Close Of Play

Where did the season go?

I don't know the answer to that either,the same as I still don't understand how the hours pass too quickly when you're fishing,once you wet a line time seems to become compressed into something outside of reality and before you know it your heading toward the end of the river season at a rather rapid pace.


With that sobering thought in mind,I decided to get out for a final fling the day before the season ended,with some liquidised bread,maggots and spam packed,I headed off to the river,with that feeling I always seem to get with the end of the season,almost sombre and wishing there was a week or two more left.Eventually after a major bout of indecisiveness over which spot to fish I decided on a pacey area of the river with a small bush as a feature.

the spam rod was placed out upstream near some sunken logs,after a little while I was gradually getting a few raps and taps on the feeder rod and the odd Gudgeon was swung in to my waiting hand,late afternoon the wind started to cut across the swim and the bites fell quiet,I had this strange feeling of not being content,I looked at the spam rod and thought to myself,why not pack that rod up and just fish a single rod and try a few spots,I guess it was because of the end of the season but I had other areas of the river racing through my head that I had yet to try,so I decided to move on to some spots with lovely looking deeper pools and weed rafts with lots of flotsam which had collected in the skeletons of the surrounding bushes.

The spots absolutely cried Chub,I fed in a light amount of bread and maggots and quietly sat down to a flask of coffee,the light levels had dropped a touch by the time I made my first cast.After thirty minutes I saw a very subtle pluck to the rod tip what followed this was a thumping take where the rod tip bent right round,I struck and felt solid weight coupled with a lunging response,the fish dived for the cover of the flotsam and underwater snags,I could not afford to give the fish too much line as I was not sure just exactly how much pressure the 4lb hooklink was under and this felt a very good fish,I decided to risk releasing pressure on the fish and this seemed to work as it came back out of it's sanctuary,eventually the silhouette of a real brute of a Chub slid into view and over the waiting landing net cord.



As I lifted it out I knew I had something very special in the net,I was still shaking with an adrenaline overload after weighing it,a 7LB Chub,I muttered to myself "way to end a season".
Strangely enough this fish did not have any pelvic fins,despite this fact it was in very good health.


I was contemplating calling it an evening on the back of such a nice fish,but decided upon one more cast as you do,the feeder sploshed in alongside the rafts of twigs and other debris,the wind started to blow steadily again and the owl's began their calling,I sat watching the rod tip, pluck pluck pluck,all fell silent and then after a gap of 15 minutes,thud,the tip smacked round,I was met by another weighty sprinting resistance,this fish decided to head out away from the rafts and into midstream,after a spirited fight another chunky,battle scarred warrrior of a Chub was in the net.The scales settled at 6Lb12oz ,I was pretty happy to say the least.



I packed up slowly and deliberately,not wishing to leave the river,not wanting the hiatus to come,but deep down I knew the break till summer would be good and all being well I would return again to this lovely place.


As I write this my thoughts are already turning to the new season and what stretches of rivers might tickle my fancy,who knows,I know one thing though,theres a quiet little lake not too far away with some slim,torpedo shaped Carp waiting to make that Cortesi centrepin sing a merry spring tune.