Two Good Trips Despite Everything

 Trip No 1 - Gravel Pit Roaching Gone Wrong (in a good way)

It's hot, it's my day off so chilling under a tree is once again the remit for another hot summer's day, figuring I'd use the confidence from the rudd trip last time out to get roach on the pit, bigger than the 1lb 7oz beauty I had in the spring, if they were as big as those rudd last time out it would be awesome. 

I park up and straight away an overnighter comes out and chats, as I must have been his first encounter in the daylight world, he was lamenting that he thought he had the biggest tench on the pit before a small dark humpbacked horrible looking carp appeared to ruin his night. 

And there was me after a good roach or anything that warranted a net I chuckled to myself, bidding him farewell.

Oh yes bread on the drop that was the tactic fresh from the previous rudd success, instead of a matchstick this time a pole float with the bread cocking it. This would thwart the big roach after a bit of feeding and picking off the smaller samples, I would get my first stillwater 'two' mind you a a tench or a few bream would do, you know, just fishing for whatever.

When will I ever learn?

After an hour of getting battered by small roach and rudd that could be seen everywhere I contemplated my next move. It was almost like the fish were a lot smaller here than in the spring, certainly the little ones were active and thwarting my plans, I was struggling for inspiration .

Until it appeared before me. I'm all for being stealthy and quiet when I fish, and my reward? A carp sitting in a foot of water below my feet, literally below my feet on a gravel pit.

The instincts kick in, my bread is carefully laid in front of its nose, pole float flat on the surface. Something I've done many a time on smaller pools (I swear we don't breath during these moments though) Gulp the bread is gone!

My 'rudd gear' is tested as is my skills as that first run is coaxed into waters deep.

I'm glad none of the carpers are viewing me especially the 'geezers' I've talked to who insist anything other then 15lb line ends in a snag. My first carp from this pit was played well after a few runs and a bit of patience, landed in good time, unhooked on a mat, all on 4lb line, photo isn't great but it's all good fun. 

I moved around after figuring the swim is dead, also following what shade was on offer to another spot, thinking I could lower the bread into the margins without being stripped by the ravenous hordes, pick off a few roach etc.

I'd love to say I stealthily caught another but upon lifting the float to recast resistance was on, much so that it had to be foul hooked surely, but no, there's another good carp hooked fair and square.

It was only the 'runt' that the night angler had encountered, it had to be surely, given my gear subdued this one with ease, plus It was dark and humped albeit a fair way round the pit. I saw it as a nice fish. Yes it was ugly but hey who are we to judge?

I only had a few roach and small bream after but my first pit carp were a pleasant surprise.

Trip No2 Silly Season on The Avon.

I was seeking some running water, any river that moved right now would do, so I was off to the Warwickshire Avon with the wife at the weekend. I would fish the weir area and she can go into town after lunch, after watching me get a few fish, simples, once again what could possibly go wrong?

On arrival the swim I wanted was empty which was a good start having never fished here before, I knew this was a rare weekend when there was no match on this popular stretch, but was still surprised given there were cars already here. In the weir itself was a photographer, patiently focused on a branch sticking out of the rocks, no doubt waiting for a flash of halcyon blue to appear. The other anglers were further downstream.

I Settled next spot below the photographer in shallows that deepened off, I was just setting up when a load of canoeists enter from the opposite bank, plough right through the shallows and potter in the weir, fortunately they drifted off downstream but it signaled it was going to be one of those days for sure.

Starting on pellet I see little action which is rare on this river, but after a switch to maggots I'm plagued by bits, getting a decent dace and a perch. The gravels were wonderfully clean compared to the Severn a few weeks back, the weed looked edible, the water drinkable, neither of which I'd advise of course.

The small dace were hitting the maggots on the surface and whilst getting bites and seeing small fish everywhere is great, I'm not sure I had the energy to battle through them today. 

A quick dabble back on the pellet saw a roach, which soon turned into a pike, a common theme. I'm not sure I've hooked or landed as many pike as this season although its almost inevitable on this river. Cue an action shot by the missus who's obsessed by pike. 

P.S. This is how NOT to look good playing a fish.

In my defence I was playing it in as quick as possible trying to get it going upstream rather than down, whilst walking it to the net, hooked as ever in the scissors, my robin red still attached, sticking out like a red wart, the pike glided across the shallows, my little size 18 barbless holding firm. The fish was unhooked and returned within five seconds much to the bemusement of the pike fan club waiting patiently with her camera. I explained the pike situation to her and took some shots after return instead.

The jack pike sat effortlessly in the shallows whilst we had our lunch before disappearing whilst I was mid bite of an apple. I hadn't really got going with the fishing but was relaxed as we ate together, there was no rush. The missus then went into town and I moved into the weir swim as the photographer had gone. Perhaps my pike disturbance below him was akin to canoeists and he's lamenting my intrusion on a photography blog, who knows. 

The weir had many areas of attack as weirs usually do, with a few channels of white(ish)water and current although it was clearly not its usual level of flow. It was a good spot to take off the boots and dry my socks with both waders seemingly developing leaks, my right one quite a bootful courtesy of a hole at the seam, in keeping with my tackle mishaps this season.

 Concentrating on the tail of the swim I'm into roach straight away on pellet, forgetting I'm drying my socks on the net handle. With the hosiery removed from the makeshift washing line the first of many roach was netted.

Then a couple who weren't exactly youngsters appear downstream where I caught the pike, they walk out mid river fully clothed and just stand there. It wasn't even that hot, yeah I wouldn't want to walk a mile in waders (leak or no leak) but it was a comfortable 26 or 27c and I wasn't expecting to be in a bathing spot today. With them standing just below, the tail of the weir understandably goes dead but I still pick up more roach this time nearer the sill.

Then the couple appear once more, long after I thought they had gone, once again going midriver and staring at a weedbed, no wonder that swim didn't hold any chub. Fortunately the weir did as the first one tore through what current there was, making me think it was a big roach as chub often do, still any chub are welcome on days like these.

Another chub a similar size followed before the best roach of the day, small by pellet standards but still pretty decent. 

I was catching all over the pool but it wasn't surprising the fish weren't in one spot given the intrusions, as yet more boats entered, this time thankfully going straight downstream.

The paddling twosome had now also gone only to be replaced by a bunch of guys on the other bank in a state of undress. They cracked open their beers placing the others in the shallow water to keep cool, one gave me a wave before having a quick swim, man you don't get this in February.

By now the wife had returned and we were both chatting to a friendly local when one of the other blokes opposite goes stark naked changing into his swimming trunks. Thankfully he was facing away but for sure it was a cue to pack up, no ifs just butts. 

Pike, photographers, paddleboarders, paddlers and plonkers couldn't stop me having a decent a decent day's fishing somehow, although I'm amazed I caught anything as it was full on silly season down there.

We stopped off on the way home to go to a pub in Leamington Spa for dinner. Looking off the bridge (as all anglers must) as we crossed the tranquil but stationary River Leam, a kingfisher appeared, which I pointed out to the missus who finally clocked it with her non angler eyes. It then proceeded to hover before taking a small fish and back to its perching spot. The wife said to me in the pub later "That's the longest I've seen one" which surprised me but also made me feel bad for saying "come on lets go" at the time, eager for a chill, chat and a drink.

If you want to see kingfishers all the time just go fishing, we all know that. Just try to find somewhere a little more quiet than I did today.

Bars of Gold in The Middle of Nowhere

 I had never caught a big rudd, sounds weird when I compare it to roach but very few of the waters I have fished hold them to any size. Even my club stillwaters have the bait stripping lunatic tiddlers, with an 8oz fish being a rod bender. Unlike big roach rudd are much harder to find in many rivers, especially in numbers and size. Time to change all that, time to go for some rudd.

It's a sobering thought that I had never targeted rudd in my life despite being the wrong side of 50. This would explain why I'd dragged my wife along on a day trip to the middle of nowhere, to a drain deep in the flatlands, to rudd country.

En route we pass Duxford, you always hope to see a vintage aircraft here. However there was just a random red single prop flying above. I proudly mansplained to wife that its a civilian craft. It then did three loop to loops. I was glad to be proved wrong, looked in the mirror at everone looking ahead at the road, oh why! We just laughed at my folly and took in the show as we trundled along.

Much further on driving down country lanes we criss crossed farmland and flood meadows, on bumpy roads called 'Droves' I think we were in Cambridgeshire although not sure as all direction was out of the window, with the constant right angle turns and undulations of the surface. I had never experienced roads like these, up and down they went despite the flat landscape, like an entrance track to a fishery yet going for miles, scrapemarks on these natural humps from cars grounded, passing points on the dead straight bits, open fields either side with no gates and no hedges, just big sky views. 

We arrived in one piece just about, to the drain, up where I had heard there was some decent rudd.

Crossing over a bridge I spot fish instantly in the gin clear water and do that whispering voice to the wife like they could hear us. Weed was everywhere but the rudd were cruising above it and many were clearly bigger than my lame pb of 14oz set when I was a teenager. It was a glorious sight - The rudd, not me as a teen!

I couldn't wait to set up but whilst doing so the owners of a nearby boat were stirring. The lady opens her window and feeds the ducks with bread. Here we go I thought, only for her to say hello, tell me the good ones are down there and hope I catch a few. This could be a great day I thought if the fish are as friendly as the locals.

They were so I'll cut to the chase....I thought the ducks would be a problem but they weren't. I thought the larger rudd would be hard to tempt but they weren't. As a battle scarred rudd was landed first cast my pb was beaten, minutes later the second graced the net my pb was even more respectable. Then some scale perfect beauties reflected the sun like only rudd can, it was fantastic.

I was being subtle with the gear, using the best float going in these conditions - The humble matchstick. With a favourable wind I was able to ping the bread to the far side lillies no problem, targetting cruising fish at will, if the bait went out of sight the sinking matchstick did its thing and bites were constant with no disturbance, when I needed a surface bait once more the matchstick excelled. I wasn't fishing light either as these fish sure did pull for the weeds but it was super easy and real fun.

The countryside was yellow once more but here's a few of those bars of gold that lit it up further, in no particular order.

I also picked up a couple of nice roach and some small bream but the rudd were the target and I achieved twenty of them in a couple of hours, nearly all netters. With it understandably slowing down a bit I had to wander down the drain to explore but only found overgrown banks and smaller rudd.

We passed a holidaying angler who I put onto my spot as there were still fish there. I expected to see him as we returned half an hour later but he was gone, as were the fish as my bread was eerily untouched this time round, some lads were on the opposite bank and maybe the noise disturbance was too much now, or perhaps I got lucky. Could be different next time for sure but that's fishing.

We stopped off on the way home to a nice pub on the river cam that must have the best name ever. - The Five Miles From Anywhere No Hurry Inn, for a pint and a meal.

We were many miles from home but there was indeed no hurry heading back, it was a great day with friendly folk and ruddy good fishing.

A Wanderer Among A Sea Of Chub

I looked at my calendar as I woke at 6am, Wanderer Above A Sea Of Fog greeted me as I looked misty eyed at the date, 21st July 2026, I had a river to get to. I wandered downstairs, had brekkie, loaded up the gear and hoped there would be a sea of chub at my destination after a 3 hour drive.

With a few days off I had hastily booked a night near the Severn knowing full well the river would be low, busy and hot, whilst it wasn't the daytime temps of a few weeks ago, I'd somehow managed to pick the warmest two days since at around 27c, hardly perfect for roving along in chest waders but you know when you get an idea in your head and go with it no matter what.

The rest of the plan involved hitting the river with bread, I knew chub would be the main quarry but anything would do. My two loaves were Sainsbury's and Aldi's cheapest, with a few pellets as back up to this unscientific experiment.

Day 1

Arriving at 10am the car park was in the busying process, a dad was pumping up an inflatable, perhaps also one of Aldi's cheapest, dog walkers were unloading their pooches and older folk were setting up deckchairs to sit by their cars as they often do here.

I wandered off like the chap in the painting but with far less dacorum, one meadow up to a bend where fast water deepens, perfect for running a float through. I used a 2g avon float, with a couple of SSG and a size 10 wide gape, to 4lb line. A bit agricultural given the clear water and my penchant for lighter gear but I planned fishing further out where the flow was.

In went a bit of mashed bread, fresh from the tupperware tub in my bib and the float goes under first cast, bread has to be the most instant bait going. Despite knowing this I was complacent, playing the first fish a tad too softly and getting snapped by a late surge towards a nearside raft, oh how the chub, clear water and snags outwit the angler who is not paying attention. Fortunately I got another chance soon after, no mistake this time.

A dad and two youngsters dropped in just above me after asking first,  it looked like they were on holiday, the kids had rods that weren't too disimilar to my first rod from Woolworths. Their enthusiasm overflowing like I hoped mine was and still is. As I left to venture up river in the sun, the kids were sitting on the rocks trying to catch tiddlers whilst dad was up to his waist mid river in his shorts, making me feel hot in my chest waders. I went on and picked up a few more chub here and there, the bread was working.

I then stopped for lunch, the river was flat calm, hardly a ripple of breeze, stream trains choo choo'd opposite, even the diesel was piping up and aside from the odd paddleboarder, it was peaceful and scenic.

I really should have headed back to see if any of the better swims had been vacated but I ploughed on to one of my favourite areas, one that's hardly fished as it's quite a walk.

Here it always seems green right by the river with soft lush thick grass, none of that yellow stuff. I sat on this bank, not even needing my seat, dangled my feet over the edge and fished close in.

The next hour turned into two, it was idylic as chub powered into the current each time, as my rod, held low, had a solid bend before each pristine fish that punched above it's weight graced the net. There were quite a few chub there as the odd bit of feed was taken off the surface and bow waves moved on the shallow water when a fish was hooked among them.

I unhooked them all between my legs aside from the fish above, laid gently on nature's unhooking mat, finishing with 16 chub and 1 roach.

The walk back to the car late afternoon was hot and tiring, taking a good 40 minutes, but it was all so worth it. I tucked into my 'car meat' complete with salad that had been chilling in the cool box before heading to my digs. I'd done pretty well given the conditions, I just needed to recharge for tomorrow.

Day 2

After a decent night's sleep I'm fresh as I arrive at Hampton Loade taking just 20 minutes to get here, much easier than a 3 hour drive that's for sure. 

I couldn't believe my net had crossthreaded again late on, the day before, but fortunately I had my super homemade wading net from last time, today it was to get a proper trial as I would be in the water more here. Aside from a bit more wading It was the same tactics, this time with Aldi bread, albeit squashed from being in my bag all day yesterday.

Oh yeah, just one more thing as Columbo would say, this place has ducks and by ducks I mean thousands of them, you don't need to be a detective to know that bread and ducks isn't a good combo, so feeding would have to be very subtle. Could I catch as much as yesterday? Only one way to find out.

I set up in the first swim opposite some lovely old cottages with terraced gardens, content that there was only a couple dozen mallards here. I stealthily fed a golf ball of the white stuff before the smallest chub of the trip kicked things off. The next one was much more like it and I had christened my home made net much better than that jack pike last time.

The skies brightened and the swim went dead after just two fish so dowstream I went. I lamented that another favourite swim had become too overgrown, plus barbel anglers occupied other spots.

An angler with a big white beard who looked like Father Christmas gave me a wave from the opposite bank as I dropped in below a boily maelstrom of water no more than a foot or so deep, it had a little bit of 'slack' water in the boils with the water rushing by at pace either side. One thing I've noticed with the Severn is some swims get faster during low water levels, as the water channels through narrower sections instead of over the rocks. I managed a handful of chub even here, not huge but a mighty battle getting them through shallow water too fast to stand in. What a joy it was to be fishing water so fast.

Next swim was opposite the main duck beach. Here I fed stealthily for a few hundred obvious reasons all of which go quack! Even a swan and a couple of little egrets graced the densely populated beach. Fortunately my swim was well populated with chub which I battled hard once more in the current to avoid rocks and submerged branches, one beat me to keep me focused but a few more were landed.

The swim went understandably slow as the skies got brighter and the first canoes appeared, scaring the mallards into flight, taking to the air like a murmeration of starlings but much clumsier.

I started to rove dowstream hoping to get down to where there's an island but thought how tiring it was yesterday, I ummed and arghed before deciding to head back. I kind of got lucky as a chap was just moving from a tasty looking spot just as I returned. I sat down in this surprisingly comfortable swim where I could scoop out any chub easily, and scoop I did, including perhaps the best chub of the trip.

It was so much fun getting them under the rod tip. I was acually running the float upstream in an eddy close in especially when the boats came by, even though I could see rocks there in the clear water, the chub were there and obliging.

I almost ended up in there with them though as another tackle mishap saw my trusty old stool give way, perhaps it was those sausage rolls I bought from the Co-op this morning.

Many more boats came by but they were all polite and courteous, I sat once more on the bank exchanging duck based banter with them.

I also chatted to a friendly chap fishing with a go pro, shame he lost his only fish to a snag. Then I encounter the same dad and kids from yesterday, a small world for the holidaying angler which of course includes me.

However it was now time to head back to where I started and think about home, it was only early afternoon but I'd had my fill. Also my left leg was rubbing up big time, the waders scraping at my calf drawing blood. I was so happy I had not walked all the way downstream and equally relieved they didn't play up yesterday. I'm not having much luck on the gear front lately but at least my net passed the test and was used a lot.

Walking back I exchanged friendly waves once more with Santa, who was sitting wisely in the shade, elf and safety and all that.

I finished up where I started, using up all the bread as the ducks were somehow gone from here. I worked hard for just one more chub taking the final tally to 14 today plus another lone roach, once more all the chub were pretty immaculate, long lean shallow water fish. It was another good day.

Given the conditions, and my tackle mishaps it was a really succesful trip, the bread attack worked well, Aldi and Sainsbury's bread (other brands are available) seemed pretty similar as experiments go and I was pretty happy.

I finished the two days with 30 chub, from my wandering, whilst that's not a 'sea' there must be lots, lots more down there. 

I wandered home wondering how many.

The Jukes Of Hazard

Ok lets get the punnery out of the way for all the folk who remember the 80's tv show and are lamenting my spelling, if you don't recall The Dukes of Hazzard then you really aren't missing much. The Hazard in question this time however was a Nissan Juke, sitting in the clear water of The Warwickshire Avon, complete with bouys alerting boaters of It's presence. It's not often you see a submerged car on a fishing trip so here it is.

Naturally the only other angler, here before us had set up in the same swim as the car! I'm all for fishing features but this was mad, as was his beef with the first canal boat that naturally caused havoc upon seeing the hazard, slamming into reverse, you can't blame them as imagine the insurance claim on a boat, having to explain that you hit a car.

I chatted to the same boaters further down as we crossed over to the weir downstream, a friendly exchange unlike the raised voices earlier. Oh the peace and quiet of waterways in the English countryside.

Bouyed by our car based banter I pitched up in my favourite swim only to notice it wasn't moving at all, the gravels were visible and water stationary, what flow there was out of reach even with chest waders on. I then moved above in the shallows of the weir eager to try out my new toy.

When I say toy it's more a home made bodge job but darn proud of it I was - A wading net.

I had found an old Maver net in the shed, attached a handle that was broken but had a decent thread, it was then sawn off, bound with camping rope which was clipped onto the rim. Even the hollow end of the handle was filled with one of those spikes you get on cheap garden solar lights. Quality precision engineering, although I prefer the term 'superbodged'

All I needed was a model, so here's an action shot of yours truly, probably my best angle I suppose, dissappearing into the distance.

It worked great, I waded out and hardly noticed the net was there as I caught a few nice roach and small chub trotting pellet in the gin clear shallows, but nothing warranted the net though until...

The world's mankiest looking jack pike took a shine to the next roach, quickly unhooked in the water. Not my intended quarry of a fine chub gracing the new net but it christened it, thus the photo of an angler seeing the funny side of things.

Then things got less humourous, the wind got up and it was fiesty, ok it was cooling on such a hot day but it was blowing surprisingly hard, the hat was blowing off and the float impossible at times to cast into the narrow run between weeds. Worse still was the 'blow off' from the combine working the field upwind. All manner of dusty crop particles were flying sideways through the air like an agricultural blizzard, coating the water, making it look like a bad porridge, worse still were the bits that went into my eye. We beat a retreat past the submerged car and the now vacated feature swim, to our our own motor thankfully on terra firma and away from the dust.

I must admit I was a bit grumpy, the session was cut short, my eye was hurting, but we were off to our holiday accommodation and my net worked. There was a few hazards but I was unwilling to duke it out.

The next trips were all about finding shade as the heat was an issue, I would be happy to get a few perch under a tree, that sort of chilled fishing, so a quick foray on the Severn near Worcester was the next session

Pretty uneventful it was, with my normal net redundant, on a typical BAA water where there's not many swims and a lot of overgrown banks. I managed a few decent roach whilst trying to avoid the bleak, tiny dace and chublets. The wife and I had the usual lunch in great surrounds but the fishing was always going to be hard this week.

In the evening after visiting Malvern and bagging a new Wetherspoons for the tally (one with a fine view) we returned to Tewkesbury to have a look at a stretch of Avon just above the town, with the gear in the back still it seemed only right to try for an hour or so before dinner beckoned.

With little flow and great depths I just pottered about close in as usual in a nice shady spot. A healthy mix of fish came - roach, perch, small dace, chublets, rudd and even a gudgeon. Of course the bleak were an issue on maggots but just tolerable in such a short session. I fed the spot under the tree with some pellets and prawns for a return the next morning. Pre baiting like a genius.

The next morning the missus is dropped off to the shops in town and I'm back on the river to bag up big time on those fish. Of course there's an angler there this time, there had to be, after seeing none the day before, worse still it was the only bit of shade for miles. I had a pleasant chat with the guy and looked at my only option in temps above 31c which was a lone willow a couple of spots further up. I swear I've seen bigger bonsai trees. I sat on the unhooking mat, my legs almost in the water, under this willow that offered partial shade, tolerating the ants knowing that the odd bite is better than sunburnt legs.

The fishing albeit a little awkward, wasn't too bad, with another mix of species, mostly rudd this time plus the odd decent perch, I think I lost a good one too. Another angler further up caught nothing but sun and didn't last too long, neither did we, as after the missus returned we had lunch before heading into Tewkesbury and the delights of air con at The Royal Hop Pole, not without a quick look at the Mill Avon from the pub's garden.

With the three day break over it seemed rude not to visit the upper Avon above Stratford for a morning before it got too hot again, it was on the way home after all.

I said at the start of the trip it was likely that small pike could be the biggest fish of the holiday, it was so hot and sunny, the rivers were low and I was fishing at the least ideal times, combined with the holiday sightseeing, although that usually isn't an excuse. I did fancy getting a chub or two though to finish off.

Trotting pellet I managed 5 chub, a case of fishing only in shady spots catching one and the whole shoal spooking in the clear water. Finishing the trip with a stocky fish which was returned quickly without weighing.

A cracking chub to end the trip, I'm guessing around 5lb but certain that it was bigger than that pike! Which seemed an age ago.

With a lot crammed in both on and off the bank and not that much fishing time when totalled, it  was an eventful holiday. Homemade gear passing the test, cars submerged by folk who shouldn't have passed their test, mega hot days, a variety of species and a fine chub to finish, all in the ever yellowing English Countryside.

It All Kicks Off Before Kick Off

 I knew I was going to miss the England World Cup game, for it was my day off and I was eager to explore a stretch of the Avon that was new to me, the anticipation of a backwater twisting and turning, full of glides and features was too much of a draw. At least that's how I imagined it would look. Feeling a bit stressed of late it was a far better option than sitting at home waiting for a 5 o'clock kick off, maybe I could be back for extra time who knows.

The river didn't disappoint although in keeping with the current trend it was gin clear even if I had no previous gauge as to it's height, there was a good flow for the float angler and a few fish visible, that'll do me I thought as I watched a decent perch chase fry as perch do.

I set up in a fast streamy swim that was a random pick from many similar and equally enticing, for I had to start somewhere. On went a 4no4 stick and I started on maggots as one must to get the feel of a new water surely.

Trouble is I got the feel from bleak.

I figured this may be the case so on went the banded pellet, devastating in clear water, but once again nothing aside from the obvious pecks from the bleak horde in this first spot.

The next swim was faster and resulted in a few dace and tiny roach amongst the bleak on maggot, I was off the mark and eager to explore further.

I moved upstream just below a weir that rumbed above the noise of birdsong and spotted my first chub, doing what chub do - Sitting in the most inaccesible chubby looking spot going. Casting my float upstream under the trees into the shallow water yeilded nothing but black shapes, as more chub although visible were well aware of my intrusion, not to mention my poor presentation, I watched as they drifted in and out of view ignoring maggots, that were instead drawing bleak seemingly out of nowhere on the clear gravels.

Turns out I could get down to them just above, well sort of, it was one of those banks I wouldn't get back up if it rained and I was still quite elevated. Naturally there were also willow branches hanging right in the spot the rod tip frequented, a giant reed that protuded straight out of the water plus more greenery upstream for that missed strike or bumped fish, plus a whole bank of it below for the fiesty chub to dash in to, not to mention the long grass in front, then there's that fallen tree and raft. What could possibly go wrong!

Because of this snaggery, a veritable delight for such a fish as a chub, I stepped up my gear, thus stepping out of the swim into the hot meadow and changing to 4,4lb mainline and 4lb hooklength. Being a one rod angler makes roving easy but changing set ups more work, although it's amazing how quickly one can completely set up again especially when the first chub is calling.

Feeding pellets saw the black shapes moving from under the raft, were they taking the bait or was my set up now too visible? I knew going finer would be suicidal so I was happy to see those big ol' white lips come up in the water and take a pellet, the same pellet that was banded to my size18 super specialist, I struck and missed but it wasn't long before the bites took my float down well and the first culprit was landed.

It was hit and hold every time and I was in the zone, pinging my float sideways under the canopy, hitting the same spot, the only spot, each trot through lasting less than five seconds, the chub were feeding well and I was no longer noticing my awkward footing, I also somehow avoided all the snags as more nice chub followed to 4lb 3oz

I picked a sunny spell to stop for a break, moving my stool to a shady tree aside a large wheatfield. It seemed like there was a million damselflies dancing across the barley including the one that landed on my bald head as I cooled off hatless. Butterflies and birdsong, farmers in the distance working, a few fish banked, time for a perfect lunch.

I was tucking into my sarnies as another angler came by. He had already dropped off a large shopping bag full of gear earlier at the weir, in the time it took for my chub tally to go from 1 to 4 he had returned, stumbling along with two rods set up, a large seat and rod bag over his shoulders and a bait station in there somewhere too. As his rods clanked together and straps fell of his shoulder for the umpteenth time he said...

"I really got to think about taking less gear" Having commented about starting at the bottom of the stretch and also falling in, his enthusiasm was undampened by such events.. 

"You're not kidding I replied" my uncouth Southern accent noticeable against his wonderful brummie twang.

As I looked at my ruckbag and stool fondly and was about to point out the merits of such gear, when he asked where I was from and in the small world that it is, it turned out that he used to deliver goods to the industrial estate near where I live.

"You come all the way here for a day?" Was his question along those lines and whilst I could catch as much closer to home and whilst I also had the journey from hell  (traffic, closed roads, weird sat nav detours) I simply replied " I love it up here" In hindsight I wish I just pointed and said "look around you, that's why"

So it was we excanged our farewells and both got back to fishing.

The chub continued to oblige and this is the last mat pic I promise.

I ended up not losing any chub somehow and also losing no gear either. By now the skies were turning fairer and it was more sun than cloud, the clear water even clearer and the chub less visible. Except this one which was the 9th.

With the swim hammered and almost 30lb of chub caught I moved happy to explore and catch whatever. A dabble in the weir was a must so I pitched up above matey and stared into the swirling abyss of deep water looking at rocks and the odd bit of weed that rose from a good 10 feet deep at least, the black depths of the unknown much further down.

Nothing came to my pellet trotting skills aside from a plucky dace. A switch to maggots saw bleak city, these were only countered by switching to a heavier float and dropping it at the edge and feeding elsewhere. It worked though as it was a good 4-5ft by the rock near my feet and I picked up a dozen hard fighting perch, just liftable. If was fun to sit on a rock catching stripeys, my mat now dry and used as a cushion.

It was now time to explore dowstream, naturally I tried for another chub in that hole, seemed rude not to, besides it would take me to a nice even 10 chevins. 

So it was that my precision of the morning had now reversed, I hooked a chub, the smallest of the day under 2lbs that somehow beat me in those reeds,  after which I tangle with that willow, then of course hook the lone rush, fishing like a total novice. I moved on before I lost any gear quitting that spot whilst I was still ahead.

Working my way dowstream with my waders wet on the inside from sweat (a proper summer roving tradition) I settled in a shady spot where trotting pellet yielded a few more nice chub taking the tally to 14 plus a few more big dace. There were no good roach on pellet which was strange as I did see one ghost by but I was more than happy with my day given the conditions were far from perfect.

I was about to pack up, thinking I can listen to the football on the way home when I heard all manner of commotion coming towards me from upstream. Louder the sound of clapping and splashing came although it seemed to take ages. Something was kicking off and I knew it was about to plough through my swim so out came the phone to film....

They continued until out of earshot the video not doing it justice, the two males were fighting and these were big old cobs, their necks muscular and cortorted, gripping each other's wings as they thrashed, showering me with a cooling spray, all whilst the pen and cygnets circled rather too close.  

The aftemath saw bow waves like a boat had been through, plus a steady stream of white feathers. Fantastic to see and the harsh reality of nature, not the sack fed urban swans you see in town centres, what a scrap.

I got back to the car in time for the football to kick off after which England went a goal down to Dr Congo, getting home just in time (the roads were so empty) to see us turn it around 2-1. Which will be pertinent when we lift the world cup and I remember where I was.

If only, never mind Dr Congo, I was the true winner thanks to Dr Avon.

A Hot Morning on The Thames

 With temperatures pushing 30c on the cards today and even hotter weather to come I figured a morning in the shade would do, somewhere I could stay for a while in a spot with not much walking. Cue Father Thames.

Like a few days ago I'm disappointed by the flow, or rather lack of it. Who pulled out the plug?  I expected a little more water in a larger river. We need rain badly if the Thames is this low and clear so early in the season.

I set up a waggler to fish on the drop, not my favourite method but needs must. I then watch my feed fall through the clear water next to it without a bite for an hour.

I move swims, rinse and repeat. This is dire, not helped by seeing my third cormorant and a pair of rowers telling me I'll get a seal where I was. Oh the famous Thames seals, they have got further upriver than this stretch feasting as they go.

Then a shoal of small perch attack the tiny fry in the shallows at my feet almost hitting my toes. I was glad to be sitting in the water and happier still to finaly see some fish. I still couldn't get a bite though but at least knew fish were about.

In the third spot(so much for not moving) I cast under a bush on the near side dead shallow, thinking a small perch is better than a blank, when the waggler goes under and a decent roach of all things glides to me in the clear water, all silver and red shining vividly in the sunlit shallows, it was ever so welcome.

I release the roach and naturally setlle in this spot,  keeping an eye on a massive bumble bee the size of a Chinook, I exaggerate of course as you dont get helicopters this big. I usher the behemoth to flowers new, buzzing away it went, as I cast my float again, this time with an optimism which made me forget the previous two hours.

However no more bites followed, it was evident how intrusive the retrive of my waggler was in the clear water, it stood out like a sore thumb, one stung by a bee no doubt.

On goes a 2xno4 stick despite the minimal flow and chop from the boats, an upstream wind helped and I was grateful for the that as the breeze blowing up the river tempered the heat very well and held the float back well at a time when my efforts were waining.

Then some dace showed and they were all a good size, suddenly my despondent morning was full of joy.

It was hard work but rewarding, I was managing to get a steady flow of bites now, with some too quick to hit and the odd fish twisting off due to the lack of current. I watched the sun gradually come round the large tree that was my shade, like a solar eclipse, I was now getting the odd decent perch and roach as it's rays hit my neck.

The fishing was enjoyable and it was time to soak up the scenery, forcing myself to take a much needed break despite getting bites, making sure I kept feeding as didn't want to lose the shoal.

I was watching boats go by including a freindly angler no doubt going to try his luck in the weir, we exchanged freindly waves which was nice and I hope he had a decent day.

Meanwhile bank on the bank I was ushering away the odd swan and mallards. I looked down at my boots clearly visible in the clear water, here the shoals of fry that had sought the sanctuary from maurauding perch at my feet, had stayed there all day, these were too small to identify but it looked like a fair mix of species, that's if you can make them out. Who knew they would go camera shy when you lean over them like a heron.

The bites stop when a boat moored alongside me but it was a good time to go with the heat rising. The second dog of the day entered the water scattering little fish once more to the safety of my feet, ushered in by it's owner without a care, although I did get an apology. The old hairy thing looked knackered in the heat and so did the dog.

I packed up after lunch timing it well as 'Mad Bird Lady' deposited two loaves in for the birds, she had been feeding them further up for a good hour, tempting in whole armada of invading canada geese, all whilst wearing a face mask. She was followed closely by 'Rotund Swimming Lady' who was about to enter my swim without a care. I was wondering why almost all open water river swimmers are obese women, I knew there was a seal based joke in there somewhere, but I was now too hot to bother.

Knowing that it would fish much better with more colour and flow I was bouyed by what I caught, despite the problems that those blubbery interlopers cause. The seals aren't much help either.

The M25 was it's usual barrel of fun on the way home, I felt sorry for the stranded motorhome stuck bang in the middle of the six lane section. As a result the queue of traffic saw more red X's than a bad act on a talent show.

It was still a nice morning out and I'm glad I went as it didn't feel super hot, I didn't catch a lot (20 fish) losing a few and blanking for ages but knew it could have been much, much worse. 

I went from thinking the place was gone to the dogs to well....Giving it the seal of approval. 

First Barbel of The Season

 My feet were wet from morning dew as I made my way through the long grass to my local stream. Upon reaching the water's edge a murder of crows flew back and forth from the treetops, a cacophony of noise that would last a good hour. It was hardly the dawn chorus as I'd missed that courtesy of one of those hot sleepless nights but was happy to get a decent spot mid morning.

I was less enamoured with the river level with gravels visible and not much flow. On went a dibber float and banded pellet, my 'go to' choice in these conditions. Pingin' it upstream into a dark hole beneath a tree saw the inevitable succesion of small chub before the first barbel graced the net. It was tiny but I didn't care, the first one is always worth a photo regardless of size.

I then had a chub that showered my mat with eggs, which left me with a weird feeling. I've seen fish breeding before in June but never had this happen. I was contemplating whether this occurance was an argument for or against keeping the close season, it does show breeding fish can be affected by angling but also shows they dont always adhere to the dates we have anyway. The fish was pristine and swam off strong, maybe these were old eggs from breeding previously, discarded today as the fish didn't look heavy, who knows?

I continued to fish given there were no signs of fish actively breeding and fortunately it was an isolated event, with the next few chub also looking perfect.

The swim then goes dead with brightening skies revealing nothing was left in my little swim so it was time to move.

I dropped in below an old chap who had music playing on his little radio. Ok it was quiet but I could just hear it, I get it if you're quietly listening to the big match or the test cricket but music? I hummed 'People are Strange' by The Doors, it wasn't on the radio but felt it should have been.

This next spot also sees me casting upstream to cover and I'm rewarded with a slighly better barbel, super fun with trees either side and one above me making things awkward.

By now thoughts were turning to lunch when I felt a wobble on the net with the next chub. Sure enough it was the traditional cross threaded net moment which is always nuts. I was using my Dad's old net so it seemed only right that an old bit of twig went in to secure it,  like we used to fix on the hook with luncheon meat back in the day.

With the net solid(ish) a few more chub and barbel followed, don't worry I could have jumped in if needed it was so shallow, but it held firm as I did I with the fish, which were all fighting fit and raring to go.

It was a nice morning's fishing but I won't return unless we get some rain. I went home to work out if it was the net or handle which cross threaded only to find out they both screwed in fine with other nets/handles, unable to deduce the fault. If that's not an accident waiting to happen(again) I'm not sure what is. 

I must learn to stop being so frugal and get new gear instead of using Dad's battered hand me downs, or should I? 

Like I said people are strange.