The Final Road Trip

 With oil prices set to rise due to the Iran war plus net zero madness, not to mention my rent going up by £250 pm I wondered if this would be the last road trip I do....ever,  it's grim thinking that way and i'll be darned if it is however the last trip of this season it was almost certain to be. I drove past my local petrol station with a full tank knowing I would use most of it today as grayling were calling from afar.

A misty drive saw me arrive 10 am at a high river close to topping the banks but in true chalkstream tradition there was clear visibility down to four feet or so although that is about as deep as this stretch of urban river gets. 

Bombing through yet fishable, cloudy and fairly warm you feel like there should be no excuses for not having a good day, but there's always apprehension on visiting an old friend you hadn't seen for a couple of years. These were immediately allayed when the float dips first cast and my size 18 is devoid of the red maggot that previously dangled below the 6no4 float, far heavier than I usually fish here but lighter than most would use for the pace of the river today. Next cast sees the same dip and that familiar twist is on and a ten ounce grayling is in the net, usually the first fish is gudgeon sized so I was happy. Next cast a better one, slightly over a pound, happy days.

Then the trout showed up and boy did they show, I was suddenly seeing black shapes darting up for my bait and dropping down in the water further downstream over the clean gravels, where the stones sparkled in the current despite the dull skies, some of these spotty marauders were sitting almost under my rod tip oblivious to my highly visible skyline, they ghosted around weaving in the current like tail ends of ranunculus, grayling were there too but the trout were taking over as they so often do.

 They even started taking my bait off the surface and these were fresh maggots, not a caster in sight, no matter where I fed - Splash! Despite all this they were surprisingly hard to hook, which you wouldn't think given they are ...well... Trout. Most the time they were taking on the surface or just below and any bait falling lower was often looked at and rejected.

I got through to a few and despite being around 2lb the fight each time was insane, this time a low rod to stop those crazy jumps was applied and in the fast water rushing deep below my feet they kept powering away and didn't yield quick, I get barbel of a similar size in much quicker on the same gear, these fish were fit, strong, and nice looking too.

Thankfully enough grayling came with the trout before the first character stopped for a chat, telling me he had 8lb trout before whipping out the phone for a show and tell. I didn't mind and my curiosity peaked when he said he'd sent it to the Angling Times. I could see why they rejected it as the photo was awful however the fish was a beast, he then told me his garden backs on the river, the lucky so and so, before mentioning the river was in his garden the day before.

The grayling and trout seemed much larger than on previous visits when there would be lots of smaller samples, this time they were nearly all netters with some just swingable to hand. On one of these occasions whilst lifting out a borderline grayling another chap came by with the time old classic "I see blokes fishing here all the time and never see a fish" I do wonder if the locals look at rivers with different eyes to us anglers, emphasizing this point this was the next swim down. Here I had fed for a few minutes snapping away with my little camera instead of casting, as we know it's hard getting the same image on film of fish that we see in the flesh, once again they were topping for bait and I was trying to catch them in action, this was the best of many shots, yet it only captured a fraction of what I saw.

It was almost too easy at times, I hadn't seen this many trout before here in this strange spot where for some reason the water always looks greener than elsewhere, it was like a fish farm yet once again these fish were no mugs to bait that wasn't falling right, line diameter made no difference and I even went to a 2no4 float, now this is ridiculous but the fish were so shallow, my catch rate improved and fortunately the grayling interspersed the trout enough for it to be a good balance, when you get through to fish like this you don't mind one bit, just check out that dorsal.

I then continued further downstream, despite catching loads I needed to move just to find somewhere to pee, perhaps the biggest problem of urban fishing, that and parking and of course those undesirables, the first of which shuffled past me suspiciously at pace, seems you can't go anywhere noways with someone either off their nut or rattling.

Further down I ended up near a noisy school which seemed to have a liberal time schedule judging my the amount of kids who weren't attending it and near the river instead, fortunately I was on the other bank, away in my own world even if the idea of solitude was thwarted broken by screams and road noise. I had also been to the loo by now too which helped! 

Despite being more overgrown and a bit more remote regarding walkers the banks were impressively clean aside from the odd shopping trolley in the river where the kids play. It was a dark dreary day however the river was anything but, besides I was having fun trotting a 2no4 Stick float through this. Utter madness but effective.

I found a final spot where the broken light from overhanging trees meant no fish were visible, fishing the edge of a super fast eddy, managing somehow to hold back that tiny stick, trotting the boils for a healthy mix of the usual grayling and trout. It's much easier concentrating on running a 'good line and length' when there's no off putting shapes darting about on the surface, even if a few did come up, their speed at hitting the feed in such pacy water mightily impressive. 

A few more fish followed before I called it a a day quite early to beat the school coming out, thus avoiding the other classic line "He's caught a fish" which for some reason teenage girls always seem to scream at full volume.

It sounds weird packing up and i'll regret it if or when this river goes the way of others but I'd had my fill. I hadn't the energy to chase my pb of 61 grayling here knowing I could have done it today, stopping on 36 but they were almost all netters, but nothing over 2lb although a couple of gudgeon sized ones did show which is always good for the future. 

I guess too many trout (21) showed but they were good to see and a lot of fun even if I tried to avoid them as much as possible, later on as I got a bit lazy a few of the airborne variety took my tiny float for a spin and I wondered if 6 feet was a new pb for height. Probably not but it was hard not to see the funny side.

 It was a battle at times getting them through that current, some were absolute stunners like the last of the day which I held in the water. Much like those beautiful grayling earlier, there's nothing like the clear waters of the English chalk stream to highlight so vibrant colours on such a dull day.

A wonderful bit of fishing on a clean and reliable river, what a great way to end the season, would it be my last road trip? I hope not I thought as I bid farewell with memories and images of some lovely fish.

Now If only I knew a decent artist to do a nice picture.

Walking in a Weedy Wonderland

 My Reading and District club has an exchange scheme so I thought I'd try it out. I was eager to revisit the little River Blackwater near Camberley as it was a river I had visited one winter when doing my 100 rivers challenge, I thought at the time it was really healthy and did well then, so what would it be like in summer? I booked online using the Clubmate app and it worked wonderfully, no picking up keys or going out of the way, all digital all direct, I was ready to go.....and I did!

I had heard folk say it is weedy in summer, well they weren't kidding...

I was however undeterred, I grew up fishing rivers like this, the Gade, the upper Colne, besides weed is great, it's summer, find holes and find fish you will, as Yoda would say, were he an angler, which I'm sure he is given he rocks camo daily.

I set up in a nice spot, when I say nice it was the first swim I could get in without feeling the wrath of the canopy above, note to self - bring a shorter rod than 13ft next time. I jumped in, waded across, looked at the clear water, the weed, the clean gravels, then thanked whatever deity created this, as I trotted down under the trees, alongside some streamer weed towards a raft, it was small river fishing heaven. I had my dibber on once more, taking 1 no1 plus a no6 and it buried each run through, with small chub, gudgeon, plus decent roach and perch which looked and fought well above their actual size, it was bliss, all whilst joggers did their fun run opposite.

By the time the chubby ones had been lapped by the energetic ones I had amassed a decent tally of fish, all returned to the gravels where I watched them, the gudgeon would blend in as if they had an invisibility cloak, the roach and chub would bolt and the perch would hit the bottom eager to get as low as possible, despite their bright green colours and striking red fins they were hard to spot, see if you can spot the perch in this shot.

Did you get it? here's a closer look.

Rockin' camo like Yoda they are!

Back to the fishing I wondered down then back up, stopping for a coffee on some of the benches taking it slow, I saw a couple of lads with their bikes who were fishing and keeping things clean, we exchanged catch reports, a couple of gudgeon was their tally, I responded likewise not revealing I was on quite a few fish by now, it never sounds great, besides gudgeon are cool, a sign of a heathy river, this was my ninth.

Then I saw younger kids, there's no way they'd be fishing a river near where I live that age, fair play. Much like the families walking by saying hello and asking about kingfishers (yes I had to say we see them all the time) it was pleasant surroundings. I wasn't sure about those oak trees however, never seen so many on a river and in the first swim acorns rained down like artillery as the gunfire sounded from the army ranges, but more of that later.

Exploring up towards the free stretch I passed more water than I fished but dipping into each accessible hole yielded fish the way only a healthy river can do. In one such tight swim a few feet long I managed a battle where my 3lb line was tested and a good chub was landed, the day was complete.

More fish followed as I worked my way up however progress was thwarted by a footbridge which was closed, I cursed those trolls like billy goat gruff and more so the morons who had left a mess by the last bench above it, quite why a young courting couple chose that area to make out I do not know although I do hope the young lady in question gets taken to better places in the future.

Returning out of sight of the amorous litter loving couple I hit apon a nearside run and a stunning scale perfect chub of a pound and another roach showing similar perfection, however...

I get a crack on the head that hits hard, now my head is used to it, being a baldy I crack it all the time on cupboards, shelves etc but this left me thinking had I not worn a hat I'd have a bit of a mark there, I rubbed my head before looking down at the acorn that splashed into the water thinking I should stop being a softy. Fishing on, the wind blows once more and another nut hits my nut leaving me shouting out OWWW! Ok it's not funny now! I've left swims for a variety of reasons in the past - Yobbos, high tides, pesky birdlife, fast women. Ok maybe not the last one but this was daft, I gathered up a few of the culprits, rock hard and the size of gobstoppers.

I still had to laugh, getting beaten by the mighty English Oak isn't the worst outcome after all. The last spot saw a tangle with it once more this time at the rod tip, where I broke off, retrieving my little dibber float, avoiding a tree tangle, saluting the mighty oak, cursing not having a smaller rod, but at the same time lauding a fine river.

I finished with 42 roach, 23 perch, 6 dace, 9 chub and 10 gudgeon, A fine trip on the River Blackwater and one that whets the appetite for a return.

Cured By The Avon and English Hospitality

 A day trip

Arriving back at the Avon with the wife for a day trip I was eager to try the spot where I viewed a few fish last time but didn't wet a line, a nondescript swim although I say that with a whole heap of complacency as every spot on this river looks the same - Gorgeous!

The low levels showed gravels and of course lush weed beds which is a stark contrast to the ever muddying Severn, with this clear water came fish, in clear view, from small chub to dace and roach, plus the odd larger chub of course. I fed some pellets and instantly they were hit, I knew I would catch.

On went a dibber more akin to a carp puddle but ever so good on rivers, even with it taking just one no1 shot plus a dust dropper I was able to ping it to the far bank albeit only just. This resulted in some good chub sport instantly with a couple around a pound or two.

Then the roach came, typical pellet fare, none of the small ones, lovely redfins, in the clear water looking much larger than they were but still a decent size.

Naturally a pike showed, this is compulsory on the Avon even in low water on bright sunny days, in the weedy swim I lost the battle but fortunately the pike didn't return although I did expect a hit with the next few roach.

The roach with the odd chub kept me busy for the next few hours, ending with a good 10-12lb of fish, not bad for a drought hit summer, when the roach are this quality you can't really knock it.

Under the Weather

I return once more to the Warks Avon on holiday with the missus, picking the windiest couple of days for a mini break and also one where I had a bloody cold, can't believe it - two years without getting ill then getting a real stinker in the middle of summer - Stress eh, there's only one cure for that and it is of course fishing, or coarse fishing, or any fishing, let's wet a line.

Trying a different area the first trip was pretty much a non event, I had hoped for some good perch at Bidford but instead had to make do with silvers before getting bleaked out, naturally a pike showed once again but in the world's most awkward spot there was only going to be one winner , what with all the weed and a dodgy platform, the latter leaving a sour taste as there was so few swims due to poor maintenance yet the opposite bank had plenty.

I was happy to call it a short day, arrive at the farm, catch up with our hosts and hit a country pub, we found one that was 16th century and used in the Archers, with all the nostalgia on the walls and hanging from the beams, a good glass of wine and a home made hearty pie filling a hole, I was feeling better by the minute.

The second day's adventure further down at Eckington saw more comfortable fishing, I was happy to sit on the bank dangling my legs like a child and lower a stick into the margins, all the time watching the water sports opposite from open water swimmers (who always for some reason seem to be rotund ladies of a certain age) to folks inflating boats. The odd canal barge came by and despite all the activity it was a lovely few hours fishing.

The wind once again got a bit silly but I still managed to winkle out loads of perch, roach,dace and chublets before the bleak became a problem once more, quite a few rudd showed too which was a bonus.

The afternoon saw us pack up and head to Tewkesbury for the traditional look round the shops for the wife and of course hit Wetherspoons for me, with the garden looking over the Avon. Here we sat in the evening sun and chatted to a couple of locals who shared our views on the state of the country. But having spent the two day break counting flags, drinking in ancient pubs and wetting a line deep in the English countryside, with country folk and country ways it was no surprise that my cold was well and truly beaten - Fishing therapy!

An Unexpected Roach Day on the Avon

 I'm off to the Warks Avon, not expecting much, with low levels and a warm sunny afternoon forecast, I envisaged a handful of fish being a decent result but a day trip was needed and I was up for the challenge.

The trip didn't start too well as on arrival the car park entry was blocked by a fallen tree, not what you wanted to see after a two hour drive, fortunately there was a free car park next door so I unloaded the gear from my car in this otherwise empty car park and made my way under the tree to the Avon just below Stratford.

I was surprised to see two cars by the river, turned out they had come in pairs so one was able to lift the offending branch to allow passage for the vehicles, I had no such luxury on my own however the extra walk wasn't a long one. A brief chat to these anglers trotting maggot was helpful as I viewed blade bleak causing a nuisance. This vindicated my decision to bring only pellet, the water was low and clear as I knew it would be and I figured whittling out a few roach and chub would suffice in such low levels, my expectations were very very low.

Some decent spots were taken but I was really surprised and happy to see the weir empty, this was the only water with any pace, I settled on the point, looked downstream as a kingfisher flew across, the long journey and the car parking problems were instantly gone from all thoughts.

On went a 2 no 4 stick, with a robin red banded to an 18, I figured any fish would be feeding on the drop today. A few years back I struggled here in similar conditions so was pleased with instant bites, mostly chublets and a few bump-offs from fish far too small to stay on, then I hit into the first decent netter roach, with it's vibrant dark clear water colours.

Naturally a pike soon turned up, as an even better roach went 'solid' in the jaws of the esox, there was little chance of landing a pike in this spot which was all flow, so a bite-off down the bottom of the swim after a brief tussle was perhaps the only viable outcome.

The roach came and went in spurts in a way that signaled the pike was still around and the better ones were brought to the net in a hurry half expecting the inevitable, however the pike didn't ambush again, which I didn't mind one bit but it did slow the catch rate a lot.

A dabble in the weir itself bought better action although It did mean a heavier float, trundling through the foam, roach after roach interspersed with the odd chub to a pound made for a great morning's fishing in the shade of the trees, as the sun was starting to emerge. Aside from the odd small chub with their big gobs, pellet always picks out the larger fish, even a few big dace showed up but it was mostly identikit roach perfection,

I could have stayed but a foray downstream to explore beckoned, so I left the noise of the weir for the eerie yet welcome silence of the meadow, not before falling flat on my backside on the island, whilst following a couple also leaving who were above the weir, the drawback of trainers and shorts as opposed to the grip of waders coming to the fore.

Falling whilst roving is a skill, one must always be conscious of the rod and net and adjust accordingly forsaking any health and safety for the manky old rod you've had for years. Swearing mildly usually can help alleviate some embarrassment of looking a wally if in view of others. If said rod, net and rest of gear is intact and ready to fish, have a laugh and strut like a cat who has twisted mid air to land on it's feet. It's also a bonus if you are not going to A&E, so thank your feline ninja skills for negating such comedy clumsiness with aplomb. At least tell yourself that.

I dusted myself off just in time for an unexpected cloudburst that left me hunkering under a unhooking mat that was fresh with 'scent of roach' which I can confirm will not be a best seller in the perfume departments this Christmas. I knew if I dug the poncho out it would stop and sure enough it lasted only a minute but was enough to make me take each descent to a swim more careful than before given my form for today. Then the sun came out properly and it got mighty warm again pushing 30c, the forecast shorts and trainers weather for sure, at last. The rain was enough to make things slippy but the huge cracks in the soil were evidence of a much drier period of weather, we all know as the summer of  '25 has been a dry one thus far. Rain is badly needed and much more than the odd inconvenient shower.

Downstream many of the swims were now occupied although some of the others were just unsafe and neglected, some were an accident waiting to happen on what I call normal float gear, with lilies, fallen trees and rushes between river and and bank, naturally these spots looked the most fishy, in the ones I tried I fared not too well.

I returned back to the weir with not much to show for my rove other than a few chublets and a lost roach which looked lean but quite decent. The wander did give an opportunity to look at deep margins which were full of silvers and gravels which were devoid in the bright sun. A chap was in the weir now so I went back to the point, back to square one and not a bad one at that. I picked off more roach and small chub like before, looked to my left and the fella was dusting out an old cane rod to go on the float too, good luck if you are using maggots I thought as I landed another quality roach.  

The low levels of flow was such that another chap was bravely traversing the weir lip to get to the other side with just a net and rod, he looked far too old for such reckless adventure I thought, thinking of my own lack of surefootedness earlier, but fair play I thought, his reward was sitting on a stone of the weir and lowering his bait into the flow under some trees which I must admit looked sooo good.  His quiver tip bent over and I watched intrigued as he went for the net eager to see his catch whilst at the same time hoping he doesn't fall in, as I probably would. The net then gets slipped under a a very decent looking.......eel of all things! he paused to look at the fish for a few seconds, I'm not sure if it was in awe, confusion or despondency although I do suspect the latter.

Meanwhile in roachland a swirl on the surface near the last redfin signaled time to call it a day as mr pike was back with a near miss.

I finished with 32 beautiful roach, all netters, 15 countable chub not including the tiny ones, plus 3 big dace all on 6mm pellet, an easy 15-18lb of fish on a day I thought I would struggle for bits, the roach didn't half pull in what current there was too and I could have caught many more. On the way back I stopped at one of the unfishable spots as I thought I saw a huge roach, I fed some pellets and chub ghosted into view, proper chub so perhaps it was one of these I saw? I was tempted to set up again to find out but I was tired and the swim would make any chub a clear favourite, so I left it with the appetite whetted further for next time.

The fallen tree was now propped up out the way on the way out as I walked past to my little car, which was still all lonesome in the car park round the corner, I left a donation in the box and tucked into my car meat that was sitting in the cool bag in the boot, seasoned to perfection. Time for me to have a good feed as the roach certainly have been today. It had been a good trip to the Avon.

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.