Paddy

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.