I watched the river level site almost religiously prior to an overnight stay near the River Severn, It was finally dropping but deep down I knew not quick enough. So it was we arrived at a coloured river, following the heavy summer downpours a few days ago. I'd love to say it looked good enough to drink but I'm not that keen on hot chocolate, although I believed in miracles as the drink's namesakes once sang.
Being a one trick pony is not always the best trait when faced with fast coloured water and my method of choice float fishing was not the best option but hey, It's what I like doing. Also the deadly tactic of trotting pellet was never going to work this time, I took them nonetheless hoping for a touch of clarity from a dropping river but all the pellets did was weigh down my rucksack unused, I know when there's a chance of them working and when there was none and this was the latter. Good old fashioned maggot was to be the bait.
The first afternoon was at Stanley, there wasn't any gravels to wade on to and the river despite dropping a touch was still much too high, it wasn't even great to trot maggots but I did just that and picked up a few small fish trotting a near side slack, not even fast coloured water seems stop those small dace and bleak smashing the bait here and single maggot was getting hammered even on a heavy float with bulk shotting. I did start on a big bunch on a large hook which bought a nice perch and a welcome bend in the rod, but that was as good as it got as I was scratching for bits from then on.
A few more fish followed however the small stuff were a nuisance riding the float up, swirling on the surface taking all the loosefeed. The evening came and the sheep made funny noises, sand martins skimmed the water and I packed up to take the missus to the chippy, as we sat there eating by the river in Bridgnorth it looked lower and clearer, at least it seemed that way although I was tired and I think it was more wishful thinking.
The Severn seemed to have dropped a little more as we had a coffee by the river in Bewdley the next day, but it still had a lot of colour with a brown which seemed to turn more red each time the sun emerged. We headed to Arley as I wanted a crack at the barbel there in the fast shallow runs.
Plans don't always come together as every swim was taken, every single one, It was hot in the sun walking down the meadow in my waders and even hotter still walking back. We settled on the only available spot left ( I hesitate to refer it as a swim) near the footbridge but it meant scratching for bits on a nearside slack. I was just grateful to be wetting a line and sitting down at this point.
The missus read her book whilst I once again caught a mix of bits including another decent perch, there were lots of fry in the margins which seemed to face one way then the other as my nearside slack changed directions and was anything but steady. After a few hours I called it a day and as we headed back thoughts went through my mind of the great days I have had down there.
The river had beaten me this time though, It goes to show a good day isn't guaranteed, but it was still enjoyable. It was quite cathartic working out what I could have done better, booking the trip a week later would have been a good idea but that's hindsight (as I write this the river has dropped back to normal). Fishing wise I know I could have put a lead out but that's not really my style, I also could have gone to the Teme or perhaps the Avon on the way back but deep down wanted whatever challenge the Severn was to throw at me.
Well I got a challenge and the Severn chewed me up and spat me out, the old girl threw a strop to remind me those red letter days of the past were granted at her behest.
Well good on her.
