Catching up - To be or not to be

During early September I found my head turned yet again by the Blackwater and the barbel that inhabit this river, although I must admit these fish do come with their own set of head scratching conundrums, nomadic as they are and can invariably throw a spanner in the works even when you think you have it figured out. During this particular week we had received some welcome rain and the river was fining down nicely (not been able to say that much during this season!), I planned to keep proceedings as simple as possible, after all it can be easy to disappear into a labyrinth of rig adjustments and confidence questioning, I've been there before and torturing your soul over a tactic that you know works well is not wise, that said at times I still manage to do it!

This season I have found link ledgering to pay dividends, I am able to cover a few swims and this helps build up a mental image of the topography of the river, as well as picking up a few bonus fish of other species along the way. By late afternoon a single rod was lowered into a narrower area of the river, this particular swim is a bit of a bottleneck with a steady, walking pace current, the river was still tinged with colour but had dropped a good 10 inches and it looked good for a bite.


During the afternoon I was kept company by the aerobatics of a kestrel as it hunted the land behind me, a few pictures were attempted and as twitchers law would dictate it was not the easiest to grab a  photo of, in fact if it had kindly perched for a little longer on one of the posts I may have got a better image but instead made do with a few rapidly fired shots.

Anyone who knows me will know that I am just as happy having some tranquillity and being kept company by nature regardless of catching during fishing trips, natures primeval instinct always makes me ponder a few things about us humans and how we sully so much that we come across, be that the environment or other people.

As afternoon merged into evening I started to receive a few heavy knocks in a stop start fashion, not the usual pull and hold crayfish experience, no these were definitely enquiring knocks and nearly had me reaching for the rod in anticipation, however it fell silent for the next thirty minutes, I usually find such moments the calm before the storm and the full blooded bite that followed did not disappoint as the rod tip wrapped round and I found myself trying to slow down a fish that was making its way for the exit of the bottleneck and head toward a mean looking set of sunken branches.

A little side strain applied and after a few heart in mouth moments it was coaxed back upstream, as it slipped into the net a quick glance at the healthy golden flank and strong paddles told me it was in fighting fit condition.

A perfectly conditioned Blackwater Barbel (9.14)

Another perfectly formed gem from this waterway, I was pretty happy to say the least and went home with a spring in my step.

Warwickshire Avon

Earlier in the year via Groupon we had booked a short October break in a lodge known as a snug at the Stratford caravan park (Tiddington), this worked out exceptional value for money, four nights costing around £50 and doubled up perfectly for any sightseeing but would also give myself and Robert the chance to do a bit of fishing on the Warks Avon.

The snug an appropriate name, sleeps four and comes with heater and fridge

 

The whole reason I originally created the fishing for memories blog years ago was to share our fishing trips together, it was never meant to be about self promotion or anything of the kind at all, just myself writing about the trips of father and son. However over the years my father (Robert) has seen his health go downhill and as a result has fished less and less, to the point of eventually stopping, many times over the seasons if I have been fishing old areas of river I would glance and look to a spot where he might have favoured and thought about the times we shared together, during the years that have followed we have always chatted about fishing, he always asks how my trips have gone and I guess in a way living those trips through me, during this time I have missed the comradery and mirth that father and son share during fishing trips, I suppose you could say that I have become ensconced in my own company and almost taken on a lone angler aspect and I would be lying if I said this thought did not cross my mind at regular intervals.

The morning of our arrival Robert was not feeling well so we took it steady and I decided to take a good look at the river and pick us some nice looking swims for the following evenings fishing, the plan being to fish late evening (7pm onward) to minimise any boat traffic and pack up around 1am. On reaching the river it was clear that much like my own waterways in Berkshire they had not seen much rain, the river was low and gin clear, in fact the clarity was that good I could have probably mistaken it for any of my local chalk streams and it was fairly evident from the outset that it was going to be challenging due to the combination of high pressure weather conditions and water clarity being crystal clear.

I must say I fell in love with the river instantly, it's hard to explain how different waterways bring out different emotions in an angler but this one made me feel right at home and I was looking forward to us wetting a line together, however there were more areas of this stretch to look at before finally deciding on swims.
 

Decisions Decisions

After spending the morning and best part of the afternoon looking around I eventually picked us out a couple of  areas which offered us a combination of better depth and some coverage in the shape of dense yet tired looking weed beds, these particular swims had a mixture of sandy bottom giving way to gravel runs, areas interspersed with larger rocks, in fact it reminded me a lot of some areas of the Thames, I must admit some of the areas I had looked at simply cried carp and barbel, not to mention other species.

The following evening after enjoying a family barbecue I set about mixing up a light groundbait mixture, as I had not been able to bring any prepared birdseed with me, it was to be hemp a very light scattering of scolded pellet and liquidised vitalin, mixed with some crumb and krill.

We planned to fish a single rod each for barbel and carp and I also planned to do a spot of fishing on the quiver tip and isotope into darkness. Our first evening didn't go quite as I had planned for us, sods law the primary spot I had chosen was taken by another angler, who then packed up an hour after we had set up further downstream. Chopping and changing between worm and maggot fished over the groundbait mix  I had a few lovely conditioned roach, not massive fish the largest perhaps 10/12 oz but they were spotless and with that lovely silver sheen, this along with a solitary bream (5lb) as well as a chub over 3lb on the quiver, just before packing up at midnight I heard some pattering coming down the path which lead to the river and sure enough an overly confident otter ran past me before diving into the river, nice to witness them but that enjoyment is always tinged with a slight sense of bemusement with regard to the way their reintroduction to our waterways has been handled.

A nicely conditioned chevin and a rather odd look to myself haha

That first evening it was safe to say that neither of us were troubled by any barbel or carp and part of me was dearly hoping dad would catch his first barbel in a long time. Odd how time changes everything, I can remember as a youngster looking at dad and asking him what his thoughts were on spots and where we planned to fish, learning so much from our trips together, watercraft, patience and humility from his angling guidance, that's something you can't put a price on, however it now felt like role reversal and I was hoping that I wouldn't let him down.

The weather for October was simply beautiful, not an anglers ideal conditions, but boy it was very settled, cool nights and very pleasant days. The following evening the first choice area was available and we made a beeline for it. The first hour was quiet apart from having a barge pass by which was being filmed by a film crew on board a separate boat, however as daylight faded so the river came alive with the sound of chub and bream topping. It was a windless night, calm but with a chill in the air, both myself and Robert were hopeful, I had decided to stay on the quiver tip, the only change made was to a larger hook and a side hooked boilie barrel.

Two hours later I received a very delicate tap, the isotope arching round confidently, what followed was a fish that headed off to the far bank margins at breakneck speed before attempting to continue its journey downstream, followed by me repeatedly saying "this feels a better fish"  "I think can bloody see that!" came the reply. It was evident from the power and pace that this might be a carp and it was testing my metal.

After a lengthy scrap Robert slipped the net under a very frisky ghostie (14lb), apart from a small amount of fin damage it was in cracking condition and had certainly given me a challenging tussle.

Before I could even get this fish on to the landing mat Robert's rod was away and he was soon playing an energetic looking fish, as its flank broke the surface between each surging run I could see that it was indeed a barbel, after a lively scrap it finally nestled in the landing net, a broad smile was etched on my face, a mixture of elation for dad and a palpable sense of relief.

Happy days and proof your angling heart never dies (9.1)

We fished on for two more hours, during this time Robert hooked into another one of the carp and to say it put up a good fight would be an understatement, unfortunately just as it looked beaten it made a headlong dash for the marginal weed and the hook pulled, despite this slight anti climax it was evident that the old guy was overjoyed.


On the final morning as we had breakfast he said to me "thank you", a reply from myself was hard to come by, not from being impolite or ungracious but from the multitude of different emotions that were welling up, after all what do you say to the person that invested their time, kindled the fire and opened a doorway into what has become an integral part of my life and dare I say well being, you never need say thank you dad, that you were happy again was more than enough.

Stalking chub on the Blackwater (Video 83)

Blackwater - Piecing together the skeleton key

This season I had a plan and one I wished to stick to, that was to target barbel on the Blackwater. Time spent watching and building up a mental image of various stretches of the river over the last few seasons whilst targeting other species had helped a lot, that said on the couple of occasions I did try to tempt one during last season I felt that I approached it half heartedly and lacked the single minded focus it required.


So this season I decided to do evening trips, fishing till midnight hoping with the dry weather that the cover of darkness would help combat the low water levels. Three trips in I was beginning to scratch my head and stare at a piscatorial labyrinth with which to become lost in. The barbel were still spawning and that was definitely making it tricky, thoughts about leaving it till a bit later in the season did cross my mind.

During the fourth trip I had settled into a perfect looking swim, dense streamer weed giving way to dinner plate sized gaps where a bait could be gently lowered and presented, it was a lovely warm evening and there was signs of fish on the opposite margin, the tell tale signs as the foliage was being vigorously nudged back and forth, a sure sign that something was engrossed with spawning activity. Around 10pm a fish in my marginal swim spooked and a trail of bubbles was all that could be seen, I was starting to think that things were not going to go as I hoped. Half an hour later and a mink paddled by, not the best sight in your swim and it followed it up by passing by yet again on its way upstream. This scenario was set to repeat itself and in all honesty it could have done a backstroke on its next lap past my rod, it would not have surprised me had that happened!

I really should have moved swims, as I have always found when fishing its larger sibling the Loddon that you may have a good spot which can produce some very special fish, however once the mink become active you are sometimes better off relocating. Alas I stuck it out and this furry critter that seemed like it had overdosed on energy drinks just kept on going (could well have been powered by Duracell).  I headed home with a bee in my bonnet about furry critters that might make nice coats!

On the evening of my fifth trip there had been a welcome sprinkling of rain, conditions were very humid, with plenty of cloud cover and a welcome breeze. It felt right, but would the river agree? As I made my way to a new spot I passed by a few swims that showed obvious signs of angling activity the Himalayan balsam and reeds trodden down, enough room for an opportunistic cast up or downstream. Tempting as they were I had one area in mind and was hoping the extra depth just might give me a chance.

As evening drew in I had placed some birdseed via bait dropper slightly upstream and lowered the rod into position, a scant amount of free offerings were placed round the hook bait, the last thing I wanted to do was over feed fish that seemed to have an abundance of natural food.

Every fishing trip I am a fairly excitable angler but this evening you could have cut the atmosphere with a knife, for some reason I was like a tightly wound, chubby spring sat on a landing mat.

An hour later and the rod nodded once and tapped a couple of times before the clutch started ticking steadily, not the usual manic bite you would associate from a barbel, oh no that was to come when I lifted the rod and boy did she awaken, tearing off downstream and trying to take me for a tour of the weed bed, as I walked to the limit of my swim to gain some control over her I could feel every surge  and with it the attempt to make for the sanctuary of some nearby snags.

My headlight caught her flank as she broke the surface, words tumbled out my mouth regarding her  length and build, along with a slight helping of expletives. The net seemed to take an age to slip under her, but once it had and she lay recuperating I punched the air with joy, daft as it may seem but I don't think I have ever felt such a feeling of contentment.

 A dream realised from one of my favourite Thames tributaries (12.1)

I was over the moon, I don't think there is a much better feeling than adrenaline combined with knowing that groundwork had culminated in such a reward, if only she could have known how much she had gladdened my heart. As I released her it was with an emotionally choked goodbye.

Part of the key had been unearthed, but this waterway has so many more special secrets that it withholds and has fought its way back from the brink of death by pollution in 1995, long may it continue.

Blackwater bound - The podge goes roving

Well I have not been able to keep as up to date as I would like with the written side of my blog, however I now have time to put finger to keyboard and catch up on on a couple of trips I have had on the Blackwater, you may have seen the video of one of them, I always enjoy writing a blog entry to accompany my videos though, as there is something you just cannot convey through the use of video alone.

I really cannot get enough of the intimate waterways this season, small in size and absolutely grand in character and features. A couple of trips on the Blackwater were planned and some roving about, perhaps the odd perch and chub might fall for a lobworm or two. At least that was the plan.

My first choice was to take a short trip to the same area I had caught that plump 2lb+ perch and met that rather placid snake which had been leisurely decomposing in a nearby tree. The river was more coloured than what I had expected it to be and after missing out on a few wary plucks early on and repeatedly striking into thin air, it was evident that the perch were going to be a bit of a test today and it seemed as if they were mouthing the worm lightly as they moved off with the bait.

Changing from lobworm to red worm with maggot sprayed over the top did eventually give me a more confident bite and I soon had a vividly marked, Blackwater stripey in the landing net.

over 1lb smaller than the one from my previous trip, but nonetheless  perfectly coloured and a most welcome chaser of minnow and gudgeon. Despite adding a few more smaller perch and chublets to the tally, I decided that a move upstream was perhaps in order.

Now this area is a tangle of sunken trees, cabbage patches, streamer weeds and carrier streams, an anglers smorgasbord of features, the choice not being when to cast but just where to cast first.I have to admit the first thing on my mind was that it looked a perfect pike and chub spot too. This fact was further cemented when my link ledger was chased on the retrieve and a pike that looked around 10lb grabbed it and made off with it into the nearby weed beds before eventually letting go.


A few more casts were made, but it became apparent that Esox had perhaps frightened the life out of the other fish as all was silent and it was some time later when a cast to the far bank margins was made and eventually the rod swept round. On striking, I was met with a dogged and lunging run, the quiver tip bending round as this fish tried to swim to the safety of some tree roots and it was very nearly successful in this attempt, my line just lightly clipping the mixture of roots and sunken branches.

A welcome chevin, blunt headed, short, very plump, dare I say not too dissimilar in description to the angler whos day it had gladdened. The perch had been a tad perplexing but I felt red worms had picked me up a bonus fish when the lob worms were being treated with a reasonable amount of apprehension.





The following weekend I headed out late afternoon to one of my favourite areas of the river, in hope of tempting a chub or two. It was a perfect day, cloudy with a touch of wind, but mild, the odd droplet of rain pattering down and threatening to become more, but kept in check by the steady breeze.

A link ledger cast to an undercut bank here, a rod tip slipped under a bush there. After a few small perch and chub I eventually connected with a very nice looking fish of 3.12 and a rather feisty fight ensued. This fish making every effort to dive for the sanctuary of the snags on the opposite bank.

I so dearly love this form of fishing, stripped down and an almost back to basics feel, it brings out more of the hunter instinct and the rewards never fail to make me smile. A little rest was given to the swim and I chanced my luck for another fish, not always a wise move in this river, but sometimes you get the odd bonus fish that may not have been spooked.


On this occasion it proved to be the case, as barely had I rested the rod on the bank side foliage, when it thudded round and I was into a very heavy fish that plodded left and right. One run too far to the right  hand side of this particular spot and I knew that I could more or less consider this fish lost, as there is a rather nasty sunken snag which I have lost the odd hook to in the past.

Once it slid over the landing net cord, I could see it was clearly a lovely shaped fish, large grey mouth and replete with that typical bullish look that chub have when over a certain size, I knew that I might have a new venue personal best and the scales settled at a very pleasing  5lb 7oz's, a new Blackwater pb chevin. Happy? You bet!

As the sun set I tried many different areas including a nice pacey bend where I spotted a rather nice trout breaking the surface between the weed beds, alas this fish did seem very skittish and headed off upstream in a hurry.


By now that "one last cast" voice inside my head had well and truly set in and I was near to a spot I had fished a long time ago. The chub like to hold up around this area, a very shallow spot with streamer weed and overhanging tree. Not usually the best spot in bright sunlight, but by now it was dark and I just had to have a cast, a juicey lob worm went out into one of the weedless pockets beneath the tree.

As I sat happily recounting how the trip had gone, the isotope twitched once before the rod buckled round, apparently this fish had either had its weetabix or had been training with Usain Bolt as it decided to peel line off the reel and head downstream at a rate of knots. After a few moments where this cheeky chevin had me wondering if I was going to end up with either a hook pull or leave me snagged in weed, I eventually slipped the net underneath it.

Not a large fish at 3lb, but try telling it that, I could have sworn it had secretly been popping steroids by the way it had surged off downstream....

I have yet to visit the Thames this season and will no doubt do so at some point, but with such beautiful rivers like these in my locality, I will be no doubt be very hard pressed to tear myself away from them.

Chub Fishing On The Blackwater Vlog

I have been catching up over this weekend and editing a few videos from some of my recent fishing trips, finally I have managed to get the first of these uploaded, a very enjoyable afternoon spent roving on the Blackwater for Chub.

The Curtain Call Vlog

The curtain call

Final casts, the sand from this seasons hourglass slipping away, packing a light amount of gear I decided to spend the final day out on the Blackwater roving about, seeking that last river fishing fix until June and where better than this wonderous little river, since the very first time that I had wetted a line on it, fascination for this waterway has never left me, condensed with features that would raise a smile and warm the soul of many an angler. There is beauty in the shape and form that a river makes as it winds its way, seeking, surging with an urgency that it and only those who are connected to it can feel and understand.

As anglers what do we seek, to catch fish might be one answer, I would agree to some extent, but let that not fool you, we also seek a peace and to be at one, fishing allows this in many ways outside of all the connected and at times dysfunctional electronica, it is what helps to earth us, a steadying hand if you will.

Such thoughts were racing through my head during the afternoons roving, the sun playing a game of cat and mouse between the clouds, it was a very pleasant day, minnows playing with the bait in most the swims I had fished, no real bites with what to connect with, yet I was content, kept company by natures theatre which was unfurling before me, a kingfisher was darting up and downstream, wings low to the water, a blur of electric blue, a kestrel was perched on a nearby tree and had seemingly taken to following me upstream, perching near me on no less than three ocassions and with the aid of a local birdwatcher I was introduced to a Pallas's Warbler.

On the fishing front however it was a quiet afternoon and one which was slowly but surely melting into evening, after trying a few spots upstream I decided to make my way back downstream, covering other spots that I had either skipped or planned to fish on the way back, but try as I might, a fish was far from forthcoming in any of these. I wondered, should I beat a path downstream and try an area that I had not given much attention to? The answer was a resounding yes.

Making my way to this area of the river, the flow faster more certain with an almost arrogant assurance about its pace, the sun fading away in front of me as I cast lobworm and now cage feeder  downstream, it was the perfect evening, the scene completed when a violent bite shook the quiver tip to life, rod rudely awakened as it jerked to life. The angler strikes, hoping to feel a comforting resistance and dash for freedom from the other end and sure enough I did, the fight was intriguing as fish and current joined forces to aid and abet in its mission to escape.

The net slid under a welcome fish of 2lb, no signs of it having ever seen a hook before, clean unblemished, such is the beauty of rivers like this, the forgotten creating its own security and peace where fish can thrive.

I made my way back to the car, but not before trying a couple of other spots into darkness, but deep down I was whole and sated, at least until June and when the new coarse season beckons.

Where the Gravel Path Leads Vlog

Where the gravel path leads

It was a cloudy and breezy Saturday morning, single rod ready with a tub replete with liquidized bread, bird seed and krill mixture.

Today was going to be a slightly different day to my normal lone ranger fishing trips, as I would be playing host to two very welcome guests, Carl and Alex Smith, a pair of very keen anglers who share a burning passion for fishing and make some wonderful videos which can be viewed on their website at Carl And Alex Fishing.

I met up with them at around 11am, their trip down from Sussex had been a very straight forward one and they had made good time in getting to the Berkshire/Hampshire border. Having not seen them in ages it was nice to finally meet up again, setting eyes on Carl I commented on how much he had grown as he towered over me, although that doesn't take a lot when you're as short as I am!

We eventually made our way to the river, the Blackwater was running low and rather clear, but I felt confident that we might pick up the odd fish by roving about and being as opportunistic as possible. Carl and Alex had decided on a combination of link ledger and cage feeder approach and settled in a swim downstream of me, a nice bend with some far bank coverage, an area where I have had many chublets and the odd dace in summertime. I moved upstream and settled in a spot where the boughs of a tree sank beneath the river, debris hanging on to each and every tendril.

I had taken quite a few smaller chub here in the past, the majority falling to maggots or lobworm, this time I decided on the latter as bait, lowering a well filled cage feeder and juicy lobworm into the water just above the sunken bough, the river is marginally deeper here and there is also a slightly undercut bank, a perfect place for fish to rest up and food to collect. I must have lowered the bait right in front of a waiting chevin, as a bite was forthcoming instantly, the rod tapping a couple of times before bending round, on striking I was met with a rather powerful run upstream, the fish trying to get into the tangle of branches and debris, keeping the rod tip sunk low, letting it absorb each and every lunge I carefully gained line and after a few more surging attempts to make for the snags, a handsome looking chub was resting in the net.

It was a well formed chevin 1oz from being a 4 pounder and most welcome. I have to say though since fishing with other anglers and being the guest on my trip to Essex with Fred Phillips and George Basham, now being a host and catching, don't get me wrong it was nice to have caught, but it didn't feel right at all. Especially as I wanted both Carl and Alex to experience the fishing that I have had on this wonderful little river. I suggested to Alex to have a go in this very same swim, as where one fish can be caught, sometimes another is not always far behind.


We ventured further upstream, trying a few areas where I have had success in the past, in one of these Carl had a very good bite, the rod tip thumping round as he held the rod, a typcial chub bite, alas the connection between fish and angler was not made, the maggots looking very sorry for themselves and showing every sign that a chub was the culprit.

Carl link ledgering

 
Meanwhile Alex was trying his luck in one of the swims further downstream, where the river takes on a smooth and steady bend.

Alex trying his luck downstream

As is the case with a river such as this, there are so many beautiful little features each and every one which has an angler wondering just what might be waiting to pick up their bait. Every bend and glide with a new story just waiting to be told.

At around 4pm we stopped for a late snack before heading further downstream, I was so dearly hoping that one of the chaps would connect with a fish here, as it is a very good area, with swims that I would almost call bankers.

Time really is the fire in which we burn and it had certainly sped by rapidly today, it was not long before we was all being treated to a wonderful sunset, by now the breeze had dropped and it didn't feel too cold, you could almost be forgiven for thinking there was a hint of spring in the evening air.

It had been an enjoyable days fishing with both Carl and Alex and if I could have given one of them my chub then I gladly would have done so. Alas there is no set script in fishing, there are no guarantees, the unknown is what makes it such an enjoyable pastime and to be able to spend a day in such very good company meant a lot to me.

Snowy Banks & Armoured Flanks Vlog

Snowy Banks & Armoured Flanks

Snow, the word resonates with so many different memories, snowball fights as a child, that explosion as a well rounded ball hits the back of your neck, trickling down, meeting the warmth from within your jacket.

Days spent sledging, dad and I doubling up on what was one of the best sledges I ever had, a deep blue, vaccum moulded affair, with room for father and son to share the thrills and more often than not spills, on the snow laden hills that surround Spencers Wood. Each trip down, followed by a sturdy trudge back uphill, like a surfer seeking that perfect wave, with high hopes for a faster, more complete ride on that next trip downhill. One of the larger hills that we favoured had a lovely hump midway down, this would often freeze over, creating the perfect ramp, the younger children and ones generally looking for props from their friends, would always try to hit this slap bang in the middle, it was almost a rite of passage.

I remember our best run down that hill as if it was yesterday, we had managed some nice rides that day, but still hadn't hit the sweet spot, father and sons faces set in a somewhat whimsical seriousness as we charged off downhill again, dad giving that extra boost before finally jumping in, acceleration, that cold rush of air stinging our faces, the light airy feeling as the sledge almost hovered, yet remained true and straight, the hump loomed, looking larger than ever before, we hit it dead on centre, the sledge making a crunching sound as it lifted, we was airborne, a feeling akin to the one you get as you drift off asleep and feel yourself falling.

I have no idea how fast we was going, but upon hitting the hump, we landed just short of the nearby  wire fence and stile, sledge jammed in the fence and us in a heap laughing infectiously, great memories.

As I made my way to the river, the snow crunched crisply underfoot, the area looking absolutely stunning in its snowy petticoat, the icey layer revealing pathways taken by various animals, deer rabbit and fox prints all showing up very easily, each one telling a tale of hunter and hunted.

The river had fined down a lot, running lower and much clearer, looking spot on for a fish or two.I had brought with me some bread so as to try and tempt a few roach, I know further upstream there has been some nice fish caught, but downstream is a bit of an unknown for myself, as although I have caught many species (dace, chub, trout, pike,perch, gudgeon, minnows), I have not caught any roach, that is not to say they aren't there, as I personally can't see why they wouldn't be, however I must admit that I did spend more time focusing on the chub, as I so dearly wanted one in the snow.

I decided to bait a few swims very lightly with a mixture of mashed bread, seed and maggots before sitting down to one of the most welcome cups of coffee I have had,  the birdlife were also out in force, accoustics of the snow amplifying each and everyone of their calls, I really wish that I had my camera to hand for each one that I saw, (kingfishers,hobbys,buzzards and kites) and a pair of herons whom flew by, their calls sounding similar to that of rusty metal grinding together.



Cage feeder and small piece of cheese paste making a splosh as it entered the far bank, I was at peace, there is something about small river fishing that just feels so very special, for me a place has to have that feeling, you know the kind that you get when you hear a certain music track, making the hairs stand on the back of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine and this river has that in spades.

During the day a friendly robin and his wagtail sidekick which I decided to aptly name batman, kept making returning visits to the twisted roots of a tree on the farbank.

What happened during one of their visits was simply jaw-dropping, I was sat watching the quivertip,when all of a sudden I heard high pitched birdcall emanate from upstream, from then on everything happened so fast, a bird of prey sped by, skimming past my rod with its talons outstretched, both the little birds making shrill calls in abject fear, the wagtail escaped becoming breakfast by inches, I believe the bird was a Harrier, but I am not sure which, at first I thought perhaps a Marsh harrier, but have since been informed that it might have been a rare winter hobby.

The first bite was a bold affair, the rod tip stabbing a couple of times, before jerking round, the welcome resistance of a hungry chevin was felt, head down, spiritedly attempting to make its
way to a nearby snag.

A most welcome snowy chub of 2lb 7oz, I was rather happy and in fairness I could have perhaps winkled more out from this swim, but I felt the urge to move in an attempt to warm myself up.

By now the wind was becoming quite blustery, cutting into me like a set of sharp knives. The wind chill was really starting to kick in, my hands agreed with this, turning from lobster red to a slight blue tinge, my own fault really for not wearing gloves, but that is something that I have never been able to do, I'm the same when tieing my shoe laces, I simply can't stand feeling too constricted, I could go into more depth as to why this, but I have perhaps already digressed too much.

My flask was nearly running on empty when a very confident bite occurred, I was met by a reassuring thud as I struck, the fish moving in a bullish manner to the far bank and not being to willing to come back straight away, the steady flow helping it in its quest for snag seeking freedom.

It was not long before this fish was sat in the net and looking rather frisky, a short but chunky and well filled fish and a new Blackwater pb of 5lb 4oz. My hands and fingers felt like very painful stumps, but this was all forgotten in the moment, I gave it an appreciative peck on the head before  slipping it back.

When I got home and started to defrost I recounted the trip, it had been superb, the lovely widlife, the close call with the hobby, beautiful surroundings and two snowy chub, what more can an angler want for?

Frost Bites - A Flotsam Fumble Vlog

Frost Bites - A Flotsam Fumble

Well the weather has finally settled, for how long I'm not too sure, however I spent some time drawing up a shortlist of waters that would be less affected by the torrential rain, making a list of seven different waters, both river and canal. I really have not done much canal fishing and that is something I would love to remedy during this winter and again in spring, with the odd overnighter tracking down some of the elusive Carp, with just a small amount of fishing equipment and stars for comfort.

But back to the here and now, one of the waters I had added to my list was looking rather good for a spot of winter fishing and it was a very frosty morning, the kind that pierces your lungs as you breath in and nose begins to run in earnest.

As I made my way to the river, the sun was slowly appearing through the treeline on the opposite bank, a bright, blazing, ball of orange. A fine mist was rising from the rivers surface and the Blackwater looked wonderful, the riverbank and nearby bushes laced with frost, almost like a dusting of icing sugar, a pair of Deer spotted me and made a dash, covering many yards with leaps and bounds in seconds, before disappearing in the hedgerow.

As I passed by one of the swims, the swans were having an early morning feed, tails up, feet wiggling in the air as they balanced themselves. As anglers we get to see a lot of wildlife that not everyone else does, our own little world if you like and that is something that is so very special.

I decided to try my luck in an area where the river arcs round in a bend, the current spiralling back on itself here and complimented by a nice steady depth, I had the choice of the ever faithful cheesepaste and maggot along with lobworms, filling the cage feeder with a light amount of liquidized bread, maggots and casters, deciding to start with maggots and chop and change as the day went on, the swim was very quiet, it looked good for a fish or two and I was very tempted to remain here and wait a while longer, on looking at my watch I realised that I had spent a good hour here, thirty minutes longer than I had promised myself.

I made my way downstream, this little waterway twisting and turning, shallows with tired looking weedbeds wafting about in the current, giving way to bottlenecks, before slightly widening again, tiny amounts of bankside coverage and a lovely looking crease on the far bank. I just had to have a cast, there was a fair bit of debris coming down, bits of weed and leaves collecting on the line every so often, making the quiver nod solemnly back and forth,

I was reaching my time limit in this swim when the rod tip plucked and suddenly jerked into life, I was met by a very lively scrap from a well conditioned Chub of 4lb, after a few steady sprints it was sat recuperating in the net. This fish looked resplendent in the winter sun, after a couple of photos I watched it swim away, drifting off into the main current, its grey back eventually fading from view.

One of the things that I particularly love about this time of year, is how so many more spots become available, areas that were simply not accessible during summer, it creates an added dimension and in many ways almost creating a whole new river. I was kept company by a lot of wildlife during the day, not least of all by a Wagtail, which kept me amused as it picked its way across the field in a rather eccentric manner.

I made my way to the end of the field, another spot that had been too dense with weed to fish in summer was open and beckoning, I decided to cast downstream to a near margin bay which looked a likely spot for a fish or two to lay up in. By now the sun was well and truly out and at its zenith for this time of year, not a lot of strength to it, but enough to warm my cold toes and defrost the ice which had been forming in the eyes of my rod.

The setting peaceful, far and away from the drone of Christmas commercialism and human traffic that goes with it. Sipping on my coffee I kept hearing a wheezy peewit, eventually spotting a Lapwing walking about in the opposite field.

This spot remained silent, maybe the fish weren't at home today, however I had seen them in summer,  regularly drifting in and out of the weed beds, I stole a look at my watch, it told me I should perhaps move back upstream and try another likely swim, this too was one which I could not fish during summer, due to the amount of weed choking the area, a very intimate spot with tree boughs covered with flotsam, dipping across the river, a banker swim if ever there was one.

My first cast resulted in a few subtle taps but nothing more, I was in two minds to sit on my hands and wait or cast again and a bit closer to the flotsam, I decided on the latter, the cast just skimming under the skeletal tendrils of the tree, landing nicely next to the debris strewn bough, I waited and watched, the air filled with an odd feeling of certainty and expectance.

Pluck, tap, the rod tip then fell motionless, I had seen this kind of bite before, very cagey and usually make or break, but the sign of a better stamp of fish, the image of a wily, grey lipped veteran mouthing my bait before winking and vacating the swim entered my mind, I gave a wry smile.

All of a sudden the rod bent round at a 90 degree angle, I struck, at first nothing moved, then a surge of energy was felt, followed by a thud as the fish moved into the main current, the rod was well and truly bent, fish with its head down and trying to make for the tree bough and other underwater snags. The rod absorbed the lunges it made, I could feel some grating and by now you could cut the air with a defibrillator, I applied more pressure, wincing at the thought of the hook pulling, just hoping the Kamasan size 14 was holding fast and true in that cavernous mouth.

Eventually and after a very exciting fight, a chunky, broad backed fish was in the net, on lifting it, I said to myself,  "that has to be a Blackwater five pounder".

Weighing 5lb 1oz, I was over the moon with delight, whilst fishing during summer and from some of the fish I had seen and caught, I knew this diminutive river could do a 5lb+ chevin and it did not disappoint.

I made my way to my final spot, another debris strewn swim, with a heap of weed on the opposite bank.

As I cast, I could see the forecasted fog rolling in, slowly enclosing me, my thoughts were elsewhere, somewhere back at that last swim, replaying the fight and holding that fish, over and over again. As I packed up, thoughts of  that fish were going back and forth in my mind. It had been a lovely day, with every ingredient an angler could wish for, all coming together as one, from the wonderful backdrop and wildlife, to the fishing.