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.