if the blog gets a bit thin (again) in the summer, there's a reason and you'll just have to guess at the joy I'm experiencing ;-)

I've booked a trip to Castle de Tonio in sunny Spain for April. Nicky and I are going to mix a bit of sightseeing and fishing for a week, I only hope that its a bit more productive than last year when I was put in all the bad swims. I am extremely grateful to Senor Rocca for the use of his Iberian abode and promise not to treat it in the same manner that he treats his hire cars.

Castle de Tonio

May will see me in France for a bash at the rivers and I've bought a set of Harrison Chimera 3.25 tc rods for just such an occasion. Phil, Bunny and I are making up the party and are aiming for the Seine, well, you may as well go big and there's no bigger river in the country. I'm doing my homework and have picked out a few areas that look right for our needs. We will, however, travel with an open mind and should conditions require a rethink due to high water or whatever, then its just a case of driving on to plan b, c, or wherever feels right.

June is set aside for a trip with Nicky back to France. We intend touring and sussing out a few more venues for future exploration. I'll have a couple of rods in the car at all times ;-)

As you can see, I have been busy without actually wetting a line and there will be much to report on later.

For now, I'm looking at getting off my ass and wetting a line this week. I fancy a dabble for perch but I've got a horrible feeling that most of them have perished but there's only one way to find out. I'll also take some maggots along and try for some roach.

Seaside

2011-01-24T19:29:00.005Z

I haven't wet a line in over two months! I'm beginning to think that I am cured. Its so long since I had a fishing 'fix' I think I've been through the cold turkey and I'm now a reformed angler. Not really, I've had a longer angling lay off. I once had chronic tendonitis (tennis elbow) that required an operation, that laid me up for about six or seven months! Now that was difficult!

My apathy and reluctance to sit in the cold were all forgotten the other day when I had news that I have a place on a syndicate that sounds like heaven. Three lakes with carp, tench, perch, roach and some proper crucians on offer. If that doesn't stir the blood then nothing will - let me at it.

I was kept busy during the Christmas/New Year period working on the 'Riffle' magazine, the journal of the Association of Barbel Fishers. I had to get reacquainted with the software and editing practices that I've haven't used for over five years but it came out okay and was well received. If you want a look at it then go to http://www.barbelfishers.com/riffle_issue1/ If you want to see the next issue, join up and be part of the group.

But for now I am having a bit of a break. Nicky and I are staying at my sister's cottage in the south of Devon whilst she and her bloke sun themselves in the Caribbean. I did offer to take her holiday for her but.....

Nicky loves the coast and it was a toss up between a house near the sea or a house near a barbel river back when we left Somerset. I won that one although, to be fair, it was a mutual decision but I am constantly reminded that 'next' (heaven forbid) time we go through the house sale and purchase nonsense, we will be looking hard at the edge of the UK rather than the middle bit we are in now. In the mean time we get our fix by playing Lord and Lady of the Manor in big sis's rather plush crib.

Hopefully, I will be back in the groove quite soon and those of you that visit the site will find something about fishing to read rather than a load of old waffle.

How to get a Korda sponsorship

2011-01-19T09:36:00.002Z

Sorry I've been a bit quiet of late. To make it up to you here's a little ditty that sums up much of the angling world at present. It does contain some swearing so don't show it to your mum.

Enjoy :-)

Well, I think that the boys at Korda are a bunch of miserable, humourless buggers and just maybe the truth hurts. Ah well, if you missed it it serves you right for not looking in more often :-)

Happy New Year

2010-12-28T10:25:00.003Z

As 2010 slips quietly away the change of date makes us all think about the highs and lows of the last twelve months and what the next twelve may bring. Not wishing to buck the trend I shall do exactly that.

I haven't recorded every fishing trip on here but my blog does carry the essence of what the year has been like for me. It has been, for me, a very slow year. I have fished less than in any of the preceding ten years and my enthusiasm for barbel has most definitely waned. To be honest, this process has been developing over the last few years but I have tried to fish my way through it. I should have known better, fishing should never feel like a chore.

In the past, when my interest has swung from species to species, I have just gone with the flow as it were. But this time no particular species has jumped out at me and demanded my attention. Not, that is, until I went to Spain. Seeing those carp of such monstrous proportions was an epiphany. From that day on I have felt the need to land something really big.

The trouble is, I don't want my fishing to be 'size' driven. I enjoy my carp fishing and will undoubtedly be doing a lot more of it during the next few years but this whole single minded pursuit of 30's and 40's in self defeating and always short lived. I want to be able to cherish each fish and to take from my carp fishing the same sort of pleasure that barbel have given me in the past. A stalked 10 pounder should always be a thrill no matter what the water's potential may be.

Nobody really knows what the next year will bring but here is my game plan should health and finance permit. I shall of course continue to fish the river Wye, it is just too beautiful a river to ignore but, I shall look for different sections to try along with its tributary, the Lugg. I shall also be looking for another stillwater. The lake I was on this year is, at three acres, just too small. I love the intimacy of a small water but its just a little too easy to learn its secrets. I need somewhere a bit bigger where the mystery of unfound deeps and unseen monsters can grow in my head and inspire me.

My main target for 2011 is France. I want to visit that most appealing country on a number of occasions and sample some of the delights of her rivers. Nicky will accompany me on some trips whist others will be boys only. Ultimately, my goal is to contact something massive and to enjoy the learning experience along the way.

I've made similar plans in the past, I've even made new year resolutions but not for a long time as all plans and wishes have a tendency to to be just that - a wish. There are many things that can alter my course but, for the time being, I do at least have a direction and one that I am really looking forward to traveling.

To all of you that have looked in on my thoughts and recollections over the last seven months or so, I thank you for taking the time and hope that you have in some way enjoyed the experience. I have especially enjoyed the comments and encourage them - well, most of them ;-) feel free to make them in the future.

Happy new year to all of you and I hope that at least some of your own wishes come true.

Christmas

2010-12-09T09:41:00.004Z

I'm usually the one sat in the corner mumbling "Bah Humbug" but this year, for no apparent reason, I am looking forward to Christmas.

Christmas really is the season of giving and I can honestly say that I get more pleasure out of giving presents than receiving them, probably because I've already got enough socks. So here's a little gift to each of you, two of my favourite Christmas ditties from the Interweb. You may well have seen them before but I feel they are worth repeating.

Scottish Advent Calender

A Tad Chilly

2010-11-29T15:11:00.006Z

I haven't fished for a bit and, quite frankly, the thrill of sitting around in the cold and wet has failed to ignite my passion. However, I do enjoy a spot of ( I can't believe I'm about to type this), extreme fishing (sorry, but I didn't do the whole crossed arm, Geordie tosser routine).

Fishing in extremes of weather is fun as any fish caught is both notable and memorable. Give me drought, floods or frost and I'm up for it - well, weather permitting :-)

With this in mind and with the thermometer failing to reach a plus reading for several days, I set off to a favourite winter chub swim with a bag of bread and some thick socks. My plan was to walk the beat and suss it out before having an hour or so after a those chub. I've done it before in very cold conditions and usually manage to winkle a fish or two out with a five pounder very much the target.

As I approached the river I knew immediately that any chance of fishing was out of the question. The floating ice rafts were a dead give away and the marginal ice did little to raise my spirits. However, I was surprised to find a section of about two hundred yards or so, totally frozen over! As I got closer I could hear a sort of rustling sound, similar to dry leaves being blown about. This turned out to be the floating ice crashing into the solid surface. I was watching the birth of a glacier - well, not quite but it was a first for me to see the river completely covered in ice and the frozen section is obviously growing by the minute as the ice is packed higher and higher in little waves. It really was a beautiful sight, I just wish I had camera with me rather than the phone. I'll go back tomorrow and get some decent shots but for now, have a look at these.

A Rant

2010-11-23T20:18:00.010Z

Has your television got one of these?

Mine has and its been working overtime.

I met Jeremy Wade at a fishing show at the NEC. Having read and re-read Somewhere Down The Crazy River that he co wrote with Paul Boote, I was eager to hear what he had to say about Mahseer so I talked him into doing a talk at the BS Conference.

He's an interesting bloke, obviously from a very privileged background and able to travel widely and indulge himself. He spoke with great enthusiasm about India, his recent trip to the Amazon and his quest for the Arapaima. He came across as a decent sort.

However, I have just been watching the latest in his 'River Monsters' series and I do wonder what planet JW is actually from and what sort of of an impact his trashy little program is having on the public's opinions of fish?

Obviously made for an American audience, the program plods along with every point reiterated ad nauseum and each dramatic recreation shown over and over. I hate this form of delivery, it really does play to the dumbest member of the audience and leaves anybody with three or more brain cells frustrated. Bloody Yanks. But that is not the worse of it, its the whole demonising of each species of fish that irks me!

For those of you that have missed it, the premise of the show is that Jeremy heads off to all corners of the globe in search of 'monsters' of the deeps that have a history of dragging poor native children from the banks into their watery graves. Each species is made out to be more dangerous than the last and the hyperbole comes thick and fast.

His claims, in tonight's show, that a modest catfish could pull a fisherman to his untimely death was just ridiculous (whatever happened to carrying a knife so that you can cut the line in the event of a dunking?). In a previous episode the Wels catfish was portrayed as a man-eater and I think next week he claims that a gudgeon once ate a horse. It really is rubbish.

In these days of health and safety (don't get me started), can you imagine the pitch to the TV executives? "We are going to dangerous places to try to catch man-eating fish and will be in mortal danger 24/7". Its not going to happen is it? This is just a guy on a fishing holiday selling out to "The Man" for a few shillings and it sucks. What really annoys me is that a properly presented program about one man searching the World for large and exotic species could appeal to a wide audience but once again the television companies bottle it.

Of course, to get a minority interest show on mainstream TV you need a 'celebrity'. Quite why this is so I really don't know but it is just one more dumbing down of TV and the media in general. Enter Robson 'kin Green. I cringe at the thought that the many anglers around the world that meet this precious little prick will believe that the rest of the UK's anglers are so whiney and ungracious. Now here's a bloke that should be introduced to a true man-eater.

But I keep on watching. I know, I should turn the bloody thing off but its fishing and we are starved of new material so I am yet another hopeless case just hoping that it may improve.

For those of you that crave some escapism I'm currently reading 'Globetrotter's Quest' by Tony Davies-Patrick, (reduced to £15 at Carp Talk books), I just wish we could have something like this on the telly.

ABF

2010-11-20T20:19:00.002Z

So, there's a new kid on the block, what's all that about then? The Association of Barbel Fishers has popped up in the barbel world and will no doubt cause a bit of a stir.

It raises a couple of questions such as 'do we need another group?' and, 'if the BS is losing members hand over fist (apparently), will it survive?'

In my ever so humble opinion, yes, there is room for a new group, after all the Barbel Specialist Group has faded into the sunset so there are about 150 souls looking for a new group to sort out some quality get togethers for their biannual fix. I hope that the ABF manages to capture a good number of them and sate their needs.

Barbel fishing had altered tremendously over the last ten or fifteen years as has society. This means that information is far more readily available and the mystique of barbel angling has been largely dispelled. As a result there is less dependancy upon groups and societies to help up and coming anglers. Therefore, I doubt very much that the new ABF membership will ever grow much above the low hundreds but hey, what do I know? I hope that it is successful and that it reaches its full potential. There certainly seems to be a lot of good will and energy in the group and the Chairman - Keith Truscott - is just the man to help to steer it through its first year. Thereafter the committee will be democratically elected and, should it ever become necessary, removed. I think that this alone will appeal to a lot of people.

There is one downside to the new group. It will draw comparisons to other existing groups even though they are all different in their make up. I am certain that there will be an element that identify that the new group is largely made up of ex Barbel Society members which may be construed in a negative way - depending on your own view point. Well, my view is simple. The reason for there being so many ex BS members is not the fault of the ABF, it falls squarely upon the shoulders of the BS.

I've put my hat into the ring and will even help out where I can. I am certainly looking forward to getting together with a bunch of like minded anglers at future events. I know a lot of the guys involved and can assure you that it will be a very buoyant atmosphere where all will be made to feel very welcome. I do hope that people don't focus on the negative, let's give the new group a chance to flourish and to establish itself. Hopefully, I will see you at one of their future events.

Paddy's pb

2010-11-07T19:07:00.002Z

I've been on a bit of a mission this weekend. Paddy wanted to come fishing for a few days and I boldly offered to try and steer him towards a personal best. To find any pb in November sounds like a tall order but I had some things going for me, the main one being that Paddy's pb list is pretty lousy. I'm not having a go here, its because Paddy doesn't fish nearly as much as he should do and, when it comes to big fish, his record is pretty average.

Friday didn't happen, Paddy got involved in domestic responsibilities and arrived too late to fish so we had to make do with a brief riverside walk. Come Saturday and due to the mild conditions, we were going to have a crack at some carp. Paddy's still not had a double so we headed for a Shropshire water that is stuffed with fish including plenty of sizable carp.

There was only one other angler on the lake when we arrived and only one other turned up later. We fished hard and had fish bubbling and swirling on the surface all day but the sport was desperately slow. Paddy had one and I had two, added together they may have just formed a double. Oh well, Sunday is pike day.

After a late night -Paddy brought whisky! :-) - we got down to the river and started in a sheltered area at about 9.30. We each cast a smelt (yes Monty, damn the expense ;-) ) and sat back. "Its all about the first thirty minutes when you're piking" I said and I hoped that it would be Paddy that had the action as again, he's not yet had a double figure pike.

I suppose it was twenty minutes or so later that my float bobbed then slid away. The fight was brief but spectacular and I landed a thin pike of about 12lbs or so. The single circle hook was stuck neatly in the scissors and it was very easy to unhook. Even so, I still got 'bit' and bled like heck for ages.

I would put a picture up but Paddy used my phone to capture an image and well, to be honest, he's like a cow with a gun and all I got was a couple of video clips, the second of which lasted eleven minutes, most of which were of the inside of my pocket!

The pike didn't have any friends with it and we decided to try for chub and just maybe, a barbel. I fished a spot that has produced some good chub to me in the past including a number of five pounders but today I didn't get a touch. Paddy fished another crease swim that also produces well especially when there is a bit of water on as there was today. And so it was that, at about 4pm, Paddy rang me to say that despite it not quite being the 'five' he really yearned, he'd had a pb chub of 4.14.

So, not a monster but I can safely say 'mission accomplished'. As we emptied his truck at the end of the day, tired but content, I said that my one angling wish is that one day I have a catch of fish the weight of which is greater than that of the equipment I carry to catch it. Now that would be a result.

Graffiti

2010-11-01T20:43:00.004Z

I appreciate good graffiti. Not all the tagging nonsense on ancient buildings and the like, that's just mindless vandalism. But, if you put a clever quip or comment in the right place then I'm all for it.

Of course there is always the traditional canvas - the back of a dirty van, I've had some chuckles whilst reading these. "I wish my wife was as dirty as this van" made me larf the first time I saw it, although copying another's inspiration is never clever. During the days when "drink a pint of milk a day" was the advertising catch phrase some wag licked his finger and etched "wank a pint of spunk a day" on a lorry - pure quality.

However, in the last couple of weeks I've seen the old standard "Clean Me" on a couple of vans but and it pains me to write this, written as "Clian me" and Clene me"! Lads (and I am certain it is boys), if you can't even spell a word like 'clean' then graffiti is not your strong point, take up stamp collecting or something.

On the subject of graffiti, I do see it as an art form and the more esoteric the better. I can now reveal the reason for Phil Bunyan being called a turtle botherer. Whilst he was working as a carp guide on Gran Canaria he caught - accidentally - a turtle, hooked fair and square in the mouth. Having unhooked the somewhat aggressive little critter, he took a felt tip pen and scrawled "Phil was here" on its back. I love this sort of 'art'. The idea that some other person may happen across that turtle and read it really tickles me.

I've been guilty of leaving the odd literary time bomb in the past but there was one that I wanted to do for absolutely ages and I realised my ambition a couple of years ago.

It all began with Wylie Coyota and his vain attempts to catch the Road Runner. I always liked the idea that you could put a little dish full of seed at the side of the road with, of course, a suitable sign and it would attract the target bird.

So, when I visited the Grand Canyon and drove the beautiful American desert regions of Nevada and Arizona, I came prepared and made a few stops along the way. I just hope that some following travelers appreciated my efforts.

Guests

2010-10-18T10:24:00.004+01:00

I put my back out again last week. Having driven the 800 miles from the South of France to Weobley in one day, I guess it was a strong likelihood that it may go and as I emptied the car the next day - Ow!

I had a prearranged guiding day for Saturday, a father and son duo that came a couple of years ago. I really thought I'd have to cancel but this was " a chance to spend some time with my father as an eightieth birthday gift", so I gritted my teeth (well, took loads of pain killers), and off we went.

The last time they came Kevin, the son, had his first ever river fish - a 10.8 barbel! Whilst Ken, the father, had a 4.8 chub. But this time around I didn't fancy our chances of a barbel. The river has dropped right down after a spate and its got colder. I decided to target the chub and, rather than using pellets like everybuggerelse, I went back to some old school fishing with small cubes of meat with a hint of blue cheese flavouring.

It took a while to get things going but the chub did respond and they shared a catch of fourteen fish with maybe just two of them under 3lbs and the best nudging five. It was a grand day, the banter between father and son was lively and competitive and I thoroughly enjoyed myself.

But, that will be my last guiding day. I've had enough for now. The fishing has become a lot harder over the last few years and to be in with a chance of putting the punter on the fish I have to stay in touch with the river. The trouble is, I'm a bit Wye'd out and need to broaden my horizons. So next season I shall do what I should have done a year or two ago and go and fish elsewhere a lot more often.

Abroad

2010-10-14T11:43:00.002+01:00

Having contemplated the last couple of weeks I have one or two observations about our nearest neighbours, the French.

I love France and, in the main, I have always found the French to be charming, polite and very helpful. I do not subscribe to the stereotype of an anti British or ignorant race - except for the garaged owners obviously - and I have seen nothing on this trip to alter my view.

However, as an Englishman, should a traveler from a foreign land ask me a question in pigeon English I will immediately slow my speech down and increase the volume, gesture wildly and basically treat them like a retarded child in an attempt to make myself understood. And it usually works. But when a Frenchman starts talking to you, you come out with the old "Je ne comprends pas", then apologetically state "Je suis anglais", in the hope of a little help. Oh no, the just say "Ah English" and prattle on at 100 mph without a pause. One chap stopped for a one sided chat every day for a week. He got very excited when describing something about the French lads fishing downstream but his hand gestures were even different to our own and most of it went over my head. They could have murdered a mermaid for all I knew.

Unless, of course, you do speak a little of the lingo. My menu French can get me by and when I'm in full flow I get very Gallic. The palms come out, the shoulders are shrugged and the bottom lip edges forward, oh yes, when I'm talking French I look like Cantona when he's just been booked. And what happens? The French person invariably starts to converse in English, just to make you look stupid.

So, next time you get Johnny Foreigner stop and ask you the way to the Post Office or whatever, talk to them like you are commentating on the final furlong of the Derby, that'll learn 'em.

And what is it with the flies over there? I rarely suffer with midge or mozzie bites but have come home with about sixty of the itchiest spots I've ever had - the bastards. I blame the EU for no other reason than convenience.

And why can't we buy pate like theirs over here? The crap that our supermarkets doll out is full of preservatives, colouring and is frankly shite when compared to a good, locally made Campagne. That'll be the EU's fault as well.

One last observation - for now. I mentioned in a previous blog about the carp we saw in Spain. Well, I was very careful to get a good look at the fish we had whilst they were underwater. My thirty was a fat little so and so (no comments please) and didn't seem too big as it swam away but Phil's forty also looked somewhat smaller than I expected. Just how big were those Spanish carp? I will have a trip after them one day and hopefully find out.

Anyway, must go - I've got a vat of 'Bite-ease' to rub over me. Hold that mental image you lucky people.

France - the long and the short of it

2010-10-12T16:22:00.009+01:00

For those of you that don't want to read the full and protracted account, here's the abridged version.

We went to France, I had a big 'un first night, it got stupidly difficult, the car broke, I saw some lovely countryside, Neil eventually had a carp, the swim we'd fished for a week switched on as soon as we left it and the bloke I ran into was unhurt.

Now, for those of you with nothing better to do, here's 2600 words of detail.

…...............................

There can be nothing more uncertain than foreign travel. Oh yes, we can study maps, plan

your route, select our destination and even read the glorious accounts of previous travelers but this never quite reflects reality. Take the weather for instance and unseasonal cool winds and rain are just waiting to add the buggeration factor to your plans. But I am on a fishing holiday so who cares about a spot of rain – not I, I'm after big fish and I know that they inhabit this section of river because my mate Phil (“easy tiger”) Bunyan caught some about seven years ago, what could possibly go wrong?

Strange isn't it? We arrived after a looong drive and had a quick look at the river. As we got out of the car doing weird Ti Chi movements to reinvigorate the stiff limbs, I noticed a white van follow us down the track and turn off upstream. Hmm?, obviously workers of some sort I thought and dismissed it.

The river looked delicious and full of potential. Phil had described in minute detail the going swim and I'd even spotted the partly sunken tree on Google Earth. Although I was eager to stamp my own authority on the river, a couple of 'easy' fish from a flyer would be a great start to the holiday. We decided to look along the stretch and drove up the track and saw – yes, you've guessed it, two French lads unloading a mountain of gear from the van I saw into the 'best' swim. After all that traveling we were beaten to the swim by a few minutes – incredible.

After much walking and discussion, Neil and I took to the inflatable and went across to explore the features along the far bank. We found a couple more sunken trees in areas that had promise, Neil took first choice and I dropped into a section where the river widened giving me some far bank (that I could bearly reach with my gear) and an inner line just off the main flow.

Camp set for the duration and three rods out, two long casts and one lobbed 35 yards into the inside of the bend with a pva bag of boilies. We had a meal and called it a night.

At just before 2am I woke..... was that a bleep? Yes, there it was again, a single blip on my middle rod. I got out and had a look see. The line was pointing in the wrong direction and I retrieved it, full of weed that was to become a complete nightmare. I put the rod in the rest and decided that the cool night air had provoked a biological response in my kidneys. I popped round the back of the bivvy and was just about to release last nights petite beers when I heard the wonderful sound of a monotone bite alarm from the nearside bait! I was on the rod (the fishing one) in seconds and bent into something that, to be honest, didn't feel that special. I pumped it back towards me and it wallowed and slapped the surface as it came. I was convinced that it was a small catfish for some reason but was more than content with some early action.

Just as it got close it did a bit of a run and made me feel that I was playing a worthy adversary. It was brief and I soon had the fish, that I could barely make out in my old headlight (I found the good one at the bottom of my bag much later), coming towards the waiting net. As I lifted the arms around it I got a look at its size. Oh my goodness, what a lump!

I folded the net around it and secured t with a bankstick. I called Neil on the walkie talkie suggesting he may wish to take a photograph. “How big is it?” he asked, “Certainly a double” I replied with tongue firmly in cheek, and he was soon in my swim. As I lifted it out it became even bigger than I had dared guess. I had mid to upper twenty in mind but Neil took one look and said “That's got to be a thirty!” There were lots of other words being bandied about but they are all unprintable.

30lbs11oz on the scales and I had achieved my carp target on the first night – fantastic! Not only was it a great result but it filled us with a ton of confidence and as I lay wide awake in my bivvy, I was hoping that we would continue to catch, especially Neil, who I really want to get the most from his first fishing holiday.

Who's a clever boy then?

This was written five days after that opening night and it is fair to say that since then, it has become something of a trial. I've had a small barbel, Neil's had two barbel and a chub of about 4lbs

The French lads turned out to be mad keen carp nuts with loads of UK gear and baits but with

a method as continental as the siesta. To avoid the maddening weed that clogged the lines whenever the barrage was open, and that was a lot of the time, they tied their lines to the trees above the swim. The clever bit was in the knot which, you could pull against with the rod but, as if by magic, released when a fish took. That was the theory as, during their stay, they had just one take and it smashed them instantly.

We moved into 'their/Phil's' swim when they left purely due to its previous history, something the French lads knew about and they had traveled a long way to fish. But, apart from one or two heavy rolls at night, there was no sign of a fish.

The weather, that had been pleasant, even hot for a day or two, decided to change and the Sunday saw us hanging on to everything as a gale blew through the area. I hate fishing in a wind and turned in early for a good night's sleep in the gite we had taken for some of the time there. This was a great idea and a curse as it turned out, but it meant I had a good eight hours.

The view from the gite

I collected Nicky from Toulouse next day and we drove through low cloud and rain to the river. “There's a lovely view over there” I offered but all we could see was grey. Back at the gite and Phil (the turtle botherer) and Bunny had arrived. They were also reticent to bivvy up in the rain so we had a drunken evening at the gite with a good meal.

I wanted to take Nicky sight seeing although she was adamant that we should fish. I was hearing none of it and we set off in a car that lurched and coughed then whistled. The Ford garage was owned by a bloke with the disinterest of a Parisian waiter and the patience of a crack addict but his mechanic was very helpful and agreed that it was a leaking pipe which he eventually found. I went back when he was less busy and we effected a (temporary) repair with my duck tape.

Next day was hot and I decided to check out more of the river – er, I mean, take Nicky sight seeing. Neil was at his nadir after so long without a bite and came along. I aimed for St Cirq Lapopie as there was a night fishing area there. What I wasn't prepared for was the majestic beauty of this part of the Lot valley, it is quite simply staggering. We drove on down to Cahors, which seemed only fair as I've drunk enough of their wine in the past. We found a nice place to sit with a drink and people watch, Neil and I found many gorgeous people to watch and would happily have lived there but the Boss was less impressed. I even pointed out the short, fat bloke wearing a thong but it didn't get her going, so we left.

St Cirq Lapopie has the fittest postman in all France

Thursday came, hot and sunny and despite Nicky insisting that we stay and fish, I insisted on a trip to Millau and a look at the new bridge. It was stunning as was the surrounding countryside, sort of a Grand Canyon with trees. Our visit was cut short though. Phil sent me a text with news of a fish. They'd moved just down from us and he had taken his first of the trip which we were eager to witness and photograph – 40lb 8oz! A fantastic fish -the spawny sod!

Spawny Bugger

Nicky went home next day and I settled down to fish the last few days refreshed by my break. However, I couldn't sleep that night. I was driven by an urge to move to a productive area I fished a few years ago so that Neil could hopefully get amongst the fish. As I saw it, we had done nothing wrong, we fished the same way that Phil with the same rigs and baits in a couple of swims that, at times, contain big carp. It was just that whilst we were there, they weren't. We could stay there another week and not catch.

I discussed it with Neil in the early morning and he agreed, we were off. We said our goodbyes to the Bunyans and, as we packed so the they were moving into our swims, I wished them luck but suggested they were wasting their time. We then left ourselves at the mercy of Tom Tom's sense of humour as to what it feels is a 'fastest route'. We eventually arrived on the river Dropt, a tributary of the Dordogne.

I'd fallen out with my bivvy by this time and could not face the wrestling match of erecting it, replacing the joint that keeps separating and even worse, putting the bloody thing back in it's undersized bag. I decided to sleep beneath the stars on my bed chair using nothing more than a bedchair cover. It was lovely looking up at the stars and listening to the night creatures around me, I dropped off into a blissful sleep............... then it rained.

Neil tapped on the car window and I appeared, bleary eyed, to the news that he'd had a mid double at about 3am – brilliant news. It had, however, done a flip and a flop back into the water before he could weigh or photograph it. Ah well, good job it wasn't a thirty.

The rain poured relentlessly and to make matters worse, news came from the poachers – I mean Bunyan's to say that they'd lost one and taken three carp to 23lbs with Bunny having two in fifteen minutes from MY swim! I was genuinely pleased for them but come on, nearly two week's of effort for little bounty and as soon as we leave the fish move in and feed with gay abandon. Fishing can be a very jagged pill to swallow at times.

Sunday was wet, very wet! My rods were at the bottom of three slippery mud steps and I just knew that, were I to get a take, I'd get very wet indeed. But I sat, read or dozed the day away in my bivvy, detached from my rods and not really with my heart in what I was doing. There were other places I wanted to look at but it was all just too late in the holiday. I sat it out, hoping that Neil would get more action as his efforts had deserved much, much more reward.

I awoke on Monday after a night with plenty of bites – all over my arms and body! I'd been feasted upon by blood thirsty beasties and I itched to buggery! Neil, however, had been getting bites of a different kind. During the hours of darkness he had a probable liner, a fish that broke the leadcore (which I had tied – oops!) and a fish that took him all over the place and was undoubtedly very large, only for the hook to pull as it dived for the nearside bushes. I felt absolutely gutted for him. But that's fishing I suppose.

It was still pretty damp and we'd had enough. I did say that we could extend our trip should the mood take us but, after so much heart ache, we both know that it was time to head for home.

I had a last look as we departed, my hateful bivvy sat, alone and empty on the bank with a sign attached telling the first local that finds it “Gratis - Bon Peche”.

The beautiful river Lot

Conclusions

I think that I need to round up the above with some after thoughts. From reading those accounts you would probably feel that I came home in tears but far from it. Yes, we caught very little and, at times, due to the lack of action, the fishing felt detached from the general sunbathing and cheese eating. But I had a wonderful time, I really did.

What would I do differently next time? Well, I booked the gite as a sort of cop out as I didn't want to spend two weeks in a little canvas dome. It was great having the morning three S's under a solid roof but it tied us to an area that was obviously much harder than we had bargained on. Phil (the swim poaching, turtle bothering, “easy tiger” saying bounder) is a carp expert and revels in such difficult waters. I was more than prepared for a fish as infrequent as say – every other day but we found it much, much slower and that's not what we wanted. That a shoal chose to move in as we drove away was just plain cruel but – such is life. I just wish I'd been there to watch Bunny take two fish in fifteen minutes, that would have been really special.

Most of all, I wish that Neil had had just a modicum of luck. I really wanted his rod to bend and I wish (sort of) that the thirty had come to his rod. But there's plenty more trips to come, many more rivers to fish and surely one of those will be trouble free and full of fish.

I really do want to thank Phil for his help and advice before and during the trip, he really is a good angler even if he keeps them all for himself ;-) If you want to know why Phil is a turtle botherer then please ring him on his work number at The Tackle Den 01285 862716, he won't mind.

I'd also like to apologise to HM Government Ministry of Agriculture for the number of possibly invasive species that have accompanied us home. If they are still flying, jumping and chirping their way around my garden when I next visit La Belle France, I shall endeavor to return them from whence they came.

Oh yes, the chap I ran into...... I have nothing more to say on the grounds that I may incriminate myself.

Au revoir for now

2010-09-27T10:05:00.004+01:00

As you can see, the car's been neatly packed and I'm out 'a here for a couple of weeks.

If I can find a WiFi (anybody know what French for 'WiFi' is?), I may even blog from the banks of the Lot. It will probably be a tale of disaster and disappointment but that's usually the most entertaining isn't it?

Later folks.

The Boys part 2

2010-09-26T10:16:00.002+01:00

For regular readers to the various barbeller's blogs, there may be something of an overlapping theme in the next few days. It will be interesting to see how the other members of the group recollect events. I, however, drank just three pints over lager over the two nights and have a clear and concise memory. Nuff said ;-)

It would appear that on the first night Conrad, who'd been fishing elsewhere, arrived late at about 11.30 and felt he had some "catching up to do". Conrad, my dear Conrad, did you learn nothing from last year? Apparently not, and he retired to a spinning room very late indeed.

It was the first time in living history that Carl - Birmingham's only optimist - missed his breakfast. Arriving on the top of beat 3 at nearly 12 o'clock, he proceeded to cook his own and put three fat sausages in his frying pan to simmer whilst he had a quick look at the river. Returning to find three little black pieces of charcoal smoking on the stove he had to start again but made an excellent job of an el fresco full English.

Meanwhile, the river had dropped a foot or so and was looking particularly inviting. I left Carl munching on his brunch and dropped a piece of meat into a likely looking spot and had an immediate bite. The strike saw me leaning against an unstoppable force that powered out into the main flow. I called Carl to give me a hand as the bank was steep and slippery and I figured a cold dip would benefit Carl more then me. The reason for the great power was soon revealed as a five pounder rolled to reveal the hook stuck neatly in between its pectorals. Ah well, I did have a bite so I'll sort of count it.

I then walked the bank to see how the rest were fairing. It was patchy but Scotty had a few small ones, Tony the swim stealing blaggard, was in 'my' spot and went on to land four barbel, some chub and even a couple of dace - lip hooked on bis size 8 with a pellet! A man of many talents is our Tone.

Some notable spots failed to produce a bite despite the prolonged efforts of the two Steve's and Paul's dad who's name I can never remember. Des and Martin fished hard but, for Des especially, the Wye is proving a difficult nut to crack and his only bite became a lost fish when his hooklink failed. I swear his bottom lip quivered when he recalled the tail. Never mind mate, you'll come good next year - probably. ;-)

Hobby, the Ninja barbeller, was tucked down a bank and under a tree - Rambo fishing. It didn't work but he looked the part. Mike Joyce had a cracking eight pounder that led him a right old dance. It was a mint fish and he was well chuffed with it. Richard also had an eight but that was how many inches from tip to tail and Paul had a couple, one first thing then one at last knockings.

Conrad had one and lost one, Ian and his boy had a bunch of chub and I think that was about it.

One highlight was Ol' Trussers turning up on Saturday afternoon. It was great to see the old bugger again and he set about his first trip for a while with his usual enthusiasm. I fished for another half hour then packed and went for a chat with Keith. We talked about all sorts including the otter problem. I bade my farewells and had no longer left that field when an otter swam through his swim and resurfaced with a fish in its mouth. Apparently that was my fault and the reason he blanked.

I stayed in the bar until midnight, negotiating a free, twelve month lease of Tony's Spanish mansion which, knowing Tony, he will of forgotten about in the morning but I think you'll find is legally binding :-)

And so ended another Boys Weekend, roll on September '11

The Boys are Back

2010-09-25T09:49:00.002+01:00

Its that time of year when the dregs of society make their annual pilgrimage to pay homage at the alter of the Red Lion cathedral. Yes its fish-in time folks and yesterday the happy band rolled into town full of optimism and thirsty for local ales.

I used to run these do's once or twice a year and its fair to say that many friendships were born through the excesses of our endeavors. Nowadays the protagonists organise their own gatherings and I love to join in and catch up with them.

I very clearly remember my first meeting with a fresh faced Carl Salter, beaming from ear to ear after catching his first Wye barbel, a nine pounder no less. Little did I know then what a legend stood before me. I could tell you some tales but a, I don't have the time b, you wouldn't believe half of it and c, any mention of some of his antics would set alarm bells ringing in the police station, MI5 HQ or with Mrs Salter. Maybe another time eh? ;-)

Two Canes and Scotty have been regular stalwarts. Scotty's only ever completed one spectacular dive into the river but we always hope for a repeat performance and Tony just sits, quietly fishing and usually comes up with a good 'un or two. Oh, and he drinks Tia Maria when he's pissed but doesn't like me telling people ;-)

Hobby fishes hard and now that Eel fisher sits next to him, there seems to be a constant competition to keep them motivated. That works well as long as the competition is not to try and out drink Carl - we all know how that little escapade ended don't we boys :-) Hobby caught an eel yesterday which made Steve Richardson get all moist and emotional. Pictures were taken and I think one of them may have kissed the beastie which was all of 10" long!

For legal reasons I will not list them all but we have a full compliment and today is the day when everybody wants to catch something so that they can all relax in the bar this evening. I'm going to have a go and try to show how its done but yesterday, despite a river that looked in top condition, I had my first Wye blank of the season - not a sniff.

Busy

2010-09-21T17:52:00.002+01:00

I don't do 'busy' very often. Its one of the benefits of retirement and a quiet life - and being lazy. However, things have been quite hectic of late and I'm feeling a tad frazzled today.

It all focused around my new car initially. I changed the XTrail for a Peugeot 307 estate, very nice it was too, for a day. Then the engine management light came on and the passenger footwell filled up with water when driving in the rain. "No problem" said the garage and they set about sorting it all out. Well, four weeks later and the car having three stays at their garage totaling two weeks and still it wasn't fixed.

I got my money back but lost the cost of the extended warranty I bought - not happy.

So there I am, a week to go before I do a couple of thousand miles across France, a busy week ahead with guiding commitments etc and no car! A frantic search on Autotrader, a couple of cars viewed and I'm now the proud owner of a Mondeo estate. Fingers crossed it lasts longer than the piece of French crap.

The guiding was with a couple of regulars one of which, Anthony, was a good friend of Hugh Falkus and was bequeathed his section of the Cumberland Esk. He's a very affable bloke who's a barrister and professional cellist. His brother, Paul, is a dentist but they both spend most of the day talking about women. Its always amused me that no matter who you are or from what social background you come, put two or three guys together on a river bank and the banter and humour is the same.

The river's fishing well under par for this time of the year. They had a decent barbel each and a few chub on day one. The next day I took them to one of my 'bankers' - off piste as it were. Its a swim that should have been groaning under the weight of all the barbel but we didn't get a touch. A quick dash to another spot and a good chub and an nice barbel sent them home happy but it was hard work. It turned out that we were the only people on the fishery to have barbel on the first day.

I hope that it picks up by the weekend as there's the big annual piss-up come fish-in when the Northern boys under the organisation of Biker Boy Rocca and the Midlanders rallied by mountain walker Carl (who's nicked my identity) Salter descend on Bredwardine and much merriment ensues. Its always a great do, I just hope that the fish oblige.

I've also been putting the last few items together for my France trip, I can't possibly have forgotten anything can I? I just hope that if I have its something I can get over there.

Etiquette

2010-09-13T20:40:00.004+01:00

I've not read the book of etiquette but I do know that there are particular rules and protocols for certain social meetings. For example; when greeted with "How do you do" the correct repost is to also say "How do you do". So, what is the correct greeting when you share pleasantries with two men in a canoe - that are stark bollock naked?

This happened whilst I guided a group at Middle Hill Court the other day, it really is a tad unexpected in this country. I was actually spared the full frontal as I was walking between swims and only saw their heads as they passed, my guests however, were all put off their sausage and boiled spuds for a day or two.

It was a good few days in the company of four anglers that I've guided now for some five years. They even had polo shirts made with a logo of the 'Wye Botherers Five Year Anniversary' on it and a Kelly Kettle in the middle. They even presented me with one, which was really good of them.

The Kelly Kettle is a standing joke. Each year Pete takes care of lighting and feeding the KK with enough wood to roast a pig! I think he's a frustrated steam train driver or stoker maybe. I always engage in a race to boil the water and put my little gas burner on and usually win. This year Pete had already started the fire before I got my stove out of the car. I then had to change the gas bottle and it was still a dead heat that Pete claimed was his victory by a second. Come on man, admit it, Kelly Kettles are crap.

Nice fish Pete, now put the kettle on

The fishing was a bit iffy, they all had barbel and Pete had five with another lost one day. But, like the rest of this year, the river is being fickle and although the river rose a bit on the second day, it didn't 'switch on'.

As I type, Neil has just returned from a short trip. The river is holding a couple of feet of extra water and the conditions looked spot on yesterday and today but the fish seem to have other ideas and he only had chub. I dare say things will pick up in a day or two as there is a big spate on the way.

Gifts

2010-09-06T12:41:00.002+01:00

I seem to be able to 'give' barbel to all and sundry but not catch them myself. Its a phase I'm enduring but one which is growing a tad tiresome.

I had a few hours the other evening, sat in one of my favoured swims where a number of chub is all but guaranteed and a couple of barbel are usually on the cards. As I set up a couple of visiting anglers appeared at my shoulder bemoaning their lack of success. I chatted about the swim they had chosen and offered a few words of advice. Two minutes after making the first cast I was reeling in a chub which seemed to impress them both and they returned to their peg with renewed enthusiasm.

After returning six chub but no barbel, I went to the pub where one of the anglers I'd spoken to bought me a beer. He'd returned to his swim, put one or two bits of my advice into play and had two chub and a barbel in three chucks! Of course, the rest he'd given his swim could have been the deciding factor but he was happy.

Yesterday I decided I wanted a barbel but on arriving at the river found all of my preferred pegs inhabited. I could have loaded up and gone for a long walk but I was feeling lazy, so I had a chat with a mate and announced that I would extract a chub from a fallen tree swim just upstream from him.

I parked on the bank above the swim, lobbed half a dozen 10mm boilies in and set up my 9' cane stalker rod. That done I lobbed four more boilies in and set off down the bank carefully..... though not carefully enough. I found myself sliding on my left heel with my right leg sticking out as a counter weight whilst I grabbed wildly at anything remotely likely to slow my progress towards the drink. I came to a shaky, relieved halt at the water's edge and regained my composure and tackle. Of course, the bag of boilies had come open and my precious bait was buried in dense grass which turned out to be the resting place for a number of enormous, sticky slugs.

Fortunately my actions had gone unobserved and I was soon teetering on the bank with a fallen branch in front of me and a willow tree leaning across the river. A couple more freebies went in followed by my bait which I lobbed beyond the swim then wound back and lowered into the chosen spot. Five seconds later the line tightened and I hit a spirited chub which was soon bullied into the net.

I moved downstream and noticed that the guys fishing the swim I'd been in the other day were, unsurprisingly, the one's that had spoken to me. They and their two mates were all fishing close together and had taken a number of chub and several barbel. Where were they when I fished there?

I had another chub from a cattle drink swim which I abandoned when the cattle got thirsty and started chasing the dog all over the fishery. I returned to the tree swim, repeated the previous scenario but without the ballet dancing and had another chub, again within a few seconds of the bait hitting bottom.

Chub? Chub are dead easy. Barbel? I can give people barbel any day of the week, I just can't catch them myself.

Ah well, I'm guiding for the next three days. I'll be down around Ross so there should be plenty of action......... unless I have a cast that is.

2010-08-29T10:12:00.002+01:00

The Burr family did the Bank Holiday thing of having a day out yesterday, we went to the Evesham Festival. Okay, two of us enjoyed it more that the third but democracy and all that. Anyway, Nicky wants me to take her to the jousting on Monday - jousting! I ask you.

I love going to fishing do's, the only thing I miss about the BS is the annual get together and catching up with so many people. But this is a match fishing do and I didn't see anybody I know. It did allow itself to some people watching though. You know what I mean, sniggering at the guys who turn up to shop dressed from head to foot in Realtree and the hapless wives, loaded down with newly bought gear whilst hubby wanders in front of her carrying nothing more than a fag.

We sat and had a coffee just watching the world go by. I was aware of a PA system announcing really gripping commentary such as "I've just been told that Harry Ramsden on peg 9 has just had a bream of about 2lbs, that put him on about 3lbs...." Fascinating stuff. There was then an interview with the town's Mayor. It was at this point that I realised they were sat on a stage behind me (observant or what?), I looked around at the other people chatting, drinking and generally oblivious and not one person was paying any attention to them. I guess being Mayor just doesn't count as celebrity.

I spent a few bob, you know, bits and pieces. There were a few bargains on offer but lots of crap amongst it. The stand giving carp advise was quiet, so quiet they'd had time to fashion a bait of a couple of small pop-ups and a section of foam to make a 'naughty rig'.

Top product on sale was a set of 5 of those T shaped bivvy pegs that screw in, in a smart bag along with a mallet! Hammering in screws - obviously aimed at the Brummy anglers.

August

2010-08-27T18:00:00.003+01:00

September is looming and there goes another summer. I can't remember the last summer when I fished less! Actually, I can. It was in the 80's and I couldn't get interested in my usual haunts so I turned to fly fishing. My good mate Chris Newton was delighted as he'd been fluff chucking for a good few years and was eager to teach me the ways of the fur and feather brigade. D'you know what? I did little else for about four years until I got bored to death with catching trout after bloody trout. I gravitated back to my roots and eventually rediscovered barbel.

So here I am, drifting along and looking for inspiration. It will come soon I am certain, I just don't know what it will involve but carp, perch and roach will figure of that I am sure.

My last few trips have been casual affairs. Neil and I decided to have a carp day to try out some rigs and to get our minds on the species as we prepare for our trip. We went to what is know as a 'runs water'. A nice sized pool in Shropshire which you can fish on a day ticket of just a fiver. I lobbed out a method feeder and a second rod with pva bag. Neil fished with two pva set-ups, casting one close to my method rig - the rascal.

It was strange result. I had ten carp to about ten pounds albeit most were much smaller. I also dropped a few probably because the bigger fish had ragged mouths which I hate to see and means (I won't go there again), but as I said, it was not a serious expedition. Despite poaching my swim, Neil couldn't buy a bite and moved to an area vacated by a lad who'd been getting plenty of action. He had one run and missed it. In fact, his only fish came on my second rod which roared off as I landed my largest fish.

We had been using similar rigs and the same bait, why did I catch and Neil didn't? Well, obviously I'm much better than him ;-) but even so. Funny thing fishing, I've sat fly fishing next to a guy in a boat and have caught six to his none. Again, similar set-ups etc but very different results. Tench fishing is renowned for one-sided results when two anglers share a swim. I've also been on the other side of a spanking - but I don't want to talk about that.

................................................................................................................

I was guiding yesterday, in the rain with a rising, cold river. The Wye can be a fickle miss when the river is rising but we managed to winkle out a few barbel to ten pounds and plenty of chub until mid afternoon when the river switched off and sulked. One chap hooked and lost at the net, a very good fish which broke his hooklink just above the hook. He took it very well and said that he had enjoyed the experience.

I spent most of the day with Mark who has fished for many exotic species in far flung places but who had little concept of coarse angling. He hit what was obviously a decent chub and just let it run and run, well that's what you do with a dorado off a boat. Alas, my urgent request for him to bend the 'kin rod and give the fish some 'kin stick, fell on deaf ears and the fish was lost in a sunken tree. We got our hook back though so no harm done.

We had a chat about it and I left him and his tightened clutch to it as I went to check on the others. I returned to see a long faced angler who had done as I said but the second fish had also found refuse and was lost. This one was probably a barbel and it didn't do the swim any good and Mark had to settle with a few small chub.

I popped down this morning to put a couple of the party into some 'goer' swims then grabbed a couple of hours at one of my favoured spots (one that I don't show many people), and had a barbel and a couple of good chub quite quickly. Satisfied, I went home having dumped a load of bait into the swim knowing that The Boy would be down to try his luck later. Its a swim that has given him a couple of eleven's and a ten pounder in the past so I hope the phone rings this evening for me me to go and do a number with the camera.

Crisis Meeting

2010-08-20T10:17:00.002+01:00

No, nothing to do with the sinking ship. I'm talking about me having a bit of a chat with myself.

A rather large penny dropped in my world and I have come to a conclusion or two about me and my physical condition. It has occurred to me that I may not be in quite such good shape as I used to be. Time was, when I was working on a particular section in the job, that I had three monthly physical tests. These involved either a mile run in under six minutes or the dreaded bleep test, having to attain level ten.

This was followed a couple of minutes later with fifty press ups, fifty sit ups, the fifty bench dips. I used to do this quite easily - bloody racing snake weren't I.

That seems rather a long time ago and poor health and a lack of energy - not to mention will power - have left this Adonis physique a tad on the soft side. I get out of breath opening the post!

That is why I am typing this whilst breathing hard and moist with perspiration. I've just been wobbling about on a white plastic board connected to a Wii. I never thought I would stoop to this level but my sister has been going on about the damned Wii for ages and I have to admit, it has suitably demonstrated my pathetic physical state.

What next, aerobics classes? Nah, can't see me in leotards somehow. But I am going to try and keep it up.

I've also grown tired of chugging about in a bloody 4x4 so I've chopped it in for an estate which may or may not be a mistake, its rained constantly since I picked it up. Anyway, no more driving to the back of my swim every time, I'll have to walk a bit.

Look out world, a buff Burr is just around the corner.

Tiddlers

2010-08-12T21:19:00.010+01:00

No need for words, just some pictures of us taking the neighbour's kids to the river for their first taste of fishing.

Silver and Gold

2010-08-12T12:23:00.012+01:00

A change of pace last evening. Instead of the flowing Wye I spent a couple of hours float fishing on my local carp pool.

When I got there I met the resident carp angler. He rolled up in his Transit about a month ago, set up his bivvies (note plural), plus his toilet tent, TV aerial etc. He's been fishing solidly since apart from a weekly return to Brum to scrape the dirt off and pay the bills. He has caught just 12 carp in that time and I quote, "I think they've wised up to me now". Yet, he seems to have no intention of moving swims! He also said that he would stay there "until the weather got cold". Bloody hell! Is it worth it I ask myself? Living next to the water and waiting for a fish to get so bored with life that it gives itself up.

I decided to ignore the carp. The lake is so weedy it would be difficult to bring a fish in without really cramming the pressure on and I gave up my last syndicate because of the number of parrot nosed carp in there. No, I was fishing for roach and rudd (as it turned out) and had a lovely time doing it.

Its funny, when I was a young 'un, I used to fish with the lightest float I could get away with, this was the way it was done back then - sensitivity was everything. Now I use the heaviest float I can get away with and, of course, correctly shotted they are still ultra sensitive. Another factor is the size of the float as my eyes are no longer up to looking at something the size of a match head at twenty yards. To be honest, I could have use a pike bung, those fish just tore off with the bait as soon as it hit the water. Rudd after rudd, along with a few hybrids, came seconds after each cast. I played with the shotting and got the bait to sink through them. Whenever the bait reached its position just off bottom, the bite would take a little longer to come but would usually come from a roach, although a few perch put in an appearance as well.

I don't know how many fish I caught, it doesn't matter. None of them was big, up to about 10 or 12 ounces I suppose but a very pleasant way to spend an evening. It does however show that when I choose to try for the bigger roach that inhabit here, I will have to think hard about tactics so that I can avoid the hoards of rudd and also the inevitable carp which would cause havoc on light gear. Hmmm? I'll work on that one.

2010-08-11T11:58:00.002+01:00

Nicky and The Boy were coming back from town yesterday. Neil was in the driving seat of Nicky's aging Celica soft top that rattles and leaks but which is great fun to drive. Suddenly, something swooped low out of the hedge and in a flurry of feathers, was gone.

On getting home we checked the front of the car for signs of damage and the identity of the bird as Nick suspected it was a raptor of some sort. Imagine the surprise to find a young female kestrel, still alive, in the air duct by the front bumper!

We contacted a local and rather eccentric, lady who rears owls and rescues raptors. She was around in minutes but to no avail. Unfortunately the bird's back was broken and she took it to the vet to be put down. That it survived the collision at all was miraculous, but to see such a beautiful bird looking so helpless is always sad. The only saving grace was that it was one of this year's chicks so there was no nest full of offspring left to starve.

This was followed by another trip to the dentist and another afternoon of popping pain killers. I think I'll have 'em all out and some falsies put in.

The evening was much better. We went to the NIA in Birmingham and after a warm up act of Stewart Francis, the Canadian guy that does dry one liners, you will have seen him on Mock The Week. We then were treated to some brilliant humour from Ricky Gervais.

We've been to loads of comedy gigs over the years but I don't think I have laughed as hard or as long as I did last night, it was excellent. If you ever get the opportunity to go and see him then jump at it. Or, just buy the tickets then put them on ebay, they were fetching stupid money!

On the fishing front, I've been out for a couple of very short trips over the weekend and had the odd barbel and obligatory chub. Today I'm off to the carp pool for a spot of roach fishing armed with a couple of pints of maggots, some hemp and a few tares.

A fish lost

2010-08-07T11:11:00.002+01:00

Not mine, I had yet more chub one of which took me into a sunken branch. The subsequent paddle to retrieve it reduced my enthusiasm somewhat so I finished ahead of my planned time and I squelched back home.

It was a nice fish, over four pounds but one that should have gone much bigger. There have been quite a few like it this season, the head of a five or six but with the body of a tadpole.

The fish that was lost was Neil's. He appeared behind me with a face that I at first thought meant he had broken his beloved cane rod. But no, he had lost a big barbel at the net. A fish that was undoubtably an eleven, probably a twelve........... maybe even bigger.

The circumstances of the loss were due largely to Neil using my old Mitchell 410. I had told him at length that old reels were ornaments not tackle but he wanted to get one on it and it bit him in the bum.

There is nothing you can say to console someone who has lost a big fish. The sensation of loss, sickness and despair is familiar to all of us yet, I've always said that its the fish we lose or fail to catch that bring us back to the river. After a period of hurt the Boy will be back and will fish with a renewed sense of determination and hopefully, he will meet that fish again.

The Season So Far

2010-08-06T15:46:00.002+01:00

Well here we are in August and I can only remember putting one river fish on the scales. That's not much of a result is it? Trouble is, I'm not really too worried about it.

I can't remember a season like this, the fish just don't seem to be playing ball. Sure, if I was to spend all of the day sat staring at a couple of rod tips, I could probably bore a few fish out but that doesn't appeal to me at the moment. I like to fish short sessions and can usually have a fish or two for my efforts, but not of late - apart from chub that is. I don't mind. I like to catch decent chub and there's plenty of them about but a few barbel would pep things up.

Its not because I've lost the little bit of talent I had though, well, I hope not. Others are finding the same situation, there are obviously less fish about. However, I spoke to Tommo the other day and he's been catching near Hereford. Well, if Tommo can catch - anybody can catch, so there must be loads of fish there ( I think I may get a response to that last sentence). Paul Ashton has come to the same conclusion as me, the barbel are on their holidays, we just hope they will come back soon.

I had a dabble in the week and took some nice chub which put a considerable bend in Bunny's rod. Then Neil and I gave Knightwick a try on the Talbot section. If ever there was a place to demonstrate the lack of Teme fish then this is it. What was previously a prolific stretch is way down on barbel numbers. I had a couple of small barbel feeding in some shallow water but missed the only pull - which I suspect came from a small chub, and Neil had a five pounder after cutting his way into a good looking spot. Other than that it was pants! But a pint of This, the locally brewed ale at the Talbot, made us both feel better. But I had to record my first blank of the season.

I spent most of yesterday with a frozen face after a prolonged mining expedition by the dentist. I did tell him that a capped tooth was giving me right ol' gip but he didn't believe it. He does now because having taken the top of it off, he's found dodgy roots that he then dug out with what looked like a thin baiting needle. I'm back next week for a filling in another tooth then back in a few weeks for the root job to be finished. I hate the bloody dentists and am not looking forward to any of it. The only saving grace is that it is an NHS surgery so my pocket won't suffer too badly.

Looking outside its grey and windy, I think I'll have an early tea and fish for the evening, maybe even staying until it gets dark as opposed to capitulating as the watch reaches 'beer o'clock'. Hopefully, I'll have something of substance to write about tomorrow.

Topical Comment

2010-08-05T11:24:00.002+01:00

There has been much discussion over the last week or so about a certain group of barbel enthusiasts. Tunes have been downloaded that, in some way, reflect the issue of the day and many have made me chuckle. I thank Monty Dalrymple for all of his efforts to bring humour to this turgid world of ours.

Anyway, here's my five penneth worth, sung by that great countryman and angler Bernard Cribbins who prophetically penned this ditty many moons ago.

Mid-life crisis

2010-08-02T14:44:00.001+01:00

This is for Tony

bonniville

The Brummie's done it!

2010-07-30T16:43:00.004+01:00

Big respect goes out to the only optimistic Brummy I've ever met - Carl Salter.

At 5 pm yesterday he set off to climb Ben Nevis. At 3.30 this morning he did Scafell Pike and this afternoon, despite feeling "completely bolloxed", he completed the Three Peak Challenge by climbing Mount Snowdon. The job was done in 22 hours and 3 minutes.

For a fat little bald bloke that is quite an accomplishment and I have nothing but respect for his efforts, the training even involved him cutting back on the beer for goodness sake! Although, he may catch up on some lost time this evening.

Any of you that have met Carl will know what a lovely bloke he is. He has done this in aid of the Living Angels Charity to raise money for ST Giles Hospice in Lichfield. This being the hospice that a close family friend stayed in before her untimely death from cancer last year.

I suggested that next week he should try again to get his time below 22 hours but he mentioned something about a duck cloth or similar, I'm not sure, it was a bad line.

Anyway, Carl I'm proud of you mate - top man.

Carl in training

Anybody wishing to send him a congratulations of organise a donation, his email is info@saltercleaning.com

More about wood

2010-07-30T12:06:00.007+01:00

I've mentioned it before that Andy Sliwa made a rod for my son Neil but he's also been renovating another rod for me. The rod in question was made many moons ago by my old mate Bunny Bunyan from a DIY kit out of a Bruce and Walker blank.

The Mk iv carp rod was de rigueur back in the day and as Bunny saw himself as a latter day Dick Walker, he just had to have one. It was well made too although I doubt that it ever saw a fish anywhere near the size of Clarissa. Anyway, having spoken about wooden rods to Bunny he graciously gave the rod to me. I didn't use it for a while although Neil had some nice chub on it, but when I did, I caught an unexpected perch but no barbel.

Then I decided to try a spot where I felt I would at last test the rod on a decent fish, but failed to get a bite. I lovingly packed everything away but when I next looked at the rod it was damaged. I was mortified. To use something as personal as a cane rod is a genuine treat but the responsibility is always to cherish it. Yet here I was, looking at a rod that had a peculiar piece of damage where the top layer of cane near the tip had lifted and split. It was not done by knocking it and when I asked a couple of rod builders for their opinions, it was the general consensus that either some glue had failed or it was due to the conditions (Bunny's loft) where it had been stored.

I didn't feel any better.

Bunny was very understanding as he had no intention of ever using the rod again. He said that I should glue it up and hang it on a wall. But that was not right; A damaged rod is no use to anybody, I decided to get it repaired. But then, if I had a new top section made it would not be 'Bunny's' rod. Enter Andy Sliwa.

Andy had a look at it and decided that he could repair it and it would still be usable. I had visions of a built up repaired section or of a rod whipped and bound like a broken leg but he set about it and asked if I wanted the whole rod refurbished. In for a penny.... he went ahead.

Yesterday I met up with Andy on the Red Lion section. Part of the deal when he made Neil's rod was that he would have a couple of days here with me, unfortunately I couldn't be with him on Wednesday but yesterday we got it together.

He produced the rod and I was staggered! I thought that he had put Bunny's handle onto a new rod but he insists that its the same one and the mend is quite invisible. It looks absolutely gorgeous and I can't wait to put a bend in it. This guy has some talent, if your old cane rods are looking a bit sad then he's the man to contact.

a rod reborn

As for the fishing, well we tried a spot that, although lovely to look at, did not produce a bite. So we headed for another beat and I learned that Andy's fishing has not been too successful so far this season and he hadn't landed a barbel so far. Also, he'd never had more than one barbel in a day, due mainly to low stock density on his home section of river. I really wanted to get him a fish or two.

In the chosen swim I droppered a load of hemp and suggested he fish hemp in the feeder with a 10mm pineapple on the hook. I had to pop into Hay for a an hour but returned to find a happy angler who'd had a nice chub and a barbel of about seven pounds. Excellent.

We stuck at it and when Andy's rod (a carbon rod by the way), bent around, he hit into a heavy fish that staid deep and gave a really good account of itself. Safely in the net it went nine pounds exactly. Andy was doing cartwheels down the bank and I felt that I had, in some small way, given back some of the pleasure that his rod building has given me.

Andy looks happy with his fish

Alas, the river switched off during the evening and only a chub was added to the catch. Neil was fishing elsewhere and his chub, that had been biting freely earlier, stopped feeding just at the time you would expect them to come on and have a go. Not to worry, Andy went home happy and will no doubt be back again.

He did give me one more little gem. For the ultimate bamboo tart (I am well short of that by the way) he has made some split cane handled baiting needles. Mine will probably never see the river because I lose things way too easily. But for those who appreciate wood, take a look at the picture and drool. Although I rather suspect that the likes of ol' Twocanes himself will claim, through gritted teeth, "well, I don't use boilies anyway". I know you're jealous Rocca, eat yer heart out ;-)

Guiding

2010-07-29T19:19:00.003+01:00

When I'm not driving around the country in my van solving mysteries, I do a spot of guiding.

I'm not one of those that have a web site or that shouts about the amount of fish they have caught, I just do it as it crops up, usually through the Red Lion. To be honest, I don't want to do many days a season as I find that going over the same old shpeel each time is a bit boring and also, I put myself under pressure to find fish especially when the going is tough. If I'm guiding I want my client to catch, there's nothing worse than a blank even if they go away with an injection of knowledge.

Anyway, this week I had Mike Perry with me. Mike's been coming back to me for about five or six years, the poor misguided (literally) fool. He's a great bloke and a day with him is always fun despite his appalling catalogue of jokes. Mike brought along Angus and Andrew, neither of which had ever seen a barbel before.

Due to them making a minor cock up in the arrangements with the Wye an Usk, the beat was booked for Monday even though they were not fishing until Tuesday and Wednesday. It would be a pity to waste it so I had a dabble myself with Neil.

We walked the bank and spotted a few desirable places. I opted to explore as I had to find at least three goer swims.

First cast and I bumped a lump of meat over a shallow gravel run. Meat is a great way to find fish and as the weight hung up on a rock, I felt a pull and landed a little barbel. Oh dear! I hate catching a barbel first chuck, it usually spells doom for the rest of the session and this day was no exception. Try as I might, I couldn't find another fish.

Two days later and it had all come together quite nicely. On the first day Mike had a few barbel on the float whilst the others trotted hard all day but only had dace and chub to their names. It doesn't make my job any easier when the guests insist on catching on the float but hey ho, its their day so I have to do my best.

On the second day Angus had a couple of small barbel on float gear but later sat restless and bored (he's a trout angler in the main), waiting for his lead rod to go. It didn't.

Andrew moved into the area where Mike had taken a couple of eight pounders and finally got his first two barbel, the best of which went seven pounds something.

It was hard fishing but two more men have been initiated into the barbel anglers guild - job done.

2010-07-25T10:45:00.002+01:00

I've been a right grump of late, I can't help it, its just the way it is when you are a depressive. I've suffered for - well, most of my life in one way or another but since I succumbed to post traumatic stress disorder the bouts are understandably a tad deeper. So, if ever I don't post anything for a few days, it may be because I'm sat with a little black cloud over my head or, I may just have nothing to say - that also happens occasionally ;-)

Anyway, feeling off with the river is usual for me in mid-summer. I am naturally very protective of 'my' stretch of the river. I am the bailiff, I prepare swims, mend fences and stiles that sort of thing, and I treasure each fish that swims there. But by the sixth week of the season I have usually witnessed more than my share of piss poor practice by visiting anglers.

Now, I don't begrudge anybody putting in a massive effort to catch their fish especially when they are on a holiday break that is costing a bob or two. If you go away to fish you want to get value for money and to many 'value' equals quantity. But what they fail to understand or care about is the effect they are having on the fishing. People that have a good day in a particular swim will always return to that swim the next day and give it another hammering, probably catching some of the same fish again. When they complete their stay there is usually a spell of crowing in the bar about how good they are and how they have the river sussed. The next man to leap into that swim after hearing of its success, will do the same during his trip and so it goes on. The end result is always a swim that has been hammered to death and as a result, becomes poor or fished out.

The Wye seems quite prone to this turn of events and although there are a few swims that keep producing year in year out, many of the 'new' swims where a group of fish is located then exploited, last only a relatively short time. Its just the situation that arises on a 'holiday venue'. Were this section a club water the pressure would be far less intense.

I can cope with this situation, there is always somewhere else to fish that is out of the way and most won't walk far from their cars anyway. But its the attitude of some. The thought that if they throw a ton of bait into the river it will always catch them more fish. I've seen a group of twenty anglers fish for a week over a stretch of nearly five miles of river. They baited so heavily with pellets that, for a day or two, they caught quite well but, by the end of the week nobody could buy a bite! In fact, the only thing that seemed to be grabbing pellets was pike!

Then there are the guys that will spend hundreds of pounds on travel, accommodation and bait but who won't cough up a tenner for a landing net bigger than a tea strainer, line heavier than 5lb bs or of course, an unhooking mat. Mention fish care to these people and they give you a look of incredulity. It really, really pisses me off.

Oh I've tried to educate, tactfully and politely. I've raised my voice at some that have just been ignorant. But its all conflict that I can do without so, when I am fishing, I try to find a quiet spot and avoid the crowds. Unfortunately, up until a few days ago, most of those out of the way spots have been bereft of barbel but they are starting to spread out a bit now so things are looking up. Neil has had a couple of evening sessions that have each given him a brace of barbel so I'll have to get down and catch some soon, he' already bragging about catching more than me - the little pup.

Talking about The Boy, it was a proud day on Wednesday when he collect his degree in Fisheries and Fishery Management. My son has got letters after his name - time was I thought he'd end up with numbers in front of it :-) Not really, he's a good lad and worked hard for three years. His facebook page summed it up nicely, "went on a three year bender and woke up with a 2.1 degree". Not too far from the truth but there was some effort involved, wasn't there?

I'm fishing one of the Wye and Usk beats tomorrow, checking it out before a couple of days guiding a trio of anglers that want to catch on the float. My persistent tendonitis means I will not use the float rod much myself but I'll hopefully find a barbel or two. They also want to get to grips with fishing on the lead so its going to be hard work but, if they catch a few and have a laugh or two along the way, it will be worthwhile. I'll let you know how it goes.

The Moth

2010-07-20T13:01:00.002+01:00

So there I was visiting our aged neighbour in the care home. There was an 'O' group in session as they did their morning exercises and a crossword. Suddenly there was a distraction, a large moth flew into the human circle and all eyes were upon it.

Being something of a lepidopterist on the quiet I stepped forward in order to rescue what I identified as a Lime Hawk Moth, a large and beautiful creature. After a bit of cat and mouse stuff amongst the chairs I had it gently cupped in my hands and I headed for the open window. Much better to take charge and secure a rescue than have somebody squish it, I thought.

Out of the window it went and flew down, skimming the grass as it got its bearings. Enter stage left - two blackbirds swooped into view and a moment later my lovely moth was a mouthful of chick feed. Ah well, I tried.

Man Flu

2010-07-19T21:51:00.003+01:00

Man Flu! ~A terrible affliction that can strike at any time. I've had a throat thing all weekend and that's enough to have me sat in front of the TV, Sky Plus at the ready and back to back Family Guy.

If you are not familiar with Family Guy then shame on you. It is the finest adult animated show ever and knocks the Simpsons well and truly back into the 20th century. Delightfully non-pc and very funny. Its on BBC3, check it out.

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Bloggers everywhere seem to enjoy pressing their musical tastes upon us. I'm not averse to this, far from it. In fact, I've decided to join in. But my music tastes are as wide and diverse so, I'll just post links to three tracks that, for different reasons, make me feel good inside. I hope that you enjoy at least one of them :-)

Finley Quaye Just smooooooth music.

KLF and Tammy Mad but great. They burned £1,000,000 just because they could.

And Here - something from the vaults of one hit wonders but I love it.

Melancholic musings

2010-07-16T14:51:00.003+01:00

Sorry if this sound a bit gloomy, its just how I feel today and I guess that a blog should be an honest representation of one's moods. I am predisposed to melancholy and that may well be the driving force here but, I don't know what's the matter with me at the moment. I have very little enthusiasm to fish and I'm not very excited by barbel. Trouble is, its not just this season. I felt pretty much this way last summer.

Its not just me either. Last year loads of previously fanatical barbel nuts were telling me that their interest was waning. Just recently Tony Rocca and Conrad Farlow have mentioned a similar phenomenon on their blogs - what is going on?

I have suspected that the barbel boom has come and gone for a while now, quite why, I am not sure but I have a few theories. Maybe I'll leave those for another day. For now, I am trying to summon up enough effort to sort my gear and go down to the river. I should be running down as the river has risen and is coloured which will surely give me a chance of a fish or two.

But instead, I am sitting here with yet another cup of coffee mucking about on my laptop.

Looking back over the season so far I don't think that I have put very much effort into it. Time was I'd have been searching out new swims and working hard to find where the shoals are holding up. But I know the section so well now I know most of the answers already. I know, for example, that if the fish are not feeding in the low conditions then staying late will get me some results. But have I bothered to prove it? No, because I don't need to.

I know that if I want to catch loads of barbel I can do so just by driving downstream to Hereford or Ross. There the shoals are bigger and the fish much, much easier to catch. But again, what does it prove if I go and bag ten or fifteen fish in a session? I can fish harder for two fish in a day here than it would take to land a shed load there so why bother? I could take up one of the kind offers from my angling buddies and go to somewhere like the Trent but it just seems like a lot of effort for a few barbel.

I think I'm just barbelled out at the moment. I wasn't even intending to fish for them until the autumn but with having The Boy home, I've been drawn to the river on his wave of enthusiasm. Trouble is, when I am fishing, I get bored quickly and just mooch about trying for a bite or two. Its not helped that I am again unable to float fish. I had plans to spend much of the summer months up to my nuts in the cool waters of the Wye, trotting a float for everything from dace up to barbel but my bloody tendonitis has returned with a vengeance and I can only manage about thirty minutes before I have to stop. Neil doesn't mind though, he's discovered the joy of my trotting gear and has had a few productive sessions taking numerous chub to four and a half pounds.

I could fish the carp pool but it transpired that the perch I found wasn't the only recent casualty. Several other perch, albeit smaller ones, have died which means that the pool has been suffering due to the heat and low conditions. I cannot find it in me to chase fish that are suffering so have stayed away.

Hey ho. Perhaps it just takes a lucky catch or to spot something special to retrieve my mojo. I hope so and I hope it comes soon. Maybe I just need a couple of bream trips to sort me out.

La Belle France

2010-07-14T10:36:00.002+01:00

I've done it. I've booked my crossing - Dover to Dunkirk £38 return (how cheap is that?). My lad is taking his own car so that we can carry more gear and just as important, we can go and do our own thing should the urge be felt.

We are leaving on the last few days of September for two weeks and are heading for the south of France and the river Lot.

Neil spent four of the coldest weeks of last winter living in his bivvy whilst doing a work experience on a Kent gravel pit. As you can see, he is made of stern stuff and can do two weeks in a tent without breaking sweat. Me, well I'm getting soft in my old age and the thought of two weeks without a fridge or shower is beyond me. So the plan is to bivvy up and fish my pants off for three or four days then, leaving Neil to it if he wants, I head off to my gite just a few hundred yards away. There I can get myself sorted, relax for a day as necessary, and fish as much as I like. Now that's the sort of roughing it I can handle.

Why the Lot? Well I have been doing my homework on the French rivers as well as the climate. It seems that October is usually warm with low rain fall in that region (fingers crossed but I'll take a coat just in case). The river holds plenty of carp that, according to a mate that's fished there, are obliging and feed during the day. There's also stacks of barbel and, for those night session, bleeding great big catfish. Also, unlike most of France, there are extensive reaches of the river where you can legally night fish.

The preparation is well underway. I've bought us a spod rod each to use on the cats. I know that a shorter uptide job would probably be better but the spod rod will get used on the pits in the future. As well as tackle I've bought some walkie talkies that can be charged up in the car. If you have never used them walkie talkies are a great help when you are fishing with a mate. Phone charges are quite high abroad so there will be no need to make calls or texts and for the drive down, especially around Paris, I think that they will easily pay for themselves.

There is much more to arrange and much more to buy but the plans are well in place. To say that we are both looking forward to it is something of an understatement and I shall no doubt be talking about it more in the future.

Rain?

2010-07-13T11:25:00.002+01:00

Well its more a sort of drizzle at the moment but there is a chance of some proper stuff later - just when I've bought a gallon of maggots for me and The Boy to go trotting! I don't mind wasting some bait if we get an inch or two of the wet stuff, the river is in desperate need.

We nipped down for a short evening session yesterday. I started off on the float but the swim I had chosen was much slower than I expected due to the low conditions, and I couldn't get my bait through a dense cloud of minnows and bleak. When I did get a proper bite I was miles away and missed it. So I decided to lob a little boilie out and sit back for a better fish. I couldn't float fish anywhere else as Neil had grabbed my waders and had gone exploring.

I soon had a chub of about 4lbs, followed by a slightly smaller one. I wandered upstream to find The Boy and he was happy rolling a pellet around a narrow, fast pool. He'd also had chub and a 'follow' from a small barbel.

I mover down to 'Naked Dip', so named after yours truly recovered Tommo's snagged fish after stripping off one evening - Mrs Burr was quick with the camera and the resulting shots are ideal for the mantel piece........ if you want to keep the kids away from the fire.

I was using modeling clay for weight again, its so versatile and doesn't scare the fish on the cast. Touch legering (shock horror from Shrek Horak), and felt a slight pull. I hit the next one but missed. If a barbel gives a pull like that I will invariably connect so I reckoned it was chub and gave the next one some line to play with. On its third pull, it took a few inches of line, I struck and again missed. The crafty little buggers don't usually display this amount of caution so early in the season but it is often the way when the river is low for a long period, fish tend to wise up and 'learn' about rigs and baits when they have more time and clear water in which to study them.

I changed my position and cast upstream. Now the fish would feel less resistance when it picked the bait up and within minutes the line slackened, then pulled tight as the fish headed upstream - whack! Another four pounder.

I fiddled with my rig and attached the clay to a loop of line making it free running. I cast again and just as Neil returned to the car, I had a decent pull and a scrappy fish, smaller than the last, came to hand. I say 'hand', as I rarely net chub in swims where I am stood at the water's edge. They come sliding in and are either flicked off the hook or gently lifted and the hook removed. It saves a lot of faffing about and causes the minimal stress to the fish.

So that was that, four chub each and a pleasant little session. But if we get an inch or two of rain in the hills today, tomorrow may see a very different sort of result............ hopefully!

2010-07-11T18:28:00.002+01:00

There has been a death in the carp pool. A death that is sure to send ripples across its entire three acres as a new order comes to pass.

If I can digress for a moment. I think that every lake I have ever fished has, according to those that run or fish it, contained "monster carp that are rarely seen but never caught", along with "two pound roach and someone once had a perch of three and a half". I have learned to treat these tales with a large pinch of salt, especially the perch stories.

Perch have always been something of a bogey fish for me. I don't think that big perch are particularly hard to catch once located but I have rarely fished genuine 'perch' venues. I once took a ticket for a series of ponds where I was told that two pound perch were common place. One chap suggested that his day's roach fishing was hopeless as he kept on catching two pound perch one after the other. So I tried for myself and failed to catch a single one.

The next autumn I returned to try and rectify the wrong only to be told "Perch? Nah! they've all gone mate". And so it was. They had disappeared as if by magic as is the way with the perch.

On Cheddar reservoir, Chris Newton and I spent many happy days catching loads of perch on big slider floats and paternostered worms - to one pound fourteen ounces. Then, one day Chris took his girlfriend with him and she had a two pound two - just like that.

My biggest perch is a mere two and a half pounds which, although a handsome fish, is small beer in this day and age so, when I took my ticket for the carp pool I was hoping that the reported perch were genuine and that the coming winter may see me upping my pb.

Which brings me back to the start of this post. Neil and I walked around the lake today, scratched and stung as we pushed through the overgrown path. Neil ventured onto one of the old platforms and spotted a dead fish in about four feet of water. Lying belly up we assumed, at first, it was a small carp but I noticed that its pelvic fins were set well forward. A stick was found and a massive perch of well over three pounds came to the surface. Although it was stiff and the colour faded, the eyes were bright and it didn't smell too bad. There were no marks in its mouth so I can only suggest that it died of natural causes. Could it have been old age? Or has the oxygen level dropped causing the pool's largest predator to keel over. This is the way in nature; it is better that the predators die to give the prey fish a chance to continue.

But it must be a major event in a pool like this. That perch must have ruled the roost for years and, in its pomp, would have been a majestic sight. I would love to have met it then.

Are there more like it? Was it the biggest? Will another grow on to replace it? I may have an answer for you later in the year.

Why

2010-07-10T10:20:00.003+01:00

What is it about sitting in a canoe that makes people think that anglers want to say hello to them?

Why do people on boats think that anglers want to wave to them?

And those middle aged men that ride those novelty bicycles, you know the ones, they either sit low and your legs reach out to pedals out in front of you with a silly flag above you to stop cars squashing you. Or the Molten style folding jobs etc. Why do they always ride them with a self satisfied, smug grin on their faces?

Why do people wave at trains?

Why does nobody smile when the check their receipt at the cash point?

Why do postmen whistle? Is it a requirement or do they get trained?

Why does my wife set the alarm for seven when there's only two of us?

Answers on a postcard......................