My feet were wet from morning dew as I made my way through the long grass to my local stream. Upon reaching the water's edge a murder of crows flew back and forth from the treetops, a cacophony of noise that would last a good hour. It was hardly the dawn chorus as I'd missed that courtesy of one of those hot sleepless nights but was happy to get a decent spot mid morning.
I was less enamoured with the river level with gravels visible and not much flow. On went a dibber float and banded pellet, my 'go to' choice in these conditions. Pingin' it upstream into a dark hole beneath a tree saw the inevitable succesion of small chub before the first barbel graced the net. It was tiny but I didn't care, the first one is always worth a photo regardless of size.
I then had a chub that showered my mat with eggs, which left me with a weird feeling. I've seen fish breeding before in June but never had this happen. I was contemplating whether this occurance was an argument for or against keeping the close season, it does show breeding fish can be affected by angling but also shows they dont always adhere to the dates we have anyway. The fish was pristine and swam off strong, maybe these were old eggs from breeding previously, discarded today as the fish didn't look heavy, who knows?
I continued to fish given there were no signs of fish actively breeding and fortunately it was an isolated event, with the next few chub also looking perfect.
The swim then goes dead with brightening skies revealing nothing was left in my little swim so it was time to move.
I dropped in below an old chap who had music playing on his little radio. Ok it was quiet but I could just hear it, I get it if you're quietly listening to the big match or the test cricket but music? I hummed 'People are Strange' by The Doors, it wasn't on the radio but felt it should have been.
This next spot also sees me casting upstream to cover and I'm rewarded with a slighly better barbel, super fun with trees either side and one above me making things awkward.
By now thoughts were turning to lunch when I felt a wobble on the net with the next chub. Sure enough it was the traditional cross threaded net moment which is always nuts. I was using my Dad's old net so it seemed only right that an old bit of twig went in to secure it, like we used to fix on the hook with luncheon meat back in the day.
With the net solid(ish) a few more chub and barbel followed, don't worry I could have jumped in if needed it was so shallow, but it held firm as I did I with the fish, which were all fighting fit and raring to go.
