Mud, Mullet & Mr President

Something always seems to happen when I do a bit of fishing on The River Hamble so this weekend I went on another trip to this eventful river wondering what adventure would lie in store. However before that it would be remiss of me not to recount the odd happenings which befell me on the two previous occasions last year.

Mullet - Grey, Golden Grey & Strawberry Blonde

It's not every day that you see the most powerful man on the planet or catch the most powerful fish that swims in British rivers and whilst both are debatable there's no denying the combination makes for and interesting story. I remember the day well as the first trip of 2019 there coincided with the D-Day celebrations down the road in Portsmouth and many of the worlds dignitaries were in town, little old me was far less important for I was just down the coast setting up on a creek off the main river on a point which jutted out at high tide, just to do a bit of fishing. I was in a nice peaceful spot but one where I caught very little aside from a really small bass and a sand goby using a tiny hook as there was not a mullet in sight, but I had avoided a blank and was enjoying the micro species not to mention the scenery, the pomp and circumstance could have been another world away as I had this little corner of the estuary to myself.

The ebbing tide and the ever increasing yardage of mud banks soon forced me to think about a move round to the nearby quay and as I was putting the gear together a flight of military helicopters flew over shattering the peace, I stopped to have a good look and it was clear they weren't ours but indeed the Americans. One of the helicopters broke formation and seemed to veer towards as if it was checking me out. It was then that I realised my Diawa Iso landing net handle wasn't the best look, whilst it extends to a massive 20ft making it ideal for high banks and muddy estuaries when compacted the damn thing looks like a rocket launcher, I had to laugh. I looked up straining to see a glimpse of that famous strawberry blonde barnet as I knew full well it could be the closest I get to seeing a mullet all day.

I couldn't 'Trump' that I thought but after moving round to the quay I rested my legs and as I was sitting on the dock of the bay watching the tide roll away (someone should do a song about that) I was soon into a proper mullet and a golden grey at that, only my second one ever which took a huge piece of poorly presented bread, the size of a golf ball, I think I only put it on to see if there was any crabs about in the clear water, so to watch a fish ghost in a wolf it down was just magic, this mullet was a slimeball (hence no picture) and I would love to know why golden greys slime up like that yet the other mullet species don't. I used my jacket as a makeshift unhooking mat and it was now a mess but it beat putting the fish on the hard concrete (You can do you own joke about slimeballs with mullets) As the evening wore on and thoughts returned to the trip home I managed two small thick lipped mullet to round off a really good day and as it got colder I thought goosebumps were a better option than keeping warm wearing that coat.  

On the way back to the car I had a pleasant chat with one of the lifeboat guys who was sweeping weed from their slipway, little did I know I would get pretty close to needing their services next time round.

Stuck in The Mud

Later that summer I had brought the missus back there on a weekend day trip as it seemed such a lovely place last time, however I was forgetting how different weekends can be to weekdays, plus it was during the holidays and it was much hotter, much sunnier, what could possibly go wrong?

I tried fishing I really did but after a few hours of everything either being thrown into the water or jumping in of it's own accord I had had enough, someone even threw their dog into the water near me, at least I think it was their dog, other people were throwing stones, some even paddle boarding with their babies on their backs with no life jackets, it was full on silly season and I was bang in the middle of it all. It was no surprise I caught nothing so I wandered further along to try to find some peace but found something else.

Windswept and a bit tired can be two excuses but the bottom line is it was inexperience and a lack of concentration that saw me go from hard gravel to soft mud in one foolish misplaced step. I went in below the knee with one leg so in went the other to correct my balance, the worries of blanking were now at the back of my mind as I remember saying in a (surprisingly) calm manner to the missus that "I was in a bit of trouble here" and whilst the tide still had a few hours to reach me the embarrassment of having to call the RNLI to rescue me within sight of their base would not be forgotten in a hurry.  As I gradually sunk further down with each movement no words can really describe just how tiring it is trying to get out of mud or just keeping your balance for that matter. 

So there I was super glued to the river bed, luckily I had my tackle bag with me so I had more than a sip of water from it and took stock. I unfolded my empty net bag to sit on and tried to ease myself out on my back, one leg finally came free but the other wouldn't without slipping out my wader, I did so and was finally free but my other wader was firmly entrenched in the sticky mud of the south coast. I tried to salvage it but it was well and truly in there, waders are pretty stretchy when you try yanking on them like that but the mud won that tug of war battle with plenty to spare, I was out though and that was the main thing. Somehow the only bit I got any muck on aside from my sock was my hands so cue a muddy celebration shot. 

By now a small crowd had gathered where my missus was on the promenade and some were clapping but no doubt many were thinking what a wally.  I won't be making that mistake again in a hurry I hoped and as I limped the good mile back to the car park on one boot and one muddy sock I was more than relieved to be on terra firma.

Relatively Normal

Fast forward to this weekend's trip and it was once again a busy river although I was thwarted this time by a strong wind which made my preferred choice of spot much too choppy, I was on the other bank for the first time and naturally I unwittingly chose to set up where the local dinghy club launch so we moved before I had even threaded my line as a fleet of small boats appeared beside us, with even smaller sailor types, no doubt the Nelsons or Drakes of the future. I cared not for naval competence at this moment so this landlubber was soon on the move, after the events of last time I wanted some peace away from the hustle and bustle so we rambled on along the foreshore.

The missus and I walked almost a mile to find a sheltered spot and when we got there it was almost like a lake, a small bit of river that was an inlet of the main channel, no doubt just mud at low tide but fishable it was right then and fish it I did, setting up a waggler for I feared the wind would find us as it always does when the tides change. I didn't get any bites and didn't see many signs of fish either but it was a nice place to spend a few hours. We even managed to see the same cargo ship we saw a fortnight ago at the docks near Brighton this time coming from Southampton docks, not sure what the odds of that are, maybe the captain was looking out at us through his binoculars thinking he's catching nothing here either. Then it got busy with walkers and to cap it off despite being in the middle of nowhere two teenage girls decided to go for a swim next to us, like I say it was a relatively normal day for this river.

It was obviously a time to move again so not sure which way to go I just went with the flow or rather the ebb in this case. As we were walking round there was big swirl on the surface that wasn't a girl in a bikini, so in full on stalk mode I crouched down and worked some bread in to the swim and lowered my float but whatever it was had gone. It had probably clocked me by the time I had said "Oooh fish!' I was comfortable fishing there though so I stuck at it for a few hours occupied by the tiny fish that were that too small to even dip the float, I wondered what they were but before I could even say 'sand smelt' a mullet appeared taking bread off the top, it was game on at last and I braced myself for a proper bite, the eager anticipation and even expectation made everything from that moment a blur.

Bam! The mullet didn't disappoint as the float shot out of sight, I struck like lighting seizing that one chance and the rod bent double as the surface erupted. Some mullet go some and some go even more and this one despite not being that big was leading me a merry dance on 6lb line.  I was having trouble keeping it out of the weeds of which there were plenty close in, the missus took this action shot which is a lot better than one of me getting stuck in the mud that's for sure.

Mullet magic, it was the only bite I had all day and the only fish, just hooked in the edge of the lip and it went like a train. I don't think I could ever tire of this sort of fishing and I hope I never do.

Ps On a serious note I googled how to get out of mud when I got home but there is surprisingly very little information about it. Having garnered some helpful advice on fishing forums it would appear I did the right thing and it is a good idea to displace the weight on your back or front. Another thing I would add is stay calm, know what the tide is doing and don't fight to get out as it's flippin' knackering.

Pps I knew I had a spare boot back home in the shed but it's sod's law that it wasn't a left left but another right that was left! So if anyone has any spare size 9 lefts left let me know right.

Small River Big Perch

It had been a while since I had run a float through for whatever comes along so I headed to a stretch of river that was real Mr Crabtree type fishing or maybe Isaac Walton, all twists and turns, shallows, rushes and overhanging trees, many of which were starting to show early signs of Autumn. Clearly no one had told the woodpigeon what time of year it was as it sat in the tree opposite on a nest, an out of sync bird sharing the swim with an out of sync angler, I had been having a mare lately with the last trip aborted due to me forgetting my fishing jacket so this time I had all the gear and I was keen to wet a line.

Naturally I set up in the most awkward, narrowest spot possible so just for fun I rested my rod tip on the far bank thus gauging it's width to be a whopping six feet, throw in the far bank himalayan balsam that was bent over in the water I had a mere three feet of water to play with, I wanted to run a float through but with it a bit slow I reverted to the matchstick again. Something about the swim looked right though and as the matchstick drifted under the overhang each time it moved and a few small roach and chub kicked things off, the latter doing their best to acquaint themselves with the balsam, something a larger chub soon did successfully forcing me to step up a touch.

I was glad I went a bit heavier as the roach and chub were drawing the attention of something much larger, so with the odd follow and swirl it soon got fearless and started chasing a 10oz roach about as I played it under my rod tip. From my vantage point I could see it was a big perch, however the cunning roach seemed far too agile for the sergeant major and it's chase, I could have let it have a longer go but I bided my time knowing there's one thing perch seem to like gulping down more than anything else.

The perch was still around giving the odd chase and making the fishing hard but after going deeper I finally had what I was looking for, oh yes, a gudgeon. Now perch love gudgeon more than an idiot likes fishing awkward swims and sure enough it didn't hesitate in the attack, it's gills puffing out and sucking it in right under my feet with about a foot of line to my rod tip, my size 18 hook was soon transferred from goby to stripey which I knew would happen, it always seems to to do this, I don't know if it's a barbless thing but perch always seem to get hooked perfectly in the top lip whereas the prey fish gets off somehow and as I stood up a relieved gudgeon tore off into the depths whilst the perch tore up the narrow swim going everywhere, it was on, going like stink and my rod was bent double, with the clutch set perfect and the tip under water at times to avoid all the snags, it was a fun but hectic scrap.

Richard Walker once said "The perch is the biggest fish of all" and that is in no small part due to the fact a good one always seems massive, both in the water and out, this one was no different and looked even larger in the narrow confines of the swim as I drew it over the net. I don't catch many big perch and most are down to a bit of improvisation like this one so I consider anything around 2lb to be a really good fish. So as the scales went round to 2lb 10oz  I was tad surprised as it looked so much bigger. I was happy though as it was a fine fish for someone just pottering about on a short pleasure session on a small river and it was the biggest fish of the day, not to mention the first good perch I'd had in ages.

I packed up soon after with the woodpigeon still sitting on it's nest nonplussed by all the goings on, I had hardly seen anyone all day and it was the perfect temperature so I took a slow walk back to the car wondering whether I should test my scales or my eyesight. "The biggest fish of all?" That's the old perch all right.