The Worst Start to a River Season. Or Was it?

 Lets be relative there are bad things that can occur to thwart any campaign, to ruin a trip or even negate the desire to go fishing and I know full well after last season where family mattered more, that this can happen but fishing wise this was a tough start to the new river season.

June 16th.

I had to get out on the opening day as last season I just couldn't and so it was I had the River Kennet in mind, pre planned, in the head and it wasn't escaping, for sure I knew it would be hard but I would be happy with a few silvers given I was new to this stretch, a bit of roving, a few bites maybe even a good bend in the rod, that'll do I thought.

I arrive mid morning to find a beautiful weirpool vacant, I couldn't believe my luck, I would trot the creases and eddies, pick off loads of fish in the fast water, these were my thoughts as I set up eagerly as one always does on the first river trip of the season.

My rod was threaded making sure I didn't miss a ring this time, my float picked methodically from the tin I keep in my waistcoat pocket, hook tied, bait bib filled with reds, dusted in my spice concoction. I was all ready to go

An hour later after trying said creases and eddies, changing depths, fishing both the flow and the slacks I was biteless, not even a small dace or minnow which of course doesn't count to any fishing record but would be something, but alas nothing, oh well! I wanted a challenge but now any fish would do. I ploughed on, exploring downstream, time for a rove. Here I met a few other anglers, ever so friendly and also not catching but positive and cheerful nonetheless.

I settled on a nice fast run between some trees eager to trot the fastest water possible as early season this is usually a good idea, then my stick float finally gets ripped under and it was clear from the outset what the culprit was, I didn't take a chance of losing it so reached for the net happily sliding it under a small grayling. Not the prettiest one I've ever had but getting a grayling as the first fish of the season was a new one for me.

A feisty half pound trout followed before another twisted off in a promising burst of action, however all thoughts of a good day abated when no further bites came. Moving down to the next spot just below, the swim looked looked perfect, I figured some of my feed would be getting down there in what was a decent flow given the lack of rain over the last few months. Trotting perfectly under a tree I hit into something heavy, which shook it's head before running. I saw some serious wood on the nearside not counting on the serious wood on the far, it was here that this big fish and I parted company. In hindsight I know I could have played it better but I still felt the line snapped too easy, perhaps a sharp hidden underwater branch with a big chub or even the teeth of a large trout but I blamed myself, I was caught a little unawares and the next one would be a different, I would be more alert and much more assertive. The next chance however didn't come, that was it for the big fish, one chance and a fail. That's fishing sometimes.

Downstream some of the trees looked ghostly white, totally covered by the webbing of caterpillars(I think) basically you know that foam some folks spray on their porches at halloween, it was like that but trees were adorned from top to bottom. Near these alien looking trees as the sun burst through a brown butterfly appeared be be attacking me, another new experience, fluttering in my face and landing on my chest as if to say "Get away from my patch!" I think the lack of bites and the roving was playing tricks with my mind if I'm debating whether butterflies are territorial adversaries not to be messed with. 

Time for lunch!

Further down (I walked the whole stretch naturally) there was a little side weir that looked so inviting, I had to have a little dabble, it looked perfect and the sort of pool I've fished on many, many rivers.

There should have been dozens of fish to add to the tally here but two chublets and a small roach was all I could muster, although it did more than double my tally to 5 for the day and that was the final score, as even trying the previous spots on the way back yielded nothing else. By now it was pretty hot and sunny as I headed back to the car, I was grateful for the shade I had in some swims and the beautiful surroundings and will return for another challenge here one day. A couple of anglers caught the odd opening day fish according to the social posts and those fishing like me fared pretty much the same as I.

Slow waters run deep

A few days later and my wife is off work so I need to find a spot that's also accessible for her, not too much roving, private enough for toilet purposes or close enough to public conveniences for likewise. Naturally I chose the former, somewhere in the middle of nowhere. In my defence shade was the main prerequisite as it was stupidly hot, forecast to top 30c and sunny, Time for the arboreal overhangs of The Middle Thames.

A private stretch with the towpath opposite gave us all the peace and shade needed on such a hot day, our bank was lined with most wonderful velvet greenery in each spot, ferns near the bank and lilies in the margins. The river here was slow, almost stationary, something which couldn't be said about those on the other bank running up and down, they must have belonged to a running club as I got tired just watching them go by at what has to be said was far too fast a lick for such a hot day.

As for the fishing it was a bite a chuck...from bleak. I knew this would happen as the swirls on the surface were a giveaway. I was able to get the bait through them but the end result was just two small chub and a perch, with my float set deep with bulk shot to get through the bleak.

Even the bleak stopped feeding in the heat but those joggers kept going by as we went home after some pretty poor fishing but once again nice surroundings. I knew fishing above a weir so early in the season was not a great idea but it was a day out and we kept cool.

Wading and roving

A couple of days later I'm off on my own for a rove up and down the River Loddon, it was a little bit cooler but once again the water was low and I knew it would be harder than last year when I did ok here. It's a funny river which always looks deeper than it actually is and the tinge of colour often hides weed under the surface, the bane of any trotting unless a clear run is found.

In one such spot I jumped in with my chesties on, caught a small chub and nice dace before losing another good fish which I'm sure was a chub, once again blaming myself but still not trusting my line, I'm yet to find a worthy replacement for my Shimano line that was discontinued a while back. The Gamastku I was using seems to have low diameter and decent strength but the abrasion resistance I'm finding questionable, maybe it's a trust thing.

The early cloud made way for bright sun once more, illuminating small patches of gravel and highlighting now obvious clumps of weed, ranging from odd strands of streamer weed to the long swaying, darker lines of ranunculus. I roved and worked hard but bites were of a premium managing just nine fish. 

I didn't even take any pics as I wasn't going to do a blog post about these trips but then again it's worth the humbling sometimes.  It's not always about catching even though I knew I would have got more in one afternoon on my free stretches of local Gade or Colne. But it's the unknown and the challenge that keeps things interesting. I sure wished I'd played those two big fish better but moreover I should have taken photos of ghostly trees and fiesty butterflies, river views and pastoral countryside, or green vistas turning to yellow where I met some really nice anglers and had a load of peace and quiet. I also had a nice day out with the wife and plenty of exercise in the process so wasn't all bad. 

A bad start to the season but was it really? The fish will come.

Come they did

So a couple of weeks later I am parking the need for exploring tough challenges and pottering down the local river for a Saturday morning, planning on packing up before it got stupidly hot...again! Armed with a pint of maggots hoping I'll get plenty of silvers with pellet for the bigger fish. The difference of fishing a healthy river to a struggling one is obvious when you can see the fish before you even wet a line.

The river was running ok considering but I quickly changed from a small stick which was spooking fish in the clear water to a matchstick, 'the best float money can buy' for fishing small streams close in on the drop.

As the morning cloud moved to midday sun I did swap to a little dibber later on which trotted through like a dream when the fish dropped down a little, I wanted some fish photos, so I'll let them do the talking.

Three roach were well over a pound but I know when they are 2lb material so didn't dig out the scales, but losing one in the water and you may think you'd lost a 'two' all day long as they look colossal. Maggot picked off loads of fun sized chub and plenty of dace which were all big fish, it sure was great to get so many tonkers early season, some of those dace will be massive in March if I can find them. 

A switch to pellet saw instant roach action from a series of stunning fish and one battle scarred, hideous looking example which I was tempted to weigh as it seemed extra heavy. All the fish went back unweighed though as it was super hot again, losing one barbel out of nine was a far better ratio than my chub mishaps from the opening week, given I wasn't targeting them, all super lean and torpedo shaped they were fighting fit and quick to recover. I had changed hook length to something more robust this time, basically Drennan Floatfish 3,2 I know it seems bonkers using a mainline as a hooklength but the abrasion resistance of it is brilliant, yet it was fine enough (somehow) to fool big roach on the drop in bright clear conditions today.

I finished off sat under a tree, which was now quite clearly the coolest place to be, sipping much needed water from the bottle, quite content with a few fish wondering where to go next time. Hopefully a cool spell will be a catalyst for a few more adventures soon.

New Venue, Same Results With The Tench

 Going to a new water is always one of the joys of angling, perhaps one of the finest and certainly the most appetite whetting. A new adventure where anticipation exceeds any travel time, which was just as well as I rolled slowly round the UK's biggest orbital car park en route to Reading and District's waters, arriving mid morning.

The breeze was fair and the clouds patchy with blue skies in large gaps between, what I call a Simpsons sky as it looks like the opening credits to the cartoon, hopefully I won't go full on 'Homer' in my fishing today although I usually do in someway, be boring not to make merriment at the mishaps wouldn't it? 

I chose a small pond surrounded by much larger pits, these waters are home to huge two tone bream and mysterious tench and carp but I chose one that reminded me of ponds I fished as a kid in Stanmore many many years ago, it was small, triangular and full of character. How my Dad would have loved it here I thought.

I soldiered through groups of feisty canada geese hissing insults at me for daring to encroach on their family parade, on my way to the little pond, where just one angler was tucked into a corner on arrival. So I just set up in a sunny spot near some lilies as a cuckoo chimed out a two tone monologue, perhaps in tribute to the bream. 

On went my usual pole float once again direct to 6lb as it looked mighty snaggy and I knew the odd decent carp and tench were resident, the latter would do me nicely, or a few bream or even a heap of silvers, for which I had maggots just in case.

Plumbed at around 4-5 ft, the bread was then fed and was smashed by rudd in a scene identical last time out and no doubt many a healthy pond throughout the land. Bubbles seemed to appear everywhere and not just on the feed zone, but bread is so instant, the skill being to keep it on the hook to get down, resisting those obvious rudd takes, sure enough the first time I knew I'd got it on the deck the float buries properly, not knowing what it was added to the fun although after a few powerful circular runs and a never say attitude, it was clear it was a nice tench long before I slid it over the waiting net. A great start and it's a beautiful fish.  

I had to switch floats to something heavier due to the rudd, so I whacked on a wire stemmed stick, yeah I know but it works just as well, although changing the blog name to Trottingdownthepond really wouldn't do.

It wasn't long before I was in again with something a bit bigger that surged into the lily bed and went solid, now tench have a habit of getting placated when in thick weed but this felt terminal, like a shed hook to beefy snag.  I tried the old ten seconds of slack line trick to no avail before pulling for a break, steady slow pressure elicited some movement from the clump of greenery before a large clump broke free, getting my float back would of course not negate losing a good fish but isn't as bad as losing a hook to add insult. Then the best thing happens, we've all had it, that moment when the snag shakes it's head and the 'lost fish' is still on, better still the feeling of the snag parting company completely and it's game on again.

Another beautiful tench was finally slid over the net and a chunky one too, I'm rubbish at guessing tench weights for some reason compared to other species so dug out the scales, it looked bigger but I would take 4lb 10oz all day long with such good fortune, the fish was again pristine, none the worse for the weeding up. 

I couldn't moan bumping the next fish off as my luck was about to go into overdrive, switching to punch I plopped the bait in at my feet whilst I dug out another slice of bread, kept in the shade of the bag to keep from going stale, into my bait bib it went and the old scrag ends of bread were wetted, mashed and fed, whilst doing this my float had buried and line is rapidly going out before I notice. I wanted old fashioned fishing like a kid and got it, skillfully(yeah right) managing to strike(just) just before the rod got pulled round, even, I had to laugh as another good tench was landed. I did feed that line earlier I told myself, with some truth but deep down acknowledging another heap of good fortune.

It was only then that I noticed I'd missed the first ring on the rod when setting up....doh!, I've done it before but it's been a while, I had to have a chuckle, sit down and have lunch after that, lucky to have landed anything, going full on 'Homer', grateful there was no one to see me there sitting on a stool with my Drennan Cup hat on, poorly threaded rod, wire stemmed stick, covered in bread juice.

A few 'Bar of Soap' tench followed lunch before the pond started to fill up with other anglers, from my spot I could view all the different characters. First up was a fella with a bite alarm who plopped a fair few large offerings into the corner, I was jealous of his relaxed approach and that he had full sun whereas now I was shaded and regretting wearing shorts. Then a guy started stalking carp off the top in the other corner, his patience and stealth were a stark contrast to my erm... all action approach, both guys had nothing whilst I was there but it had gone slow for me now too. A few swims down a chap had two rods out, one spearing into the lake motionless, the other a waggler which was very busy, with rudd after rudd, making me glad I started on bread.

With itchy feet now I had to try the swim round the corner, not just because it had bubbles all day, but because it looked so Crabtree, so perfect, a throwback to my childhood days with Dad, I was sitting on my net bag on a gently sloping bank surrounded by a canopy of trees, my float tip black against the light opposite, with bread fed, I was confident of converting these bubbles once more.

Could I get some more good tench among all this froth? Well no, bought back down to earth with the bump I deserved, I worked hard with punch for a few rudd and two more small tench,, convincing myself that these were the bubbly culprits, as I know even small tench can create a lot of bubbles.

I then switched to maggot as I couldn't resist the punishment although threading 8 or so on a size ten should negate a few of the rudd. It sort of worked with just a smattering or rudd, plus a few more hand sized tench, those small, froth making, bars of soap, plus one little perch. The last tench of the day summed everything up, the smallest fish of the day, this beast of the future managed to wolf down the copious amount of maggots I put on a wide gape size 10, the funny thing was it wasn't even hooked but had the lot and wasn't going to let it go.

It closed the day really well, that's what it's all about, I swapped an M25 car park for an M4 one on the way home which made a change but did I care one bit. Once again the fishing gods were kind and the tench were the lords, even if it was a new manor for me to explore, as for that daily bread, well it just keeps on giving.

Tears, Tench & Pristine Perfection

 I got a bit emotional on arrival at half nine at the little tench pond for the first sortie there this year, a combination of many a time spent here with dad and the achievement of finally getting another car, after scrapping my last one the previous day, who knows? I just thought 'Here I am fishing' as I unloaded the new workhorse, tears of joy I guess welled up, but it was hayfever itching the eyes if anyone saw me, honest.

Two others were on the pond but I still got my favourite spot, one that I now prefer to my other previous favourite spot and the one before that. For such a tiny pond I don't half get about.

I plumbed the depth and in doing so gauged the weed situation, pulled the odd strand out, figured a dredge was not needed and ascertained around 4ft would be the depth to set my pole float, with the weight of the bait to cock it, oh yes it was bread time, the simplest of tench baits and a very effective one too.

In went a few balls of feed, I'm going down the route this season of just wetting a slice at a time in the net rather than making up a mix each time, saves me nicking the wife's tupperware I suppose. As I set up the rudd played about with the surface remnants, the rest sinking slowly twitching in the sunlit water as it was hit by more ravenous hordes although some of them quite decent.

I knew I'd get bites, bread is perhaps the most instant bait going, so visible, so tempting, and so it was a few decent rudd and roach were caught on the drop, using a light float may seem like madness but you know instantly whether the bait is gone or how much is left. 

However It wasn't long at all before my clutch was screaming and my 4lb line was working hard to keep a tench out of the weed which was thicker closer in. The first of the day was a nice dark fish.

Two more good tench followed on what was a warm lazy day, I did lose just as many which wasn't ideal, not through snap offs but by the tench shedding the hook in the weeds, a step up may be needed next time but for now I was content to sit back, three good tench is decent for a late morning session. I stop to have my lunch and just soak it all in.

I left the other two anglers there not catching much, it was a decent time to go, by now the wind had picked up and was busy blowing all that catkin fluff into my corner, I joked earlier about hayfever but it was now getting in my throat and irritating the eyes, worse still it was sticking on the line, blocking the rings, we've all been there. Time to regroup and reminisce before returning the following week.

So I am back, getting to the fishery at half eight which super early for me, ok it was cloudy and cold but I didn't expect to be the first car in the car park.  I hit the same swim eager to give it more attack, more focus, this time I'm going 6lb straight through to negate those weed runs, I'm not keen of fishing so heavy but lets see how it goes I thought.

A heavier float went on as one of the draw backs of heavier line, taking 1x no1 lightly squeezed so that it pings off rather than catches on any weed, the bread is fed as per normal and the interest is instant once more. It's amazing how less effective heavier line is as I struggle to even hit the larger rudd and roach, I get a few netters, then I get a rare brown goldfish which I could swear was the same one I caught here a year or two ago.

The tench however were much slower to feed, mind you it was surprisingly cold compared to last time, steam was even coming from my breath, it took a good hour or more before a few bubbles appeared, the odd rush started to twitch and action became imminent, As experienced anglers we sense this sometimes don't we? The alert levels were amber, I was switched to Defcon 3, anymore anticipation and I would have to change the bulb!

Then the float goes bob,bob,bob before dipping, here we go, I hit and hold it away from the weed well, all proud only to see the funny side of a fiesty tench barely a couple of pounds sliding over the net, but it was a start.

Another similar sized tench followed and I did think how much fun these would be on the lighter gear, then I also saw the irony when I lost a couple, including one on the drop, that they were just shedding the hook like before, just to keep me humble, was it weed, poor technique, wrong gear or just one of those things?. 

Then I had a spell when a couple of the better tench arrived and were landed.

It was still mid morning when I stopped for a coffee, I checked the other ponds and still no one was here, a quick check of the club website explained the carp pool was booked for a match, must have been a ghost one as no one had turned up, my little car still sat lonesome in the car park, I had the tench pond which always remains open on match days to myself, that'll do me I thought, as a kingfisher made the usual sounds before stopping on the tree opposite, I do often wonder why the most colourful bird is often the noisiest in flight.

Returning to the fishing I decided after catching on more weed than last time (who knew weed grew!) that I would have a play with a purchase I made from ebay, this little grappling hook cost around a tenner.

With two prongs folded in and two out it worked a dream, easy to throw, minimal splash, took out plenty of weed which was also very easy to remove from the rake. whether it would hook too hard on something solid I don't know but I would expect the prong to break or bend in such circumstances, what do you expect for ten quid including the rope, not sure about using it to grapple up steep banks either, the rope supplied wouldn't take my weight, but it did get the float I lost last time back complete with my hook attached to a rush, shed from a tench and a reminder that the heavier line is a good idea with the weed increasing.

The club does supply weed rakes, big heavy things and I know full well the fish don't mind the raking, this was shown instantly on the first cast back in, once again it's one of those dip, dip dip bites that could easily be mistaken for rudd, but you can kind of tell the difference after a while, this latest tench, a lighter colour was immaculate.

By now the fizzing had stopped, even the rudd weren't playing blow football with the surface bread, the odd carp, a rare fish in this pond made a swirl far beyond any safe cast, the other side of lillies, even the sinking bread dropping through the layers only got the odd twitch from silvers. When this happens it's bread punch time.

Two or three double punched discs stay remarkable well on a size 10 hook, able to resist the silvers when they have calmed down a bit, more importantly if fools the wary, despite no fizzing, no signs of action three more tench came in three casts, this one was all head. I was pleased as punch.

Just after lunch two other anglers joined me on the pond, just to remind me it wasn't mine, even if it sure felt like it all morning, what a lovely morning it was, perhaps my lost fish ratio was too high again but not as bad as last time with 8 tench already landed, only one was lost due to me being a plonker the other couple just shed the hook inexplicably.

In between tench action I watched those carp drift about, there's only 4 or 5 in the pond and often they are pretty shy compared to their muddy puddle compatriots next door, I was aware one was taking off the top sporadically, pieces of bread I had deliberately fired past the lillies, one of the main drawbacks of bread is wildfowl so the odd slice finding it's way out of the main feed zone does no harm, besides I wanted to tempt a carp out, be ideal with the heavier gear on today.

A carp then came into view leaving the lilies for the first time, the only time. My scissors were place on my ruckbag in the event of a carp mugging possibility, the reason for the 1 x no1 shot is ease of removal, whilst having no shot makes ambushing surface carp a doddle I was nonetheless pleased with my formula one style pit stop of removing the shot, wrapping a giant bit of bread with enough weight for distance and depositing said bread bang in front of this old carp's nose.....

It doesn't always work like that I know but when it does it's magic, bam! suddenly though I now feel under gunned, these wild type,clearwater carp* are always strong, this one just peeled line and went straight through those lilies...and rushes, my gear should tame a carp this size with ease I thought, relieved to bring the fish straight back through. When no shot is on the line, no float, no swivels etc it's actually rare that anything snags in such circumstances, even so this fish still ploughed around taking the mick for quite a few more runs, before a work of art was in the net.

The beautiful common was a wonderful way to finish a couple of tench trips to the pond, 11 tench to around 5lb some quality silvers, a bit of fizzing, takes on the drop, on the surface, all while others on conventional baits struggled. I often think the harder you work with bread the more you are rewarded yet at the same time it's simple, I haven't found a way where it's not messy but I'm not sure I mind one bit about that.

All I needed to do now was find which car was mine in the car park.

*I am by no means claiming this is a Wild Carp, however clear water fish where they are in small natural numbers seem far removed from most carp in pools, physically and aesthetically, therefore wilder in comparison.

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