Saturday, 18 February 2012
Friday, 17 February 2012
It had been far too long since I had been able to last wet a line and having no time to be able to visit running water had dulled my senses heavily, the urge was however undying, but the availability of time was not so kind, leaving me feeling incomplete, hollow and almost empty.
When the time came to be able to finally put line to water, I was left with no doubt as to where I was headed, the Foudry Brook, the idea being to rove about and try a few likely looking swims on this tiny and fragile waterway. I was not sure what to expect as it had not been so long ago that this water was hit by pollution, when raw sewage was released into its vein, killing a large amount of fish and other invertebrate.
Quivertip, link leger and pin, along with maggots and a small tub of liquidised bread were made up and I was ready to admire beauty in minature. On making my way down the bridle path I was greeted by the sight of no less than eight Deer in the field all of which proceeded to leap and bound to the safety of the adjoining fields, it is sights like this that really grab you as an angler and remind you of how lucky you really are.
I approached the old, but stout wooden bridge which crosses the water and as doing so almost held my breath before looking, the brook was diminutive and beautiful, I was glad to see it was crystal clear, the water caressing the speckled gravel bed, it looked and smelt clean, I was hopeful.
Making my way upstream, I looked about for areas where the brook widened or any places where debris might have created a deeper and more likely looking area for fish to hold out, I placed some liquidised bread into a couple of likely looking areas upstream, one of which had a fallen tree and looked rather tempting, nearby I noted a stone bridge, one side of it there was a lonesome looking tyre dumped in the water underneath it, the other side was wider with some nice features that the fish might seek to snuggle under.
I dropped in a very light amount of bread, in the most tiny of balls so as to not spook any of the Chub that I was hoping to connect with and then sat down and waited a long while before casting, the day held a brisk north wind but was much milder than we have had of recent weeks, a group of Blue Tits jostled about noisily with one and other in one of the bare bushes on the opposite bank, I smiled
no doubt it felt great to be fishing again.
I placed my first cast near to the bridge and placed the rod back down, a few minutes in and with camera in hand, the quiver tip trembled, a light rattle followed by the tentative pluck of a discerning customer at the other end, the quiver tip fell quiet before it eventually bobbed round more solidly, I struck and immediately saw the grey flank of a Chub flex its body in the shallow water, the fish felt good and zipped some line off the pin as it tried to make its way to the snags under the bridge, after a short bullish fight it was resting in the net, my first Chub from the Foudry Brook and a 3 pounder, I was most happy.
I thought to myself that I had two choices after this fish, return it to the same spot and move on further upstream, or release it further downstream and see if I could perhaps pick up another fish. After much pondering I decided on the latter and released the Chub further downstream so as not to spook any other fish, a few more tiny balls of bread were placed out and I recast to more or less the same spot, after a few minutes the tip began trembling ever so slightly, so much so I thought a shoal of voracious Minnows may have moved into the swim, these trembles and light plucks carried on in a very stop start fashion. Eventually and after much trembling, the rod tip smacked round and as I lifted the rod, momentarily everything went solid, before the fish came free from an unknown snag and then tried to pull the same sly maneuover as the last fish, by bolting for the cover of the nearby bridge, it was not long before another Chub of similar size to the last was recuperating in the net, 1oz heavier than its brethren.
With this fish slipped back, I decided to chance my arm for another in the same swim, but this fish had caused quite a commotion and no more bites were forthcoming, so I decided to move on upstream, tempted by the look of a pool where a fallen tree had created a slower flow and a likely looking feature for a fish or two.
By now the sun had come out to play and it was a very pleasant afternoon, I spent the last of my remaining time in this swim, which I found the fish were most shy in and did not take a liking to anything more than a single maggot and even then they were most fickle, however it did reward me with a couple of small Dace.
It was a very enjoyable day, spending the time roving and trying likely looking areas on such an intimate and marvelous little water and yet there still remains a multitude of pools and undercut gravel banks each with their own story waiting to be told, the future seems a bright one and this diminutive waterway is finally on its way to making a good recovery.