Tom Herbert Stole My Blog

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.