Submarines and Battleships

 I returned to the tiny pond I fished when barely a leaf graced the trees earlier in the year, a water so small you could easily skim a stone in any direction and find land, however this wasn't early spring hoping for bites, today I had bigger fish in mind and hoped for some tench, failing that I would be happy with anything although I only had two baits - pellet and bread, the maggots were left at home much to the dismay of the hordes of ravenous tiny rudd, I had had enough of them from last time.

The pond looked great although not as weedy as I hoped and one pull through with the weed rake signalled no more raking was needed, in fact I didn't even fish the raked swim instead opting for another spot in a tight corner where fish were already bubbling, I'd be a fool not to fish there and I could always move if bubbles showed in the other swim.

I decided on 6lb line on a reel I usually use for mullet on holidays as it was snaggy in my little corner of the pond, a corner so far removed from any mullet fishing that's for sure, lilies one side and trees the other, not forgetting the one I was sat under which gently reminded my rod tip of it's overhang on several occasions. 

Starting on pellet I struck as the float buried amongst the bubbles only to get a couple of rudd, the tench didn't seem to be playing ball and bites were hard to connect with, the rudd were nice ones though and in wonderful condition.

All this time I was distracted by some carp in the corner, now there's only five or six in the whole pond and here they were in front of me like a flotilla of grey battleships, cruising around with a gunmetal sheen in the clear water. On went a larger hook and off came the shot, then out came the bread for I just had to have a crack at them.

They weren't going mad for it like they do on some ponds so I was happy when the smallest one of the group came in and took my piece of bread, more a destroyer then a battleship, I was less happy when it tore line off before destroying me in a snag. I had the clutch set all wrong and It must have come loose somehow when not being used, there was hardly any tension at all and it's no surprise that trying to apply some with your fingers is no substitute for the reel doing it. I should have checked this on set up, it was poor angling and I was angry with myself.

I stopped for lunch before setting up again, a kingfisher beeped as it flew low over the water and a roe deer went by slowly in the woods on a ridge right behind me, although far too concealed for a photo opportunity. By the time I was halfway through my lunch another carp had returned and I quickly tied on a new hook whilst trying to eat an apple, the rest of my lunch could wait as I was getting a second chance.

This fish was larger and harder to tempt and so it was lunch was finished, I waited patiently then the battleship returned, however I was the one all guns blazing this time and I wasn't messing about although you never know if you have gone too far the other way and set the clutch too tight, anyhow I was about to find out.

The grey shape slurped it down and I didn't give an inch at first as the little corner of the pond erupted, then I let it run a bit whilst keeping it away from snags not wanting to yank it in as I was in control, it still took a little while until I slipped it over the net, no mistake this time, in doing so it looked jet black in the shady water under the tree.

I love the colours of fish in clear water and carp are a great example, the grey gunmetal battleship was more of a rustic oak galleon, even darker perhaps, either way she was a beauty and easily the largest carp I have had from this pond given I have only ever had one here previously.

I chilled for a bit pouring out the last bit of dregs from my flask, soaking up the moment and looking up upon hearing rustling once more to see the roe deer return from it's journey, using exactly the same route through the undergrowth, on the higher ground above me no more than a couple of rod lengths away, it's hind quarters illuminated in the sun as it stopped momentarily before moving on.

Even my stale old coffee tasted good right then at that moment, the collection of events making something great. That's fishing right there in a nutshell, why we do it, why we love it.

After the break I tried once more to get some tench, not helped by the weather which went from cloudy to sunny, not helped either that I'm not the best tench angler and one that is easily distracted by carp, kingfishers and deer. It was in the shady spells when the bubbles arrived but several missed strikes on pellet indicated those rudd were still at play.

I tried some more bread this time on the float to see if I could get some more of the little bars of gold but they were either too quick or too small as my bread danced about in the clear water before even getting to the bottom, then I cast towards the weeds and bang!

The float buried, something took my bread on the drop but it sure wasn't a rudd, it was continuously trying to dive into the weeds, under where the carp previously sunned themselves, if they were battleships this was a submarine, a green one too as I finally saw it was my quarry - The Tench.

It looked a long fish as I battled it to the net through the clear water watching every dive for cover and countering it. It was absolute perfection once again, there wasn't a mark on it's body, I was in awe of the condition of this wild fish, not one scale was out of place and it looked it had been painted and varnished.  I quickly weighed and photographed it and it turned out to be a couple of ounces over my best tench for here, a perfect fighting fit tinca that was another new venue pb for the little pond.

I only caught four fish all day, all of them great looking fish, despite not having the best starts and making a schoolboy error, plus the usual distractions of the wildlife which wasn't too shabby nor were the surroundings. Every now and then I looked up through the gaps in the trees and could see and hear the busiest motorway in Europe, although It barely registered, they can keep their busy road here for I had a busy roe deer. I was engrossed in my own little green corner, the only things that really mattered were Submarines and Battleships.

Some Nice Roach At Last

A couple of trips to my local river saw a mixed bag and two enjoyable days, the first of which I had the place to myself(almost) enjoying a nice mix of fish when I spotted a shoal of small barbel dancing around under the smallest of overhangs, the polaroids revealed every movement when the sun came out as a handful maggots drifted past them untouched, I upped the anti to a handful of pellets and saw enough action to cast my little stick float.

I managed a cheeky 2lb barbel caught on fine line, despite it's size the barbel went like a train and I had to use all my luck getting it in from such a narrow swim. It had recently beaten another angler by the looks and I quickly removed both my hook and someone else's which was tied to much stronger line, it goes to show the harder you pull the harder they pull back. I thought this fish may need resting but no, try as I might it didn't want any of that and stormed off as if to say "Is that all you got" The power to weight ratio of the smaller barbel is something else I thought.

When I said I almost had the place to myself I was of course joined by the local robins, cocky as ever there were three of them, the two adults and a mottled juvenile, in one swim I sat on the deck as one of the adults saw no issue with my flask or rucksack when it comes to getting a good feed.

A few days later I was off to another stretch and was greeted with a high, coloured river that was a stark contrast to last time following some overnight rain. I also saw a mate I hadn't seen for a while,  so I plopped my gear down in a decent spot a few swims above and spent the next half hour catching up with him. I was in no rush and hoped the river would fine down a bit as I wisely proclaimed that it looked too coloured to be trotting pellet.

Of course when you say things like that fishing always proves you wrong, so after starting on maggot and failing to make a dent into the chublet party that was clearly going on in my swim I switched to pellet. Naturally the first fish was a small chub although bigger than the previous ones but at least they were taking pellet and so were the barbel as the float ripped under, turns out it wasn't too coloured, who knew!

A fine start to the day continued with a few more before I went down to chat to my mate and give the swim a rest. He was doing ok on the lead but there was no roach or good chub showing on float, we talked about the roach as he had been on hemp and tare but they didn't want to know, however we both knew they were there, I returned to my swim fed a few pellets and I could just make out a few shapes hitting it dead shallow, this made me dig out the 'stick.'

If you have read my other posts the 'stick' refers to a matchstick and although the river was pushing through I just had to give it a go. Sitting on the deck as usual I was able to fish quite close in and sure enough they were roach and they were up in the water, I had a lovely roach first run through, holding back the 'stick' and letting it drop.

One roach suddenly turned into 'one a cast' for a short period as I had that magical jag jag glide in the fastest bit of water as a pristine redfin spun on the surface each time, they were all netters and I swear I was catching these fish at around 6oz at the start of the season, now they were filling out a bit. The matchstick was working again and this one was a cracker, much bigger than the rest.

The roach switched off as quickly as they had turned on but it was a wonderful hour of redfin action, superfast bites that needed a subtle approach, there's not many better sights in angling than when the sun comes out whilst you have a good roach spin on the surface, that splash of orange fins and platinum silver breaking the sun's reflection can light up water of any colour.

I caught a couple more barbel on the matchstick before changing back to float as paddlers clouded the water upstream even more. This was a cue to pack up so I bade farewell to my mate who was still catching and I did so reflecting on a nice day's fishing, whilst at the same time wondering if the parents of the children paddling know there's two sewage works just upstream.

This river is healthy, for now and that mucky colour will drop out, sadly you can't say this of many rivers around the country at the moment. Hopefully all those fish will continue to grow and prosper and continue to intrigue us anglers.

A Day On The Severn In Pictures

 Friday saw a day trip to a windy River Severn, the river was a good level and was a touch clearer than last time but still had that brown tinge and there looks like being no weed growing again this year. 

Whilst I was setting up the wind didn't seem too bad and the flow looked perfect, the three hours of traffic jams seemed to be a distant memory already.

Naturally by the time I was fishing it was blowing a hoolie, right up the river.

It was good to see and hear the trains back, it just didn't seem right when they weren't running the other year - Choo choo!

All the canoes that went by were quiet, friendly and polite as I caught mainly dace and a few small chub out in the middle.

Maybe choosing the most open spot on the river wasn't the best idea, at times gusts of wind almost blew me over but It felt great just being out there, trotting down the river.

The sheep weren't daft in the meadow downstream, finding shelter from the wind and the sun which was now blazing.

As if to remind you what the wind can do. I hope no one was going over the stile when this tree went down.

When the missus returned from taking photos of sheep, stiles, steam trains and the silly so and so standing in the Severn we moved spots to get out of the wind a little. Naturally I got back in the water catching more dace until...

I was into something bigger, getting rid of the last of the maggots. It was almost the last run through of the day so I didn't wan't to lose it, I knew exactly what it was so played it gently to start with.

Then I gave it some stick to stop it going downstream.

I landed the fish just before it deepens having waded down river playing it, it was a fun way to finish the day.

I love pike, such beautiful, exciting fish and I'll never moan when they gatecrash the party no matter what size they are.

Once again the river was hard, trotting pellets didn't work again and dace were hammering everything, even big bunches of maggots. The roach were not around for me in spots that used to be prolific so I hope the weed returns at some point in the next few years. As we got back to the car in the evening sun the landing net had already dried out in the relentless wind but at least it got wet in the end courtesy of the pike, which turned up almost as if to show the dace they can't have all their own way.

Off we went to Bewdley to get fish and chips before the long drive home.

They're Taking My Lunch

I Had a couple of trips to the club pond this week, what with the rivers low and the school holidays on I just wanted somewhere quiet to chill for a bit, even resisting the urge to fish bread on the top. Last time I was surface fishing I chatted to another angler who was fishing prawn for perch and getting a few too, I was quite jealous so decided to have a crack myself with the little pink crustaceans.

To cut a short story even shorter I failed miserably, despite fishing the same spot in the same way. Trying to read the swim I would say that the carp were pushing out the perch this time as any stripey action was spasmodic between carp showing up. That's fishing though and the two carp I caught were more than welcome.

A few days later I'm down there again this time armed with maggots as I knew I would catch loads, whether I would get through the roach was another matter and sure enough they were dipping my pole float and taking off with my single maggot with abandon, the fact that I caught quite a lot of perch this time was not lost on the ironymeter although they were small and nothing really bent the rod well until a crucian/goldfish showed up like a bar of gold in the sunshine, it was a clonker too, a real beauty.

In the following half hour I caught a nice mix of all the species but it was mainly roach, small perch and rudd and they were starting to boil on the surface for the feed. It was time for a break.

I stopped for lunch enjoying the sun thinking i'd give it another half hour after and a small robin landed on my lunch box infront of me, took some maggots and a few crumbs of my crisps, shame they weren't prawn cocktail as it could have almost been surf n turf, but I'd had enough of prawns by now.

The robin left as the local trouble showed up, approaching me whilst tilting his head as he walked right over my gear, glazed black eyes blinking with a roll of film in a lazy manner, I threw some maggots at him and he was slow to react unlike the robin who would have spotted each and every one. He took a few before I tried hand feeding, it worked on a robin on the canal earlier in the season but I was thinking how this chap had a much bigger beak. I was glad he didn't take up the offer.

Mr Magpie was more interested in what I was eating and soon snaffled the piece of ham I threw down from the corner of my sandwich, this was followed up by a bit of lettuce then the corner of the bread, this must be fine dining compared to maggots, even the bread was wholemeal, so healthy too, the magpie ate well although he struggled a bit with the bread, so I chucked the other corner into the margins of the lake.

Slurp, Slurp, Slurp.

As I tucked into the rest of my lunch, it was interrupted by that unmistakable sound as a carp was taking the crusty corner I just threw in complete with mayo, the rest on my fingers which I quickly wiped down. I had the corners of the other sandwich left in the lunch box, I just couldn't resist it could I?

I knew they would soon drift away and knowing I only had a few bits of the worlds worst bread (they were wholemeal crusts covered in mayo!) I removed my shot and attempted to hook a bit of crust on my size 18 barbless. I had no time to change hook or was too lazy and I think it was the latter as I wasn't worried If it didn't work, I knew I could get fish off the top if I wanted to come down armed with the white stuff for a proper session, no this was more just a bit of impromptu fun.

What an achievement it was - hooking the bread I mean. If you have even tried hooking floating crust on a size 18 you'll know how hard it is, but somehow it stayed on, that was until something small started hitting it and it came off, all that effort and it's dismantled by a 3oz rudd - I had to laugh.

I tried again this time with the very last bit of my lunch.

Plop! 

Right in front of the carp's nose, I remember the line looking like gossamer from the bread to the pole float laying there flat on the surface, far finer than what I would use in a floater session, this could be interesting I thought.

The carp wolfed it down my crust, it was recycling at it's finest, my line straightened and I'm pretty sure Mr Magpie flew off making a noise behind me somewhere as I sprung into action from the deck, joints cracking as I uncrossed my legs. I was thinking this is fun at the same time as thinking I'm too old to be sitting like this fishing like a kid. It was fun though and after a hectic scrap a carp was in the net to finish the day off nicely. 

You're never too old to be fishing like a kid I concluded.

It wasn't the biggest, nor the prettiest of fish and it had a small mouth so maybe using size 18s with floating baits is the way to go, I'm only joking of course but make sure you eat your lunch, because if you don't everything else will.

Be sure to save those crusts though.

Tales From The 100 - No 3 The River Colne

  This is part of a series of short stories recollecting some of my trips around the country fishing 100 rivers, some were good, some brilliant and some just bonkers, there was always something going on. So when things are quiet I'll cast the mind back in no particular order and remember a few of these adventures.

No.3 The River Colne

I must admit it was a long time ago when I first fished the Colne, matter of fact it was only the third river I had fished and there were never any thoughts of fishing 100 rivers back then in the 80's and early 90's, even so it's worth recalling a special trip when my fishing changed forever and some memories that will forever hold The River Colne in a special place.

Both dad and I had only just got the float bug after watching a stick angler take the Gade apart one day so we were looking for new places to trial our newly learned float skills. We found a free stretch of the Colne that flowed through an industrial estate on the edge of Uxbridge, a much bigger river than the Gade. There were busy bits at either end near the parking but in between it was a jungle, it was mostly in these swims where we caught a mix of chub and silvers in the first season. "You won't get many barbel on float" or "not on that gear" was what most people used to say back then and as a teenager I kind of believed them.

Until one day, the following season.....

It was my day off so I drove down there in the passion wagon(It never saw any passion but saw plenty of fishing)happy to catch whatever as usual, the season was only a few weeks old so there was no path but undaunted I made my way through, waders were handy for this but everything else got scratched or stung by the nettles and brambles seemingly taking their turn to either catch me, or my line as I roved along. Despite this I was happily catching a few chub, dace and perch here and there. Before getting back to the car I stopped off on a swim I had passed on the way up thinking it wouldn't be much good but still hoped for a dace or two.

To be honest I could barely see this swim when I went past earlier but on the way back I noticed I could just get in the water's edge, there was a beautiful willow which overhung the water and collected the greenest bed of ranunculus in a perfect raft, one which I could touch with the rod tip. I had just enough room to trot the float against this raft and down the near side to where it shallowed downstream, however three quarters of the swim was unfishable due to the dark overhang of the mighty tree.

The float bumped against the raft and bobbled along it before disappearing and a strong fish was on first cast, I thought it was strange that a chub hadn't gone for the roots opposite or the weed beds above the tree as it held station in dark water under the raft. I learned quickly that sidestrain halved any fight duration and despite fishing just 3lb 2oz mainline and 2lb 12oz Drennan Double Strength hooklength (remember that) I was soon slipping the net under a lovely barbel.

I was in a dreamworld as the next run through the same thing happened, my old Sundridge Helical Graphite match rod seemed to creak, it's stiff action not really ideal for such fish but the enthusiasm and the accompanying quick reflexes of youth countered the fishes lunges as I had another barbel. I fish slightly heavier for barbel now, however I can't remember any of these fish clutch screaming away and everything was under control, maybe I was a better angler when younger? Every fish was 100% concentration and nothing was ever taken for granted.

I went on to get 8 pristine fish in a short spell losing none, I packed up with them still feeding as mum would kill me if I was late for dinner, I think I was only 17 or 18 so I still feared the wrath of mum, especially if she was on the sherry, which whilst cooking she usually was, although It was always just the one of course.

I had busted the myth that you don't get many barbel on float so naturally a few days later I returned with dad.

Remember these were the days before digital cameras so my film from last time was in the hands of the chemists awaiting development (ask your parents kids) So whilst I know Dad believed me I'm not sure he really believed he would catch if that makes sense, so it was that after half an hour in the swim he had caught nothing and was making his way downstream. I was so eager to have a go, sometimes the confidence and cockyness of youth is an unstoppable force and I was soon calling out to dad.

"Got one Dad!" If ever there is a phrase that sums up fishing it's those three words, the excitement, the anticipation, the knowledge that your dad was running back up the river see it.

 Then the sight of a beautiful barbel resting in the net at the waters edge once more.

Now dad was to have a go again and I think I told him I'm not fishing the swim until he gets one, no pressure dad, but he needn't have worried as it didn't take long before I was slipping the net under his first float caught barbel. Get in!

You can make out the raft in the background of this photo behind a happy dad. I'm not sure why I didn't take any photos of the swim, maybe it was because back then we only had 24 shots on the film and I had to use them sparingly.

Dad was using an old Wilson Avon being more sensible than me with my match rod, although he lost the tip on a branch a few weeks back, he continued to use it claiming it had more power as a result and it was bending well with another fish late on. I can still see his tipless rod bending with surges of a big barbel, dad had to be awkward but the fish was soon in the net.

The record back then was still 14lb and a double figure fish was a monster so after slipping the net under the biggest of the day I went for the scales as dad had caught a beauty, a lovely dark fish that went 9lb dead on, I can't remember if we did high fives, hugs or whatever the protocol was back then as we rested this fish.

I also can't remember how many fish we had that day but it was a hell of a lot, we took turns to fish whilst the other watched and it didn't take long each time, the fish were stunners and even after the great day the time before I was stunned. I can only imagine what dad was thinking, it was a red letter day without doubt.

That season and the following we went on to get many barbel from that stretch even finding another good swim further up that for some reason dad never got on with but I did ok in, a fast run under a tree before running up against an old bridge stanchion. All the time leaving the busy sections to others. 

I'm sure our spots were fished every now and then but on the whole they were pretty secret until one year the EA decided in its wisdom that the tree had collected too much of a raft, we turned up one day to find the mighty willow gone, the swim wide open and full of woodchip.

My heart sank. 

The barbel were gone too.

To make things worse the upstream spot I liked had a tree come down in a storm deflecting the flow away from the hole and the barbel were gone there too, in both cases many had moved to areas out of bounds and the river seemed totally different, after a few seasons we never fished the stretch again and I don't think it's even free anymore. But the wealth of memories left behind will last a life time

"I got one dad!"

"I'm in son!"

The words of those two seasons will ring true forever for a teenager learning about fishing with his old man, much better than "You wont get many on float"

For you can and when you share that with someone it's even more special.

It turns out Boots did ok with the photos, I didn't get anyone else's holiday photos (this time) nor were any merged with ghostly figures in an over exposure accident, surprisingly they were also free from dads blurry thumb on each pic, I think we take uploading and printing out as as many photos as we like for granted. If anyone says the old ways are best tell them they weren't always.

Beaten By A Big Brown Severn

 I watched the river level site almost religiously prior to an overnight stay near the River Severn, It was finally dropping but deep down I knew not quick enough. So it was we arrived at a coloured river, following the heavy summer downpours a few days ago. I'd love to say it looked good enough to drink but I'm not that keen on hot chocolate, although I believed in miracles as the drink's namesakes once sang.

Being a one trick pony is not always the best trait when faced with fast coloured water and my method of choice float fishing was not the best option but hey, It's what I like doing. Also the deadly tactic of trotting pellet was never going to work this time, I took them nonetheless hoping for a touch of clarity from a dropping river but all the pellets did was weigh down my rucksack unused, I know when there's a chance of them working and when there was none and this was the latter. Good old fashioned maggot was to be the bait.

The first afternoon was at Stanley, there wasn't any gravels to wade on to and the river despite dropping a touch was still much too high, it wasn't even great to trot maggots but I did just that and picked up a few small fish trotting a near side slack, not even fast coloured water seems stop those small dace and bleak smashing the bait here and single maggot was getting hammered even on a heavy float with bulk shotting. I did start on a big bunch on a large hook which bought a nice perch and a welcome bend in the rod, but that was as good as it got as I was scratching for bits from then on.

A few more fish followed however the small stuff were a nuisance riding the float up, swirling on the surface taking all the loosefeed. The evening came and the sheep made funny noises, sand martins skimmed the water and I packed up to take the missus to the chippy, as we sat there eating by the river in Bridgnorth it looked lower and clearer, at least it seemed that way although I was tired and I think it was more wishful thinking.

The Severn seemed to have dropped a little more as we had a coffee by the river in Bewdley the next day, but it still had a lot of colour with a brown which seemed to turn more red each time the sun emerged. We headed to Arley as I wanted a crack at the barbel there in the fast shallow runs.

Plans don't always come together as every swim was taken, every single one, It was hot in the sun walking down the meadow in my waders and even hotter still walking back. We settled on the only available spot left ( I hesitate to refer it as a swim) near the footbridge but it meant scratching for bits on a nearside slack. I was just grateful to be wetting a line and sitting down at this point.

The missus read her book whilst I once again caught a mix of bits including another decent perch, there were lots of fry in the margins which seemed to face one way then the other as my nearside slack changed directions and was anything but steady. After a few hours I called it a day and as we headed back thoughts went through my mind of the great days I have had down there.

The river had beaten me this time though, It goes to show a good day isn't guaranteed, but it was still enjoyable. It was quite cathartic working out what I could have done better, booking the trip a week later would have been a good idea but that's hindsight (as I write this the river has dropped back to normal). Fishing wise I know I could have put a lead out but that's not really my style, I also could have gone to the Teme or perhaps the Avon on the way back but deep down wanted whatever challenge the Severn was to throw at me.

Well I got a challenge and the Severn chewed me up and spat me out, the old girl threw a strop to remind me those red letter days of the past were granted at her behest.

Well good on her.

Trotting Pellet For Chub - Warwickshire Avon Magic

I had recently fished both tiny and large rivers so I fancied a bit of middle for diddle medium size piscary, so I popped down to the Avon just to catch whatever came along, although when I say 'popped' it took me two hours courtesy of roadworks for HS2, no doubt that will be a recurring theme over the next few years. I was undaunted though as I was fishing a new stretch of the Warwickshire Avon in the green rolling hills and couldn't wait to get started. I had a pint of maggots, a pint of pellets and a whole heap of excitement and anticipation. Gear wise it was a one rod, rucksack and stool job as usual.

A stool job doesn't sound good does it? Basically I was travelling light with the usual gear.

I started at a spot below a fantastic old fashioned boulder weir, the rumble of water a stark contrast to the ever so silent peace and tranquility of the walk from the car. Naturally I started on maggot happy to catch anything but after a dozen of the world's smallest dace, bleak and minnow I realized this may not be the best approach here.

I could see gudgeon dancing about in the clear water at my feet and there's a wise old native American saying that if you can see the spots on gudgeon flanks then the water is clear enough for pellet to work well. I emptied the maggots out of my bait bib, wiped off all the maize with a towel and tipped in a pint of 4mm and 6mm pellet and banded a 6mm on a size 18 barbless, I was going all in, pellet attack!

Ok I made up that 'wise' saying about the gudgeon but it does usually ring true, however native americans prefer traditional methods and reckon pellet is not apache on other baits.

It was an awkward swim requiring a decent cast of the stick float and a catapult for feeding so I fed out a small pouch of pellet, waited then fed another, I then cast into the flow and the first bite came instantly, often this approach picks out small chub then the roach and larger chub will follow and sometimes barbel if they are about, however you can also get nothing so I was happy with a nice coloured chub to kick things off.

Another almost identical chub followed by another slightly larger, things were looking good and it sure beat catching minnow sized dace.

Then a couple of good chub of around 3lb put a bend in the rod and I had that magic feeling of knowing it's working and every fish would be a netter.

When pellet works it works well and every strike was met with solid resistance. I expected some roach but it was currently all chub, nothing else was getting a look in but I didn't mind, you can't fish rivers and not love chub.

It was a purple patch of a fish almost every trot through and they were getting bigger and at times I thought they were barbel as they ploughed into the middle of the river and held station, I decided to weigh one and it went 4lb 6oz and would probably be a 'five' when it fills out a bit.

I had to stop for a bite to eat as it was quite tiring fishing, but I kept feeding whilst I munched away, the sun came out in patches but the weather had on the whole been perfect at around 19c and cloudy, a little bit of sun wasn't going to ruin things after a good morning. I watched as my gudgeon shoal was joined by the odd tiny chublet and dace in the shallows some of which were attacking the pellets that escaped when loading the catty.

The sun did make fishing harder, illuminating the weed I previously didn't know was there, I knew it would slow things down but I still managed to winkle out another chub, the bonus of the bright weather is it really brings out the colour of the fish.

Usually the roach feed well on pellet in the sun but I had none today, perhaps there was a pike about as a few fish were jumping out there and all the chub seemed to be a good size. During the short sunny spells I chilled out and looked down once more at the gudgeon in the shallows, they were now accompanied by a tiny perch and a few small roach which ghosted through.

When the cloud came back so did the fish although it was typical pellet fishing now with not many bites but when there were the float went under in exactly the same spot each time, just below a small patch of weed where I had to hold the float back to go over it, getting the float in the sweet spot each time was hard in the flow but worth it especially as some of the later fish were in almost perfect condition like this one.

There was still time for the largest fish of the day at 4lb 8oz, a solid fish that really felt heavy in the current and took some playing as a moorhen and it's fluffy black chick decided that was a good time to cross underneath. Once again it was a fish that will fill out a bit more but to catch one this size in such wonderful condition was a real bonus.

I finished the day with 16 good chub, most of which were in really fine condition much like the fishery which was spotless and beautiful, I only fished for five hours and some of that was on maggot and a lot of the time I was taking breaks and soaking up what was a wonderful day, something I've been trying to do more of since starting this blog. 

There was the odd comedy cast, but I succeeded in not hooking any of the reeds which was a result as they looked ever so unforgiving. There was also quite a few streaky catapult moments but lets not dwell on those eh! If you have read any of my other posts you'll know my catapult skills are... well lets just say I grew up fishing rivers you can jump across so go figure.

I suppose there must have been 40lb of chub but lets not forget the 4oz of dace too, although that may be pushing it as they really were tiny. How I didn't lose a single chub was more down to good fortune than anything else as quite a few crashed into the reeds, with clutch screaming runs and the rod bent double, only to be coaxed out each time, but sometimes you just get lucky.

I was lucky, not just with the fish, but the scenery and the weather too - Everything was just perfect on The Warwickshire Avon today.