The tiny River Bourne is usually reliable for a few fish but I rarely get anything big although the caveat is I only go every other year and usually when the weather is awful and the river is in flood, the last time the mud was frozen solid whereas this time it was the first frost of the year albeit a mild one. The Bourne beckoned, a place where I go largely for the peace and the solitude of one of the largest areas inside the m25 not to be built on - Chertsey Meads, Imagine my dismay however when I park up to find large mounds of earth with diggers going back and forth and the vast expansive view blocked by a building site.
I ask a returning dog walker whether the river is accessible and what they are doing and she says they are laying pipes to prevent flooding, so that means houses coming soon then I thought. I grumpily got the gear and made my way through the site to the river, the workmen halting their progress for my right of way. The digger driver turns off his engine and asks me where I am fishing and then If there's any chub in there, turns out he's another angler oblivious that he's working a stones throw from a river, (I wonder if he'll bring his fishing gear to work next time) I didn't tell him I have yet to get a chub here although he did inform me that he's laying a fuel pipeline to the Airport, much better info than the dog lady gave me and much more reassuring. The pipe looks a bit like some of the pole set ups you see match anglers use nowadays although I think you could reach the far bank of the nearby Thames with this kit.
I set up in the trees as the morning sun flickered through them and lit up the water, the reflections of which danced on the bark of the branches either side of me, I fished with one hand shielding my eyes from the sun and just swung the float gently out getting a bite a chuck from the off in a spot under two feet deep, mostly bleak but a few roach, dace and a bonus perch came out of the brown water, water that had enough clarity for a pike to launch a failed attack on the next fish. The swirl of the jack pike broke the sunlit calm of the surface and scattered the pond skaters of which there were thousands in all directions, this swim was too tight to be playing a pike, even a small one so this was my cue to wander downstream.
En route I chatted to a couple of anglers, the first one a novice who was struggling, I told him there's plenty of fish in here which seemed to lift his confidence, then I chatted to another rover like myself who told me he had a nice chub last season which boosted mine, it's always good to know there's fish still to be caught on these rivers regardless of which end of the angling spectrum you are coming from and what you are targeting. I've never had a chub from here, lost one once but they are rare and sadly suffer from poaching so it's good to know there's still a few about.
I look for a few spots here and there not able to reach the river on several attempts due to the lush undergrowth, when I do get close enough I see some spots are just full of junk that's been dumped others full of wood and it's a while before I wet a line again. I often look for deer on the far bank but have to make do with long tailed tits today, plus a startled heron that wasn't expecting me to come foraging through the nettles ruining his fishing. Once again the sun lit everything up like a torch, it was a glorious day to be out fishing.
I settle on a decent run grateful that my waders have enabled me to once more get through some serious greenery, no wonder I usually fish this river in the dead of winter I thought as I gently picked each burr that was stuck to my arms and even my bait bib, but none on the landing net which makes a change as they are always a sod to get off. I didn't mind as if it's hard for me to get through in October that means it's impassable all summer and the fish are pretty safe in these spots when breeding. After an initial run of bleak I was through to some more roach and dace in my new spot so I dug out the stool and had a sit down.
I was just thinking of stopping for lunch when I finally hooked something better, naturally I thought it was another snag until it shook it's head and tore around the tight confines on the swim, I bullied it in best I could and slipped the net under my first Bourne chub, not huge at around 3lb but it's all relative and I was delighted.
I fed the swim whilst I fed myself, eager to get back in there but knowing I was so hungry having burnt off loads of calories on the walk down, a pheasant almost landed in front of me before disappearing into the undergrowth. I soon had my float sailing down the swim once more riding the current and holding it back to avoid snags on the bottom that I had subconsciously mapped, like all anglers do, picking up a few more dace in the process.
I knew where there's one chub there may be more but didn't really expect another one however I was soon in again, a similar sized fish to the previous one and going well once more, it even seemed to head for exactly the same spots the first one did. However my delight at finding a pocket of chub was tempered when I noticed it was the very same fish.
The black spot above the gills on the 'first' chub is a bit of silt but every other mark is identical as you can see, I wondered what the time frame between catching this fish both times was, I knew it was short so on checking the data on the camera found out it was just 29 minutes, It's a funny old game sometimes, no chub in around 20 previous hours of fishing on this river before getting the same fish either side of scoffing my lunch, I had to laugh.
I tried for a different chub but the swim went dead, my pocket of chub could be just one lone fish that's eluded the poachers who knows, but there will be a few more loners out there. It was time for one last rove so I ventured to the bottom of the stretch, the final swim saw me perching precariously on a bank of nettles conscious not to fall through to the water below, I was the first person to fish this spot all season and once more it was a proper bit of wild river fishing to finish with. I was rewarded with some larger dace and a few roach and perch and of course countless more bleak as I rid myself of the remaining maggots. I then sat in the sun trap of the second meadow and packed up, poured the last of the coffee from my flask which tasted awful and watched the next aircraft go by, drowning out the constant hiss from the pylons for a passing moment.
It had been a cracking day, I got a good walk in and had some good fish, counting that chub twice of course, joking aside I'd go here just for a few dace, apart from the airliners going over this place is always so peaceful, you see the odd dog walker but they are sometimes a good mile away, little dots in the distance. Instead you find yourself, this is what fishing is about. I always make a point of pausing as I walk back to the car and take a last look over my shoulder across Chertsey Meads.
Sometimes it's good to look back at where you have been and not always where you are going.
