Amongst The Barbel

It had been a couple of days of contrast on my local river which started on the Monday as I arrived with dad to find the club car park full, a trip on to the next stretch saw that rammed too so an about turn was needed and it was back to square one. After driving ninety minutes to get dad and bring him here I coated the motor in vaseline and marge and squeezed the car in to a tight spot. It didn't take a degree in maths to work out there were more anglers than swims on this short stretch. You are limited to where you can take a wobbly octogenarian so I just hoped dad could eventually get a decent spot where he could catch his first barbel of the season.

As luck would have it two earlies were packing up so I gave dad the only good spot and proceeded to set him up and watch him fish the lead, he soon had a wrap around and landed the first of two small barbel. Any barbel is a good barbel and he was happy so it was job done as far as I was concerned. I eventually got a spot to run a float through and was starting to get a nice mix of roach dace and chub on the float when dad decided he'd had enough, oh well nevermind, there's always the next time I told myself as I took dad home.

The next time was indeed the next day as Tuesday I am back down there on my own, I really felt I needed to wet a line again as didn't really get going the day before. This time it was an evening session after work yet it was still blisteringly hot, it was also rammed once again but I managed to get a swim that I actually really like, it was the only spot left, a swim which doesn't get fished as it's so shallow and narrow, the fish are tight under the rushes and although it's only a few feet wide, for me to run a float through it was just perfect.

It started a bit slow trotting pellet with only a few small chub to show but I stuck at it running my float under the rushes trying to match the feed whilst at the same time making sure to avoid a costly overcast, mind you I was basically lowering the float in it was so narrow. There was also only a few seconds of trotting each run through as the float was soon taken the length of the swim, which to be fair was quite short given that I could only see the float run a few feet from where I was sat, on the deck, legs crossed like a child, each run through must have taken less than five seconds but I love this sort of fishing.

Feed, cast, repeat..... then bam! A good bite rips the float under and everything is solid, finally after a spirited battle the first barbel is in the net, what started slow became typical barbel float fishing when two more followed in the next couple of trotts through, not huge but any barbel is fun on the float and more than welcome.

It then went dead so I made do with first watching a red kite then a buzzard circle overhead quartering the meadow really low, impressive birds and so large when they are close up, I wouldn't want to be a rabbit there that's for sure.  Despite the raptor show I could no longer resist the temptation to run that float under those rushes once more, bites were few but rewarding with a stonking big dace, not much contest on 6lb line but welcome variety nonetheless. I also lost a fine chub which was a shame but I had a feeling there was more barbel to be had. A mate came down from upstream who I hadn't seen for a while who told me the park was busy with paddling kids, a reason no doubt for the sudden clouding up of the water, it was game on and as we chatted I had two in two casts with the extra colour in the water.

Sure enough from then on the other species didn't get much of a look in and it's safe to say quite a few more were had in quick succession, all fairly small but super fun, enough to get 'barbel arm' and it's always good to get one of these sessions under your belt early season. I was playing each fish against a whole array of flotsam coming down from the local kids I could now hear paddling upstream, not sure what they were doing up there but there but drifting by I saw everything from large branches, flip flops, the obligatory tennis ball and even an American football which was a new one. I would do some sort of pun about that but I was looking forward to a superbowl of ice cream when I got home.

River Gade Now and Then

The first trip of the new river season saw us visit the River Gade for a few hours either side of lunch, not wanting too much stress as it was dad's first trip out the house in three months due to shielding, so where better to avoid the crowds than Croxley Moor, saying that though there was a fair few down there fishing which was surprising but we cared not for it was the June 16th and it was glorious to be out fishing.

All thoughts of Covid-19 and lockdown were dismissed with the very first run through of the float and it was good to see that little stick make it's way down the river for the first time before dipping under as a small chub kicked things off, a few nice roach and dace followed before I made my way up to see if dad was also off the mark where I set him up earlier.

Sharing the swim with dad

Dad was resting his legs, happy to be catching nice dace interspersed with the odd roach and chublet and I shared his swim, wading across, something we often do unlike the pair of herons who seemed to be fighting over the fishing rights above us. We also had a laugh watching the mallard ducklings going downstream before coming back later seemingly twice the size, we shared the swim with those two generations of ducks but there was now just one heron as there was a clear winner in that battle upstream in the shallows, the victor making itself heard landing on a big tree and woe betide any other who tried landing on it's stretch. 

The river was the clearest I had ever seen it in summer due to much reduced boat traffic on the nearby canal and the moor itself was that yellowy-green colour usually associated with late August. The weather went from sticky humid to fresh and then back again in a few hours but that was all we needed to wet a line and whet the appetite for more, we caught plenty, nothing of any size but It got dad out the house and every time I go fishing with him it's more special as I know it isn't going to last forever

Croxley Memories

I'll always hold this little river in high esteem even if it is a shadow of it's former self like many others, gone are the days when you needed to get up at silly o'clock to get to the good spots and also those days of roaming up and down getting half a dozen nice chub in each of the the average ones, maybe with the odd nice bream and perch thrown in and if you were lucky a big roach or even a wild carp. Gone also are the days when dad would take me by bus and train to get there and also the mornings I would go straight from work at the post office without getting changed. Perhaps it's the memories that make it still a nice place for me to fish, there is the odd good fish around now but usually in the overgrown hard to fish spots where they can't be got at If you get my drift.

The River Gade is a trout stream until it reaches Hemel Hempstead where it joins equally tiny River Bulbourne. In bygone days it used to feed many a paper mill along it's course and if it's not running through an old mill it's running in and out of the Grand Union Canal, this means the river is coloured most of the year and it never really floods or gets scoured out, this in turn means it's impossible to blank there, even in the most atrocious conditions I've caught something. It's also really shallow, on the two main sections at Cassiobury Park and Croxley anywhere two feet deep is a 'hole' and anything over three feet is an 'abyss'. I remember a fishing club visiting it each winter when every other river was flooded, I think they came up from London and were based on the Regents Canal but I could be wrong, anyhow they would sometimes mention how shallow it was and indeed you could always tell a visiting pleasure angler by any reference to the lack of depth.

The remains of the old paper mill

Despite having no depth the river threw up the odd surprise even if Gade fish were usually long and lean, I recall a lad running up to us saying he's got a huge perch in his net, we looked at each other as if "yeah right" only to be flabbergasted by a monster stripey, we had no scales back then so we helped him unhook it and guessed at over 3lb as it glided across the shallow water into the murky water. More often than not it worked  the other way, there were always kids fishing back then and if they saw you catch a 3lb bream, word of it would travel downstream and by the time it got back to you you were asked if you were the one who just caught a 6lb fish, we called it the Gade Grapevine. Both dad and I were lucky enough to get our first 2lb roach from there but if you caught a 3lb chub you had done well, now it does bigger chub but the chances of a big roach now are really slim. Bream were often the target fish and barbel didn't feature until they were stocked a few decades ago, how times change. The Gade could throw up anything though from trout to tench and a mate of a mate of mine once knew someone who saw someone catch a grayling, with all that mucky canal water coming down perhaps that really was the Gade Grapevine in full motion

A terrible photo of a cracking roach**

**Tip - When taking a photo of a nice fish, a leather cap and post office waterproofs are not a good look, also try smiling even if you have said to dad five times " It's the button on the top of the camera!!!"

There was some characters down there, Old John for example used to come down at least twice a day, a country gent complete with wax jacket, flat cap and pipe, I could never quite work out whether the accent was West country or Norfolk but either way he looked a bit out of place on a moor crossed by the Metropolitan line. He used to fly fish in the evenings although we never saw him catch much but he always talked about his holidays up the Spey going after Salmon, come to think of it he never said he caught any there either. He would always stop for a quick chat, wind up dad by asking him why he's catching nothing and drift off without a goodbye, some anglers thought he was a grumpy old git but we saw his dry humour, as a cocky kid I used to make sure I caught loads whilst he was there as I knew he would wind dad up. It's been many a year since I saw Old John so maybe he's Spey casting up there in the sky somewhere, who knows, I hope he's catching well where ever he is.

Also there was 175Cow probably not the most imaginative name for a beast but it had that number in it's ear and was a cow so... But it's a cow I hear you mutter like I'm some sort of loon, well I kid you not that 175Cow was not just any cow but rather, in layman's terms was a complete and utter nutter with udders. Many a time I would wonder down the bank with my gear to hear footsteps behind me, gradually getting louder until forming a stampede, I would turn around to see 175 standing there with her cronies, turning around with the net and rod raised hollering made them stop but as soon as your back was turned they were off after you lead by you know who. It was scary stuff and on quite a few occasions I used to say to dad It's 175! maybe we'll give that swim a miss today. He always agreed.

I remember one time when the housing estate was being built on the old paper mill site a building worker would go across to the moor and smoke something iffy in the bushes on his break. The look on his face was something I'll never forget when I came running past being chased by a herd of mad cows, I made it through a barbed wire fence without thinking what could get caught up I was so scared, I turned and looked at this chap and he almost did that thing winos do in old comedies when they look at the bottle, he was stunned and I almost needed a new pair of pants The weird thing about 175Cow is she was one of those pretty Jersey types with the long eyelashes, the sort you would like if she was in cartoon form, well you know what I mean. Anyhow she didn't look menacing unless you were an angler or dog, then you got chased. The last time I saw her she was chasing a guy who lived on one of the canal boats across the moor - he was on a motorbike at the time.

I wonder if one day someone will say that we were characters down there? I doubt it somehow and much of the river is either flanked by houses or being urbanised in parks now, however the character of the river will always live on in my many memories of it.

Sherman the Gudgeon

Have you ever put a fish back and thought I really should have weighed that? Well this is a story of how I did that very thing a couple of years ago with a beast of a fish, not a carp or barbel, oh no, this was a massive gudgeon and not just any gudgeon as it was Sherman, perhaps the only named gudgeon in the land, named due to it's size and bulk and in no small part because I may be the only person mad enough to name a gudgeon.

I'll set the scene. It's winter and I am trotting down the river (who knew!) catching a mix of the usual river species when my little wire stemmed stick float goes under and I get the low pull of a small barbel, there were many small barbel in this stretch of  the River Lea and I thought this was one of them, that was until I swung it to hand and could see it was a clonking gonk, it was almost heavy enough to net I thought at the time so I took some photos.

I've seen some pictures of other big gudgeon which are usually held by the small hands of a child thus making a size reference hard but I had to make do with my own mitts. I thought about doing one of those silly arms length photos you see where the captor has a little tiny head, then I could jokingly claim the first double figure goby, but at the time I didn't realise the gudgeon record was only 5oz so it went back unweighed. Doh!

The fish wasn't long but was very chunky, after weighing many other species it doesn't take long to work out that the heavy fish are the deep, fat ones, no doubt it had been feeding up on the pellets as you can sometimes get gudgeon on a 4mm or even 6mm pellet here. It had an impressive girth, it's funny how often those two words combine albeit usually in other contexts, you don't have a meagre girth or a slight girth after all, I'm not sure I have anything that requires that word although I'm working on it with my stomach, much like Sherman. She was built like a tank and was the width of a golf ball along the belly and flank, hence the name, this fish had girth and plenty of it.

Since then I have bought scales that weigh in grams just to see what a gudgeon like that would weigh but it's sods law that I haven't even got close to catching one since that would be worthy of any WW2 tank based nickname. That's fishing for you and you have to have a laugh, I tell myself this every night as I cry into the pillow lamenting my lost glory. 

Sherman lives on now only in the memory but every now and then I like to envisage the scenario where the fish was immortalised in angling history. Youth would stop me in the street and go " You dat guy!" Specimen hunters would follow me from my house to a fishery somewhere, but I would foil them by going to a place that held record minnow. Lines of bivvies would be on the river for a few weeks with anglers asking "Caught much?" only to be replied with "Nah been plagued by nuisance barbel and carp" I could say she was caught in a Thames tributary, or even better tell a fib and mention the Grand Union Canal, one of the notorious tiny gudgeon stretches near my home, I could then walk by with my Angling Herald Specimen Trophy Fish of the Week cap.

Perhaps it was better I put Sherman back unweighed, it would have all been too much.😄

Edit ) I have since measured Sherman retrospectively using a ruler placed over my hand on the same angle (scientific I know) and she measured around six and a half to seven inches, head to tip of tail, turns out that's quite a decent length for a gudgeon, throw in her double decker body and I think there's some weight there for sure.

Fishing 100 Different Rivers

Fishing 100 Different Rivers - The Beginning

A few years ago I set myself a challenge just for a bit of fun, just for the sake of it really with no agenda or expectation, just a trek in to the unknown, rod in hand plus a bit of bait and a lot of enthusiasm. One day I finally completed it, so why not pull up a chair, pour yourself a drink and come with me on a journey down a river or two.

I have always had a love for fishing running water and quite a few years ago I got talking with my dad about how many rivers we had fished, over a glass of liquid inspiration we began to count and the resulting total was really surprising, whilst we had fished many stretches of local rivers like the Thames, Lea and Colne we hadn’t fished many different rivers at all, little more than a dozen in total, I guess there's always something you leave out when compiling a list but we couldn't muster more than fifteen. 

We had fun reminiscing about days catching the bus then the train from our council house to get to Watford to fish the River Gade and he also told me stories of how as a coach driver he used to take fishing clubs down to places like the Hampshire Avon and would borrow some gear to wet a line, these stories certainly whetted my appetite. After another glass (or two) I hastily said “Dad wouldn’t it be cool to fish 100 rivers?” the reply was something along the lines of “Bonkers! You won't do it son” and whilst thinking he had a more than valid point, there was nothing like trying to prove your old man wrong.

The River Gade - Where it all began

Although dad didn't exactly throw down a gauntlet as such a challenge was accepted in mind my and whilst it was my game and my idea there still had to be rules, I felt It would be more fun if I had to catch a fish for a river to qualify and fish like minnows and sticklebacks couldn’t count, after all I could have fished my local Edgware Brook, I would have caught something there but it would not have been very nice, no it had to be good clean rivers and hopefully good fun fishing. 

I wanted all the rivers to be either free fishing or day ticket, joining a multitude of clubs would make it too easy I thought not to mention rather costly. I knew there would be quite a few free waters but not sure how many I could find. Anyway if I did fall short I would be fishing new rivers and getting a bend in the rod, I wasn’t worried about big fish or pb’s, it was a time to explore, get out and about and most of all I just wanted to have fun. Knowing I had a few local rivers within striking distance plus some famous chalk stream day ticket venues to explore I set out on an awfully long adventure.



Sunset on the River Itchen

After the first season (Did I mention this would be long?) a dozen or so rivers soon doubled when I visited some well known rivers and picked off others closer to home that I really should have fished before. Spurred on by fishing some wonderful venues I was well and truly hooked even if I did allow myself to chase roach, chub and barbel at my usual haunts every now and then with dad. 

Despite having some great fishing on waters I knew well I was still asking myself why I hadn’t fished these other new rivers before, perhaps as anglers we learn our banker waters and stick to them knowing we can catch, or maybe my desire to fish new waters was taking the local ones for granted, maybe familiarity does breed contempt, although that is probably too strong a word as there's no harm in sticking to your 'tried and tested' however I was crossing many a good river I knew to fish somewhere potentially rubbish, the journey in to the unknown was probably the draw and at least that’s what I told myself if I ever got tired on a long road trip



A battle with a barbel

Travelling further afield I found myself taking short breaks just for the fishing, staying in cheap hotels, caravan and camp sites with my maps printed off and my enthusiasm overflowing like the rush of water over a weir. I made my way round the South. South East, West Country, Midlands and East Anglia, although I never made it properly up north, but If you ever saw my motor you'd see why. My little old car was trundling down motorways being overtaken by nearly everyone and everything, the world may have been going by at a pace but I cared not for I was going fishing, besides the river would still be there if I was a little late.

Long three hour drives to fish a random river may seem a bit strange but I had nothing better to do and sometimes that road trip just beckons, the sense of adventure got me out of the house when I had no work on and got me on a river bank somewhere, guaranteed to catch more than I would at home that's for sure. Dad always said If i ever got a sat nav I'd be dangerous but even the cigarette lighter on my old car didn't work, but luckily everything else did, so I was grateful I was never one of those cars on the hard shoulder. Visiting different parts of the country and some amazing rivers I had never heard of before was the best bit and catching fish was a bonus, as was getting home safe and sound



Fishing a beautiful pool on the Upper Severn

After a period of knocking off rivers I already knew about things got a bit harder and a little more research was needed, word of mouth, a magazine or internet article and of course much browsing of maps, these were the most fun, finding a blue line with a weird name and wondering what it will look like. The fishing gear even found it’s way in to the boot for day trips with the missus, it was amazing how many great spots I found for a picnic all of which seemed to be by a river – funny that.


A nice spot for a picnic

I even took up sea fishing just to get a new river here and there, well when I say sea fishing I mean exploring estuaries with my coarse set up, old gear that I didn't mind getting salty, surprisingly it worked and I was running a float through much the same as I would inland, it was a lot of fun and a major learning curve as I didn't have a clue what I was doing. Sea species I had never caught before such as bass, mullet, wrasse and other species offered super sport on coarse gear and a whole new world opened up, who knew sea fish like it 'little and often' and bass would have a penchant for slurping bread off the top, at times I felt like saying "Hey you're in the Perch family, behave like one" but I didn't as they are so much fun, besides I now think the other way and wonder why perch don't like bread.

It was like taking up fishing once again being a novice and I loved it, sometimes I had to look up what I had caught when I got home which was interesting. I was also more than happy to be running a float through in May and I look forward to revisiting those coastal marks and learning a lot more, hopefully catching more new species with the odd new river here and there no doubt, any excuse for a few days of fresh sea air each year.



I would run a float through anywhere

It's amazing how the time can fly even on your own when fishing, is there anything that can take up the whole day so easily yet still leave you wanting more the way fishing does, where did that day go? It was never boring, ever. Little holidays here and there were an ideal base to explore areas that were too far to day trip to, new areas many of which were beautiful and offered great fishing. A window was opened and for the first time 100 looked a distinct possibility and It wasn’t too long before I was approaching the 50 mark and I was halfway towards my target.


It was always great to share a new river with dad

By now I was doing at least a dozen new rivers per season which shows in hindsight how long this all took, mind you I did manage four in one day once on holiday down in Dorset, three of which were in the same town so I could walk to each one there before popping out in the evening to the other, I only caught trout and eels but a fish is a fish and those little streams went on the list alongside more famous waterways and held their own, I often wonder about the history of all the little rivers and how mighty some of them once were, the battles they've seen and the lives they've changed. Often you see a rocky cascade and the imagination drifts to some fair maiden centuries ago washing her hair in the river, her long flowing locks like that of the water crowfoot as it sways in the fast shallows, er..... anyway better get back to the fishing.

The Final Straight

It had now been a few seasons since that initial conversation with dad and I was finally in touching distance in the 90s and I worked out I had only been doing between 10-20 new rivers a season, mind you I had also been fishing my usual rivers plus revisiting some of the new spots I had found. There was never any rush and I should have really done it all for charity but never thought of that, I was just doing it because I could. A leisurely stroll around the countryside had finally lead me closer to home and closer to my goal 96...97...98..99…….


Was there any fish in this tiny stream, or even fair maidens?

Number 100 was to be on a tiny river near where it all started. That was the plan, a tiny river by name, stream by nature, nothing pretentious, a down to earth finale where any fish would do. However It was one of those days, the wind was blowing squally showers sideways, my float was in the air most the time like a kite and I was fishing like an idiot, to make matters worse the stream was full of minnows, a stream I could jump across. 

Is there any bigger fish in here? I asked my self as the hours ticked by, with no evidence that anyone else had fished it I feared the old chequebook and pen and what a great time to blankety blank I thought! I was getting soaked, cold, deflated and hungry, the ‘just one more cast’ hunger we all get when we know we should stop for lunch.

Finally I found a deeper hole but yet more minnows until, to my complete shock I had something better on that wasn't a minnow, I played it across the current like a giant barbel saying to myself “Please don’t come off” then swung it to hand – a dace, all of four ounces and perhaps the finest dace in the whole world, well to me it was as I gently returned it. I had the place to myself and whilst I stopped short of removing my fishing hat and raising my rod like a cricketer on his ton I did do some sort of stupid fist pump thing, laughed a lot and I think ‘Get in’ was said a few times as I sprung about. Can catching small fish in a tiny river be fun? Well this was hilarious and I’m thankful no Joe Public was around to see my dace dance. 

I sat back and thought to myself “I’ve done it Dad” Lunch tasted good right there, sitting soaked and cold with rain dripping down my nose, I looked around across the moor, I still hadn’t seen a single person all day and I thought of how lucky I am to be here fishing.


The Rivers

Here are most of the rivers. It worth noting that some are no longer day ticket or even free and some have since suffered from pollution and many of them have ongoing abstraction issues and are getting smaller year on year.

Aldingbourne Rife, Addle Bourne, River Arun, River Adur, River Ash, River Ant, River Allen, River Arrow, 4x River Avon, 2x River Axe , River Anker, River Asker, River Bulbourne, Blackwater River, Borle Brook, River Bourne, River Brede, River Beane, River Brue, River Bure, Broadway Brook, River Banwell, River Brit, River Colne, River Cray, River Chet, River Chelt, River Chess, River Chew, River Crane, River Char, River Cam, River Cherwell, River Crouch, River Deben, River Derwent, River Erewash, River Ember, 3x River Frome, Fray’s River, River Gade, River Great Ouse, River Great Stour, River Hamble, Heacham River, Hundred River, River Hiz, River Itchen, River Ivel, River Ise, River Kennet, River Lea, River Lambourn, River Lark,, Lullebrook, Little Avon, River Leam, Little Ouse, River Loddon, River Lugg, River Medway, Mor Brook, Mythe Brook, River Mole, River Mease, River Nene, River Otter, River Ouse, River Ouzel, River Rother, Rea Brook, River Salwarpe, River Severn, River Sid, 3x River Stour, River Simene, River Trent, River Thurne, River Tame, River Teme, River Test, River Thet, River Tone, River Tillingham, River Thames, River Ver, River Waveney, River Wensum, 2x River Wey, River Windrush, River Wissey, River Wye, River Yare, Land Yeo, Congresbury Yeo, Mark Yeo, River Yeo.

I always did as much research as I could before fishing somewhere new but there were times when it looked private, in these cases I stayed away, except for one occasion when a kind chap allowed me to fish in his garden. Common land is normally privately owned and despite what many think is not a guarantee of piscatorial rights so these had to be researched and If areas were public I researched the local clubs to make sure it’s not their water, if it was council land and there was no official signs to the contrary then I went for it, this meant my fishing was never challenged and if I was to have trespassed then I would have moved on no question. Some rivers are worth a day trip whereas others really aren’t, some have many different spots to fish and others have barely one, which you wouldn’t find in a hurry, I’m being deliberately vague for obvious reasons.



Bending into a nice chub on the Warks Avon

Tackle and Watercraft

The gear I used was basic most of the time, I often took just one float rod,usually a five piece which meant I could store my gear in the boot of the car, take my time looking for the right area and reccie the water with the tackle out of sight. The rod was a Shakespeare Agility Power Match, it's not that light but felt good with the smaller fish and could handle hard fighters fish like barbel, mullet and bass. My reel was either a small Shimano Exage or an old Okuma Safina Noir, this was used for sea fishing and with a rinse down after each trip is still going strong, it's an old spinning reel that cost under £20 - a doff of the hat to that old thing.

Line was either either Drennan 4’4lb or 3’2lb floatfish with a slightly lighter hooklength, I would only go as high as 6lb for mullet and bass. Size 18 hooks for maggot or size 12 for bread and they were often the only baits I needed aside from some prawns. I kept everything light and mobile with just a rucksack with a fold up stool clipped on, no keepnet so I was able to roam miles if needed, or set up and pack up without fuss, often jumping back in the car to have a look at the next ‘possible’ I had mapped out down the road, or do some usual holiday stuff with the missus, it sure felt good stopping of at a nice country pub after a cracking bit of fishing that's for sure..

I was always float fishing or freelining moving baits, nothing against fishing static at all, It’s just I don’t have the patience to sit there as I always want to make something happen. Floats varied from wire stemmed sticks, wagglers, bubble floats, even matchsticks and often no float at all fishing Tenkara style, the end justified the means and all I wanted was my bait to behave naturally. My set up was usually really simple as was my style as I’ve learned over the years my technique is a bit ‘out there’ at times, sometimes it pays to just keep at it on the days when you are hooking everything but fish, it’s amazing what comes to persistence and often watercraft was the most important skill to hone.


A little lady on the shallows

Spending a day on a new river especially a clear one was like opening a new book each time and in turn I would be using that book to work out what the fish are doing on a another river, even so every trip taught something new and there’s no substitute for getting out there, revisiting some rivers built up a better picture each time but having fished some of my local streams hundreds of times I maintain that is is impossible to fully learn any river, they change year on year, week on week even day by day, the river knows much that we never will and she won’t yield all her secrets to some nobody who is just a passing through in a mere blink of an eye.



As old as Father Time - Father Thames

Each river threw up a unique challenge, one which I couldn’t wait to take on, every time I turned up at a new water I didn’t know what to expect and I always set up with the enthusiasm of a child, it really rekindled a desire to explore the unknown we all started out with, I was suddenly the 8 year old on the bus heading off to our local pond with dad to catch my first perch each time. What species are down there? Are they monsters? Or will I blank? Perhaps it’s polluted and there’s no fish in there? All I knew is I couldn't wait for that first run through.

Not knowing what fate lied in store magnified the excitement and anticipation, when the float went under I was often elated, even if it was the smallest fish of the day it would still be the first and a new river would be added to the list. Some rivers as it turned out were crammed full of fish and some you had to use all your tricks to get a bite, or get lucky depending on which way you look at it. Many rivers had vast shoals of fish that would stay around for a great day’s trotting whereas others had fish which would spook with the slightest disturbance, be it through heavy feet or an unnatural looking bait, these rivers were fun, a real challenge and great to learn from.


One wrong move and they are gone

On one river I had my first fish on a bare hook whilst testing my shotting whereas others I really had to work for it especially in winter. These were often the most rewarding and when the float did dip under the surprise often caught me unawares “blimey It’s gone under” would release steam in to the cold air on more than one occasion, yes all those hours on the road did lead to many a conversation with myself.

I did manage a couple of blanks although I repaid one another visit a few years later with success, there was a roach shoal stretching from bank to bank on the second visit, magic! I knew I would catch this time. Turns out the water was too saline the first time around as it was only 50 yards from the sea and a storm had blown too much sea water over the pump house, pushing the fish upriver, at least that’s what some wise old sea dog told me, sounded right too and if there’s one thing in angling that’s worth learning is local knowledge is priceless, mind you he could have been a ghost as one minute he was there and next he was gone, such was the charm of some of the characters I met along the way.

I ended up getting quality roach one after the other that day, whilst glancing up at the sea every now and then which was also surreal, this made the previous blank worthwhile although I did have to wait a few years before I realised the rivers true potential as it was miles away and one of those holiday venues. The other river I blanked on was polluted which was sad and too many have major issues which were evident, some of the rivers have since been polluted after my first visit, some things sadly don’t change. If you see any pollution on any river call the EA on 0800 80 70 60



The sun sets on another adventure


The Geography

The course and structure of each river was always different, as was the areas I could fish, sometimes I was limited to one swim, which was the only access point often involving some improvisation, a bit of wading perhaps, or a long net handle, that sort of thing, whereas other times there was miles of bank to wander. I would spend a whole day on some rivers and just and hour or two on others. I’d never knowingly trespass and did a lot of research although I did get it wrong a few times to be disappointed by a tree lined dry ditch that looked so inviting on a map, the best ones were when I rocked up to fish a fine meandering footpath, or the time the prospective river turned out to be an old railway line.

Some of the rivers were easy to find as they were legendary but many I had never even heard of, probably pale shadows of what they once were but rewarding to fish nonetheless. Freelining a maggot into a hole a foot deep trying to catch the only fish in view was just as good as running a stick through for 20lb of fish. Funny how setting out just to catch anything throws up some surprises so I was delighted to get a few good fish along the way, seems the more I fished the luckier I got.


Swollen rivers needed a different train of thought

Many rivers were just too gorgeous to describe but I’ll give it a go anyhow. My favourites often involved fast, shallow water, the faster the better, the kind of flows almost too fast to stand in, on occasion I’d find myself sitting on a rock in the middle of a rapid upland river, dippers one side, wagtails the other and kingfishers visible from a long way downstream as they zoomed towards me, changing direction last minute like a fighter plane as I net another grayling, the only sounds being that of the bubbling water as it breaks over the rocks echoing in the steep gorges, seemingly in an endless rush to push downstream, it doesn’t get much better, the kid from a London council estate in places like this, I had to pinch myself sometimes that it was all mine, at least for the day anyway and on many occasions I had rivers like these to myself


My kind of river

Sometimes the fishing was sensational often throwing up the unexpected but most times I just had to settle for pretty darn good. Lowland drain type rivers offered a tranquil charm and a different more relaxed approach, although sometimes they are unfishable in summer due to weed and bankside vegetation, whereas others were accessible but full of boats and had courses shaped by man.

Tidal reaches offered the possibility for absolutely anything and there was always something going on even if it was just me getting stuck in the mud again, these rivers always kept you on the go and could switch on or off at any given state of the tide depending on the ebb or indeed the flow.


Moving with the tide

Small streams were always fun and hardly fished, especially if they were near a more illustrious river, full of flora and fauna gently meandering in summer but totally different beasts come winter, people don’t go for a wander up and down these rivers as much nowadays which is a shame and I must admit to loving these little intimate streams, some species can be surprisingly big if you put the work in and it doesn’t take a huge cast to the skyline to catch them.

Other rivers were urban, such areas often have the most free fishing and whilst it isn’t always pretty they can be really good, I grew up fishing these so have no problem with them, besides living in a deprived area had it’s benefits as everywhere else seemed nicer, even the graffiti was spelt better. Some areas have gone downhill though regarding the fishing, although quite why anyone would want to risk their health eating fish from some of these rivers is beyond me, it is going on and there’s no denying it’s having an impact on fish stocks. Urban areas of country towns are usually nicer and it is quite funny when you walk through a park in waders, wearing a manky old fishing jacket and a smelly bait apron that has got it’s own ecosystem. “Morning” often catches out those who stare although that usually means getting asked what’s in there, I’m always surprised when the locals don’t know what’s in the water their dogs paddle in each day or when walkers finally see their first kingfisher – welcome to our world. They get quite curious if you’re catching fish and even more so when you tell them how far you have come.

A small urban river

I would always find time to chat to families and passers by even if it compromised the fishing sometimes, kids walking off asking their mum if they can go fishing was often more rewarding than hearing  the splash of another fish, although I would often catch something when watched, it would be rude not to show them a fish or two, even if it was just to allay the stereotype of us sitting there catching nothing. How strange it would be If local people never saw any anglers on the banks of the rivers, whilst they drink at pubs named after our forebears. You do get a lot of funny looks though when you take a wrong turn and end up away from the river in the local high street, which I have managed a few times, sometimes you have to just laugh it off after all you could be going to work like they are.

Overall it’s something I wish I had done earlier as I could only imagine how good some of these rivers were decades ago but I still enjoyed fishing many of the rivers that by popular opinion are well past their best. I had a wonderful time exploring unknown rivers even if expectation levels were low at times and this meant some pleasant surprises and hidden gems were found. It was great to ‘feel’ a new river and sense the contrasting nuances each river offered, differing flows and the lie of each river meant different behaviour not just from the fish but the river itself, even if I did keep the fishing side of things simple drawing knowledge from a trip to a similar river could mean the difference between a good day or not. Saying that though, no two rivers were the same, some were similar but never the same.

The Species

Species varied in their distribution with some rivers screaming a certain species but not having them and others being more predictable although I am loathe to say that word in describing any river, often similar waters were in close vicinity of each other and sometimes this didn’t make sense that the species were different. Of course one day trip cannot give a complete overview of a whole river but it can give a good idea of stock levels and distribution in certain stretches.

Eels are so rare compared to the days when we used to try to avoid them as kids, so I made an effort to try for them on rivers that looked ‘eely’ with more success coming on ones that had unbroken access to the sea. Big roach and perch had the wonderful knack of turning up when least expected whereas carp and tench eluded me completely during the challenge, I did come agonisingly close to a small wild common on a tiny coastal river although I wasn’t too worried as I’ve only had two dozen river carp and a handful of river tench in my whole life so I wasn’t expecting to get either during the challenge.

Big roach had a wonderful knack of turning up

Grayling for example are very common in certain areas, such a fast, agile fish who’s elegant lady like appearance belies their ability in the fastest of currents, one of my favourite fish to catch even if they are quite bonkers at times, they can smash a bait so quick the float doesn’t even move or you could end up catching dozens from a foot of water where you can’t even see any fish, fighting to the end they need some care when unhooking and how well they swam off varied from river to river.

Talking of mad fish, trout are even more common, growing up in London the only ones I ever saw were in a supermarket or tiny escapees from trout farms, turns out they are everywhere and don’t come in cellophane, I did manage some wild brownies on a few rivers inside the M25 which was a bonus, this may sound strange to those who have trout in abundance but it’s actually fairly rare.

Dace seem to be doing well and are often the apex fish on many rivers which indicates the problems the larger fish are facing. Barbel on the other hand seemed to have peaked a few years back but how much of that is down to reliance on stocking? I did get a few on new rivers but didn’t really target them as well as I could, once again some rivers seem to have stronger fish than others when it came to how well they recovered in the net, something I found intriguing.

Pike would be pike and announce their presence rather obtrusively given I wasn’t fishing for them, I managed to land a fair few including a flukey 20lb fish from a famous trout beat whilst after grayling, the type of water you pay a pretty penny for a day's coarse fishing during the winter, I've never ever seen a pike as fat and I think I never will. I landed it a few minutes before the gamekeeper turned up unimpressed that I had returned it, oh well never mind.

The big old girl swam off to fight another day

I could go on for hours about different theories for each species as I spent as much time watching them as fishing for them, something I’ve learned to do more of over the years and low summer levels are perfect for this, and polaroids of course. It’s a shame low summer levels can be frightfully low with each summer seemingly getting worse. Every fish I caught I returned including the trout and sea fish, with all the problems fish face in our rivers the last thing they needed was a whack on the head from me, getting a big fish especially somewhere urban points to the fact it’s a true survivor, something I thought about when returning chub in swims littered with beer cans and barbeques. I tried to tidy up where possible and always had a spare binbag in my rucksack but it would be a shame to dwell on that issue too much although once again it’s a problem that won’t go away.

Summary

People have asked me what my favourite river was and the answer was simple I suppose - it was always the one I was fishing at the time. Not once did I think I would rather be on the Wye or Itchen when I was fishing a dirty looking urban stretch of river somewhere. Looking back the rivers that really blew me away were the ones that were much better than expected, the hidden gems. Anywhere where my float will go under, that'll do me.

On the whole the positives outweighed the negatives like an elephant versus shrew see-saw battle. It’s amazing how setting a quest can be so much fun and for me it was an adventure, one that got me out the house, inspiring yet so simple, one I think may not stop for a while. It was a blast.

I’m revisiting many of the rivers as after all I do have a pretty big old ‘club book’ of waters to choose from now. Over 100 rivers and maybe three times that in different stretches, not to mention the ponds and canals, I could fish a different spot each day of the year I reckon, although I’d be stupid to try that, or would I? Hmm best leave that one, but the memories I can visit whenever I choose. The fact that I have also fished a few more new rivers since penning this shows that there’s still plenty out there, I know of some near me that for some reason I missed and others further afield that I’ve just not got to yet. Plus areas out of the way that I could venture to if ever I got a decent car, or maybe even a campervan, kit it out and live off grid for a while, that’s a road trip! 200 rivers? Now that would be bonkers right dad?

A pristine West Country chub from a free stretch of river

P.s Well done for getting this far If you managed to read the whole lot, hope it wasn't too boring and has inspired you to visit a river soon, maybe even a new one. I'll be recounting a few tales from this adventure in more detail in my blog as there's a few stories to tell, (don't worry they wont be this long) plus some new trips and articles and some of the funnier moments along the way.

Tight lines, Rob