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.

Subliminal messages - Turbulent Thames

This weekend saw myself and Jeff Hatt of Idlers Quest, finally meet to do some fishing together on a stretch of the upper Thames, we had been planning this trip since about November, but each time our plans were thrown into disarray by the very inclement weather and flooding that followed it.

However the weather seemed to settle a little bit and in fairness probably lured us into a false sense of security, so plans were cemented into place, Jeff coming down by train to Didcot station at around 8am and meeting with myself and very kind driver (mum). As the train pulled in, there was no mistaking Jeff as he appeared, rods on shoulder, seat in hand and rucksack on back, greetings and handshakes were exchanged, it was nice after all this time to eventually meet up with him.

A short journey later we was unpacking the gear and making our way to the Thames, unfortunately two days prior to the trip it had been raining solidly in my locality and the river was reacting in expected fashion, however despite the water levels being on the rise, the colour looked spot on and we was both confident of a bite or two, both planning to fish feeder tactics for the majority of the trip, with perhaps a lone rod out for the resident chub and barbel.

Jeff starting at the weir and myself dropping a little way downstream of it, chancing my luck in an area where the flow is broken by a tiny island with numerous bits of debris that had collected behind it, lobworms were the starting bait for both hopeful anglers, after about forty minutes I had a very light tap, a most miniscule bite, but a bite nonetheless, sadly a full bite failed to materialize, little did we know that this was going to be a recurring pattern throughout the day.

It wasn't long before Jeff past me by and informed me that some of his feeders had fallen victim to the weirs numerous snags and that there had been a distinct lack of bites forthcoming from this area, so he decided to try some spots further downstream.

I was going to stay and fish more static, as I really felt my spot could produce a good fish or two especially being adjacent to many nice features, but at around 11am the lock keeper came down and decided it was time to open all the sluice gates, the river reacted instantly, water rising and my swim starting to churn, I can't say that I was exactly overjoyed to see him at this time.

I decided to scrap the static approach and make my way downstream. It was at this point that the amount of debris left by the previous floods really hit home, broken kayaks, masses of plastic bottles, linen baskets and even full size televisions were sat on the riverbank, along with huge tree trunks, if ever you needed reminding of the force of nature then this certainly did, I must admit one of the plastic bottles did raise a smile and chuckle from me, the label containing an almost subliminal message.

Making my way to Jeff, I stopped and we had a bite to eat and chat, he mentioned he had a small perch but nothing else, however as is sods law, he had a more confident bite as we chatted, which took him a bit by surprise, especially given the lack of action most of the day, to all intents and purposes it looked like a chub bite.

We were both spurred on by this extra bit of activity and more hopeful that we might pick up more fish as the day went on, I decided to drop into a swim just downstream of Jeff, where there was a slight bend and some protection from the extra flow, with a partially submerged tree to my right, a larger amount of groundbait moulded round the lead and out it went, this area looked good for a bite and sure enough thirty minutes in I had one, the quiver tip jerking round and then motionless, nothing more or less, both Jeff and myself were a tad puzzled to say the least, we were coming to the conclusion that it was going to be one of those days where you would be scratching about for bites on the river.

Spot the television in the distance

A variety of spots were tried, some with the odd half hearted bite forthcoming, many with not so much as a pluck, Jeff meanwhile had ventured further afield and was fishing downstream, with one other rod out on cooked mussels, whilst trotting a float with his other.

Daylight was now slowly but surely fading away and any hope of adding to that one small perch along with it, so we decided to move to a slower area, usually good for a nice mixed bag of fish, this time the bites began in earnest, Jeff having taps and plucks on bread straight away, the same for myself on lobworm, it looked promising, but the fish were only flattering to deceive and soon enough the bites dried up, popping down to Jeff, we compared notes,  "I was getting bites straight away on bread, but they have suddenly stopped"  said he, " same for me on lobworms and loose fed groundbait" I replied.

We pondered, shared biscuits and mused. It had certainly been a real head scratching trip, but just as we was going to pack up, I was saved from a blank by a baby chub of no more than 7oz's. A welcome fish on a most confounding day. I really enjoyed fishing with Jeff and some of the conversations that we had were very amusing and interesting, that is one of the things that I really enjoy about blogging, being able to share ideas, read about other anglers trips and also now getting a bit more used to meeting up and fishing with a few of you chaps, it really is something that I appreciate a lot, even if the fishing was a bit of a damp squib on this particular occasion!

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.

The Only Way Is Blackwater Vlog

The Only Way Is Blackwater

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.

Fred meanwhile was fishing a little basin further downstream and adjacent to another bend, I eventually decided to head downstream in hope of finding a slacker area, eventually finding one and ended up fishing just off the reed line in front of a nice area of debris, sure enough there were bites forthcoming here, but not from what we was seeking, just minnows playing their typical smash and grab, rattle and tap attacks on my maggots.

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!

Searching For A Pulse

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.