Two Good Trips Despite Everything

 Trip No 1 - Gravel Pit Roaching Gone Wrong (in a good way)

It's hot, it's my day off so chilling under a tree is once again the remit for another hot summer's day, figuring I'd use the confidence from the rudd trip last time out to get roach on the pit, bigger than the 1lb 7oz beauty I had in the spring, if they were as big as those rudd last time out it would be awesome. 

I park up and straight away an overnighter comes out and chats, as I must have been his first encounter in the daylight world, he was lamenting that he thought he had the biggest tench on the pit before a small dark humpbacked horrible looking carp appeared to ruin his night. 

And there was me after a good roach or anything that warranted a net I chuckled to myself, bidding him farewell.

Oh yes bread on the drop that was the tactic fresh from the previous rudd success, instead of a matchstick this time a pole float with the bread cocking it. This would thwart the big roach after a bit of feeding and picking off the smaller samples, I would get my first stillwater 'two' mind you a a tench or a few bream would do, you know, just fishing for whatever.

When will I ever learn?

After an hour of getting battered by small roach and rudd that could be seen everywhere I contemplated my next move. It was almost like the fish were a lot smaller here than in the spring, certainly the little ones were active and thwarting my plans, I was struggling for inspiration .

Until it appeared before me. I'm all for being stealthy and quiet when I fish, and my reward? A carp sitting in a foot of water below my feet, literally below my feet on a gravel pit.

The instincts kick in, my bread is carefully laid in front of its nose, pole float flat on the surface. Something I've done many a time on smaller pools (I swear we don't breath during these moments though) Gulp the bread is gone!

My 'rudd gear' is tested as is my skills as that first run is coaxed into waters deep.

I'm glad none of the carpers are viewing me especially the 'geezers' I've talked to who insist anything other then 15lb line ends in a snag. My first carp from this pit was played well after a few runs and a bit of patience, landed in good time, unhooked on a mat, all on 4lb line, photo isn't great but it's all good fun. 

I moved around after figuring the swim is dead, also following what shade was on offer to another spot, thinking I could lower the bread into the margins without being stripped by the ravenous hordes, pick off a few roach etc.

I'd love to say I stealthily caught another but upon lifting the float to recast resistance was on, much so that it had to be foul hooked surely, but no, there's another good carp hooked fair and square.

It was only the 'runt' that the night angler had encountered, it had to be surely, given my gear subdued this one with ease, plus It was dark and humped albeit a fair way round the pit. I saw it as a nice fish. Yes it was ugly but hey who are we to judge?

I only had a few roach and small bream after but my first pit carp were a pleasant surprise.

Trip No2 Silly Season on The Avon.

I was seeking some running water, any river that moved right now would do, so I was off to the Warwickshire Avon with the wife at the weekend. I would fish the weir area and she can go into town after lunch, after watching me get a few fish, simples, once again what could possibly go wrong?

On arrival the swim I wanted was empty which was a good start having never fished here before, I knew this was a rare weekend when there was no match on this popular stretch, but was still surprised given there were cars already here. In the weir itself was a photographer, patiently focused on a branch sticking out of the rocks, no doubt waiting for a flash of halcyon blue to appear. The other anglers were further downstream.

I Settled next spot below the photographer in shallows that deepened off, I was just setting up when a load of canoeists enter from the opposite bank, plough right through the shallows and potter in the weir, fortunately they drifted off downstream but it signaled it was going to be one of those days for sure.

Starting on pellet I see little action which is rare on this river, but after a switch to maggots I'm plagued by bits, getting a decent dace and a perch. The gravels were wonderfully clean compared to the Severn a few weeks back, the weed looked edible, the water drinkable, neither of which I'd advise of course.

The small dace were hitting the maggots on the surface and whilst getting bites and seeing small fish everywhere is great, I'm not sure I had the energy to battle through them today. 

A quick dabble back on the pellet saw a roach, which soon turned into a pike, a common theme. I'm not sure I've hooked or landed as many pike as this season although its almost inevitable on this river. Cue an action shot by the missus who's obsessed by pike. 

P.S. This is how NOT to look good playing a fish.

In my defence I was playing it in as quick as possible trying to get it going upstream rather than down, whilst walking it to the net, hooked as ever in the scissors, my robin red still attached, sticking out like a red wart, the pike glided across the shallows, my little size 18 barbless holding firm. The fish was unhooked and returned within five seconds much to the bemusement of the pike fan club waiting patiently with her camera. I explained the pike situation to her and took some shots after return instead.

The jack pike sat effortlessly in the shallows whilst we had our lunch before disappearing whilst I was mid bite of an apple. I hadn't really got going with the fishing but was relaxed as we ate together, there was no rush. The missus then went into town and I moved into the weir swim as the photographer had gone. Perhaps my pike disturbance below him was akin to canoeists and he's lamenting my intrusion on a photography blog, who knows. 

The weir had many areas of attack as weirs usually do, with a few channels of white(ish)water and current although it was clearly not its usual level of flow. It was a good spot to take off the boots and dry my socks with both waders seemingly developing leaks, my right one quite a bootful courtesy of a hole at the seam, in keeping with my tackle mishaps this season.

 Concentrating on the tail of the swim I'm into roach straight away on pellet, forgetting I'm drying my socks on the net handle. With the hosiery removed from the makeshift washing line the first of many roach was netted.

Then a couple who weren't exactly youngsters appear downstream where I caught the pike, they walk out mid river fully clothed and just stand there. It wasn't even that hot, yeah I wouldn't want to walk a mile in waders (leak or no leak) but it was a comfortable 26 or 27c and I wasn't expecting to be in a bathing spot today. With them standing just below, the tail of the weir understandably goes dead but I still pick up more roach this time nearer the sill.

Then the couple appear once more, long after I thought they had gone, once again going midriver and staring at a weedbed, no wonder that swim didn't hold any chub. Fortunately the weir did as the first one tore through what current there was, making me think it was a big roach as chub often do, still any chub are welcome on days like these.

Another chub a similar size followed before the best roach of the day, small by pellet standards but still pretty decent. 

I was catching all over the pool but it wasn't surprising the fish weren't in one spot given the intrusions, as yet more boats entered, this time thankfully going straight downstream.

The paddling twosome had now also gone only to be replaced by a bunch of guys on the other bank in a state of undress. They cracked open their beers placing the others in the shallow water to keep cool, one gave me a wave before having a quick swim, man you don't get this in February.

By now the wife had returned and we were both chatting to a friendly local when one of the other blokes opposite goes stark naked changing into his swimming trunks. Thankfully he was facing away but for sure it was a cue to pack up, no ifs just butts. 

Pike, photographers, paddleboarders, paddlers and plonkers couldn't stop me having a decent a decent day's fishing somehow, although I'm amazed I caught anything as it was full on silly season down there.

We stopped off on the way home to go to a pub in Leamington Spa for dinner. Looking off the bridge (as all anglers must) as we crossed the tranquil but stationary River Leam, a kingfisher appeared, which I pointed out to the missus who finally clocked it with her non angler eyes. It then proceeded to hover before taking a small fish and back to its perching spot. The wife said to me in the pub later "That's the longest I've seen one" which surprised me but also made me feel bad for saying "come on lets go" at the time, eager for a chill, chat and a drink.

If you want to see kingfishers all the time just go fishing, we all know that. Just try to find somewhere a little more quiet than I did today.

Bars of Gold in The Middle of Nowhere

 I had never caught a big rudd, sounds weird when I compare it to roach but very few of the waters I have fished hold them to any size. Even my club stillwaters have the bait stripping lunatic tiddlers, with an 8oz fish being a rod bender. Unlike big roach rudd are much harder to find in many rivers, especially in numbers and size. Time to change all that, time to go for some rudd.

It's a sobering thought that I had never targeted rudd in my life despite being the wrong side of 50. This would explain why I'd dragged my wife along on a day trip to the middle of nowhere, to a drain deep in the flatlands, to rudd country.

En route we pass Duxford, you always hope to see a vintage aircraft here. However there was just a random red single prop flying above. I proudly mansplained to wife that its a civilian craft. It then did three loop to loops. I was glad to be proved wrong, looked in the mirror at everone looking ahead at the road, oh why! We just laughed at my folly and took in the show as we trundled along.

Much further on driving down country lanes we criss crossed farmland and flood meadows, on bumpy roads called 'Droves' I think we were in Cambridgeshire although not sure as all direction was out of the window, with the constant right angle turns and undulations of the surface. I had never experienced roads like these, up and down they went despite the flat landscape, like an entrance track to a fishery yet going for miles, scrapemarks on these natural humps from cars grounded, passing points on the dead straight bits, open fields either side with no gates and no hedges, just big sky views. 

We arrived in one piece just about, to the drain, up where I had heard there was some decent rudd.

Crossing over a bridge I spot fish instantly in the gin clear water and do that whispering voice to the wife like they could hear us. Weed was everywhere but the rudd were cruising above it and many were clearly bigger than my lame pb of 14oz set when I was a teenager. It was a glorious sight - The rudd, not me as a teen!

I couldn't wait to set up but whilst doing so the owners of a nearby boat were stirring. The lady opens her window and feeds the ducks with bread. Here we go I thought, only for her to say hello, tell me the good ones are down there and hope I catch a few. This could be a great day I thought if the fish are as friendly as the locals.

They were so I'll cut to the chase....I thought the ducks would be a problem but they weren't. I thought the larger rudd would be hard to tempt but they weren't. As a battle scarred rudd was landed first cast my pb was beaten, minutes later the second graced the net my pb was even more respectable. Then some scale perfect beauties reflected the sun like only rudd can, it was fantastic.

I was being subtle with the gear, using the best float going in these conditions - The humble matchstick. With a favourable wind I was able to ping the bread to the far side lillies no problem, targetting cruising fish at will, if the bait went out of sight the sinking matchstick did its thing and bites were constant with no disturbance, when I needed a surface bait once more the matchstick excelled. I wasn't fishing light either as these fish sure did pull for the weeds but it was super easy and real fun.

The countryside was yellow once more but here's a few of those bars of gold that lit it up further, in no particular order.

I also picked up a couple of nice roach and some small bream but the rudd were the target and I achieved twenty of them in a couple of hours, nearly all netters. With it understandably slowing down a bit I had to wander down the drain to explore but only found overgrown banks and smaller rudd.

We passed a holidaying angler who I put onto my spot as there were still fish there. I expected to see him as we returned half an hour later but he was gone, as were the fish as my bread was eerily untouched this time round, some lads were on the opposite bank and maybe the noise disturbance was too much now, or perhaps I got lucky. Could be different next time for sure but that's fishing.

We stopped off on the way home to a nice pub on the river cam that must have the best name ever. - The Five Miles From Anywhere No Hurry Inn, for a pint and a meal.

We were many miles from home but there was indeed no hurry heading back, it was a great day with friendly folk and ruddy good fishing.