Mishaps mayhem - Double trouble

Writing this and thinking about one of my trips back in September feels a bit surreal now. I was having some enjoyable fishing trips and trying to tempt some of the larger barbel from the Loddon, two of my prior visits had been a combination of blanks with and without crayfish nightmares thrown in for good measure.

But my third trip was a bit too eventful for my liking, having packed up my rods I went to drop some broken up paste into another swim, a little bit of a future investment if you like. Not happy with my position on the bank, I instead decided to hold on to a branch from a nearby tree. The voice in my head was echoing warning words, "branch dead, wouldn't take your weight in a thousand years if it was still alive". I foolishly ignored this and grabbed hold of the branch, as I began leaning a little over the river the inevitable happened, "crack!" and that was it I was clutching thin air and doing a good impression of a cartoon character before falling in yet again. A thick mixture of silt and mud, along with a sinking feeling is not something I would recommend any angler to experience at any time, be that day or night and has to rank as one of my most scariest mishaps, as I did genuinely think I was not going to get back out again, had this happened during floods then I would have been in serious trouble.


Sitting in the car on the way home was an interesting affair, mum mentioning asking at regular intervals "Mark why do you smell like s*%t". I have to admit that I did not divulge anything about falling in until I was back home and still don't think I have lived the incident down, Once back home  with my clothing in the washing machine and a hot cup of tea inside me, I sat thinking over what had been a bit of an unpleasant experience, trying to work out why I had decided to ignore my inner voice and put my safety at risk on the river, there was only one real reason and that was a mixture of over confidence and total idiocy on my part.


Not having any of my usual baits I opted to put together a mix that had done me well in the past as well as some matching paste with which to wrap round the bait, along with this I had made up some luncheon meat broken into irregular shapes and then soaked in some Sharwoods Thai curry sauce.

A few days later and I was making my way to the river, it was a very pleasant late summer day, a light breeze and nice amount of sun. On reaching the river there was no mistaking the fact that it was running very low and looked a bit stale. Two thoughts were in my mind, either target a deeper area, or try to place some baits along the weed and cabbage patch areas of a shallower spot.

I decided on the latter, one rod placed upstream, just shy of cabbage patch beds and with one of the fresh boilies which I had decided to trim down, glug and wrap in paste. My other rod was placed downstream where there is a slight difference in depth and a lomg trench where food particles do tend to collect. It was not long before I started receiving attention on the upstream rod, followed by a slow, meandering run, which turned out to be a very well conditioned bream of 5lb.

I was buoyed by this early fish and rather happy, a quick cast back out and check of the luncheon meat rod showed that crays were indeed about, not wishing to risk being pestered I switched to the same bait as which I had taken the bream on. The rod had perhaps been in the water for forty five minutes and started receiving light plucks and taps, certainly not the usual tug and static hold the crayfish give. An hour past by and during that time there had been a good few plucks but no committal, no full blooded bite was forthcoming. As I sat wondering if perhaps the fish were in a far to apprehensive mood, all hell broke loose, the rod arching round and baitrunner purring.

As it plodded downstream it was fairly evident that I was playing a rather hefty fish and the rod did not disagree as it bent round, a game of give and take began, me giving and the fish repeatedly taking was how it began, a wind of reel handle, followed by steady "tick tick" of the clutch.

When my prize was finally beaten and I slipped the waiting net under her I could have jumped for joy, it was a beauty, long wide and a powerhouse of a barbus, with one very powerful paddle.

At 14lb it was a new best for me from this river, words failed me as I looked upon its bronze flanks, it is moments like these that are really special and a grin that could last quite a few years was etched on my face for the rest of the evening.

As night time crept on, the upstream rod which had been very quiet since the initial bream, did not give any warning as it tore off into mid-river and after quite a nervy battle which saw this fish head under some sunken tree trunks and back out again followed by diving into two different cabbage patch beds, I finally had another barbel in the net, this fish had a slight amount of  dorsal damage, perhaps from being kept in a keepnet at some point?
Unfortunately I only have the video footage of this fish as my battery packed up on me and I had left my spare one in the charger at home. Weighing in at 11lb 2oz's it was another nice fish and the cherry on top of what had been a very special fishing trip.

Once I had packed up I decided to sit a while, taking in this trip and to give a long look at the river, thanking it multiple times. The relationship of angler and river is an interesting affair, one I would call a passionate love and each waterway has different reasons why it attaches itself to you. I have many wonderful memories of my father spending time teaching me to fish on this waterway and if he had not, would I be having the mishaps and fishing adventures today?

Barbel fishing a trip to remember vlog

Catching up - Cut short

I have to admit that my blog posts have been overtaken by my videos of late and it is hard to do both at times as the videos do take time to be produced.

At the end of July and the conditions still very much settled, hot and very sunny I decided to try further afield on the Loddon, with thoughts of fishing into darkness, a wonderful new area of the river, streamer weed, sunken snags and overhanging trees, the area looked perfect for a fish or two.

So without further ado one rod cast to an upstream bush with a slight depression under it and my other rod quite close in and under one of the overhanging trees, not particularly deep at round three and a half feet in depth, so I opted to slip a back lead on this particular rod.

A brilliant day, surrounded by Damselflies which had taken a liking to one of my rods, resting on it at regular occasions, it was during one of these intervals that my rod wrapped round and I was met with the reassuring thud and strong run of a barbus.

A lovely conditioned fighting fit fish (8.9) and a nice way to commence and conclude the fishing trip at the same time, as I received a phone call around 4:45 to tell me that someone had locked themselves out of the family home and as no one else was about, said person (dad) had proceeded to have an attack of low blood sugars, so off I rushed home, thankfully he was alright in the long run but it did give us quite a scare at the time and does make me wonder with myself being overweight, just how likely I might be to also develop diabetes in the long run too.

Head over heels - I Have fallen

The Loddon has me well and truly in its grasp and I am in no hurry to escape its watery embrace, the weather on the other hand is certainly smouldering, so I decided to pack my purist river feeder with link ledger, along with my barbel gear.

Having got to the river I then realized I had left my front rod rest behind, a bit of improvisation later and I had my wigwam rod rest, admittedly I should have just hunted about for a nicely shaped piece of wood.

I planned to fish a mixture of lobworms and maggots on the link ledger for the best part of the day and then change to barbel come late evening. I have to admit I keep thinking about the fish I lost, and where it might be wandering along the river now, what other haunts it might keep.

The sun was hot and I was rather thankful of the shade to say the least, despite it being such a hot day the fish fed well, the first casts bringing a few chublets, followed by a very solid, lurching bite, this fish bolted downstream trying to take me into some heavy cabbage patch, after a very enjoyable fight a nice looking summer Chub (4.9) was resting up in the net.

Later in the day Gudgeon found their way to the bait, I do seem to have found a nice pocket of them in this spot as I found out on my previous trip, however on this occasion after catching eight of them the spot fell quiet and I did wonder if  a few tigers had moved into the swim, or perhaps a Pike.

 

Sure enough the lobworms started being snaffled up by numerous Perch, it was a great way to spend the day, but by evening I decided to switch my attention to Barbel, who knows perhaps that leviathan that I had lost would reacquaint itself with me, maybe not, the joy in not knowing was an intense one.

The night was still very warm when I had a belting bite and was into a nice healthy Barbel and one which decided to take up a new hobby in tail walking..

After releasing her and checking the pictures over and over, I noticed the scar on both flanks, it was indeed the same fish I had caught on my previous trip, this time a little lighter (10.6), but nonetheless fighting fit and as healthy as before.

This brought me round to another thought, despite having not connected with the larger fish I had lost on a previous trip and knowing there were others in this swim, I feel it is only fair for me to move further up or downstream for my next couple of trips and let her be at peace for a while, as this is her home and I don't wish her to pay me to many visits, lest she might wish to follow me, she is beautiful, battle scarred and a survivor, long may she swim free.

Unde-turd - Of stinging nettle rash and mosquito bites

Come June 16th I was looking forward to my first river trip of the season and planned to fish overnight on the Loddon, unlike some I have never really felt the urge to be on the riverbank  ready to cast out at 12am, rather preferring to venture out on the opening day itself.

It was a pleasant day and as I made my way to my swim of choice I took note of a wheelbarrow in one of the swims downstream, the occupants of a bivvy, rod pod, bed chair and everything bar the kitchen sink, seemingly sound asleep. I guessed they had been there for the start of the season although part of me can't help but think they were there before this too..

Now I have nothing wrong with this style of fishing and many times have done similar on the larger rivers, such as the Thames and Lot in the past, but on the smaller waterways I do wonder why the need for it. Granted I do fish at night, but an umbrella, seat and small rucksack is all I have ever felt the need for.

I took my time setting up whilst watching the kingfisher speed up and downstream and a family of swans and cygnets paddle on by. Ten minutes later the water was abruptly disturbed, by not one but two Cormorants erupting through the surface and taking flight. I was not too happy and decided to let the swim rest for an hour before making my first cast of the season.

The afternoon and evening were a quiet affair, the rivers surface peppered by the movement of smaller fish and a rapier like bite to the pellet rod which seemed to come from a chub was the only activity. By now the occupants of the Alamo downstream had finally gone home, I find it odd to bivvy up and then pack up on opening day, I think you might agree?

I decided to wind in, take a carrier bag with me and take a look at what damage may have been done in the way of litter left behind. On reaching their swim I was grateful to find no rubbish whatsoever, instead a large fire had been left behind, "could be worse" I said to myself.

On taking a look right next to their swim it was a lot worse, shit laden toilet roll and the contents of their bowels had been dropped right in their own swim, all uncovered and strewn in and around the surrounding area, fuming was not quite the word to use, I was bloody livid with anger. With so much better areas to dig a hole and then cover it should you get caught short, why the hell you would take a dump in your own swim beggars belief and to leave it uncovered too, worse than animals.

Thirty minutes later and having collected all the faeces covered toilet roll up using a stick and then covering it all with two kilo of soil I was still fuming. Worse than scum and it now comes to light that they are both local, so perhaps I have more of this to look forward to in various swims? Well we shall see, I will take great pleasure in rubbing both your faces in it should we ever meet again.

I walked back to my swim, the feeling of such a beautiful place being sodomized by people like this, the term "angler" not something I would use to describe such vermin. The night was peaceful, but partly ruined by the thoughts of what had occurred and how often it might in the future, I took consolation in the fact that she can be a moody and mysterious river and how that might put such people off from ever returning.

Both rods were cast back out into likely areas, one on a pellet soaked in anchovy plus, being a pre-drilled pellet I always prefer to plug either end with a piece of wood and then glug them, as this slows down the ingress of water some what which can normally hinder drilled pellets quite badly, the other rod placed out on a Thames baits TB1 boilie chop.

Now this is the first time I have put them to use this season and I'm quite interested on finding out how they will perform, they however look and smell great.

Crayfish spent the night teasing off my bait stops and chipping away at my bait, I figured the fish were still very much into spawning and at first light I had a slow bite on the TB1 boilie, resulting in a lovely looking Bream (7lb 15oz), it was covered in spawning tubercles and partly milting, a very welcome fish and a nicely conditioned river slab at that.

Back home I considered my next trip out and whether I should perhaps venture to a new area of the river, a land of stinging nettle and mosquito, a place where not so many anglers tread, no sign of use and abuse or litter louts and those whom only concern themselves with targets to achieve and little love for much else.


Come the following weekend I had made up my mind where to angle, this was to be a short trip of around 4 hours, to rove or not, I decided to opt for the latter, but surrounded with so many features I began to wonder if it would have been wiser to rove instead.Getting to the swim at 6am, I settled on a shallow area with an overhanging tree and a couple of sprigs of reed mace, this area also near a run of cabbage patch, not too deep at around three to 4 feet in depth. The rain that was forecast was on and off, the sun playing hide and seek between the clouds.

About two hours into the fishing trip, my rod wrapped round, fish making a surging dash upstream, after a very energetic and spirited fight, the first barbel of the season was recuperating in the net. A short fish (7lb 2oz), bearing some distinct red spawning marks on its belly and tail, this fish falling to a Thames baits TB1 boilie.

I was overjoyed, a new stretch and the first barbel, although I was apparently keeping the local mosquito populace happy too!

In the four hours that I fished they managed to rack up 50 bites on various areas of my body, at least not on my gonads this time! Unfortunately I am allergic to deet based repellents and usually go the garlic route, sadly not this time, Instead thinking I would try and get away with it, not the best of ideas and I am surprised that I did not require a blood transfusion by the end, but along with the stinging nettles and mosquito hoards there was a most welcome reward at the end, I went home lumpier than usual and rather itchy, but very happy.

The Breadcrumb Trail

Flowing water, a living entity in its own right, myriads of shapes and patterns, sculpting features and carving landscapes in its path, creating a vortex of emotions within an angler. From summer through to winter a river evolves, new areas become accessible and old spots have new snags waiting to part angler and hook of their prize.

It was mild and the Loddon looked good again, a touch of colour still and a steady pace, the air filled  with a rich intoxicating aroma. After my last trip out after the chub and that trout making a cameo appearance, I decided to chance my arm again and see if I could pick up a few more chub on cheesepaste and feeder. The banks were slippery and akin to treading on a softened fudge cake, my waders slipping and sliding about as I made my way downstream.

Having got to the spot, I realised I had left the baiting spoon behind, I have a memory like a sieve at times and today was no different. The spot being so tight was not an easy proposition, so I ended up leaning to the edge of the bank, rod held far down the butt, before letting the feeder trundle downstream slightly.

It was a quiet start and I had yet again brought my barbel rod along with me, but like last time there was no room to use another rod, once again it was to remain a spectator as the days events unfolded. It was around lunchtime that I had my first bite, a jolly pluck, followed by the quivertip sweeping round, I struck but met only thin air, my face taking on a quizzical look. The paste had pulled through on the strike fine and the Drennan size 7 hook was pin sharp. a fresh egg shaped piece of cheesepaste was applied, cage feeder refilled with a mixture of bread, maggots and birdseed.

An hour passed in a heartbeat, the rod tip moved ever so slightly, a miniscule tap and then swept round, I struck, the same result nothing, no resistance, no healthy kick or bullish thud from a chub, I was perplexed, were they perhaps being a little cute? Maybe so.

About half an hour later, I was dragged harshly back to reality, five workmen turned up, wearing high visibility clothing, high pitched yelling and banter could be heard, birdlife began to scatter, all but the friendly Robin, who seemed to recognise me now and had taken to regularly landing on my rod before stealing the odd maggot. The nearby commotion carried on till dusk, the sound of their quad bikes eventually drifting off into the distance, but the swim was deathly quiet, I pondered should I move swim? Twist or stick?

I decided to stick with it and change bait to a healthy bunch of maggots, by now the rain began to patter, gradually increasing, I sipped a welcome cup of coffee, the steam teasing my nostrils. The rod tip pinged round sharply, before resuming its motionless state, less than five minutes later, the rod lunged forward, quivertip burying underwater and butt beginning to lift,  I extended myself just managing to grab hold of the rod butt, I could already feel the power of this fish before even lifting the rod, as I did so the rod took on a serious arc, I cupped the reel in an attempt to at least slow the fish and its progress downstream, I could feel everything as it tried to bully me, slowly I played it back, till it was unseen beneath me, rod doubled over.

Shimano do state that their river purist feeder rod can handle barbel and this was to be a true acid test, as yet again the fished powered off  upstream, but the rod reassuringly cushioned each and every lunge it made, my mouth was like leather and I was praying that the 6lb line would hold, as I could feel debris clipping my line and to top it all off, the line got trapped around the isotope as I played her.

Finally I slipped the waiting net under her, tail slapping as she slid into it, a beautiful barbel. After allowing her a good rest and myself time to recuperate, I slipped her out on the mat and realised she was a very special fish, a gold bar, replete with a wonderfully powerful tail, a streamlined, golden torpedo, weighing 13lb 7oz's and my largest Loddon barbel.

After a good rest she was released, I punched the air with delight, my face wearing a very daft grin, when I got home I noticed my hands were still shaking with adrenaline, but boy was I over the moon.

Slugging It Out On The Loddon

The opening of the river season unfortuntaely didn't go quite as I had planned, the family car being stolen from our drive five days prior to the start of the river season, a few days prior another house in the road had their car stolen in daylight and to top this all off, a few days later a stolen jcb digger ram raided the cash machine at the local BP petrol station just round the corner from me. Never a dull moment in Berkshire.. Ram raid three mile cross


No thanks to the legalised crime that is car insurance, a car was eventually sorted out and I was off down the Loddon, armed with the new baits in hope of a Barbus. On arrival the river looked simply stunning and was looking in very fine fettle, dragonflies darting about before perching on stinging nettles as tall as me, although being as short and rotund as I am that really does not take much.

It was a reasonable day, sunny and mild with a blustery south westerly taking the edge off. I decided to place one rod out on the home made boilie recipe, which I have aptly named " red anchovy", due to the inclusion of anchovy and robin red as part of the ingredients. The other rod was placed out on a 12mm hinders crab and krill pellet, both rods to marginal features inbetween the jungle of streamer weeds. My first inquisitive bite was a rap tap affair on the pellet rod, which fell silent for a time, I pondered a while and began to change lens on my camera.

This is always the best possible way to promote a bite and I swear the fish know you can't possibly make it to strike the rod in time, sure enough with camera in one hand and lens in the other, the fish took this as the cue to wrap the rod round, camera placed down as fast as I possibly could, I was soon met by a thud followed by that weightless empty feeling of a fish that had now departed rod and line. Although left feeling a tad empty I was not disheartened, as I find a bite so early on can be a good sign on this river. The crayfish were proving a pain in the derrière as I found out during late afternoon when  two were reeled in on the boilie, both armed with claws the size of small lobsters. The afternoon past quietly and any activity that I previously had was duly killed by a cormorant that appeared right in front of me and commenced its underwater foray, a look of loathing was firmly etched on my face. The mosquitoes were proving to have an insatiable appetite as well, despite making sure to have eaten a good helping of garlic a few days prior, this did nothing to keep them at bay, an armada of dive bombers repeatedly tried to invade and bite me, succeeding no less than 25 times and I'm itching like mad as I write this.


As the portal between daylight and sunset was nearing, I decided to switch to the other freezer boilies I had made, these are the base mix from essential baits, known as the black snail, a lovely subtle meaty, snail aroma, but not overpowering.  

Night time ensconced angler and river as they became one and the barn owls began their calls in earnest, they are one bird I would dearly love to manage a good quality photograph of, but as of yet have not been lucky enough to. As the night grew long my boilie rod gave only the faintest indication,twitching once before nearly launching itself from the rod rest. I was into a solid and powerful fish, my rod arched over as the fish made regular runs into mid-water, the reels drag ticking away steadily as I allowed it to run. After a few more powerful surges the fish was sat resting in the net, the golden flank giving its identity away, the first barbus of the new season. A healthy looking  fish of 11.6.

I was very happy to have my first barbel of the new season under my belt, after a giving her a good amount of time to recuperate, she powered off back to her watery home. On picking up the bag of bait to trickle some more into the swim I was greeted by that soft, slimy, wet feeling of a slug, which actually turned out to be numerous slugs of various shapes and sizes, I don't recollect ever seeing so many of them, their silver trails covering my bait bags, rucksack and flask, from the miniscule in size to the giant, there was lots of them and they were literally everywhere, the first thought that popped into my head was "mmm perfect chub baits". 


The time was getting on for 4am and I had sluggishly (oh dear) packed one rod up, leaving only the boilie rod out, as I was sat back listening to the birds awaken, giving a wonderful early chorus a bolting take occurred and the rod was bent downward, line being taken downstream. The resistance  and power from this fish felt great as it made numerous attempts to get its head down into the cabbage patch further downstream, the line pinging in and out of the streamer weed beds, after a lively fight a feisty Barbel of 8.5 was sat glistening in the net.

This was the last fish of a very enjoyable trip and as I made my way home, thoughts of the Loddon and its other inhabitants swirled back and forth in my mind, the voice of the Thames was also calling to me, contented but undecided where my line will be wetted on my next trip, but happy to have such a choice.

Not Long Now

Ye Old Thames

Reels loaded, tackle checked and only a couple of days till the start of the river season and I must say  with the forecast for more unsettled conditions it looks like it might be rather good for a Barbel or two.  I'm looking forward to this season more than ever, as I will be fishing some new areas on the Thames that look to hold promise of a nice variety of fish as well as once again targetting that intimate and simply beautiful river that is the Loddon.

The pictures were taken when we had that nice hot spell of weather (seems a while ago) and this is one of the areas on the Thames that I will be fishing, a lovely stretch with a plethora of features that all look very tempting. With the current rainfall I suspect that I will be looking for some nice slack marginal areas, I have to say I can't wait to sink my teeth into this season and I hope everyone else who has been looking forward to the opening day has a thoroughly enjoyable time.

Anyway I'm off now to triple check my tackle...