Tales From The 100 - No 2 The River Thames

 This is part of a series of short stories recollecting some of my trips around the country fishing 100 rivers, some were good, some brilliant and some just bonkers, there was always something going on. So when things are quiet I'll cast the mind back in no particular order and remember a few of these adventures.

Living in London it was almost a given that you would visit the Thames at some stage early in your angling life and so it was that the Thames was the second river I was to fish. My dad had already filled me with stories of how the whole family used to travel down to Runnymede, a green open part of the river above Staines where there is a memorial to JFK and of course where the Magna Carta was signed. 

It was also where my Uncle Ron one day took it upon himself to get up from a family picnic and randomly walk across the river, It always raises a smile when dad mentions how his hat serenely floated downstream as his head slowly disappeared, I don't think he quite made it across but it makes for another story for a family who, like others saw the Thames as playground away from bustle of the city.

I remember my first fishing trip there despite just being a young lad, we didn't catch much as we were just flinging a lead out midstream without any feed, but I remember dad's heavy split cane bouncing around as a few dace were caught. I had my black and red rod from Woolworth's and I caught a dace too. It was a big river a world away from my tiny local one and a whole new world of adventure for me.

I went on to fish many different stretches of the Thames with dad and it was great to share these trips together, some were good some were average but I was out with my dad and that was what mattered.

The Thames is a funny old river as on it's day you can really catch a lot and you could also catch anything, whereas on other days you could struggle for no reason. Often winter trips saw both me and dad blank although sometimes it was worth it for the peace and quiet of a river without the summer traffic. Sometimes you'd hit upon some good fishing when least expected in winter, these days were so rewarding.

It was also serene and eerie at times being down there with no one about, wondering about all the history that had gone down on this river. I'm sure if the Thames could write a book it would be a mighty tome.

I also took trips on my own and on one day in August whilst catching roach and perch at Old Windsor I got up upon hearing a commotion from the area upstream, only to see a couple of boat owners swimming in the water with their pet duck! A mallard was having fun jumping on top of the chap's head before drifting off like Uncle Ron's hat only to repeat the process a few times, it was a strange sight indeed.

I would do some duck jokes but Eider had enough of them by now.

In time other areas of the Thames were to be fished after all there is a lot of free fishing on it and getting an EA weir permit with dad was a new avenue for us to explore. Some of the weirs were not for the faint hearted, either fishing from high walkways or off dangerous banks, many of these weirs are no longer on the ticket but it was quite a laugh using a drop net in the boily water to land bream and barbel.

On one weir at Shiplake I was catching well before a large perch attacked, the size of which I don't think I have seen since, it was massive and came out of the reed mace like a perch in one of those paintings, but unlike most works of art  it was never seen again, the big old stripey. 

A little while later that day a small boat turned up and the little captain (he was wearing one of those quirky sailors hats) gave me a friendly wave. It was Paul Daniels taking his family out for a spin, he was a big TV celeb back then and despite telling dad he still missed it, not hearing what I was saying due to the rumble of the weir. I liked it, not a lot but I liked it, as his catchphrase went. There was always something going on down the Thames on a sunny summer's day.

After getting a van and kitting it out, I traveled to the upper Thames and slept in the back, happily fishing weirs that were in the middle of nowhere. I'll always remember waking up and getting to the rush of water early doors, the morning dew coating my boots walking through the meadows, the warm sounds of birdsong and all the scents, they say the sense of smell is the one that trigger memories the most, so each time I open a tin of sweetcorn now it takes me back there without fail, every time.

Fishing the middle and lower reaches saw backdrops like Windsor Castle and Hampton Court Palace and some wonderful old bridges, Olympic rowers would go past at Marlow and Henley, finding space among the throngs of white plastic cruisers usually piloted by red, sunburnt old men. On occasion young ladies would be sunning themselves on the decks and some really didn't care about covering their modesty, much to the delight of this young angler at the time.

However it wasn't always plain sailing, on one occasion visiting the tidal Thames Dad and I turned up to see carnage following a storm. There were dead fish everywhere on the banks courtesy of the sewage works up the road, there was even dead fish in the street following the high tide, it was awful and a day I'll never forget. I wish in a way I had taken some photos to help log it but I didn't, (perhaps log is not the right word in this case) I was lost in my own sadness, it pains me to say this is still going on today and is getting worse with water companies dumping millions of tons of sewage in our rivers each year.

We are a third world nation when it comes to the quality of the water in our rivers.

On a positive note the tidal Thames did give me a funny incident one time when fishing Teddington weir. I hadn't fished there before so was happy to be sitting on a ledge near one of the sluices even though there was a steep drop below, dangling my float almost below my feet picking up nice dace and trying to avoid the bleak.

Concentrating hard on the float among the frothy bubbles the last thing I expected was a head to pop up right beside it. I jumped out of my skin and almost fell in, there was a seal right there looking at me. They are strange looking things close up seemingly with the face of a dog but with human expressions if that makes sense, it was like it knew what was going on, good job really as what was to follow was just as strange.

Knowing the swim would be dead for a while it was a good time to calm down and have a drink, but then a voice boomed in my ear, weirs mask the sounds of anyone approaching so this made me jump out of my skin once more, I almost fell in again! This time it was a fellow with an LWT T-shirt on (there were TV studios opposite) and he proceeded to converse in the broadest of Dutch accents....

Dutch - Did you see the seal?

Me - Yes it nearl....

Dutch - The pike eat the fish

Me - Eh, pike? what do y....

Dutch  - The seal eat the pike 

Me - I haven't seen any pi...

Dutch - The seal eat the pike, the pike eat the fish

Me- Yes I suppo....

Dutch - The seal eat the pike, the pike eat the fish

With those profound words interrupting any wise riposte I could muster, the dutch guy walked off as quickly as he appeared. I looked around and it was just me again on my own, the seal had gone too but it had all been a bit bizarre. A few years ago a Minke whale was stranded at the same weir and I do wonder what my Dutch visitor would have made of that.

One thing's for sure is anything can happen on this river, you could catch a hundred fish and have a whale of a time or easily get a duck, either way old father Thames gets the seal of approval.

A Funny Old Day On The Canal

 I hadn't been down the cut all summer so decided to take the walk down there in the late September sun still in my shorts and T shirt, I must admit it felt good despite the usual strange looks from those in the high street. I was looking forward to getting a bite a chuck and I had come armed with plenty of maggots to get through the bleak and chublets for a bit of wag n' mag, on the drop fishing.

On arrival at the waters edge I saw a brown murky coloured canal, I had forgotten it had gone this colour a few weeks back instead of murky green, also it was covered in leaves freshly blown in on the breeze which was quite strong in places but eerily sheltered in others.

I set up further down on the first leafless spot where the wind ripped across, sitting there in the shade it dawned on me that the hoodie needed to come on and shorts weren't the best idea. Summer was changing to Autumn for sure and I decided this wasn't the best place to spend the day, although I did get a couple of small perch there in the five minutes I tried.

I moved to sunnier climes out of the wind at a swim I did well in winter and settled down to get through the initial surge of small stuff, off came the hoodie once more and I was raring to go, however the fish weren't, bites in fact were hard to come by and I struggled for the first hour before eventually picking up a couple of roach.

A rustle in the undergrowth next to me kept me alert as did the endless fall of conkers from the tree behind before a lady in a full sari come running right up to me really fast, I thought oh god here we go, is it ever dull down here? She proceeded to ask in broken English what was the most common fish in the canal, at least I think that's what she wanted to know, either way she was now repeating a new word - Gudgeon, before bizarrely sprinting off in the opposite direction to which she came. I spent the next half hour working out whether gudgeon or roach were the most common, before deciding it may be neither as my float remained pretty motionless.

The sun then went in and it got a bit chilly again, so the hoodie was back on, there was a bit of noise this time from workers building something in the field behind, a young mum stopped with a toddler to collect the fresh crop of conkers and a couple of boats passed through. A nice lady asked me if I was catching before mentioning her husband was fishing too, but at a trout lake up the road.

I started getting more bites, a few nice roach turned up along with some gudgeon of course, they just had to show really. Then the rustle alongside me became a plop as a rat proceeded to swim under my rod tip bold as brass, it was clear I was between their commute between bushes but they didn't 'give a rats' so to speak, cheeky little blighters.

In a good spell of fishing the bites came frequently and I was alternating between roach and perch which had now showed up as if to point out their stake in the popularity contest, it was also due to me trying for them in a spot where I knew they sat close in, some of the perch were nice ones, not huge but these canal perch sure have some strength and I love catching them.

Then some bread drifted down on the surface and rats either side of me took turns scurrying out to grab a feast. This time a man came walking quickly right up to where I was fishing, took of his headphones and said "Did you see that?" once again in broken English, after a pleasant conversation I kind of shattered his enthusiasm by pointing out it was a rat and not the water vole he first thought.

All this seemed oblivious to the rest of the towpath traffic who went by in a mix of clothing from big winter coats to bra tops and hotpants, even the women wore them too. I then caught another stripey as the sun re-emerged to warm my bare legs a bit (I had normal shorts on behave) It was a bit battle scarred and had seen better days, the perch I mean, not my legs.

Meanwhile rat No2 was now there in the open just watching, clearly fresh from the water sporting a spiky hair do, how Headphone Guy thought it was a water vole I don't know as this thing was massive, the size of a rabbit just sitting there twitching it's nose at me. I don't know why but I threw some maggots at it, one hit it flush on the head but it continued in it's motionless stance observing my every move, not caring much for reds dusted in turmeric. 

A loud clap of the hands saw the rat off as the lady from before returned from her shopping trip in town, she asked again how I had got on and it turned out her old man had a trout so happy days, she was laden with shopping bags despite saying she was only going to look around, "I've heard that one before" I joked.

Well it didn't fish too well after and another slow spell became a biteless one which signaled it was time to call it a day as the workers had finished whatever they were making. I hardly had that bite a chuck I envisaged and had to work for it, but it was rewarding with the roach and perch to a decent size and around 30 in total, with roach just edging the contest this time 16-14, there was also a few compulsory gudgeon, chublets and bleak but not as many as expected.

As I walked home I imagined a vast shoal of gudgeon stretching down the entire cut, staying deep on the bottom away from the swimming rats, joggers and shoppers, I then saw what was erected in the field, as if a reminder of the circus that is the Grand Union Canal.

Changing Tactics For Barbel Save The Day

 I got stuck behind everything on the way to fishing today, or so it seemed, bicycles, bin lorries, horses, eventually I was just one link in a snake of cars winding it's way through the Hertfordshire countryside. Whilst it looked like being 'one of those days' it was a fine morning to be doing 20mph down country lanes, now behind a tractor as we all meandered along like a slow river in the hazy low sun.

I decided on a stretch of river I hadn't fished all season and hoped to get a mix of fish on maggot with pellet and hemp as back up should I struggle, setting up in a swim that looked perfect but was far from it. Struggle I did, not for bites for I had plenty but for anything that wasn't a tiny chub, minnow or small roach. One lone dace was the only fish I had that wasn't the size of my thumb, mind you it was a cracker.

I gave it an hour that before deciding maggot wasn't going to work in the clear water with all the small fry about. I tried hemp then pellet only to get a succession of gudgeon, even on 6mm pellet, these gudgeon were good ones but I also knew there could be loads of them to get through, suffice to say this was my cue to wander downstream and try somewhere else.

It was clear I had the whole stretch to myself as in every spot where I looked for fish I seemed to scare something or other, leaping into flight whilst making an almighty racket they don't half make you jump. However it says a lot about the dangers on the British countryside when the scariest creatures you encounter are those startled pheasants.

I finally spotted some fish in a shallow, snaggy spot under some trees, here a handful of barbel could be seen, they seemed spooked by the bright conditions but quick feed of pellets bought them into play, however it was so clear and the gravel was illuminated by the sun, I could almost see every stone and I didn't fancy my chances as the fish ghosted through casting a shadow as they went back to waters dark.

I decided to change to a static bait, put on some 6lb line and a small weight that was just enough to hold bottom, with a banded pellet as any hair rigs I had on my spools are probably deemed as vintage by now as they have been there so long unused, I rarely fish the lead but I felt this was my best chance here and with it now quite warm I could sit under the tree and relax for a bit as it had been a hard morning. I balanced the rod perfectly on the rushes using nature's rod rest and started to think about lunch.

A few small clouds came over so I waited a little. Then suddenly I had the 'three foot twitch' as the rod was getting yanked around, I leapt into action and was grateful the barbel headed downstream and not into the mother of all sunken trees in front of me. After a spirited battle a sprightly barbel was in the landing net. This legering lark could catch on I reckon.

After resting the fish I left the rod propped up against the bushes and had my lunch in the sun, around a dozen long tailed tits fluttered through the tree opposite in their own unique style and I could hear another pheasant cackling away in the distance as I tucked into my sarnies. At times the road in the distance went quiet and all I could hear was birdsong and the gentle rustle of the rushes in breeze. It's amazing how one good fish can make the day when you are struggling, suddenly everything was perfect. 

I carried on with the lead after lunch although now I remember why I do it so rarely as I was already getting fidgety. I carefully peered into the shallows over the rushes with the polaroids on try to see what was going on down there. I watched for a while motionless like a heron seeing only chublets and the odd roach before another lone barbel finally came into view, however it seemed to be the only one left and wasn't feeding. Nonetheless I was pleased with my heron like stealth and patience.

Up and down it went, still on it's own, I couldn't resist carefully throwing some feed down in front of it and it took two pellets on the drop, it's mouth puffing out twice and sucking away, it was clearly feeding. I fully expected it to get it's nose down on the deck for the rest of the feed but it didn't, with the next handful of feed going in the same thing happened again. I had only one thought - Float.

Off came the lead and on went the float, sliding the float rubbers over the hook was the hardest part but it must have taken less than a minute to completely change set up, keeping the same hook I was ready to go. Often barbel get cagey this time of year and do prefer to take on the drop and this was a prime example, but I was well aware the float could still spook this fish especially if I get a liner. First cast out and the barbel seemed to make a beeline for the noise of the float hitting the water  but didn't take the bait, however this action despite the sun being out made me really confident.

Next cast, a handful of pellets with the float cast right in the middle, timed to fall as one, with a banded pellet on the hook that was slightly larger than the feed, perfect, bang! The float has shot under a good foot whilst at the same time the barbel can be seen twisting, turning and heading upstream. In the clear water I could see everything but I had more control with the float, it's still chaos though in such a narrow swim and I was glad the tree didn't come into play again.

As there was only around four barbel originally in the swim catching two was a right result especially with the weather offering only occasional cloud cover, getting one in the seemingly low afternoon sun was a delight as was my first fish in ages on the lead. Changing tactics really worked and sure beat trying to get through the small stuff that were hammering the maggot.

I packed up soon after as the swim was now completely empty of anything other than those chublets and a few gudgeon, no doubt mopping up those pellets, I didn't fancy another move and it was a good way to end. As I walked back I remembered I hadn't seen anyone all day, I had the river to myself as a heron took to the air in front of me, I doubt if it was impressed with my heron stealth mode but it made a change from all the clucking pheasants.

Now you try saying that whilst eating a sandwich.

Child's Play On The Avon

 Following the successful short trip to the River Alne the previous day we were off to the Warks Avon on a sunny hot early September, Sunday afternoon. I started in a weir where I had loads of chub last time I was there earlier in the season, but today was different and I knew it would be harder, much harder. So it was I couldn't buy a bite on pellet running the float though and if I trotted maggot it turned out to be all dace and bleak.

Moving on we found a nice spot in the shade but with many walkers and dogs going by it was far from quiet being so close to the path. It was also full of more tiny dace and I didn't have enough bait to even try to get through them so off we moved once more to the next meadow downstream.

The final spot was in a wheat field, thankfully it was more peaceful although I could hear people swimming near the car park and the occasional resulting ripple would make it's way to our position. There was however less small dace here and less bites in general and I managed a few nice roach and perch.

Being in among the rushes with no wind about meant it was mighty hot and I'm not sure either me or the missus were used to it given August was so cool. The heat actually got to us a bit and we left mid afternoon after both agreeing the shade of a pub garden and an ice cold drink were much more appealing.

As the cold drink(which tasted so good) and a nice meal were consumed in a pub garden overlooking the river in Tewkesbury, the hot daytime fishing was in the back of the mind although at the time I think we both wanted to jump in the water. Summer will soon be over and days like this will be fond memories even if the fishing in hard.

The following day was the return journey from our short stay away, it was to another part of the Avon we went even though I knew it would be hard again. So did everyone else it seemed as we were the only car in the car park which meant I could actually get on the weirpool for the first time ever. The water was like an aquarium and I could see down a good few metres, although only dace could be seen, I hoped for some nice roach trotting pellet but had to make do with a less than massive chub.

It mattered not as it was lovely in the shade on such a day, a good place for the first coffee of the day. With my caffeine levels topped up I tried maggot again and once more it was all tiny dace and bleak, the weir pool was very scenic though and it was nice sitting by the rumbling water before any thoughts of heading home entered our minds.

With the whole stretch to ourselves I decided to try the only other shady spot downstream to get rid of the maggots, hoping there would be less small dace but once more they were everywhere in the main current. I had never seen the Avon this low and clear and In my new spot I saw a perch right below the platform swimming around, in a small bit of sunlit gravel about four feet below me. I had to try for this 'non dace' and as my maggot approached the giant stripey (it was about 2oz) one perch turned in to half a dozen as they appeared like little soldiers from their bunker, they were hardly sergeants more like cadets and I too felt like a kid fishing for them under my rod tip.

The missus actually said I looked like a child, squatting astride my stool which was sideways to avoid the legs going through the gaps in the platform, well that was my excuse anyway as I watched perch after perch take my single red maggot near the bottom.

It soon turned into a fish watching exercise as the way the perch sucked each maggot into their huge puffed up mouths was a sight, every now and then a slightly larger one would follow a hooked fish and I hoped to see something really big and striped, a real sergeant, emerge from the shadows but it never did. 

After half dozen fish even the small perch got slightly cagey which I found interesting, I watched my bait get followed on several occasions, the perch just drifting with the current almost alongside the maggot, then once in the shade of the tree my float would go under, this happened quite a lot whilst all the time I was also feeding midstream to keep the dace away. The perch would also take the bait from all different directions although by now I was only getting them in the dark shady water under the tree.

It was fun fishing like a kid, despite being not the sort of fishing I'd travel hours to fish it was a laugh for a short while before a hot drive home. By now my cap was on back to front to shade the sun from my neck as it breached the canopy, I cared not for looking cool as feeling cool was better even if I did look like a kid once more. I caught 28 perch plus a couple of roach and better dace with the rest of my leftover maggots going in to feed what was left, lurking in the dark depths under my platform. 

A simple morning's fishing on the Avon that was just child's play.

River Alne Warwickshire

En route to weekend break with the missus we stopped off to do a bit of fishing on The River Alne near the wonderfully named Wootton Wawen. I really liked it the one and only time I fished here a few years ago so a return was long overdue. All twist, turns, overhanging trees and pools it was my sort of river, the sort you could jump across in some places with the odd deep hole in others, I had a nice mix of trout and coarse fish the last time so would be happy with more of the same this time.

After parking up I spoke to another angler who was roving like I was to do, however he was dismayed that it was all minnow, he said couldn't get through to anything so I feared the worst. The water was low and clear so I set up in a spot where I could see some dace. I caught one first run through but then the minnow took over but at least it was a start.

Moving on I tried another hole, the sort where a little too far upstream I got minnow and if I let the float run too far down I got... yeah you guessed it, however in between there was a sweet spot requiring a demon cast under the trees, here I caught a few more beautiful dace before bang...

It was small stream fishing at it's best as a battle with all the snags, trees and nettles was won resulting in a nice chub, I thought it was a trout at first so it was a welcome bonus and probably the reason for the gap in the minnowtropolis.

Then the trout showed up but I quite like them, I don't get many round my way and they always impress me with their scrappy speed and power plus the variations in colour. For a while it was a mix of trout and dace, nothing huge but they were all netters.

I even managed a small perch among the dace and trout, then I had a quick dabble upstream before we had to leave. I briefly left the missus with the sheep, reading her book (why they were all reading it i'll never know) and headed off to a small pool upstream where I had 7 dace in as many casts, all really nice ones too, of course there was still time for another spotty marauder, released to fight another day.

It was a lovely couple of hours spent deep in the English countryside sitting on the sloping banks of a gently meandering stream, what could be better? I ended up with 28 fish and managed to avoid all the trees although I could have done with a shorter rod at times but that was half the fun, that and avoiding all those pesky minnow.

As we packed up it was evident the weather was turning and it was getting much hotter, with the rivers also low this may be the best fishing of the weekend I said out loud, but deep down I thought to myself I'd take that all day long.

I did spend the rest of the journey in the car thinking of sheep based literature puns but in the end I just thought I'd just leave it to ewe.

Submarines and Battleships

 I returned to the tiny pond I fished when barely a leaf graced the trees earlier in the year, a water so small you could easily skim a stone in any direction and find land, however this wasn't early spring hoping for bites, today I had bigger fish in mind and hoped for some tench, failing that I would be happy with anything although I only had two baits - pellet and bread, the maggots were left at home much to the dismay of the hordes of ravenous tiny rudd, I had had enough of them from last time.

The pond looked great although not as weedy as I hoped and one pull through with the weed rake signalled no more raking was needed, in fact I didn't even fish the raked swim instead opting for another spot in a tight corner where fish were already bubbling, I'd be a fool not to fish there and I could always move if bubbles showed in the other swim.

I decided on 6lb line on a reel I usually use for mullet on holidays as it was snaggy in my little corner of the pond, a corner so far removed from any mullet fishing that's for sure, lilies one side and trees the other, not forgetting the one I was sat under which gently reminded my rod tip of it's overhang on several occasions. 

Starting on pellet I struck as the float buried amongst the bubbles only to get a couple of rudd, the tench didn't seem to be playing ball and bites were hard to connect with, the rudd were nice ones though and in wonderful condition.

All this time I was distracted by some carp in the corner, now there's only five or six in the whole pond and here they were in front of me like a flotilla of grey battleships, cruising around with a gunmetal sheen in the clear water. On went a larger hook and off came the shot, then out came the bread for I just had to have a crack at them.

They weren't going mad for it like they do on some ponds so I was happy when the smallest one of the group came in and took my piece of bread, more a destroyer then a battleship, I was less happy when it tore line off before destroying me in a snag. I had the clutch set all wrong and It must have come loose somehow when not being used, there was hardly any tension at all and it's no surprise that trying to apply some with your fingers is no substitute for the reel doing it. I should have checked this on set up, it was poor angling and I was angry with myself.

I stopped for lunch before setting up again, a kingfisher beeped as it flew low over the water and a roe deer went by slowly in the woods on a ridge right behind me, although far too concealed for a photo opportunity. By the time I was halfway through my lunch another carp had returned and I quickly tied on a new hook whilst trying to eat an apple, the rest of my lunch could wait as I was getting a second chance.

This fish was larger and harder to tempt and so it was lunch was finished, I waited patiently then the battleship returned, however I was the one all guns blazing this time and I wasn't messing about although you never know if you have gone too far the other way and set the clutch too tight, anyhow I was about to find out.

The grey shape slurped it down and I didn't give an inch at first as the little corner of the pond erupted, then I let it run a bit whilst keeping it away from snags not wanting to yank it in as I was in control, it still took a little while until I slipped it over the net, no mistake this time, in doing so it looked jet black in the shady water under the tree.

I love the colours of fish in clear water and carp are a great example, the grey gunmetal battleship was more of a rustic oak galleon, even darker perhaps, either way she was a beauty and easily the largest carp I have had from this pond given I have only ever had one here previously.

I chilled for a bit pouring out the last bit of dregs from my flask, soaking up the moment and looking up upon hearing rustling once more to see the roe deer return from it's journey, using exactly the same route through the undergrowth, on the higher ground above me no more than a couple of rod lengths away, it's hind quarters illuminated in the sun as it stopped momentarily before moving on.

Even my stale old coffee tasted good right then at that moment, the collection of events making something great. That's fishing right there in a nutshell, why we do it, why we love it.

After the break I tried once more to get some tench, not helped by the weather which went from cloudy to sunny, not helped either that I'm not the best tench angler and one that is easily distracted by carp, kingfishers and deer. It was in the shady spells when the bubbles arrived but several missed strikes on pellet indicated those rudd were still at play.

I tried some more bread this time on the float to see if I could get some more of the little bars of gold but they were either too quick or too small as my bread danced about in the clear water before even getting to the bottom, then I cast towards the weeds and bang!

The float buried, something took my bread on the drop but it sure wasn't a rudd, it was continuously trying to dive into the weeds, under where the carp previously sunned themselves, if they were battleships this was a submarine, a green one too as I finally saw it was my quarry - The Tench.

It looked a long fish as I battled it to the net through the clear water watching every dive for cover and countering it. It was absolute perfection once again, there wasn't a mark on it's body, I was in awe of the condition of this wild fish, not one scale was out of place and it looked it had been painted and varnished.  I quickly weighed and photographed it and it turned out to be a couple of ounces over my best tench for here, a perfect fighting fit tinca that was another new venue pb for the little pond.

I only caught four fish all day, all of them great looking fish, despite not having the best starts and making a schoolboy error, plus the usual distractions of the wildlife which wasn't too shabby nor were the surroundings. Every now and then I looked up through the gaps in the trees and could see and hear the busiest motorway in Europe, although It barely registered, they can keep their busy road here for I had a busy roe deer. I was engrossed in my own little green corner, the only things that really mattered were Submarines and Battleships.

Some Nice Roach At Last

A couple of trips to my local river saw a mixed bag and two enjoyable days, the first of which I had the place to myself(almost) enjoying a nice mix of fish when I spotted a shoal of small barbel dancing around under the smallest of overhangs, the polaroids revealed every movement when the sun came out as a handful maggots drifted past them untouched, I upped the anti to a handful of pellets and saw enough action to cast my little stick float.

I managed a cheeky 2lb barbel caught on fine line, despite it's size the barbel went like a train and I had to use all my luck getting it in from such a narrow swim. It had recently beaten another angler by the looks and I quickly removed both my hook and someone else's which was tied to much stronger line, it goes to show the harder you pull the harder they pull back. I thought this fish may need resting but no, try as I might it didn't want any of that and stormed off as if to say "Is that all you got" The power to weight ratio of the smaller barbel is something else I thought.

When I said I almost had the place to myself I was of course joined by the local robins, cocky as ever there were three of them, the two adults and a mottled juvenile, in one swim I sat on the deck as one of the adults saw no issue with my flask or rucksack when it comes to getting a good feed.

A few days later I was off to another stretch and was greeted with a high, coloured river that was a stark contrast to last time following some overnight rain. I also saw a mate I hadn't seen for a while,  so I plopped my gear down in a decent spot a few swims above and spent the next half hour catching up with him. I was in no rush and hoped the river would fine down a bit as I wisely proclaimed that it looked too coloured to be trotting pellet.

Of course when you say things like that fishing always proves you wrong, so after starting on maggot and failing to make a dent into the chublet party that was clearly going on in my swim I switched to pellet. Naturally the first fish was a small chub although bigger than the previous ones but at least they were taking pellet and so were the barbel as the float ripped under, turns out it wasn't too coloured, who knew!

A fine start to the day continued with a few more before I went down to chat to my mate and give the swim a rest. He was doing ok on the lead but there was no roach or good chub showing on float, we talked about the roach as he had been on hemp and tare but they didn't want to know, however we both knew they were there, I returned to my swim fed a few pellets and I could just make out a few shapes hitting it dead shallow, this made me dig out the 'stick.'

If you have read my other posts the 'stick' refers to a matchstick and although the river was pushing through I just had to give it a go. Sitting on the deck as usual I was able to fish quite close in and sure enough they were roach and they were up in the water, I had a lovely roach first run through, holding back the 'stick' and letting it drop.

One roach suddenly turned into 'one a cast' for a short period as I had that magical jag jag glide in the fastest bit of water as a pristine redfin spun on the surface each time, they were all netters and I swear I was catching these fish at around 6oz at the start of the season, now they were filling out a bit. The matchstick was working again and this one was a cracker, much bigger than the rest.

The roach switched off as quickly as they had turned on but it was a wonderful hour of redfin action, superfast bites that needed a subtle approach, there's not many better sights in angling than when the sun comes out whilst you have a good roach spin on the surface, that splash of orange fins and platinum silver breaking the sun's reflection can light up water of any colour.

I caught a couple more barbel on the matchstick before changing back to float as paddlers clouded the water upstream even more. This was a cue to pack up so I bade farewell to my mate who was still catching and I did so reflecting on a nice day's fishing, whilst at the same time wondering if the parents of the children paddling know there's two sewage works just upstream.

This river is healthy, for now and that mucky colour will drop out, sadly you can't say this of many rivers around the country at the moment. Hopefully all those fish will continue to grow and prosper and continue to intrigue us anglers.

A Day On The Severn In Pictures

 Friday saw a day trip to a windy River Severn, the river was a good level and was a touch clearer than last time but still had that brown tinge and there looks like being no weed growing again this year. 

Whilst I was setting up the wind didn't seem too bad and the flow looked perfect, the three hours of traffic jams seemed to be a distant memory already.

Naturally by the time I was fishing it was blowing a hoolie, right up the river.

It was good to see and hear the trains back, it just didn't seem right when they weren't running the other year - Choo choo!

All the canoes that went by were quiet, friendly and polite as I caught mainly dace and a few small chub out in the middle.

Maybe choosing the most open spot on the river wasn't the best idea, at times gusts of wind almost blew me over but It felt great just being out there, trotting down the river.

The sheep weren't daft in the meadow downstream, finding shelter from the wind and the sun which was now blazing.

As if to remind you what the wind can do. I hope no one was going over the stile when this tree went down.

When the missus returned from taking photos of sheep, stiles, steam trains and the silly so and so standing in the Severn we moved spots to get out of the wind a little. Naturally I got back in the water catching more dace until...

I was into something bigger, getting rid of the last of the maggots. It was almost the last run through of the day so I didn't wan't to lose it, I knew exactly what it was so played it gently to start with.

Then I gave it some stick to stop it going downstream.

I landed the fish just before it deepens having waded down river playing it, it was a fun way to finish the day.

I love pike, such beautiful, exciting fish and I'll never moan when they gatecrash the party no matter what size they are.

Once again the river was hard, trotting pellets didn't work again and dace were hammering everything, even big bunches of maggots. The roach were not around for me in spots that used to be prolific so I hope the weed returns at some point in the next few years. As we got back to the car in the evening sun the landing net had already dried out in the relentless wind but at least it got wet in the end courtesy of the pike, which turned up almost as if to show the dace they can't have all their own way.

Off we went to Bewdley to get fish and chips before the long drive home.

They're Taking My Lunch

I Had a couple of trips to the club pond this week, what with the rivers low and the school holidays on I just wanted somewhere quiet to chill for a bit, even resisting the urge to fish bread on the top. Last time I was surface fishing I chatted to another angler who was fishing prawn for perch and getting a few too, I was quite jealous so decided to have a crack myself with the little pink crustaceans.

To cut a short story even shorter I failed miserably, despite fishing the same spot in the same way. Trying to read the swim I would say that the carp were pushing out the perch this time as any stripey action was spasmodic between carp showing up. That's fishing though and the two carp I caught were more than welcome.

A few days later I'm down there again this time armed with maggots as I knew I would catch loads, whether I would get through the roach was another matter and sure enough they were dipping my pole float and taking off with my single maggot with abandon, the fact that I caught quite a lot of perch this time was not lost on the ironymeter although they were small and nothing really bent the rod well until a crucian/goldfish showed up like a bar of gold in the sunshine, it was a clonker too, a real beauty.

In the following half hour I caught a nice mix of all the species but it was mainly roach, small perch and rudd and they were starting to boil on the surface for the feed. It was time for a break.

I stopped for lunch enjoying the sun thinking i'd give it another half hour after and a small robin landed on my lunch box infront of me, took some maggots and a few crumbs of my crisps, shame they weren't prawn cocktail as it could have almost been surf n turf, but I'd had enough of prawns by now.

The robin left as the local trouble showed up, approaching me whilst tilting his head as he walked right over my gear, glazed black eyes blinking with a roll of film in a lazy manner, I threw some maggots at him and he was slow to react unlike the robin who would have spotted each and every one. He took a few before I tried hand feeding, it worked on a robin on the canal earlier in the season but I was thinking how this chap had a much bigger beak. I was glad he didn't take up the offer.

Mr Magpie was more interested in what I was eating and soon snaffled the piece of ham I threw down from the corner of my sandwich, this was followed up by a bit of lettuce then the corner of the bread, this must be fine dining compared to maggots, even the bread was wholemeal, so healthy too, the magpie ate well although he struggled a bit with the bread, so I chucked the other corner into the margins of the lake.

Slurp, Slurp, Slurp.

As I tucked into the rest of my lunch, it was interrupted by that unmistakable sound as a carp was taking the crusty corner I just threw in complete with mayo, the rest on my fingers which I quickly wiped down. I had the corners of the other sandwich left in the lunch box, I just couldn't resist it could I?

I knew they would soon drift away and knowing I only had a few bits of the worlds worst bread (they were wholemeal crusts covered in mayo!) I removed my shot and attempted to hook a bit of crust on my size 18 barbless. I had no time to change hook or was too lazy and I think it was the latter as I wasn't worried If it didn't work, I knew I could get fish off the top if I wanted to come down armed with the white stuff for a proper session, no this was more just a bit of impromptu fun.

What an achievement it was - hooking the bread I mean. If you have even tried hooking floating crust on a size 18 you'll know how hard it is, but somehow it stayed on, that was until something small started hitting it and it came off, all that effort and it's dismantled by a 3oz rudd - I had to laugh.

I tried again this time with the very last bit of my lunch.

Plop! 

Right in front of the carp's nose, I remember the line looking like gossamer from the bread to the pole float laying there flat on the surface, far finer than what I would use in a floater session, this could be interesting I thought.

The carp wolfed it down my crust, it was recycling at it's finest, my line straightened and I'm pretty sure Mr Magpie flew off making a noise behind me somewhere as I sprung into action from the deck, joints cracking as I uncrossed my legs. I was thinking this is fun at the same time as thinking I'm too old to be sitting like this fishing like a kid. It was fun though and after a hectic scrap a carp was in the net to finish the day off nicely. 

You're never too old to be fishing like a kid I concluded.

It wasn't the biggest, nor the prettiest of fish and it had a small mouth so maybe using size 18s with floating baits is the way to go, I'm only joking of course but make sure you eat your lunch, because if you don't everything else will.

Be sure to save those crusts though.

Tales From The 100 - No 3 The River Colne

  This is part of a series of short stories recollecting some of my trips around the country fishing 100 rivers, some were good, some brilliant and some just bonkers, there was always something going on. So when things are quiet I'll cast the mind back in no particular order and remember a few of these adventures.

No.3 The River Colne

I must admit it was a long time ago when I first fished the Colne, matter of fact it was only the third river I had fished and there were never any thoughts of fishing 100 rivers back then in the 80's and early 90's, even so it's worth recalling a special trip when my fishing changed forever and some memories that will forever hold The River Colne in a special place.

Both dad and I had only just got the float bug after watching a stick angler take the Gade apart one day so we were looking for new places to trial our newly learned float skills. We found a free stretch of the Colne that flowed through an industrial estate on the edge of Uxbridge, a much bigger river than the Gade. There were busy bits at either end near the parking but in between it was a jungle, it was mostly in these swims where we caught a mix of chub and silvers in the first season. "You won't get many barbel on float" or "not on that gear" was what most people used to say back then and as a teenager I kind of believed them.

Until one day, the following season.....

It was my day off so I drove down there in the passion wagon(It never saw any passion but saw plenty of fishing)happy to catch whatever as usual, the season was only a few weeks old so there was no path but undaunted I made my way through, waders were handy for this but everything else got scratched or stung by the nettles and brambles seemingly taking their turn to either catch me, or my line as I roved along. Despite this I was happily catching a few chub, dace and perch here and there. Before getting back to the car I stopped off on a swim I had passed on the way up thinking it wouldn't be much good but still hoped for a dace or two.

To be honest I could barely see this swim when I went past earlier but on the way back I noticed I could just get in the water's edge, there was a beautiful willow which overhung the water and collected the greenest bed of ranunculus in a perfect raft, one which I could touch with the rod tip. I had just enough room to trot the float against this raft and down the near side to where it shallowed downstream, however three quarters of the swim was unfishable due to the dark overhang of the mighty tree.

The float bumped against the raft and bobbled along it before disappearing and a strong fish was on first cast, I thought it was strange that a chub hadn't gone for the roots opposite or the weed beds above the tree as it held station in dark water under the raft. I learned quickly that sidestrain halved any fight duration and despite fishing just 3lb 2oz mainline and 2lb 12oz Drennan Double Strength hooklength (remember that) I was soon slipping the net under a lovely barbel.

I was in a dreamworld as the next run through the same thing happened, my old Sundridge Helical Graphite match rod seemed to creak, it's stiff action not really ideal for such fish but the enthusiasm and the accompanying quick reflexes of youth countered the fishes lunges as I had another barbel. I fish slightly heavier for barbel now, however I can't remember any of these fish clutch screaming away and everything was under control, maybe I was a better angler when younger? Every fish was 100% concentration and nothing was ever taken for granted.

I went on to get 8 pristine fish in a short spell losing none, I packed up with them still feeding as mum would kill me if I was late for dinner, I think I was only 17 or 18 so I still feared the wrath of mum, especially if she was on the sherry, which whilst cooking she usually was, although It was always just the one of course.

I had busted the myth that you don't get many barbel on float so naturally a few days later I returned with dad.

Remember these were the days before digital cameras so my film from last time was in the hands of the chemists awaiting development (ask your parents kids) So whilst I know Dad believed me I'm not sure he really believed he would catch if that makes sense, so it was that after half an hour in the swim he had caught nothing and was making his way downstream. I was so eager to have a go, sometimes the confidence and cockyness of youth is an unstoppable force and I was soon calling out to dad.

"Got one Dad!" If ever there is a phrase that sums up fishing it's those three words, the excitement, the anticipation, the knowledge that your dad was running back up the river see it.

 Then the sight of a beautiful barbel resting in the net at the waters edge once more.

Now dad was to have a go again and I think I told him I'm not fishing the swim until he gets one, no pressure dad, but he needn't have worried as it didn't take long before I was slipping the net under his first float caught barbel. Get in!

You can make out the raft in the background of this photo behind a happy dad. I'm not sure why I didn't take any photos of the swim, maybe it was because back then we only had 24 shots on the film and I had to use them sparingly.

Dad was using an old Wilson Avon being more sensible than me with my match rod, although he lost the tip on a branch a few weeks back, he continued to use it claiming it had more power as a result and it was bending well with another fish late on. I can still see his tipless rod bending with surges of a big barbel, dad had to be awkward but the fish was soon in the net.

The record back then was still 14lb and a double figure fish was a monster so after slipping the net under the biggest of the day I went for the scales as dad had caught a beauty, a lovely dark fish that went 9lb dead on, I can't remember if we did high fives, hugs or whatever the protocol was back then as we rested this fish.

I also can't remember how many fish we had that day but it was a hell of a lot, we took turns to fish whilst the other watched and it didn't take long each time, the fish were stunners and even after the great day the time before I was stunned. I can only imagine what dad was thinking, it was a red letter day without doubt.

That season and the following we went on to get many barbel from that stretch even finding another good swim further up that for some reason dad never got on with but I did ok in, a fast run under a tree before running up against an old bridge stanchion. All the time leaving the busy sections to others. 

I'm sure our spots were fished every now and then but on the whole they were pretty secret until one year the EA decided in its wisdom that the tree had collected too much of a raft, we turned up one day to find the mighty willow gone, the swim wide open and full of woodchip.

My heart sank. 

The barbel were gone too.

To make things worse the upstream spot I liked had a tree come down in a storm deflecting the flow away from the hole and the barbel were gone there too, in both cases many had moved to areas out of bounds and the river seemed totally different, after a few seasons we never fished the stretch again and I don't think it's even free anymore. But the wealth of memories left behind will last a life time

"I got one dad!"

"I'm in son!"

The words of those two seasons will ring true forever for a teenager learning about fishing with his old man, much better than "You wont get many on float"

For you can and when you share that with someone it's even more special.

It turns out Boots did ok with the photos, I didn't get anyone else's holiday photos (this time) nor were any merged with ghostly figures in an over exposure accident, surprisingly they were also free from dads blurry thumb on each pic, I think we take uploading and printing out as as many photos as we like for granted. If anyone says the old ways are best tell them they weren't always.