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 but end was filled with one of those spikes you get on cheap garden solar lights. 

All I needed was a model, so got the missus to take 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 chub lining 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 was 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. 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.

Signs Of Recovery On The River Gade

 My plan to go after the rush hour almost backfired fatally, when upon leaving a set of lights as the first car I see a high speed police chase heading straight towards me. I must admit the sight of a blacked out Audi almost losing it at stupid speeds, kicking up a mix of dust and rubber, swerving towards me on the wrong side of the road really shook me up. I would have been a gonner with a head on collision like that at that speed, so much for a quiet drive to the fishing I thought as I calmed down at the next set of lights.

Making it to the little River Gade in one piece felt good, it is a river that will always fill me with fond memories, learning to fish here as a lad with the greatest angler of all time - my dad, maybe he was looking down on me earlier, perhaps he was now, it seemed so right to start the river season here.

With named swims like The Pole Swim(It had a pole sticking out, still does!), Chub Alley(Had loads of chub) The Cattle Crossing(Go figure) it is a river steeped in history although these were names only a few knew. Come to think of it I think Dad and I may have made these up. I set up on the imaginatively named 'Concrete Section' due to the path to the old paper mill which is now sadly crumbling, now leading to the housing estate that replaced said mill many years ago.

I was delighted to see the streamer weed back to the levels it was as a lad. Many think its absence for a couple of decades was down to the Buncefield explosion in 2005 and subsequent contamination of the water course by both the fuel depot going up in flames and the chemicals used to douse it. This seems to tally but its a sobering thought that this happened in an area that's over 2 miles from the Gade's water course.

I settled down to running a 2xno4 stick through picking up roach and dace from the off before a chap stopped for a chat. He seemed friendly enough but it was a tad disconcerting him standing on the path above me with a golf club in his hands. Anyone who plays golf on Croxley moor is guaranteed to lose their ball real quick. He moved on and I had a peaceful morning with plenty of fish.

I had some half decent roach and dace with the odd perch, nothing needing a net although a bend in the rod came courtesy of a silt laden hiking sock, a good 2lb I reckon, surely a new pb for hosiery. I followed that up with a jagged stone, then a cage feeder to show I was edging the float through well enough.

I tried a couple of spots that clearly had closed season activity, getting more roach and dace plus the odd tiny chublet which I never count, just as I was thinking how sad it was the gudgeon were gone as there used to be thousands here I suddenly get a couple, typical Gade ones, not big, not small, but so great to see.

I had my lunch, saw a kingfisher dash through, then chilled whilst watching the moorhen do its haphazard weed eating like an old ska rocker, the canada geese which are a bit of a pain then go back and forth with offspring of various stages. It needs a pair of mute swans to see these off, like the one with a neck the size of a french baguette, that nipped me on the backside to get at a bit of weed I was standing on as a kid, oh how dad laughed that day. I think it had a name like 'The big one' like I said we weren't  the most imaginative it seems.

I walked down to the bridge, a Somali woman was below with her toddler who took off up the path with gay abandon with mum calling forlornly. The second lure angler of the day passed me, a young English lad and we exchanged friendly banter in passing as anglers do. Asian chaps with lanyards obviously on their lunch break strolled back to work. Ladies rather easy on the eye in summer dresses were walking dogs or just walking, for some reason they were all blonde, ok it's a bit more urban down here now but it took me back, back to the 'good old days' as they say even if it has changed a lot.

What was better still was the sight of 4 glorious chub sitting on the shallows. Did I finish with some to cap the day off? Nope, they wouldn't even touch the loosefeed which is weird for chub. Perhaps cleaning themselves after spawning or skitty due to bright sun and breezy winds, who knows,I didn't care for they were great to see.

I packed up as Greensleeves played in the distance on an ice cream van to remind me once more of my urban surrounds. I hoped to beat the school run and police chases of course, ending up with 57 fish, 30 roach, 7 perch, 18 dace and 2 gudgeon. Nothing big to start the river season (unless you count that whopping sock) but I cared not.

Big were my hopes for this little river and bigger than big were my memories, rekindled by this lovely day in the June sun.

West Bay Mini Species Hunt Hijacked by Bass

I've planned a weekend break with the missus to celebrate our wedding anniversary so naturally I'm showing her a good time by taking her fishing with me. To be fair she actually loves sitting behind me reading, plus i get the bonus of a nice picnic lunch and action shots if I get a good bend in the rod although that never happens to me here at West Bay, It's a place I really enjoy but never do well at, but in my defence there are much easier docks and quays on the south coast.

A reccie the day before saw everyone blanking aside from the many families crabbing, their children filling their buckets with glee, also much to the delight of the herring gulls who would swoop down for a buffet upon release. More encouraging were the large shoals of tiny pouting visible in the clear water, I only knew they were pout due to the kids getting a few in their crab nets, that'll do me I thought - a few small pout, maybe a blenny or wrasse then off to the pub, if not I'll try for small mullet up the shallow end, either way it would be fun fishing on coarse gear as usual.

The rules here state 'Handlines or float fishing only' so typically almost everyone lobs out a lead or casts a lure, however float fishing suits me just fine. It would be none of the sea float malarkey though, you know the size of a cuban cigar with line like rope, nope I'm looking for bites off the little 'uns so its a bog standard avon float as seen if the first photo.

The rod was my usual five piece travel match and my old Okuma was loaded with 6lb line in case any decent mullet show, the bait was cheap old supermarket prawns, I also had bread but that's almost a non starter here due to those pesky gulls.

 I set up in a corner that usually produces the odd blenny and get plenty of bites but they are so small they are coming off the hook, I swap my size 10 wide gape for a 14 and manage to get a minnow sized pollack of all things before a succession of tiny pout. With the small fish target achieved I reverted back to the size 10 and moved to the main channel, here it was fun trotting along holding back in deeper water and good ten feet or so down.

I then joke with a crabber I pass after he was initially impressed with my tally of 6 fish that were I to eat these they would be smaller than the chips. I then had the urge to move on near some rocks after as the chap there had just packed up. "Of to catch some monsters?" the crabber quipped "Yeah right!" was my lighthearted response happy to settle for anything chunkier than take away potato produce. Little did I know what was to follow.

I get to the pier's and where the ebbing tide hits some rocks hoping for a wrasse or anything, by now it was quite shallow but I continued to feed each run, trotting through at around 4 feet deep. The cheap Sainsburys prawns I was feeding are so small they are like big maggots, because of this you get plenty in a pack so in a few went each cast, little and often as the saying goes.

I was enjoying running my avon along these rocks and was certainly taken by surprise when the float buries, I strike thinking it's a rock of course before the clutch screams  and the pure silver of a stunning bass not a wrasse flanks brightly in the spray, wow, I then ask the wife( I like to think calmly but..) to pass my trust Diawa Iso but for some reason she's extending it fully on the quay, not a good idea as it's best to extend it using gravity when fishing from a height, fortunately upon seeing our commotion another angler rushed to our aid. Here's an action shot of it at the crucial moment.

He was laying on his stomach over the edge. the handle just long enough to reach the water. I would have struggled on my own and my wife wouldn't have had the strength. yet here I am with a total stranger working as a team. Get in!

After thanking the other angler and having what seemed like the best bacon and egg roll over I continued to fish and I even saw a bass spin near the surface in the clear water for my feed, I expected a bite and sure enough the same thing happens again.

Then again although no3 was smaller and a bit knocked about with criss cross scars and a sore near it's tail, It was like it was a bycatch discard thrown back so no photo.

With the tide now almost fully out and the skies brightening a little the missus is off to the loo after I tell reassure her it's a good time to go and I wont get any more, so naturally no4 arrives to show how little I know, this time it was back to perfection with a really heavy set fish.

 

All the fish were returned unweighed and unmeasured but that's a 26" net so go figure. The place was super busy and I was getting quite an audience at times. People on the other side of the quay were talking to passers by whilst pointing at me doing the 'This big' gesture with their hands, I reckon they gave the bass a few extra inches but I didn't mind given I would have been happy with something akin to a thumb and finger measurement at the start of the day.

By now the tide had changed and so did my lovely trot. The flow had reversed and the wind had got up, blowing my loosefed prawns back at me despite my best throw, I did not reach for the catapult as I was almost out of them anyway, it was a good time to call it a day and my thoughts turned to that pint, a well earned one for sure.

We packed up and the skies started to brighten instantly and yes that beer tasted so good, as did the second, by the time we decided to head back to out accomodation small mullet the size of dace were sunning themselves lazily on the surface, not often you see these from a pub garden.

We left the mini mullet to their sunbathing and took the car back dropping it off then walking all the way back via the River Brit so we could both have a drink, polish off some fish and chips and watch the sun go down at the end of a wonderful day.

As for that mini species hunt, well it would be remiss of me not to show one of those monster pouting.

The last word goes as a doff of the hat to Martin, the chap from Wimborne who helped me with landing these fish, along with his energetic wife who seemed to be doing a running commentary. We all know it can be a grind if the angler next to you is hauling and you're not, so I was happy to watch him finally get a knock and bend into an eel of all things. He said he was an experienced angler when offering to help with the first fish, I put my trust in him and he didn't let me down, landing them all without hesitation, thanks mate.

Springing About on The Gravel Pit

 The bread experiment was going well with early tench and loads of carp on the small club pools so it was time to step up to a bigger water, I wasn't sure if it had warmed up enough but went all in nonetheless taking bread as my only bait willing to leave with my tail between my legs knowing I could always return with maggots next time.

The silvers fishing on my little gravel pit had been improving year on year, with the chance of a big tench or carp it is a place of mystery but I'd be happy with some decent roach fishing as no one tries for them here and they are pristine.

A few bits of mashed bread dissapeared into the green mysterious depths as I settled down into a deep corner which I had to myself, I lower my float amongst the cloud of white and even though bread can be instant I wasn't expecting what followed. The float went down so fast the rod tip hooped around before I could even think about striking, what a start I thought, knees starting to wobble as the clutch screamed, whatever it was it was very big as my 6lb line was peeling off towards the middle of the lake, the sheer speed, power and my lack of control indicated something wasn't right although the fish thankfully turned and It was now coming towards me, just as I was thinking the sunken tree to my left would be problematic the hook inexplicably pulls. I am 90% sure it was foul hooked and I know I did nothing wrong, which negated any pain of losing what I'm sure would have been a pb carp. I did that weird thing I'm sure most of us do in such circumstances - stare a bit dumbfounded at a bare hook just dangling in the wind, do a quick scan to make sure no one saw all the madness then perhaps an expletive is muttered, although I can't recall if this was under my breath or out loud. Either way the only sound in response was that of the waterfowl as the mallards seemed to do that quack they do that sounds like laughter, perhaps in this case it was.

I settle back down and next cast sees a small bream get nabbed by a pike almost mid air in front of me, I manage to lose that too as the esox let go but it sure was a hectic start to the day. A few nice roach, rudd and small bream followed the chaos to show the bread was working.

I return at the weekend with the wife after regaling her with tails of monster fish and peaceful surrounds only to find the pit rammed this time. We managed to find a sheltered spot where no other angler could be seen but we could sure hear them, with a guy in full on 'geezer' mode effing and jeffing around the other side, it always amazes me when people can talk all the time without actually saying anything and it's always the chap with the most annoying voice. Any fears that we would contract a home counties variant of Cockney from these fellas was negated by the bird song in the trees, muffling the chat and of course the float dip dip dipping as the bread was having a battle with the small stuff, my concentration now fully on turning bites into fish.

It was a chilled out day and I wasn't expecting any monsters with all the bankside noise when a seemingly better skimmer bream sees me reach for the net only to have one of those 'its a roach' moments we all love, wasn't even a hybrid, 1lb 9oz of pure roach perfection on a pit where I had never had one over 10oz before.

I was stoked by the roach, with only a couple smaller ones to follow we headed home for a nice wine in the garden, not many fish today but a win for the bread again. 

The following weekend saw me back on the old maggot, the bread was working no doubt and I had a loaf in the bag again however I wanted to amass a decent number of fish with 100 the target, I figured it would be easy despite it being cold from a frost the night before, really weird weather for mid May.

I try a different spot in a corner to myself, this time far from the madding crowds. Fishing close in under the rod tip with a pole float my first fish, a decent rudd is returned and hit immediately at my feet by another pike, thinking how this thing is going to mash me up each time I set up the other rod with 6lb line again, whack on a bunch of maggots and hit a nice half pound roach straight away, knowing I'm more geared if the pike shows. The pike smashes it as expected and a really powerful fish is on for quite a while. With the net fully extended and the pike up in the water I was just about to win the battle when it just lets go, it almost sat there looking at me, I swear we made eye contact, but the poor old roach was a gonner.

I return to the fishing with the lighter set up and am relived to not have anymore pike disturbance and settle down to getting quite a few fish, the pike interruption didn't even slow them down one bit, quality roach and rudd with many netters and a few small perch, there has to be bigger stripeys but these were the tiny type, it was a bite a chuck in three feet of water.

After forty or so fish my old friend reappears with a swirl on the surface then sits at my feet just looking at me again, even with the water coloured I could see the eyes just waiting, anticipating the next fish returning like I was it's waiter. This fish is going to be a problem for sure. I then realised my old battered roach was still at the edge, so I fished it out gently with the net and the pike just sat there all the time watching me just two feet away. On went a pike set up and the dead roach was hooked with a single hook behind the dorsal, I plopped it by my feet and sure enough I'm showered in spray and it's game on again, despite being such a powerful fish the odds this time were in my favour. Taking two mats in case of a rogue carp, comes in handy for double figure pike, the fish was quickly unhooked and deposited a few swims along.

I finished with 104 fish and could have gone on to get double that easily but settled with achieving my target by early afternoon. With a venue best roach and pike over the last two trips and loads of quality silvers it really was good fishing when some more illustrious pits and reserviors near here have been finicky.

I watched two young lads arrive on the other side of the pit and have their spod attacked by a pike under their feet and just had to laugh as they tried all sorts, I'm not sure there is a fish that entices such curiosity and energy as the pike in it's ambush. The water seemed to be filling up with other anglers but it was time for me to go.

In between the gravel pit fun I've pottered on the small ponds even managing a venue best for carp on a small club pool where they don't grow that big, on the bread of course.

I've had some very eventful trips, from t shirt and shorts to trousers and heavy hoodies and back again, cockney geezers and tons of that annoying fluff getting on the line and in your throat, mad pike and even madder weather, spring is springing about quite like it's never done before but what fun it's been