A Wanderer Among A Sea Of Chub

I looked at my calendar as I woke at 6am, Wanderer Above A Sea Of Fog greeted me as I looked misty eyed at the date, 21st July 2026, I had a river to get to. I wandered downstairs, had brekkie, loaded up the gear and hoped there would be a sea of chub at my destination after a 3 hour drive.

With a few days off I had hastily booked a night near the Severn knowing full well the river would be low, busy and hot, whilst it wasn't the daytime temps of a few weeks ago, I'd somehow managed to pick the warmest two days since at around 27c, hardly perfect for roving along in chest waders but you know when you get an idea in your head and go with it no matter what.

The rest of the plan involved hitting the river with bread, I knew chub would be the main quarry but anything would do. My two loaves were Sainsbury's and Aldi's cheapest, with a few pellets as back up to this unscientific experiment.

Day 1

Arriving at 10am the car park was in the busying process, a dad was pumping up an inflatable, perhaps also one of Aldi's cheapest, dog walkers were unloading their pooches and older folk were setting up deckchairs to sit by their cars as they often do here.

I wandered off like the chap in the painting but with far less dacorum, one meadow up to a bend where fast water deepens, perfect for running a float through. I used a 2g avon float, with a couple of SSG and a size 10 wide gape, to 4lb line. A bit agricultural given the clear water and my penchant for lighter gear but I planned fishing further out where the flow was.

In went a bit of mashed bread, fresh from the tupperware tub in my bib and the float goes under first cast, bread has to be the most instant bait going. Despite knowing this I was complacent, playing the first fish a tad too softly and getting snapped by a late surge towards a nearside raft, oh how the chub, clear water and snags outwit the angler who is not paying attention. Fortunately I got another chance soon after, no mistake this time.

A dad and two youngsters dropped in just above me after asking first, looked like they were on holiday, the kids had rods that weren't too disimilar to my first rod from Woolworths. Their enthusiasm overflowing like I hoped mine was. As I left to venture up river in the sun, the kids were sitting on the rocks trying to catch tiddlers whilst dad was up to his waist mid river in his shorts, making me feel hot in my chest waders. I picked up a few more chub here and there, the bread was working.

I then stopped for lunch, the river was flat calm, hardly a ripple of breeze, stream trains choo choo'd opposite, even the diesel was piping up and aside from the odd paddleboarder, it was peaceful and scenic.

I really should have turned back to see if any of the better swims had been vacated but I ploughed on to one of my favourite areas, hardly fished as it's quite a walk.

Here it always seems green right by the river with soft lush thick grass, none of that yellow stuff. I sat on this bank, not even needing my seat dangled my feet over the edge and fished close in.

The next hour turned into two, it was idylic as chub powered into the current each time, as my rod, held low, had a solid bend before each pristine chub graced the net. There were quite a few chub there as the odd bit of feed was taken off the surface and bow waves moved on the shallow water when a fish was hooked among them.

I unhooked them all between my legs aside from the fish above, laid gently on nature's unhooking mat, finishing with 16 chub and 1 roach.

The walk back to the car late afternoon was hot and tiring, taking a good 40 minutes, but it was all so worth it. I tucked into my 'car meat' complete with salad that had been chilling on the cool box before heading to my digs. I'd done pretty well given the conditions, just need to recharge for tomorrow.

Day 2

After a decent night's sleep I'm fresh as I arrive at Hampton Loade taking just 20 minutes to get here, much easier than a 3 hour drive that's for sure. 

I couldn't believe my net had crossthreaded again the day before, but fortunately I had the wading net I made from last time. I was going to use it today as would be in the water more anyway. Aside from a bit more wading It was the same tactics, this time with Aldi bread, albeit squashed from being in my bag all day yesterday.

Oh yeah, just one more thing, this place has ducks and by ducks I mean thousands of them, so feeding any bread would have to be subtle.

I set up in the first swim opposite lovely old cottages with terraced gardens, content that there was only a couple dozen mallards here. I stealthily fed a golf ball of the white stuff before the smallest chub of the trip kicked things off. The next one was much more like it and I had christened my home made net much better than that jack pike last time.

The skies brightened and the swim went dead after just two fish so dowstream I went. I lamented that another favourite swim had become too overgrown, plus barbel anglers occupied other spots, before settling near one of the duck beaches.

Here I fed stealthily for a few hundred obvious reasons all of which go quack! Even a swan and a couple of little egrets graced the densely populated beach. Fortunately my swim was well populated with chub which I battled hard in the current to avoid rocks and submerged branches.

The swim went understandably slow as the skies got brighter and the first canoes appeared, scaring the mallards into flight, taking to the air like a murmeration of starlings but much louder.

I started to rove dowstream hoping to get down to where there's an island but thought how tiring it was yesterday, I ummed and arghed before deciding to return. I kind of got lucky as a chap was just moving from a tasty looking spot just as I returned. I sat down in this surprisingly comfortable spot where I could scoop out any chub easily, and scoop I did, including perhaps the best chub if the trip.

It was so much fun getting them under the rod tip. I was acually running the float upstream in an eddy close in especially when the boats came by, even though I could see rocks there in the clear water, the chub were there and obliging.

I almost ended up in there with them though as another tackle mishap saw my trusty old stool give way, perhaps it was those sausage rolls I bought from the Co-op this morning.

Many more boats came by but they were all polite and courteous, I sat once more on the bank exchanging duck based banter with them.

I aslo chatted to a friendly chap fishing with a go pro, shame he lost his only fish to a snag. Then I encounter the same dad and kids from yesterday, a small world for the holidaying angler which of course includes me.

Howevet it was now time to head back to where I started and think about home, it was only early afternoon but I'd had my fill. Also my left leg was rubbing up big time, the waders scraping at my calves. I was so happy I had not walked all the way downstream and equally relieved they didn't play up yesterday. I'm not having much luck on the gear front lately but at least the net worked and was used a lot.

I finished up where I started using up all the bread as the ducks were somehow gone from here. One more chub followed taking the tally to 14 today plus another lone roach.

Given the conditions, and my tackle mishaps it was a really succesful trip, the bread attack worked well, Aldi and Sainsbury's bread (other brands are available) seemed pretty similar as experiments go and I was pretty happy.

I finished the two days with 30 chub, from my wandering, whilst that's not a 'sea' there must be lots, lots more. 

I wandered home wondering how many.

The Jukes Of Hazard

Ok lets get the punnery out of the way for all the folk who remember the 80's tv show and are lamenting my spelling, if you don't recall The Dukes of Hazzard then you really aren't missing much. The Hazard in question this time however was a Nissan Juke, sitting in the clear water of The Warwickshire Avon, complete with bouys alerting boaters of It's presence. It's not often you see a submerged car on a fishing trip so here it is.

Naturally the only other angler, here before us had set up in the same swim as the car! I'm all for fishing features but this was mad, as was his beef with the first canal boat that naturally caused havoc upon seeing the hazard, slamming into reverse, you can't blame them as imagine the insurance claim on a boat, having to explain that you hit a car.

I chatted to the same boaters further down as we crossed over to the weir downstream, a friendly exchange unlike the raised voices earlier. Oh the peace and quiet of waterways in the English countryside.

Bouyed by our car based banter I pitched up in my favourite swim only to notice it wasn't moving at all, the gravels were visible and water stationary, what flow there was out of reach even with chest waders on. I then moved above in the shallows of the weir eager to try out my new toy.

When I say toy it's more a home made bodge job but darn proud of it I was - A wading net.

I had found an old Maver net in the shed, attached a handle that was broken but had a decent thread, it was then sawn off, bound with camping rope which was clipped onto the rim. Even the hollow end of the handle was filled with one of those spikes you get on cheap garden solar lights. Quality precision engineering, although I prefer the term 'superbodged'

All I needed was a model, so here's an action shot of yours truly, probably my best angle I suppose, dissappearing into the distance.

It worked great, I waded out and hardly noticed the net was there as I caught a few nice roach and small chub trotting pellet in the gin clear shallows, but nothing warranted the net though until...

The world's mankiest looking jack pike took a shine to the next roach, quickly unhooked in the water. Not my intended quarry of a fine chub gracing the new net but it christened it, thus the photo of an angler seeing the funny side of things.

Then things got less humourous, the wind got up and it was fiesty, ok it was cooling on such a hot day but it was blowing surprisingly hard, the hat was blowing off and the float impossible at times to cast into the narrow run between weeds. Worse still was the 'blow off' from the combine working the field upwind. All manner of dusty crop particles were flying sideways through the air like an agricultural blizzard, coating the water, making it look like a bad porridge, worse still were the bits that went into my eye. We beat a retreat past the submerged car and the now vacated feature swim, to our our own motor thankfully on terra firma and away from the dust.

I must admit I was a bit grumpy, the session was cut short, my eye was hurting, but we were off to our holiday accommodation and my net worked. There was a few hazards but I was unwilling to duke it out.

The next trips were all about finding shade as the heat was an issue, I would be happy to get a few perch under a tree, that sort of chilled fishing, so a quick foray on the Severn near Worcester was the next session

Pretty uneventful it was, with my normal net redundant, on a typical BAA water where there's not many swims and a lot of overgrown banks. I managed a few decent roach whilst trying to avoid the bleak, tiny dace and chublets. The wife and I had the usual lunch in great surrounds but the fishing was always going to be hard this week.

In the evening after visiting Malvern and bagging a new Wetherspoons for the tally (one with a fine view) we returned to Tewkesbury to have a look at a stretch of Avon just above the town, with the gear in the back still it seemed only right to try for an hour or so before dinner beckoned.

With little flow and great depths I just pottered about close in as usual in a nice shady spot. A healthy mix of fish came - roach, perch, small dace, chublets, rudd and even a gudgeon. Of course the bleak were an issue on maggots but just tolerable in such a short session. I fed the spot under the tree with some pellets and prawns for a return the next morning. Pre baiting like a genius.

The next morning the missus is dropped off to the shops in town and I'm back on the river to bag up big time on those fish. Of course there's an angler there this time, there had to be, after seeing none the day before, worse still it was the only bit of shade for miles. I had a pleasant chat with the guy and looked at my only option in temps above 31c which was a lone willow a couple of spots further up. I swear I've seen bigger bonsai trees. I sat on the unhooking mat, my legs almost in the water, under this willow that offered partial shade, tolerating the ants knowing that the odd bite is better than sunburnt legs.

The fishing albeit a little awkward, wasn't too bad, with another mix of species, mostly rudd this time plus the odd decent perch, I think I lost a good one too. Another angler further up caught nothing but sun and didn't last too long, neither did we, as after the missus returned we had lunch before heading into Tewkesbury and the delights of air con at The Royal Hop Pole, not without a quick look at the Mill Avon from the pub's garden.

With the three day break over it seemed rude not to visit the upper Avon above Stratford for a morning before it got too hot again, it was on the way home after all.

I said at the start of the trip it was likely that small pike could be the biggest fish of the holiday, it was so hot and sunny, the rivers were low and I was fishing at the least ideal times, combined with the holiday sightseeing, although that usually isn't an excuse. I did fancy getting a chub or two though to finish off.

Trotting pellet I managed 5 chub, a case of fishing only in shady spots catching one and the whole shoal spooking in the clear water. Finishing the trip with a stocky fish which was returned quickly without weighing.

A cracking chub to end the trip, I'm guessing around 5lb but certain that it was bigger than that pike! Which seemed an age ago.

With a lot crammed in both on and off the bank and not that much fishing time when totalled, it  was an eventful holiday. Homemade gear passing the test, cars submerged by folk who shouldn't have passed their test, mega hot days, a variety of species and a fine chub to finish, all in the ever yellowing English Countryside.

It All Kicks Off Before Kick Off

 I knew I was going to miss the England World Cup game, for it was my day off and I was eager to explore a stretch of the Avon that was new to me, the anticipation of a backwater twisting and turning, full of glides and features was too much of a draw. At least that's how I imagined it would look. Feeling a bit stressed of late it was a far better option than sitting at home waiting for a 5 o'clock kick off, maybe I could be back for extra time who knows.

The river didn't disappoint although in keeping with the current trend it was gin clear even if I had no previous gauge as to it's height, there was a good flow for the float angler and a few fish visible, that'll do me I thought as I watched a decent perch chase fry as perch do.

I set up in a fast streamy swim that was a random pick from many similar and equally enticing, for I had to start somewhere. On went a 4no4 stick and I started on maggots as one must to get the feel of a new water surely.

Trouble is I got the feel from bleak.

I figured this may be the case so on went the banded pellet, devastating in clear water, but once again nothing aside from the obvious pecks from the bleak horde in this first spot.

The next swim was faster and resulted in a few dace and tiny roach amongst the bleak on maggot, I was off the mark and eager to explore further.

I moved upstream just below a weir that rumbed above the noise of birdsong and spotted my first chub, doing what chub do - Sitting in the most inaccesible chubby looking spot going. Casting my float upstream under the trees into the shallow water yeilded nothing but black shapes, as more chub although visible were well aware of my intrusion, not to mention my poor presentation, I watched as they drifted in and out of view ignoring maggots, that were instead drawing bleak seemingly out of nowhere on the clear gravels.

Turns out I could get down to them just above, well sort of, it was one of those banks I wouldn't get back up if it rained and I was still quite elevated. Naturally there were also willow branches hanging right in the spot the rod tip frequented, a giant reed that protuded straight out of the water plus more greenery upstream for that missed strike or bumped fish, plus a whole bank of it below for the fiesty chub to dash in to, not to mention the long grass in front, then there's that fallen tree and raft. What could possibly go wrong!

Because of this snaggery, a veritable delight for such a fish as a chub, I stepped up my gear, thus stepping out of the swim into the hot meadow and changing to 4,4lb mainline and 4lb hooklength. Being a one rod angler makes roving easy but changing set ups more work, although it's amazing how quickly one can completely set up again especially when the first chub is calling.

Feeding pellets saw the black shapes moving from under the raft, were they taking the bait or was my set up now too visible? I knew going finer would be suicidal so I was happy to see those big ol' white lips come up in the water and take a pellet, the same pellet that was banded to my size18 super specialist, I struck and missed but it wasn't long before the bites took my float down well and the first culprit was landed.

It was hit and hold every time and I was in the zone, pinging my float sideways under the canopy, hitting the same spot, the only spot, each trot through lasting less than five seconds, the chub were feeding well and I was no longer noticing my awkward footing, I also somehow avoided all the snags as more nice chub followed to 4lb 3oz

I picked a sunny spell to stop for a break, moving my stool to a shady tree aside a large wheatfield. It seemed like there was a million damselflies dancing across the barley including the one that landed on my bald head as I cooled off hatless. Butterflies and birdsong, farmers in the distance working, a few fish banked, time for a perfect lunch.

I was tucking into my sarnies as another angler came by. He had already dropped off a large shopping bag full of gear earlier at the weir, in the time it took for my chub tally to go from 1 to 4 he had returned, stumbling along with two rods set up, a large seat and rod bag over his shoulders and a bait station in there somewhere too. As his rods clanked together and straps fell of his shoulder for the umpteenth time he said...

"I really got to think about taking less gear" Having commented about starting at the bottom of the stretch and also falling in, his enthusiasm was undampened by such events.. 

"You're not kidding I replied" my uncouth Southern accent noticeable against his wonderful brummie twang.

As I looked at my ruckbag and stool fondly and was about to point out the merits of such gear, when he asked where I was from and in the small world that it is, it turned out that he used to deliver goods to the industrial estate near where I live.

"You come all the way here for a day?" Was his question along those lines and whilst I could catch as much closer to home and whilst I also had the journey from hell  (traffic, closed roads, weird sat nav detours) I simply replied " I love it up here" In hindsight I wish I just pointed and said "look around you, that's why"

So it was we excanged our farewells and both got back to fishing.

The chub continued to oblige and this is the last mat pic I promise.

I ended up not losing any chub somehow and also losing no gear either. By now the skies were turning fairer and it was more sun than cloud, the clear water even clearer and the chub less visible. Except this one which was the 9th.

With the swim hammered and almost 30lb of chub caught I moved happy to explore and catch whatever. A dabble in the weir was a must so I pitched up above matey and stared into the swirling abyss of deep water looking at rocks and the odd bit of weed that rose from a good 10 feet deep at least, the black depths of the unknown much further down.

Nothing came to my pellet trotting skills aside from a plucky dace. A switch to maggots saw bleak city, these were only countered by switching to a heavier float and dropping it at the edge and feeding elsewhere. It worked though as it was a good 4-5ft by the rock near my feet and I picked up a dozen hard fighting perch, just liftable. If was fun to sit on a rock catching stripeys, my mat now dry and used as a cushion.

It was now time to explore dowstream, naturally I tried for another chub in that hole, seemed rude not to, besides it would take me to a nice even 10 chevins. 

So it was that my precision of the morning had now reversed, I hooked a chub, the smallest of the day under 2lbs that somehow beat me in those reeds,  after which I tangle with that willow, then of course hook the lone rush, fishing like a total novice. I moved on before I lost any gear quitting that spot whilst I was still ahead.

Working my way dowstream with my waders wet on the inside from sweat (a proper summer roving tradition) I settled in a shady spot where trotting pellet yielded a few more nice chub taking the tally to 14 plus a few more big dace. There were no good roach on pellet which was strange as I did see one ghost by but I was more than happy with my day given the conditions were far from perfect.

I was about to pack up, thinking I can listen to the football on the way home when I heard all manner of commotion coming towards me from upstream. Louder the sound of clapping and splashing came although it seemed to take ages. Something was kicking off and I knew it was about to plough through my swim so out came the phone to film....

They continued until out of earshot the video not doing it justice, the two males were fighting and these were big old cobs, their necks muscular and cortorted, gripping each other's wings as they thrashed, showering me with a cooling spray, all whilst the pen and cygnets circled rather too close.  

The aftemath saw bow waves like a boat had been through, plus a steady stream of white feathers. Fantastic to see and the harsh reality of nature, not the sack fed urban swans you see in town centres, what a scrap.

I got back to the car in time for the football to kick off after which England went a goal down to Dr Congo, getting home just in time (the roads were so empty) to see us turn it around 2-1. Which will be pertinent when we lift the world cup and I remember where I was.

If only, never mind Dr Congo, I was the true winner thanks to Dr Avon.