Saturday, 16 February 2013
Friday, 15 February 2013
Recently I had been kindly offered by two young chaps the chance of fishing their river in Essex, a waterway that shares the very same name as as the one that I fish in Hampshire and that is the river Blackwater. After much persuasion, discussion and organising we eventually planned on two mornings of us all fishing together, the idea being to see if we could perhaps tempt a chub or two from this Essex waterway.
The drive down to Essex was not too bad, apart from the satnav nearly taking us into central London instead of on the orbital as it should have, but aside from that glitch we met at Fred at his house around 9am, after a chat and a cup of tea with both the guys, we eventually set off for a stretch of the river where George had caught his pb chub (5.1) from, on finally setting eyes on this little river it reminded me in many ways in places of the Blackwater in Hampshire, although the banks in parts were more steep and the landscape a touch more bare in places, it looked the perfect little river for a spot of chub fishing, I am told there is the odd barbel, not lots but they are there.
The immediate feeling I got was that of a river that doesn't really get fished that much and has almost a touch of the unknown and forgotten about it, gravel runs and undercut banks giving way to sweeping bends and overhanging trees with a multitude of flotsam draped across them.
We decided to each pick a swim to fish for around twenty to thirty minutes at a time and then move on. The first one that I decided to wet a line in looked rather nice, a tight bend with overhanging bush on the far bank, it was a rather blustery day to say the least, the wind a stiff northerly accompanied by the kind of rain that makes you feel you're not getting too wet, yet in reality is actually coming down at a steady pace. A light cast and the feeder was placed out to the far bank, just short of the bush.
The river looked good, not too coloured and with a nice bluey green tinge to it, after around fifteen minutes I heard a call from upstream and sure enough George had landed a fish, a nice looking and very welcome Essex Chub just under 4lb.
|George Basham with a nice looking Essex chub of 3.15|
After a quick photo and a few words of congratulation, it was slipped back and sped off in a healthy and rather brisk manner, the first fish of the day, but little did we know it would also be the last of the trip too. After this fish we decided to move upstream and see if we could not perhaps tempt a fish or two more, myself on another bend that had a fairly consistent and reasonable depth to it and one that Fred had caught from in the past. George moved into a swim a bit further up, another bend and one with some coverage in the shape of dead weed beds, Fred meanwhile had settled on a superb looking swim and one which screamed chub in every shape and form, with masses of flotsam either side of it, both myself and George felt sure it would only be a matter of time before a chevin would pick up his breadflake.
|Alas the quiver remained motionless|
But oddly enough it was not to be the case for Fred or any of us, the only taps and twitches made by the wind which was becoming increasingly blustery, as the day went by we tried a multitude of swims.
Each swim looking a good skulking area for a chevin, such as the one pictured above, but no, either they were not at home or not in a very forthcoming mood. By 3pm we had probably fished around twelve or fourteen swims between us and by now we was all rather chilly, I was also feeling quite tired from being up early and traveling down and George had a very cold pair of feet as he had decided to come out wearing some cotton plim soles, I can only imagine how painful his toes must have felt, so we all decided to call it a day and head for home.
After a very welcome sleep in the local Travel lodge, I woke to find that the rain had developed into snow during the night, it was a crisp morning and the wind had abated somewhat and most welcome that was too! The three amigos met up again and were soon on their way to another section of the river and an area where Fred has caught numerous chub in the past, the average size being 3lb.
On getting to the river it was evident that the rain from the previous day had taken its toll, the water was very tea coloured and pushing through at quite a pace, far from ideal but we were game, I decided to try an area where the river sweeps round, in an attempt to find a slower and smoother area of water.
I suggested to George to perhaps try a spot upstream where the river slowed as it flowed round a bend, the current easing a bit here and home to a couple of portly looking swans.
|Where are you hiding grey lips|
In all honesty I don't know where the day went but it certainly flew by and it wasn't long before the daylight was fading and we found ourselves fishing the last swims of the day, I had once again decided to fish close to a spot with some coverage and debris, a nice creamy piece of blue cheese and garlic paste was placed short of the reeds to the right hand side.
Now this area of the river I do feel looks like it could throw up a surprise or two, admittedly not on this occasion, but it has an air of mystery about it and there was something telling me that it felt just perfect, you know the feeling that you get as an angler, when the hair on your neck might stand on end, or you get that excited shiver, something just felt right, even if the fish really didn't want to play ball.
Before I knew it the day was gone, sure over the two days there was only the one fish caught between us all, but what price do you put on spending time in good company?
|The three amigos|
The simple answer is that you can't and despite the lack of fish between us I thoroughly enjoyed my time spent in the company of both Fred and George, many a good laugh was had on both days and a great deal of enjoyment was shared between us. I look forward to meeting them again and do hope that isn't in the too distant future!
Saturday, 9 February 2013
Not long ago a small package arrived containing some Berkley pulse minnows and along with it plans to use these with a small selection of other lures was born, the idea being to spend a few hours fishing the canal in hope of the odd perch latching on to them, with the recent snow freezing the canal and sadly an ill pet to look after, those plans had to be shelved.
It was nice to finally get down the canal and helped somewhat to lift that oppressive feeling that comes with being told you may soon have to decide if your pet has to be put to sleep or not. The day was cool but sunny and had almost a touch of spring to it, the canal glistening with a light scattering of sheet ice in the more open sections, but with plenty of clearer areas to run a lure through. This waterway is absolutely bursting with character, heavily forested sections with marginal mangroves, tank traps complimented by the remnants of old bridges, most spots have a feature or two that make an angler say to himself "just one more cast".
One such spot had a lovely looking tree trunk and tangled roots, the perfect looking skulking area for a perch or two, alas nine casts later and my lure was lost forever. Now I am never happy losing fishing tackle, but losing lures is something I really hate and it was with some chagrin that I replaced the lost one, I also feel Berkley could perhaps be a little less stingy and include more weighted jig heads in the pack.
carrying on downstream my mind set on an area where the towpath narrows before widening into a woody opening, the lure making a calming splosh as it repeatedly entered the water. I was giving each spot about 15 casts before moving on, further downstream I met another lure angler who was seeking the same quarry, we chatted briefly, leaving me with whispers of perch, I made my way further afield, trying each and every bit of the canal, in hope that I might get the odd perch that I was dearly searching for.
I will say this now, I have never seen time fly by so fast as when lure fishing, before I knew it the time was 2pm and by now I had managed no follows and a new personal best in the shape of an enviroment agency crayfish trap, replete with perhaps ten or twelve of the critters, one of which looked like it was doing a fairly good job at imitating a lobster for size and attitude.
I decided to have a rest every so often, eventually stopping to have a snack before slowly luring my way back to the car. Although I did briefly switch to a mepps style spinner, the majority of the trip was spent using the pulse minnows.
Cast, twitch, vary retrieve and so it went, by 3pm the battery on my headcam had packed in and I had covered quite a few areas when I spotted a lot of bubbles going from one side of the canal to the other and to all intents and purposes it looked like something had been on the chase, looking along the opposite bank, I made out the shape of a perch of perhaps 1lb, moving briskly upstream, I decided to chance my luck and see if I might tempt a follow or more, ten casts later I convinced myself that it was not going to be happening and that it was time to head home, like a lot of waterways this place does seem to sometimes switch on later in the day, so I was not suprised to see a tench that looked all of 6lb swim past me, even in the slightly coloured water and fading light you could see its dark olive back and creamy orange belly, yet more food for thought! Never enough time..
It had been an enjoyable blank and I don't say that for the sake of having not caught, I don't do to much lure fishing and this had been a thoroughly enjoyable trip. My only worry is that I should imagine purchasing lures could if I'm not careful become be a bit too addictive.