Guests

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.