The last time I wet a line was Early October last year, all work and no play made Rob a dull boy when it come to fishing of late, throw in a bout of Covid over Christmas and I was more than ready for a first trip out in ages. Even though I was still feeling tired post Covid I was raring to go and go I did.
It wasn't as warm as I had hoped as on arrival at the river mid morning it was only 3c and the remnants of the overnight frost was still crunchy underfoot, although not as bad as previous nights had been. Unlocking the padlocks and gates left me a bit breathless and I wondered how long I could fish, mustering all my efforts to get to a vacant swim and not a good one at that.
Steam lingered from my breath as there was no wind at all as I threaded my line and set up a small stick float half expecting to miss a rod ring or forget something it had been so long.I wasn't expecting to catch much here and was willing to play the long game knowing I had plenty of coffee, food and warm clothing even though my toes felt cold already.
The river was shallow and clear despite all the recent rains and my chosen spot only deepened down the bottom of the swim, the top was clear gravel devoid of any fish, holding back the float hard to edge down to the deeper hole was hard work and required me to stand, so much for a relaxing morning. Work at it I did and after half an hour I had just one small chub to show for my efforts.
Just as I was thinking of moving the float seemed to dip and an instinctive strike was met with a decent bit of resistance before a bar of silver could be seen flashing as I slowly worked it up the swim, it was a fine dace worth coming out for on it's own and my persistence was rewarded.
I didn't weigh it but it wasn't too far off a pound, the photo not really showing the belly of the fish, it was from an area that had provided me with some very big dace in the past although usually from the spot below where a chap was feeding pellets as if it was still summer.
I must have had three bites in two hours with the next fish quite a while after the dace, it was a nice roach and whilst I wasn't getting much they were quality, typical winter fishing especially after a series of cold nights.
By late morning I needed to sit down so ventured downstream having only caught three fish which was three fish better than pellet guy had in the good swim, I wasn't too worried about catching loads and was still bouyed by the fine dace as I sat down in a spot where fish could be seen ghosting through and in quite some numbers, they weren't large but it would keep me occupied trying to catch a few.
I watched as the transient shoal of fish drifted in and out of the area much like the birds that took turns occupying the tree opposite. It dawned on me the last time I fished, the trees were still in full leaf, now this willow looked all stringy and bare much like the hair of a nutty professor, it reminded me of Doc from Back to the Future for some reason.
Back to the present and a few small chub and roach kept me honest before the shoal drifted off for good downstream. I sat and had lunch and watched the bird show as everything seemed to be about, Blue, Great and Long Tailed Tits fluttered through the trees whilst larger corvids did their thing, a Woodpidgeon clumsily walked over a bush trying to get at berries, the bush I was previously fishing under and a Red Kite circled above, a Robin naturally showed up for some maggots, a skitty little thing that seemed to pester me from all angles for some freebies, a welcome harassment if ever there was one. I sat there entertained thinking how much I have missed all this.
After lunch I tried a spot now vacated that was usually pretty good but after no bites a closer look into the clear water revealed no fish to be seen at all, perhaps a reason for the large nomadic shoal downstream, so I moved on once more.
Finding a spot upstream that was usually good for chub I settled down hoping to whittle out one, maybe two knowing any decent chub would top the day nicely. I bumped a fish off first cast but it was so instant and so close in I convinced myself it was bottom. However it wasn't, as another bite followed next trot through which resulted in a proper bend in the rod, my persistence was rewarded.
More chub followed and they were feeding so well and if the hard morning was typical winter fishing then the afternoon was typical winter chub fishing, as if a switch is flicked. They were feeding shallow and I almost couldn't fish shallow enough, so much so that I changed to a pole float as no distance was needed to cast. The pole float worked perfectly and just as I was wondering why we don't all use them for small river trotting a lively chub proceeded in smashing said float to smithereens in the rushes, I had a wry smile as I reverted back to a 4no4 stick set as shallow as I dare.
It was once more all chub and trying deep yielded no bites at all, a chap came up from the next swim down saying how his mate had nothing in this swim all morning on luncheon meat, maybe they were up in the water or perhaps just come on to feed, although I wouldn't dismiss a chub's love of maggot as a reason as on some winter days they just cant get enough much like the Robin earlier.
I had enough by now and packed up well before dark, the day was still eerily quiet, the only noise the sound of water dripping from my net, a good sound if ever there was one. I had fished much longer and much harder than I anticipated but enjoyed it immensely.
How I have missed fishing.
Covid - Bad
Fishing - Good
