Crazy Dace on The Severn

 It's the river that keeps on giving really - The Severn. I've had red letter days of big roach and perch, the obligatory but more than welcome chub and barbel sessions, hey even pike pop up unbidden on a regular basis, but what was missing was a good dace fest. Not those blade fish that seem to be everywhere in summer but proper dace, 'Tonkers' as we call them, today was to be one of those days....eventually.

I arrive at Arley at 10 am after leaving at 7.30 am, a good run with no traffic almost negates the madness of a day trip from Hemel Hempstead to just north of Bewdley. Still the end justifies the means and I was now on the banks doing my annual winter day trip here. I was greeted with a river that looked pretty spot on and weather that was warm with a mix of sun and cloud, there was a bit of a breeze but nothing to worry about.

Settling in a spot where I'd had a good chub day a few winters back I couldn't wait to get going but an hour of trotting later with no bites lead me to move when the low sun, as it does on this bend in the river made viewing the float difficult as it trundled along somewhere in the pretty, yet headache inducing ripples, the sunlight was glinting on the surface but my float was getting lost too often in the glare.

With many a spot taken the next swim I fished was just below, with logic reasoning that it was likely this was where some of my feed was ending up, it was an awkward spot that's never fished but usually produces good chub for me, the sloping muddy bank makes it impossible to sit on but ideal for the roving angler. Today my footsteps seemed the first, however it was ideal for bleak of all things, plus one lone dace, a countable fish and a blank avoiding one at that.

Roving further upstream with that one dace to show for the journey I tried another banker chub spot to no avail. There was however a great spot to stop and have lunch, with a good view both downstream and upstream.

A few more swims and no bites made a return to the busy area closer to the car park more sensible, I hoped to find a vacated swim by now as the afternoon wore on. I had to have another dangle in a spot I had fished earlier knowing I have also had success here before, this time unlike the morning I decided to creep in like a proper angler realizing I had gone in all 'heavy cart horse' previously. It worked and I was soon playing a nice chub caught a few feet from the bank. Stealth rules!

No more chub followed and many of the other anglers had gone from downstream only to be replaced by new ones which often happens. Therefore it was back to my awkwardly sloping bank of mud in an attempt to get another dace or two.

More bleak obliged but I stuck at it in what was now perfect cloudy weather, overcast late afternoon gloom which usually screams chub. After half an hour I finally get a half decent dace, thinking it's possibly the last fish I may photo today, I go back up the mud bank to firmer ground for a quick pic. Little did I know many, much larger ones would follow.

What came next was madness, suddenly it was bite a cast but not the usual dace trotting. I've had dace days before on other rivers but this was bonkers. Firstly the float was going under instantly, there was no way my feed was getting down where my float hit the water, set to a depth of around 5 feet. Then the float wasn't going under, it was riding up all bleak style but with a dace on every time. Then it got to the stage when I just cast and, if the float hadn't twitched within a second I just struck, a fish was on without fail, it was bizarre. I was too lazy to shallow up, I didn't need to as no bite was missed, no fish were lost.

These dace were shoaled up ready for breeding, a mix of sandpaper coated, long lean males and fat, spawn laden females, these were massive and very heavy, not warranting the iffy climb up the bank for a photo but a quick glance in admiration as they filled my hand with their girth, before getting returned as gently as I could.

I was then joined by a young piker who I'd bumped into a couple of times on our roves, he stopped and watched as we both marveled at this dace show, wondering just how many of the things were suddenly below me feeding like nuts, even the bleak couldn't get a chance, in our brief chat another 15 dace were added to the tally.

In little over an hour I had 74 of them, with only a couple smaller than the first fish, 12 -15 lb is a conservative estimate. All whilst talking to both the piker and an old boy on the opposite bank who was shouting across that I was catching lots, bless him, thanks Captain Obvious!  I had to see the funny side although it was really tiring, a long day driving, hard fishing and now perching on a sloping bank, the sort where you are always balancing, with it now a bite a chuck, I stretched my aching back and concluded I'm getting old. 

Now the fishing was ridiculously easy, too easy especially compared to earlier. I stopped as the light became crepuscular knowing I could still get many more dace, instead I fed the last of the maggots to a robin which had the whitest of undersides, which glowed almost radiant in stark contrast to the gloom, I looked out across the meadows one last time thinking how busy the moles had been, how busy I had been. The long journey home now beckoned to a tired, but happy angler.

As for those crazy dace, well it was a short spell of madness, quite how many were down there I'll never know but I think I'll always remember that final hour with fondness.

 

Two Rivers, Too High, Too Many Fish?

First up lets get that title out of the way, can a river be too high for fishing? From my experience not if it's still within it's banks more or less, sure there's the safety element and flooding isn't good for those affected but those fish have to go somewhere and if warm enough WILL feed, that is one of the many reasons why I love fishing swollen rivers. As for too many fish, well keep your expectations low or the extra water will beat you, keep your optimism high though and you could well be rewarded. 

River Avon - Bidford-on-Avon

 Following the rains I had to get out last week, it had been a while and I hoped to get my mojo back, you know when you have a venue in mind and you're going to fish it no matter what, so I checked the river levels which showed the Warks Avon to be dropping, the spot I had mapped out in my head was to be where I caught some really good perch this time last year.

Things seldom go to plan so as we arrive (my missus in tow) on a windy but sunny day I am struck by how high the river still was. Any notion of fishing my perch spot was blown away given that the stile I need to cross to get into the second meadow was a good foot under water, crossing the usually dry ditch it traverses in such circumstances would just be stupid, given it must be 5 feet deep and that's without the mud. The only option was to fish the lock cut instead.

The river was above the towpath and the mooring poles for the boats were just visible below the surface, flow was minimal here compared to the torrent of the main stream the other side, where the little weir roared formidably above the noise of the willows blowing. For the slow lock cut a light stick was put on and naturally the calm waters that preceded the choice of set up became a chop as soon as fishing commenced, why does that always happen?

I decided to stick it out (no pun intended) rather than change to waggler and was rewarded by bites after ten minutes of finding the depth and a clearish spot, anything would do in such circumstances so I was happy to get a nice mix of decent roach, dace, gudgeon, perch and fun sized bream, all of which had their usual colour washed out.

The bottom of these locks are always covered in thin strands of weed so whilst not snags a such they did make presentation hard. The water also dropped whilst we were there with tops of the mooring poles just protruding above the surface for the first time and the towpath was now visible but still well below the water.

Bites were steady and kept me busy with waves of dace replacing the roach with the odd perch shwoing but not the bigger ones I had hoped for, the bream put up a right scrap on the light line, perhaps their muscles toned from the extra flow, far removed their lazy carp pool counterparts, even if the water was of a similar colour.

My missus meanwhile was chasing the kingfisher about with the camera which put on a show feeding from the willow downstream, and perching on the lock gates.

Bit of a blurry shot but her hands were getting cold, such was the big willow that sheltered us somewhat from the biting wind also blocked the warmth from the sun, with this is mind we packed up fairy early, it was a good day out with plenty of fish caught and a few netters, job done.

River Thames - Wallingford

A few days later I am off to a rising river Thames, wondering what the hell I was doing as I drove through heavy rain the entire route, with the showers supposedly forecast later I did think it was one of those days where they get it wrong and it was 'In for the day.'  I hoped not as I parked in a flooded lane, leaving mine the only car there to cross an equally flooded meadow.

The river didn't look too fast, we've all seen the Thames higher but it had a heavy flow highlighted by a young swan which went downstream faster than boats are allowed. I stopped by the first slack knowing I could get soaked through at any moment so not wanting to walk too far.

A heavier float than usual was needed as the slack was anything but, however a steady pace did make for a nice trot through with a 6 x no4, nicer still was the float burying third run down and a decent roach was netted, the roach kept coming and it was great being able to fish maggot without being plagued by bleak.

It was a fairly slow process as each cast the bites were in a small area under a tree that required the float held back from the off, almost running through in a semi circular trot with the eddy, this deeper, slower zone must have been where my feed was collecting, the bites were unmissable though when the float finally got down to this sweet spot each time.

The first 20 fish were all roach before I started getting through to some dace and perch, the flow picked up, got more boily and coloured, holding back harder earned some better roach and suddenly every one was a netter, not huge but not small and jolly good fun.

I also manged a few silver bream, lovely little things these with their huge eyes, you also get them on bread or hemp but I had 7 today on maggot.

A couple for bleak did show but I've got the coloured water to thank that they didn't ruin the day, ending up with over 60 fish in around 3 hours fishing. I stayed in the slack spot all the time only stopping for coffee breaks, lunch and occasionally looking behind me to see what weather was coming my way. Aside from the the odd light shower I pretty much got away with it in that respect. 

It was a surreal peaceful day, very few dog walkers braved the puddles and like the previous trip no boats braved the high waters, my turbo charged swan arrived to pester me only briefly, wagtails provided a touch of colour and on that note a kingfisher made just one solo flypast, unlike the chinooks which cross the river here quite often breaking the silence with a thunderous style.

I only packed up after things went slow following a cormorant surfacing in the swim, besides I was almost out of bait, the pint of maggots having done well over the two trips for over 100 fish - Is that too many? Of course not but it sure beats blanking on these high rivers, when everyone else is at home.

Mullet Below The Castle

 The first session of a two day trip was down the docks, the water was gin clear and mullet were everywhere, trouble was they were thin-lips with their mind set on munching away at the algae. The bass on the other hand obliged although there seemed far less than usual, I still managed twenty of these giants to get off to a start. 

It was just great to get away after laying my dad to rest recently so anything would do, even small bass. A new era of fishing had began for me, so off we went to our holiday rental, a bottle of wine and an evening of reflection waited as we bid the working docks farewell in the hot afternoon sun.

The following day we were further down the coast after saying adieu to the Adur for a run at the Arun. When not playing with words regarding these similar sounding rivers one has to marvel at the surroundings. I have said it before and no doubt will again - It is an uncontested fact that fishing anywhere within sight of a castle is cool, especially if they stand proud above the skyline as Arundel's offering does.

I'd love to say the river Arun meanders all romantically below said fortification but it does anything but, sure the river has gentle sweeping bends however that is the only thing gentle about it, the tide is a bit of a fast one and we rocked up just as it was about to turn and head out with haste, this was perfect timing as far as I was concerned.

I tried to take my time setting up, fed a bit of bread and looked for signs of fish, the first mullet sighted always gets the float put on quicker, which today was a waggler due to a bit of a breeze creating a chop. As the tide dropped the first of several metres more mullet came into view but like the day before they were thin-lips, uninterested in my bread.

I knew to be patient and continued to feed, after another hour the missus walked off to spend a penny in the town and within a few minutes of her leaving I finally had some activity on the bread. A trick I've found here is to just wait until they show rather work a line endlessly for a bite and sure enough a big swirl on the surface was a precursor to three mullet vying for my hookbait next cast. I could swear the largest of the three looked me in the eye in doing so, it was breathtaking stuff, I then bent into this fish which tore into the midstream flow like it was nothing, then everything suddenly parted company. Such was the violent way this fish beat me I was sure it was a snap off yet there was my hook, dangling in the wind, looking sorry for itself, much like me.

I had little time to dwell on misfortune as ten minutes later the same scenario arrives with another swirl on the surface, the metaphoric 'Bite Imminent' siren was sounding in my head complete with flashing lights and sure enough it was another fish on again where the swirl was. This time though I was more proactive, jumping down onto the sloping bank, keeping the rod lower, powering the fish upstream, praying that there would be no hook pull. After several attempts at landing the fish I finally had a reward for my patience and it was a beauty.

The Missus finally comes back from the shops telling me of olde bookshops, walkways and of course public loos but I had a big smile on my face and a tale of a mullet to recount.

An hour passes with nothing more showing so lunch is taken, naturally whilst halfway through more mullet arrive as I continued to feed the swim as well as myself,  concentrating on the former of course, so I went in again with the float and so the mullet obliged, a wonderful ripping bite down the bottom of the trot that powered upstream through the fastest of the tide, my line singing in the breeze and clutch screaming, I endeavoured to keep it away from huge swathes of flotsam that were either large pieces of wood or mats of floating rushes. 

With the wife back I got some action shots this time.

I'd love to say this next pic is one of it being landed first time but no, in true mullet tradition the fish managed to escape the netting process with ease, on a number of occasions. It's something I've witnessed done to better mullet anglers than me and can be quite chaotic, even funny at times.

I only beat it by getting it upstream of the net, in such flows not easy but the end justifies the means and it's another beauty.

Two mullet out of three is a return I'd take all day long and that was it, as the world's most annoying swan decided to loiter in my swim making feeding impossible. Then the low tide combined with an unforecast but surprisingly savage upstream wind to make packing up the wise thing to do. What a fantastic trip it had been, just what we needed, two days away in another world.

A Day's Chubbing on The Warks Avon (In Pictures)

 Last week saw me and the wife visit the Warwickshire Avon on a cloudy summer's day, perfect for trotting so I went straight on the pellet. 

After a few decent roach and dace I'm into a decent chub

Not huge but welcome, a scarred fish that naturally I got photographed on it's good side

It was hard work so after lunch re-positioned slightly and switched to a finer hooklength, the results were instant, however this meant careful playing so as not to bring the nearside reeds into play early, whilst at the same time battling the underwater weed mid river, this meant a high rod early doors and a lower one when they came closer.

The second chub on lighter line was a lot of fun

The next chub was bigger, It went under a swan which followed me in

Side strain was needed when they got sight of those tasty reeds

By now I was just unhooking them in the water

The 8th chub was a familiar sight being the same battled scarred fish I caught earlier, I'd lost only one fish all day and had a nice catch of around 30lb of chub, roach and dace. 

Whilst wading as deep as I could, staring down by my feet I could spot roach, dace, perch, minnow, small chub, big gudgeon and even rudd as the water was so clear. The river felt alive with fish and I felt alive fishing it.

Just one last trot through

River Thames D'Oyly Carte

 It's not often one gets round the airport section of the M25 without stopping so the fishing gods were truly shining on me when I arrived near Weybridge on The River Thames at half past ten.

After a bit of rain the river was pushing through well so I settled upon a newly formed sand bank opposite D'Oyly Carte island. There would be no farcical comic opera moments I hoped trying my best to refrain from any Gilbert and Sullivan themed punnery, for the time being at least.

My little private beach looked mighty nice, I say private but anyone could have joined me, although they would have struggled for room, It looked like one of those little desert islands you see in cartoons, complete with washed up logs.

My stool was sinking in these new sands, the tread from my boots were the first, it was a wonderful spot to leave footprints and take home memories, for me it was home for a few hours, just to wet a line. 

The flow here was a lot slower and screamed perch close in. I set up a 4 x no4 stick with tapered shot, shirt button, leading to a no10 dropper. Hoping to get fish on the drop and if bleak showed then a rethink would take place of course.

Spoiler alert there was to be no bleak at all, a welcome change from the middle Thames. It was a dace v roach battle from the off, so much for my perch hypothesis too. The roach and dace traded blows and the dace were a decent size, with the odd tonker.

The roach weren't big but weren't tiny either so it was a lovely few hours getting a few fish on float.

Rowers passed close at times but I was cool with it, everything was polite and relaxed. We were all enjoying a summer day on the river.

The odd pleasure cruiser sauntered by and one hire boat went by with ladies enjoying a glass or two of wine, their boisterous applause accompanied the time old "He's got a fish" so I had to milk it and take a comedy bow as I slipped another nice dace back.

Half way through the session I changed to more of a bulk shotted rig to trundle deeper as the dowstream breeze picked up and threatened to get fiesty, the wind to be fair did iron out the wash from boats, plus being opposite an island half the traffic went the other side, however the downstream wind picking up meant I had to stand to mend the line better. I finally managed a couple of perch, but the bigger ones eluded me, It didn't stop me catching more silvers as the dace and roach kept coming.

The wildlife was typical Thames fare, as a black swan drifted by in the distance, far from the zoom of my little camera, while parakeets squawked their nonsense verse overhead, a weird looking goose made an even weirder sound and the plop from canada geese leaving the gardens way on the far side echoed across, like they were next to me, although as the day wore on they were, having drifted to the nearby jetty much like the ferry did all day..

Then finally a good bend in the rod came, courtesy of the world's thinnest pike, ambushing a dace, which I saw spin and make a lucky escape, the silver dart did just that leaving me to play it's nemesis. This pike was probably two feet long but less than 2lbs in weight, It didn't half go though. I did say on the opening day the next pike was going to get landed, so here is the behemoth.

The sandy bar was a lovely spot to watch these fish swim off, the roach and dace looked translucient in the clear shallows, the perch sat there momentarily all stripes and fins erect, as for that jack pike, well it rocked it's camo gloriously, moving almost snake like, through the shallows back to the deeps

That was more or less it for the day as I wanted to beat the rush home, just one dace followed the pike and then it went dead, perhaps due to a stroppy predator wanting a second attempt at dinner.

It was a good time to pack up, 4 hours fished for 25 roach, 24 dace, 2 perch and that monster esox for a total of 52, around 10lb in total, all the fish were immaculate 

My panorama for the day wasn't bad as I watched the ferry trundle back and forth where the Wey meets Shepperton Lock, it was a busy environment but at the same time quite peaceful being a weekday.

As I packed up a great crested grebe did it's rounds. There were no Gondoliers or Pirates to be seen, coming from D'Oyly Carte island, as I bid my little 'desert island' farewell..

The M25 moved on the way home (sort of) but I'll take that all day long. Much like like ladies earlier I'll enjoy a glass (or two) of wine and watch England v Netherlands in the Euro semi-final, if the game goes good or bad I'll still reminisce on a nice day by the river.

PS, The game went well, must rearrange the same scenario for the final - A nice day's fishing, bottle of wine at home, watch game.

River Severn Northwood & Hampton Loade

 The first trip of the year up The River Severn is always something to look forward to but on this occasion I hastily booked the world's smallest caravan for a night and a few days later I am here, down in the Severn Valley on a last minute mini trip, so what could possibly go wrong?

I fancied a new stretch for me just above Bewdley town centre and after opening a poorly maintained gate that required lifting (and tweaking the old back) I made my way down to the river, I knew she would be low but she still looked good. I passed another angler, an old fella, no doubt the owner of the only other car in the car park, wondering how the heck he got that gate open and closed when I struggled.

I passed the old bridge which looked weird without the 'bridge' bit, the stanchions standing proud out of the river like the legs of a huge beast, it was dismantled in 1965 so stands as a monument now to a defunct railway line, an impressive legacy though and a local landmark.

I set up in a fast shallow area downstream where I could actually see Bewdley road bridge from where I had waded out. Trotting maggots over hemp was always going to be the planned attack and I was happy to get loads of dace from the offset knowing that getting through to the odd bigger fish would make for a jolly good day's trotting, even getting a shed full of dace would do so I was happy being well on the way to the latter.

Then it happened, something anyone who has worn waders regularly has experienced, that sharp sensation that goes from leaving you thinking how cold the water is to knowing you have a leak in the old boots. I say old but they were anything but, although it does show the folly of taking a punt on cheap waders from Amazon. 

I came out of the water knowing that I had accommodation booked and a bit of drying to do, tipped out the contents of The Severn from my left boot and sat on some steps further downstream. Trying to dry my sock when it was a cloudy 17c was futile as was wading again when they were gone at the seam, a boot full of water is also pretty dangerous as you slip inside the boot, plus it can get cold and annoying. I caught a few roach and small perch fishing with a bare foot whilst lamenting I couldn't wade much for the rest of the two day trip.

I was still positive, a good fish or two would make it all magic, besides there's always a memory in these mishaps, who knows I could even luck into a good spot as a result, perhaps a monster akin to those old bridge stanchions, I donned my old leaky boot, the initial feeling of cold soon warmed, most the water was gone and the general public was saved from seeing (and perhaps smelling) my bare water pruned foot.

Upstream I went back to the old bridge, it would be cool to fish near it after all, here it looked deep but was anything but, as I snagged this and that before a map of the snags was imprinted in the memory, sometimes it only takes a small area to catch a few fish so I was buoyed to get a small chub, the landing net was used at last.

Then a decent roach and a good perch followed before another chub similar in size, all in a spot that was less than two feet deep, I was building a nice mix of fish and the leaky boot was forgotten, job done. Then I hit a better chub that took line before heading for a bit of hit and hold action with a submerged willow, "Oh no you don't" was my audible response when it was make or break with the snags, so imagine my surprise when red fins and those green stripey flanks appeared, a cracking perch just shy of 2lb was in the net.

It then started raining fairly heavy, so I did think how miserable I could have felt with a cold wet foot out in those shallows, mind you I also contemplated running along and sheltering under 'the bridge' before quickly realizing how daft that would be. I suppose having fished under so many bridges so many times without a brolly the concept of a bridge without fair shelter is something to get used to.

The rain didn't last long and few more decent perch, the odd bigger dace and a battle with bleak bites kept me busy before losing another good fish which I suspect was another perch, perhaps bigger, the lost ones always are, it's angling law to think such a way, one that keeps us coming back for more.

It had been a nice day's fishing in the end and certainly eventful as I closed the gate on another adventure, literally heaving the damn thing shut before heading off to my humble holiday abode, I got a few funny looks from the locals, who I suspect aren't from around these parts, much like me.

The next day I'm off to Hampton Loade knowing I can't wade but will make do with what I've got, like the day before the weather was cool although it was threatening to get brighter this time. I set up on the second area of shallows knowing I could just get out far enough having marked the hole in my boot with a pen on the outside.

I was just about set up when another angler joined me just below, he asked first and being a float angler like me (even with the same bait bib) fishing with his wife like I often do I obliged, we had a good chat, it was his favourite swim after all and was on holiday too, all the way from Central London so that earned my respect straight up.

It was interesting to compare catch rates and baits like you can do with other anglers, with a head start I had over a dozen dace and one roach mid river whereas he had nothing fishing much further out. I do feel he was being a gent by refraining from wading across (he had chest waders) into my line of attack. Eventually he had a small chub, then another slightly bigger when changing to luncheon meat, a tactic I will reconsider in this coloured water as I tried pellet the same way to no avail. In the past I have experienced first hand that pellet out fished meat by a country mile but that was in clear water, when the weed was about and like I say in the past, times have changed.

Things went slow for both of us so I bid him and his lovely wife farewell (she was reading a good book like all clever wives seem to do) and headed off downstream leaving them to the swim. I then get to a narrow shallow glide and was about to cast when a guy rocks up opposite to fish the same bit. I'm left contemplating the difference between the courtesy of asking before getting close to someone's space and how it differs to simply encroaching and poor manners.

I didn't need any aggro so I explored further instead, it was a good time to rove anyway as blue skies arrived and things got bright, good sock drying weather I thought ironically. I roved and roved without wetting a line much and without wetting a foot, one spot yielded no bites, another just a few dace and gudgeon. Off came the hoodie as it got fairly warm but it wasn't too bad. I passed an enclosure of  thousands of mallards, no doubt the source of the cacophony you get there sometimes when they are all on the river, whatever that's all about I'm not sure but they are certainly noisy.

Then I passed what looked like some bank works where a digger had been, down to an island, here the river didn't look like the Severn, it was the width of a canal but flowing through like a small river in winter would, sadly most of it was inaccessible although it did flow over some rocks down the bottom, with gusto too but at the same time showing a lack of recent rainfall, was this really the Middle Severn? I thought as I looked at this side channel, taking a fraction of the water the other side of the island does, despite that it was pushing though like many rivers that size could only dream of.

It was great spot to run a float through, by now I was on bunches of maggots to avoid bleak and small dace, many chub put an appearance, biggest around 2lb but most around a pound mark, one a chuck for a while and good fun on light gear in the fast water. 

I wondered back expecting to see the chap in my old swim and ask him how he got on but he was gone and it took an age to get back to the car, I walked slow taking in the views and the peace, when passed those mallards of course, not a boat came down on either day and the tranquility of the weekdays compared to the noisy weekends was stark, no trains either although they are never the cause of a sound out of place down there to be fair.

Over the two trips I had a good bit of fun, got a bad back whilst being dissed nonchalantly by an Alpaca, had the obligatory boot full of water one must have on occasion and caught a few netters in the meantime, plus plenty of silvers.

...and this was my holiday view, from an old caravan perched atop a hill, bottle of wine at the ready and memories made.

River Loddon June 2024

 It's always great to fish a new stretch of river, the anticipation and excitement can only be tempered or enhanced further on first inspection, so I was pleased to see a river which had a mix of shallows and deeps, twists and turns, overhangs, lush weedbeds, reeds and rushes. It had everything but did it hold fish? I was eager to find out.

I was sceptical having fished a similar looking stretch of Kennet recently which was hard, so I set up on a wonderful looking bend looking for signs of fish but saw none. I'm pretty sure this doubt lead to me losing a good chub first cast as the float buried next to a tasty overhang, this submerged bush went a long way back and so did the chub leaving me to curse my lack of faith and lack of awareness.

With a new hook on I am ready to give the next fish some stick from the get go but all that followed were small chub and dace, I was happy though, whilst it was hard work bites were coming and I was catching, I was even happy to lose that first chub knowing that there's good fish in here.

A rove was on the cards so I made my way first up then down, trotting swims that were  mix of awkward, almost perfect or a touch too weedy or overgrown, but that's summer fishing on natural rivers. The club had strimmed a few swims however and I was grateful for their work. 

The second swim I tried was a tricky affair but it looked so good with a gap in the weeds under an overhanging tree, once again a decent chub is on but there's not much I can do other than try to keep it  in the clear bit, either side of me was trees and in front was some submerged wood, I just hoped it wouldn't see that or the lush weed beds above as I played it with the only angle I could apply which wasn't ideal, an upright rod

I imagined a soon to be snagged chub or a float pinging into the tree above me to add to the insult but neither happened, as I slid the net from the high bank under a chub of around 3lb I was happy I made the decision to bring the 6m net handle right then. Ok this chub is no looker but was so welcome.

I stopped for a coffee to soak up the new river experience, had a look at a really large red kite landing in the meadow behind, all the time eager for some more chub action. Dropping my float in and once again action is instant and although it's a small one the net is used once more.

Aside from a dace no more bites followed in the little clearing so off I went trying more of these lush looking spots, getting a few chub and dace here and there. It was another bright sunny day and although it wasn't super hot it was perfect for sitting on the deck under a tree, whilst the river drifted by. In other words time for lunch.

The afternoon was more of the same with the silvers, not many bites but a few fish in each spot, even managing a few roach and perch to add the the species caught. The only other anglers there on arrival had long gone leaving my car looking a bit lonesome in the car park, I wandered along the bank, looking at the lake as well, being the only person there and not seeing or hearing a single soul was amazing.

I struggled a bit with the new hook lengths I had tied, looking for a decent replacement for my Shimano line that looks like it's discontinued, the chub lost first cast pinged too easy as did a snag so this is a work in progress with the line used today failing the audition.

What cut the afternoon short was noticing my hand was all red and sticky, for some reason I put this down to either the handful of pellets I tried feeding or red maggots popping not noticing that my thumb was cut open and it was blood congealing with maize flour, I washed it with anti bacterial hand wash but only after I had blindly wiped it on a dirty rag and been fishing with it like that for half an hour.

Like a trouper I carried on before losing a hook too easy on a snag, time to pack in if there's little confidence in the hook length and your susceptible to an infection, the cut wasn't big more a paper cut type but in the worst position, not painful but annoying knowing it was there, perhaps the adrenaline of fishing somewhere new lead to my obliviousness.

All in all I was only an hour away from calling it a day anyway and it was a nice one too, to a stretch of river I will look forward to returning to, I had drawn first blood after all.