Divine Intervention

That unfamiliar stretch of flowing water after a slow start and many short evening forays, is now finally revealing itself. The lack of catches has meant most anglers who flirted earlier in the season, have moved on to more productive venues in search of bites and left the banks undisturbed. Which I can completely understand and observe season after season. Unfortunately the Loddon can be a cruel and unpredictable mistress, playing with your mind, placing doubts and then fuelling those same doubts. Until you can withstand it no more and seek sanctuary in a more forgiving place. Through sheer stupidity or stubbornness I have resisted the temptation, believing only time will tell, whether I have made an error of judgement or whether fruitful pickings are just around the corner.

With every cast to a new area, a subconscious picture is built of the river bed, through the masses of unappealing cabbages and floating streamer.  Questioning whether it holds barbel and the period of time they pass through, during the hours of darkness. This will be only be revealed with time; hours of watching, feeling and listening, and not off the back of others success, which regretfully I see all too often these days. What pleasure can be gained I do not understand? Catch at all costs goes against my love of angling, as there's so much more fulfilment to be had, when all your own hard work pays off.  

I'm not personally religious, but if ever there was a God watching over me, then August was the month. By all accounts that God, in what ever form it took, had aligned the Heavens and rewarded my grafting.  Maybe it was divine intervention or purely good judgement? Whatever the reason it would be be my best ever period, on a river sadly in decline.

You might recall our summer ended once the month of August was upon us, with dropping temperatures, low pressure and consistent showers more typical to October.  Having concentrated my efforts on the quiet middle reaches of this venue, with only three good sized barbel landed by the end of July.  I made the decision to move downstream to a couple of areas I'd been watching. One of which had seen one or two anglers, due to it's appeal of overhanging willows and visible gravel beds.  I chose the other area initially, which was more of a challenge due to it's canopy in the form of thick streamer weed and tall swaying bull rushes.  I felt barbel would travel though, rather than be resident due to it's open feel, with rafts of fallen trees both to my right and left, but further enough away not to pose a risk should my bait be picked up.

As often happens after a few hours of inactivity, the doubts start creeping in as to whether the bait is caught up in weed, hung up in a tree or even bitten off by a chub.  I fight with these demons regularly and on this occasion the feeling was no different, as I fought the urge not to disturb the swim by recasting.

A few minutes before packing up, my fears were diminished, as the bait was taken, developing fast into the all familiar arching of the rod tip until the bait-runner relieved the tension.  The usual dogged tussle ensued, realising I was playing a nice double, but careful not to bully her due to the heavy weed.  After a couple close calls she was safely landed.

A couple of days passed before the river called again, and upon this occasion the draw of the other swim which I aptly named the 'slope' due to it's steep sloping bank, was too much to resist.  The slope had seen my small bait offering over the course of the week and was waiting for me.

Two rod were quickly assembled in the gloom and cast on different lines.  One two thirds across upstream into a gap where there was an opening in the cabbages.  The second downstream tight to the nearside bank cover and protruding opposite bank willow, which looked the most likely out of the two of where I thought the bite would materialise.

A short while later but distracted, the zip of the bait-runner alerted me that something had picked up the bait on my upstream rod and was tearing off at a rate of knots.  Quickly I made a grab for the handle and held on while the powerful fish dived for an upstream snag.  Cupping the spool I slowed the run which has its risks, but upon this occasion proved decisive, as it turned.  Knowing the hook hold was firm I became the bully and slipped a stunning barbel safely into the net, but not before a few further powerful drives to escape .  I have to say this was the shortest, but fattest near fourteen pounder I've captured to date,and a show off for the camera.

With my spirits high and the evening still in it's infancy, I resisted my instinct to move to the other swim.  I even used the 'called a friend' trick, who with out hesitation told me straight like he always does. I quote "You know me mate, I'm a lazy angler".  Of course I listen, as he is a more wiser angler than I, and preceded to convince myself that sometimes I just like to sit and watch, of which I do quite regularly.  I'd fooled probably one of the largest barbel in the stretch and was content to flick my bait out again and play the waiting game.

No sooner had my rig and irresistible offering hit the same spot, the lead lifted which was evident by the sharp nod on the illuminated rod tip. Upon the second nod a second later I lifted into the bite, and started to apply pressure.  The fish knew it was hooked at that point and predictably bolted for freedom pulling line from the tight clutch with ease.  The swim was tight so bullying tactics were applied again for the benefit of both me and the barbel.  Within no more than a minute, with properly balanced tackle, the tug of war turned in my favour and long lean twelve and half pound barbel was safely resting.

After that frantic but exciting hour I was more than content to just sip my coffee and sit for the rest of the evening; listening to the wildlife, replaying the captures in my mind, and thinking how lucky I was to be an angler.

Low pressure dominated our weather the following couple of weeks.  I needed no invitation to seize the opportunity, and was duly rewarded with a further seven good barbel, including a recapture of the near fourteen.

August 2014 was an unusual month on the gentleman's river, but a happy one.

Sweet Fifteens

Those who knew me back in 2011 would have observed my obsession with barbel fishing.  It got under my skin, with every free moment either fishing or thinking about it.  Still to this day the barbel dominates my angling, but to a lesser degree thankfully.  I now know it's important to strike a balance and concentrate on other species during the the long season, which is now dictated by the weather conditions and more importantly what's happening at home and at work.

I've been a member of my club for a relatively short time compared with the majority of members, but learnt so much during my journey over the past six years. Mainly due to making some very good friends, who have unselfishly shared their knowledge in water-craft, which I am indebted to. Time spent on our venues, most of them blank ones in my first season, also helped me sort those pieces of the complicated jigsaw. To build a picture of the river contours and possible holding areas, to target the resident specimen barbel.  This to me is part and parcel of the enjoyment of specimen angling, without which we wouldn't reach our goals and enjoy the success.

Prior to spending a couple of enjoyable and equally frustrating seasons learning the stream with reasonable success through 2009/10.  A good friend of mine Ian Grant landed a very large barbel weighing over 16lb, which I was lucky enough to witness and photograph.  It was a stunning specimen and rather a good photo on my cheap digital camera I have to say. We both knew of it's existence, however we had an understanding that it wouldn't be until the next season, before my opportunity would come to target this specimen.

The year 2011 was my cue to start my campaign on the stream and chase that scale perfect sixteen.  Late September after finding two swims which were very rarely fished, both containing deep holes and plenty of cover. I started to trickle a dozen free offerings into each clear spot I’d identified, after doing my homework with the lead. This ritual was priority before every fishing opportunity, but deliberately choosing not to fish the swims. My plan was to trickle the bait in to get the big barbel to dominate in the swims. I’d hoped to fish on Saturday 8th October, however upon arriving at the venue, to my surprise, both swims were being fished. Maybe one of the anglers would catch the fish I was after, but that’s fishing. Obviously, when you’re baiting in this way there is always a risk an unknowing angler will happen to fish a swim you have prepared. To my mind if there are fish in that area the chances of that angler catching are very high, even though the bait being used is not the same. They do not get hooked on one bait, although I've learnt that the quality bait will always have the edge. I visited again on Sunday 9th October. Both were vacant, so I trickled half dozen free offerings into my spots, not knowing how much bait the previous anglers had put in.  Deciding not to fish these swims to allow them to rest and went on to try my luck elsewhere on the river.

Monday 10th October after a day from hell at my place of work I arrived at home.  Helping with the cooking and my three children, I finally managed to slope off to the river about 19:30hrs. Upon arrival at the gate in the dark I was almost blown over by the strong south westerly, but the air temperature felt mild and with total cloud cover. Feeling confident, as the conditions were perfect, my gear was unpacked and I headed for my first swim, being careful to be as quiet as possible. Hastily both rods were assembled, but upon inspection one of the rigs was bad, as the barbel caught the night before had turned the point over on my hook. Whilst I tied another rig I threw half a dozen free offerings into each spot with a ball of paste. Ten minutes later my rigs and hook baits were ready, pasted up with a stringer of six very soft baits on each, both cast my upstream and downstream spots. This I did accurately and without a splash by lowering them in carefully. I then settled down in my chair and enjoyed a flask of tea. It isn't often I fall asleep, but I have to admit within five minutes of finishing my cuppa and the drama's of the busy day, I was in the land of nod. I awoke with a jolt to the sound of my bait runner zipping away. I always have my rods clamped down and the bait runner on very stiff. Annoyed with myself that I’d fallen asleep, I quickly became focused and realised I couldn't see the isotopes on my downstream rod.

 I quickly made a grab for the handle and lifted into the fish which instantly felt heavy. Oh my! I thought. I’d only been here for a short time and I was into a very big barbel. The fish lunged and took some more line, one foot, two feet, so I slowly applied some pressure, then again my drag screamed as the fish headed for a known snag. I hastily closed my hand around the spool to stop the run, before it had taken too much line. To my relief the fish started to tire and soon after came to the surface.  I caught a glimmer of pale gold via the beam of the artificial light and knew straight away I was into a large double. Slowly I inched the barbel ever closer, and finally over the rim of the awaiting landing net. Seated and reflecting I thought to myself, this is the fish? It must be!  While I rested her, I gathered my thoughts and followed my usual routine of laying the matt and zeroing the scales. After a good long rest I lifted her and felt the weight I'd only experienced during my pike fishing days.  She was instantly recognisable and the same barbel I photographed the season before.

 Into the sling she was carefully placed, weighing an impressive 15lb 12oz.  As you can imagine I was delighted, more so that I’d caught the barbel I was so desperate to catch.  I didn't care if she hadn't reached the 16lb mark, as it was the barbel of my dreams. Gently I lowered her back into the flow in the net to rest further, while I prepared my camera  ready to take a couple of self takes and then finally said my goodbye's.

Understandably on a high, I decided to pack up at approximately 9 o'clock and head to my second swim, as the night was still young. There was still a chance of another one, but not that I cared. A couple of hundred yards up river I quietly approached and set up both rods well away from the bank. I lowered my first bait upstream under a tree on the inside. Then cast the second bait and lighter lead with an under arm swing into the middle and hoped I found the gravel in between the streamer weed. Within 10 minutes I had a good pull on the downstream rod. Something picked up the bait and let go. In the past I would have said this was a chub playing with the bait and feeling the resistance of the line and rod. However, more often than not I would get a full blown wrap round soon after.  Twenty minutes later the rod slammed round and my bait runner started making an all too familiar noise. I lifted into a lively barbel, one which again felt a good weight, but with the fighting power and speed of a high single/low double fish.

 I tried to bully the fish, but it kept going on short powerful runs stripping line from the tight clutch with ease. The powerful barbel closed in on the net, but just kept on diving deep into the marginal weed. Finally after a few minutes of bullying a sure double finally entered my awaiting landing net. I was knackered after the battle and sat down to take in what had just happened. I estimated the barbel to be no more that twelve pound but it was the best fight I’d had from this species. Letting the barbel rest, while I performed my ritual of weighing the sling and getting the unhooking mat in place. I lifted the fish on the mat and realised it was equally as large as the previous specimen. Not a long fish, but a deep fat belly.  I removed the hook and quickly weighed her. She weighed a very impressive 15lb 2oz.  Was this really happening?  I phoned Ian Grant and asked if he wouldn't mind driving over to take a picture on his camera phone, as my battery had died. He of course agreed and was on the bank within thirty minutes and retuned the favour of the previous season. Soon after she was returned to her watery home, while I retreated to mine, no longer caring what lay ahead the next day.

A special brace, which will live long in my memory.

Pastures new

It's been a little too long since I updated this page.  The usual excuse of lack of time and also there was not a great deal worth writing about in terms of experiences and catches.  I didn't see the point in repeating content I'd already posted.  Yes I caught a good few trout to the dry fly, which was exciting and equally frustrating.  I dabbled briefly with tench, but struggled on the big pit and my heart wasn't really in it, as camping isn't my chosen pastime.  However I was confident once the rivers opened that my passion would be reignited, whilst targeting my beloved river fish and in particular barbel during the summer and autumn months.

Over the past 6 or 7 years the river Loddon has held my affection.  For the night time fisher it brings an atmosphere difficult to describe, and impossible to appreciate unless you're spending time there, sitting under the stars. With darkness, a stillness descends, occasionally broken by the cry from a nearby fox, or disturbance from a deer foraging in the undergrowth.  Or the rise and subsequent splash of a chub as it takes a sedge, the roll of barbel over the slow meandering streamer weed - all adding to the anticipation that something might happen.  Willing the isotopes to give an indication, after hours of swaying with the slow flowing water and submerged cabbages.  I love this little river and am now completely at ease in the gloom.

                                                                Old haunts, but stunning.

This season I decided to try and emulate the success I'd experienced a few seasons back, by adopting a tried and trusted approach learnt from a good friend some years before.  To achieve this was going to be a tall order, but it was important that I removed some of the distractions from my fishing, to give it every chance. Those distractions were in the form of other rivers, like the Kennet and Thames and familiar stretches of the Loddon.  It was all too easy to retreat back to more prolific and familiar venues when times get tough.  Most serious, or should I say obsessed barbel anglers need a fresh challenge, and recapturing the same fish season after season might be okay for some, but it's not for me at this time, as I've had my fair share of recaptures.  I have every respect for those that do and wish them well. Of course not to return would be a lie, as the urge to reacquaint myself with old friends will come I'm sure, but not at this moment.

                                                      An old friend with an eating disorder

My chosen home has no particular history in terms of huge barbel and remains fairly quiet, which is mostly down to it's low and probably dwindling barbel population, or perhaps it's untapped potential, which only time spent learning will realise.  I fished here during the floods at the tail end of last season and happened to discover a few of it's resident whiskery inhabitants, so knew from experience it wouldn't be a completely lost cause.

                                                                        Pastures new

June through to July on this pretty river, has always been challenging on stretches with low stock.  Not knowing if the barbel have returned from their spawning gravel beds, up to their holding areas is difficult to determine, and is usually based on fellow anglers results.  Not being familiar with their holding areas also puts me at a disadvantage, but this will come over time, and every hour spent here is not wasted as a subconscious picture is built.  So with a couple of swims carefully chosen, well away from the already disturbed vegetation, I was ready for my journey of discovery.

True to form the Loddon is no pushover.

Blank, blank, chub, blank, blank, blank, blank, chub. Jackpot! Approximately 30hrs in total, but the prize is worth every single minute.

                                                             A pristine 12lber and a start.

From bait to fly

In a way I'm glad we have a closed season on our rivers, as from a purely selfish perspective it allows me time to refocus, get rid of the bags under my eyes and angle for other species.  Admittedly those last two weeks of March leading into the first week of April were a struggle.   With little time to play I just couldn't muster up the energy to sort my gear and target tench or a last gasp pike, knowing full well I'd probably be wasting my time on my local big pits.  Not a lot of point of fishing if I'm not going to enjoy the experience. My tench campaign can wait until until the weather warms up and the evenings draw out.

To stop me teetering on the end edge of depression (all fisherman exaggerate), I needed a pick me up so decided it was time to start considering casting a fly again.   My 8 year old daughter Tahlia has been showing an interest in some of the fly imitations I've been tying, so was keen to get involved with tying some of her own flies.  I have to say she has a talent and the patience of an angel and its great to spend some quality time with her.

               Tahlia getting creative

We have chalk streams in the south east, but I don't have pockets full of cash, meaning many are not accessible to the average angler, unless you're fortunate enough to be invited (still waiting for mine ;) ). However not far from home there's a trout fishery in Oxfordshire which upon appearance you wouldn't give it a second glance.  Two man made concrete bowls forming Farmoor 1 and the larger Farmoor 2 run by Thames Water. Having fished both for over twenty years I look past the concrete now and see their inner beauty.  Bird watchers, walkers, sailors and anglers all flock here and are at ease with each, and show the respect we all deserve.  Both sections contain a good stock of rainbow and brown trout, with many over wintered fish ready to take the fly line down to the backing if you're lucky enough to fool one.  There is one quality that stands out on Farmoor and that is it produces excellent fly hatches, which lends itself well to the nymph and dry fly fisher using floating lines.  It's no push over though, and takes some figuring out with lots of patience. Here's the website containing up to date information; Note; Angling Trust members get a 10% discount.

Official site  http://www.thameswater.co.uk/fishing

or

http://www.farmoor-reservoir.com/

Anyway,  with fly fishing dominating my every thought and the fly boxes replenished with some great help from Tahlia.  It was time to dust off the casting cobwebs and book a couple of days and afternoon sessions with my better half.  I've found over the years that full days are best booked up front well in advance.  Four sessions in all over April, but I'll keep my session experiences brief  rather than divulge the readers with too much information.

                            Banana anyone?

5th April  1500-1900hrs

My first session of the year and I opted for the bank on Farmoor 1, which is catch and release and offers a larger stamp of fish.   A strong gusting south westerly greeted me and no other bank anglers trying their luck, which was not surprising as the rod average I recall was 0.8 fish per angler during the few days before.  I headed for the corner with the wind on my back to allow a full cast.  There were no sign of rising fish so they could be anywhere in 30 feet of water.   When conditions are like this ringing the changes with the line sink rates is the wisest move.  However being stubborn and a little lazy I fished the floater, but connected a very long leader to get the flies down deep (25 feet).  I love my nymphing so a team of buzzers on the two droppers and a heaver bloodworm was tied to the point.  Letting them sink and hang, but moving them ever so slowly.  Fifth cast a smaller than average rainbow took the point fly on the drop while I wasn't concentrating.  After a short fight the dreaded blank was no more.  After that encouraging start the next hour went by quickly while I battled with my casting in the gusts. With little sign of movement a change of location was in order rather than changing to a sinking line, as I was convinced trout would be moving against the wind up the westerly bank.  Sure enough the first cast after the move produced an unexpected specimen and my first pike on a fly.  A pretty fish which I was absolutely made up by.  A little tainted as it wasn't caught by design, but hey I don't care and the temptation to switch to the dark-side of fly fishing seems more and more appealing.  I worked the west bank for the remainder of the session to allow the nymphs to move more naturally in the cross wind, and was lucky enough to add a couple more trout before it was time to head home, but still buzzing from my unexpected encounter.

              Beautifully marked pike

12th April 0830 - 1900hrs

The notorious Barbel Fishing World fly fishing away days, from reading previous trip updates from days gone by. All happened before I joined BFW , so I was hoping we'd get similar numbers attending again some 10 years later.  Unfortunately this was not to be this time, but no doubt with Graham organising as he did so generously in the past, and a good few other well respected gents attending, we'd have a good craic and enjoy the day.  Three of which had never cast a fly.  After the introductions at the lodge I sensed we were all going to get along just fine.  The beginner fly anglers were paired up with the experienced with kit provided as we set off to westerly bank on number one, with the wind on our backs.

                             Looking the part

There's a knack to teaching fly casting, which is something I hope to improve upon sooner rather than later. Nevertheless my fishing partner Howard was very patient with me while I tried to put into words the technique, with 10 O'clock, 2 O'clock ringing in his ears mostly all day.  However as those who are not so new to the art will realise there's a lot more to casting, and it's not something which can be learned overnight. Howard persisted which was important, without too many mishaps and both ears staying in-tacked.

                            Any second now!

With very few trout showing, apart from the odd riser far out, we persisted with floating lines and nymphs during the morning till lunch, with not so much as a sniff.  However, as the party headed to the cars for a bite to eat and natter, Richard had a big smile on his face after hooking and landing his first fly caught trout I believe.  With spirits high and stomachs full the afternoon session began with a bang as the trout switched on to naturals.  One very big problem though, they were way out of range for the novice casters, and were taking nymphs deep, meaning long leaders were essential.  With some assistance towards the end of the day my rod was cast and handed over. I felt it was important for Howard to first land a trout and feel the power, but more importantly feel the take! Well we achieved both with the final few casts, and what a savage take it was.  Luckily the leader didn't part and a fine couple of rainbows were skilfully landed by him.  By far this was the highlight of the day for me personally, and more so than my own good fortune.

                        Effort equals reward

As the day draw to a close, collectively we managed to double the rod average given the difficult conditions, with approaching 20 fish caught and returned between us.  I'm really hopeful the guys new to fly fishing will return for another try someday.

                      4lb over wintered rainbow 

Well a couple more eventful days on Farmoor followed in April, but I'll leave that till the next update.

Short Session Piker

"Angling may be said to be so like the mathematics that it can never be fully learned"

 Isaak Walton

...and if it could be fully learned then how boring angling would become!?!  

In fact I would say my barbel fishing, was becoming a little tedious at times.  Long periods of inactivity during those late night sessions in the summer and autumn months on both the Thames and Loddon certainly tested my patience.  I would find myself trotting a float for bits, or spinning for perch for an hour before the light was lost and traps were set. 

In fact it’s fair to say I enjoyed this aspect of my fishing more, which is at the end of the day what matters most.  Don't get me wrong the challenge of chasing big fish still fills me with excitement, but over the last couple of seasons I've realised it's less important.  I have no pressure on me in terms of angling sponsorship, or articles to write for the press, so why go out and put in the hours catching a barbel, I have and most probably caught before?  Time is precious and often most species are off limits due to my nocturnal habits, but not through choice you see. Home life and a demanding job means balancing the three and means fishing comes third in the pecking order and so it should.  Short evening sessions were and still are in the most my only escape, so naturally my and the barbels nocturnal habits were and still are to some degree a good match.  However I mostly get stood up.

Errrr nice flask!!!

Something had to change as winter approached, as the thought of just fishing in darkness continually didn't appeal.  I had a cunning plan!  My family like to sleep in on a Sunday morning, so naturally I wouldn't be missed until at least 11am.  Little resistance was met when the subject was broached, which I'd like to say was down to my powers of persuasion.  I'm sure Hayley was thinking less snoring and farting to tolerate if I wasn't there to disturb her sleep. 

With my new found freedom, albeit short, my very local club venues were to be blessed with my presence. Predators were the order of the day and the frosty mornings are usually conducive to active pike.  The pit in question is a good size, uniformed in depth with a couple of shallow bays.  Having fished it for bream, tench and pike for a number of seasons on and off you start to get a feel for the place and where the pike might frequent. Anglers very often create their own hotspot, if fishing regularly enough and this was the case here. So naturally like a sheep I followed, as this was a good starting point with my limited time. 

Late October my mini campaign, if you could call it that started surprisingly well.  Armed with a pair of rods setup with the ever versatile Drennan zeppler floats and one rod fished with a running ledger, to allow me to fish at distance.  Bait wise my number one choice has always been smelt, with sardines and mackerel as backup baits.  It wasn't long before my baits were in the water all fished hard on the bottom.

I never tire of watching the float dip as the pike hits the bait, and after a bite less first hour it did just that, and soon after the first pike of the season was safely resting in the net. During the next 90 minutes I didn't have time to drink my coffee, as I had run after run on the same rod, whilst the other two remained untouched.  None of the fish were big and all were in the 8 to 9lb bracket but fighting fit and made for an entertaining morning.

Strangely the following four or five Sunday mornings produced little excitement in terms of catches, with the odd jack taking a liking to my bait and a few blanks thrown in.  The water temperature was dropping after colder weather dominated. I'm convinced it takes some time for the pike to become acclimatised and so probably chose to feed later in the day, or moved to deeper water.  However, just being by the water watching and photographing the sunrise and the amazing wildlife more than made up for the lack of bites.  I can see why the twitchers like coming here.

Sport suddenly switched on again mid-December, but I’m not sure why, as we experienced our first proper frosts and high pressure.  One observation I made, was that as the warmth of the sun hit the water after sunrise the pike became very active for a short period.  This usually resulted in up to half a dozen runs during this short feeding frenzy. Also my super bait the smelt was starting to lose its effectiveness with oily sardines dominating, which meant for a few pennies saved.   

Although milder wet weather featured most of the winter this feeding trend lasted well into February, with most morning sessions producing on average three to four fish and occasionally more.  A good few were a nice mid teen size, but no monsters.   

  

I'm convinced this pit will produce a better fish soon.  It won’t be this season though, as signs are the pike are getting frisky.  Upon reflection I enjoyed those mornings, the long chats with fellow anglers and alike; sharing experiences, educating, being educated and catching over a couple dozen pike was a bonus.

Catching chub by design

Catching chub by design...Final review of 2013

The greedy chub, a species I've neglected and found very irritating when my focus has been on catching big barbel.  Picture this...

It's a warm summer evening on the Loddon chasing the few big barbel that frequent this beautiful stretch of river. I check my watch which shows the witching hour is approaching.  My wariness is overcome by nervous energy, excited by what the night might bring; hoping, praying for any movement on those tiny balls of light.  Nothing happens during the hour, and tiredness takes hold as I start to drift...... then out of nowhere, my down stream rod violently arches round and springs back in a blink of an eye! I jump and remain alert ready to intercept, as it could be a big barbel brushing against the line,  still there is a chance I convince myself! Nothing happens for 20 minutes or so as I start to relax and drift again. Then I get a jab followed by few more.  The jabs don't stop, so I strike and I know instantly I've hooked a swim wrecker.  Chub landed, and soon after I pack up and leave for home, a little dejected. 

If there was a barbel close by, and that's a big IF, it would have been spooked and I'd still be waiting for it to take my bait by the morning.  This doesn't always ring true on other rivers I'm sure, but from my experience where I fish an awful lot, catching a chub is the kiss of death.  This swim wrecking was a common occurrence 3/4 years ago, but the river has changed.  I very rarely get those tell tale jabs during the night, which would suggest the chub have become very cute, or more likely are just not there in numbers, which is a real shame.

Anyway less of this negativity towards chub.  I actually quite like them really if fishing for them by design.
I made a decision a couple of seasons back, that I'd not waste my valuable fishing time chasing barbel during the winter months, when conditions were not favourable and concentrate on chub instead, during my short evening sessions.  Knowing numbers were low on my local Loddon stretches, I would fish another Thames tributary I know very well and where I caught my best, but modest chub by accident at 6.2 back in 2006.

There's something quite refreshing about chub fishing.  The fact you can travel with very little amount of tackle appeals. Light quiver tip, net, matt with a pocket full of bits and bait, means you can roam the river and not feel bogged down by heavy luggage and start feeling lazy.

Tactics couldn't be simpler, with a two to four swan shot running leger link, stopped by a couple of float stops and a bead so I can adjust the length.  Size 8 fine wire hook, tipped with some home made cake (Martin Bowler style) and that great winter bait 'cheese paste' mixed with a top secret ingredient. This tactic saw a few nice chub caught during freezing temperatures the end of last season, with a nice clean new personal best by a whopping 1oz.  However the wally holding the chub looks a bit stupid in my eyes and needs to ditch the silly hat!

  
This season due to mild weather and having my barbel head on, my chub fishing didn't start in earnest until mid November.  When I did eventually visit the tributary again, conditions were perfect as we were just seeing the back end of a short cold snap, moving into low pressure and therefore milder temperatures.  Bait wise, instead of baking cake I opted for the lazy approach and counter balanced my hook with a small piece of ethafoam, glued to the shank with a cheesepaste wrapper.
A few short roving sessions produced some good sport during the month, including a lovely brace both a couple of ounces over six. 

With my personal best again being threatened I was quietly confident a larger chub, that I suspected might still be in residence, could make a mistake one evening as we headed into December.  My approach remained the same, travelling light and roving, but over a smaller area so I could revisit already fished swims that has seen a few baits.  Something I've learnt through the frustration of many missed bites is that chub do not like resistance, and will mouth the bait and drop it before you can say "Mono have a shave".  I'd considered bobbins and touch ledgering, but find it's more pleasurable for me watching the light quiver tip, but fished with a slightly slack line down the inside or a big bow if fishing mid to far bank.
Well December started with a bang, and this lovely chunk of a chub left it to the second visit to the swim and within five minutes of heading home.  That's better and probably one of the largest on this little tributary weighing in at 6lb 13oz. 

Well unfortunately my chub fishing came to a premature end soon after, as severe flooding affected many areas in the south east and unfortunately still is as we approach March.  I feel for all those families affected by the flooding and sincerely hope that they can rebuild and return to their homes soon.

      

Rutland Zander

Away days

I just love them as I get to book the whole day fishing...yippee!!  I usually need at least a months notice though with my better half .  Once I get the green light I'm like an excited child counting down the days before that special occasion.  To be honest I get far too obsessed leading up to the big event, especially if it's a method or species I'm not familiar with.  I must be a pain in the arse to live with as my focus isn't on doing those long ignored jobs around the house or planning our next family excursion.  Its what rod? what reel? what braid? what lures?!?....Then it's how, where and why?  Research, research, research.  Armchair angling I call it, and there's a few out there that do it I'm sure, especially in the age of social media.  All this research gives you a start at least, but it's nothing compared with actual time spent on the water doing it.

My club have done a splendid job over the past few seasons organising such events.  It's a great opportunity to meet fellow members, enjoy some friendly banter and catch a few fish.  On this day I would be returning to Rutland water.  I have fond memories of Rutland during my youth.  Most memorable was fly fishing with the then England youth coach and the late Mike Childs the day before the England youth eliminator.  I owe Mike a great deal as he helped my fly fishing reach another level that day.  Unfortunately conditions were totally different during the completion and I got found out and never made the cut. I still use that waistcoat some 25 years later by the way. It's a little tight now.

No casting a fly this time though, but learning the fine art of vertical jigging for zander.  With the rod and reel sorted along with a new drogue and selection of jig-heads and assorted shads I was ready to catch my first zander.

After an early start we arrived at Rutland at 7am and were out on the water an hour later ready to fish. Vertical jigging requires a light weight, short but fast action rod with a sensitive tip. So my cheap light TronixPro Rockfish seemed up to scratch. Thin braid is essential so we can fish a light/medium weight jig on a drifting boat to get the best presentation.
It wasn't long before my boat partner Ian was into his first zander of the day. I recall he had caught seven before I even had my first touch. Anyway while he put the kettle on to make a brew I borrowed his rod. The first drop I hooked and landed my first zander.  Not the largest but typical of the size found in this vast water.

...next drop the second fish followed before he had finished making coffee. Reluctantly I handed his rod back and swapped to a similar lure. Fishing was still slow for me while Ian carried on catching some nice zander to over 5lb, though most were in the 2/3lb bracket.
Drastic action was required as I suspect my glass tip was too light, so action was poor with the jig.  Out came the penknife and a few minutes of careful sawing saw my tip reduced by six inches. 

                                          

Sure enough the next drift I started hitting into fish and before long my catch rate was making the big northern lad next to me a little nervous.
Then along came an armada of 10 boats who decided to anchor in 50ft of water in the middle of our drift. Now that's not very gentlemanly is it? and it isn't allowed on Rutland either where we were at least.  The next four hours were interesting whilst we muscled our way through the boats, ducking flying jigs to get to the shoal.  In the end my boat partner and I survived and were dually rewarded with approaching 50 zander between us.  What a memorable day in great company even if he did catch more than me.

Until the next time Rutland...missing you already.

2013 part 2....in pursuit of barbel somewhere!!

Plans are usually hatched before the rivers open when in pursuit of big barbel....if only!!  The trouble is I usually have three plans and cannot after very careful consideration, ever decide which needs hatching.  If I could fish all day every day then life would be great.  The reality is I have a busy life outside of fishing with work and family commitments.  So those evening/morning sessions are often all too brief, and time spent chopping from one river to the other, if I am serious about catching specimen fish, will end in tears and frustration I know all too well.

That word frustration summed up my season start.  Typically, due to a very cold spring the barbel spawned very late and fishing was extremely difficult....and to be honest not very enjoyable. I found myself moving from the Loddon, onto St Pats, then the Kennet, and struggled on all.  After a few weeks the Kennet barbel returned to their usual summer haunts and slowly started feeding.  Plenty of smaller fish between 4 to 6lb were evident, which provided some good sport during hours of darkness, and was also very encouraging for the future of the river.  However, I had decided that the draw of the beautiful river Loddon was too much to resist and that's where I wanted to spend the remaining summer months into autumn. 

Two big barbel were in my thoughts.  One of which I'd caught a couple of seasons earlier weighing 15.07 and 14.4 and was curious of her whereabouts.  The other was another 15lber I'd never seen, but knew of her presence through a good friend, who had the pleasure of her capture on more than one occasion.  Jammy git!!

Having fished the Loddon for quite sometime and knowing this stretch was important if I was to be successful.  I know how hard it is here, and experienced more blanks than I would care to mention. Many have fished, expected much, struggled and then soon moved to alleviate the boredom.
I had to make the effort to fish a minimum of three evenings a week till midnight at the earliest.  My trusted approach which has rewarded me over the seasons past was to select two swims and stick with them.  This would ensure my bait would eventually be found, and that the fish would come to expect some free meals when passing through if they were not already in residence.  There was no need for pre-baiting if I was on the river every other evening, and to be honest I had little time or desire to do it.

After a couple of low doubles and high singles during the previous couple of weeks an old friend made a mistake one warm August evening.  Here she is in all her glory not quite making the 15lb yet, but very close.

 

One down, one to go and this barbel I desired more than any other. This meant a move a little further away, and a week or so of fishing but not catching.  The Kennet very often tempts me away for an evening or two when my stubbornness starts waning and so it did this time too.  Great to see that rod bend when the Loddon plays hard to get.

Back on the Loddon and with two new swims that had seen my presence and bait for a couple weeks I could feel it was only a matter of time...or so I hoped. 
From recollection it was a September midweek session. Low pressure and drizzle greeted me that evening.  The river was up a few inches from the recent rain fall.  Two rods were quickly assembled, hooks baited and bait delivered to my spots with no fuss.  Then the waiting began as darkness approached.  With the light faded, my downstream rod slowly arched in that all too familiar way and an explosive battle ensued...hold on!!! :)  Those battles don't last more than a minute or two despite what you read, but certainly get the heart rate up.  With the barbel safely in the net resting I could see upon closer inspection she was the one.  A quick call confirmed it.  What a splendid looking fish and one of my favourite captures and self-takes.

Tight lines.....zander and chub next.

2013.....a mixed bag. Part 1

Gosh....looking back at my angling adventures over the year just past.  I can honestly say I enjoyed every minute of my time on the bank and afloat.  The previous few years have been equally rewarding, but in different ways as my pursuit of catching big barbel had become a little too obsessive.  However I needed to change as those late late night's were starting to take their toll;  Bags under the eyes, grey hair etc.
So last year I broke the habit and tried very hard to branch out and embrace new and exciting fishing techniques and revisit the old tried and trusted methods to re-ignite my passion with my limited time available.  Barbel fishing would still figure as you'll see, but I tried to become a little more sociable and make the time to attend a few club fish-ins, fish with friends and have some days casting a fly again.


Take care....

Well last winter and into spring where dominated by floods and cold weather.  Those short sessions during the evening did limit me somewhat. The rivers were far too cold and dangerous so I had to pick my sessions carefully, and shouldn't have fished on a few occasions.  Knowing the river banks when in flood is essential for your safety, and I can honestly say upon refection that I took too many risks, even thought I know my patch.  I'm not paid to fish, I've got no article deadlines to commit too.  No fish is worth risking your life, and the events of last year have hit home to me that what's most important is your family. 


Short and sweet...

On a brighter note I did catch a few nice fish during these tough months.  I caught a personal best chub weighing a modest 6lb 3oz on a Thames trib, but plenty of room for improvement.  Please excuse the head gear, but it was -7c.

  
The pike fishing improved on my local gravel pit while the rivers had burst their banks once again.   I equalled my best with a lovely double.  That 20lber still eluded me though.

 



 But who needs to catch big fish when you are blessed with wildlife and views like this.

 Before the river season closed I did sneak out a river Kennet best barbel of 13lb 6oz. A fitting end to the river season.

Now as the very cold month of April arrived it was last chance saloon pike fishing with dead-baits.  After visiting an old trout lake this rather lovely 21lb 7oz pike graced my net on my first attempt.  Beginners luck and my first ever twenty.

With the rivers closed and my thoughts turning to fly fishing.  I had the pleasure of spending a couple of days during late spring into summer with Graham Elliott, fly fishing for trout on Farmoor reservoir.  Now Graham is an extremely good coarse angler and very competent fly-fisher.  With fly fishing it's all about chopping and changing and as they saying 'matching the hatch'.  Well we had fun, got frustrated when things weren't going our way, and had a few mishaps with the casting.  I recall Graham is now missing his left ear ;).  Now that's a poor show from a fly-fisher with over 30 years experience.  Graham I owe you an ear.  However we caught lots of rainbows and they fought like any double figure barbel.  Here's some of our highlights.

There's a rainbow at the end of that rainbow.

 

Graham with a hard earned trout.

 

 

Me...with a double...chin

 

 

Sunset at the end of a fine day

 

 

 

 

Lastly, the early summer ended well for my daughter Tahlia.  She beat her best ever haul of fish by some margin.  Go girl!!