A Look Back At 2012

I would just like to wish all other bloggers a Merry Christmas, fingers and toes crossed for a bit of dry weather soon too.

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.

Red Fin & Eel Feeling Vlog

One Of Those Afternoons

Yesterday afternoon that would be, everything that can go wrong did, including compounding it with some ludicrous fishing choices by myself and I can't think of a better place to vent it than here.

The Thames had dropped somewhat, but with a nice tinge of colour, having checked a few swims prior and knowing that some of the slacks looked good and perhaps with the chance of some Roach sport, I then decided to head off further upstream and ignore all these spots for other swims, perhaps a bit of the grass is greener mentality creeping in. I am still trying to get my head round what would provoke such choices and I really can't rationalize it.


So to sum it all up, I basically ignored areas of the river that have produced to me in the past, instead heading for areas I had less knowledge of, which in itself is fine if you can take something constructive and positive from it, but I felt that I had not learnt a lot from doing so, which was partly due to the way I went about things.


The end result was part roving without fully roving, generally trying various swims, ending up feeling like I was just dipping my feet into the water without fully wetting them, something I have not done before, ending up feeling unfulfilled and going very much against my gut instincts, almost an aimless drifting, but not realising it till the very end of the trip.

I can't quite put my finger on it, but I certainly do not plan on repeating some of those choices anytime soon.

Rubber Duck & Small River Obsession Vlog

A video from two fishing trips that I took in september on the river Blackwater (Hampshire).

Redfins Under My Skin

As you will know my last trip down the Thames was accompanied by that perfectly formed Roach,  this had got me thinking about what sizeable fish might reside along this stretch and attempting to succesfully target them now and in winter.

It was around 2pm as I made my way over to the river, I noted that the cattle were far away, now you're probably wondering why I even mention this, but this bovine mixed bag contains a couple of Bulls, sans horns and whilst they seem quite content, I don't have a death wish to get too close to them anytime soon, lest I be chased and I can safely say that this chaps not running anywhere at any kind of speed too soon.

Given that the heavy rains had only just abated, I was hopeful that water levels had still dropped somewhat and looking at the boathouse on the opposite bank I could see that it had dropped, the gravy colour replaced by one that looked akin to washed out tea and better clarity than on my prior trip, which was very welcoming.

There is so many alluring spots along the river that I could easily be tempted to try a different one on each trip, however I elected to fish the same spot as last time, what I really like about it, is that it is  not a full slack and has a touch of current that intervenes at regular intervals, a nice depth close in and of course that big bush as coverage. I slowly setup deciding to start with a maggot approach despite having taken bread and lobworms with me as well.

It was an odd afternoon, the Thames was willingly throwing me one of its curve balls, the only bites forthcoming were ones accompanied by a clean hook and crinkled line, courtesy of the Crayfish along this stretch, admittedly I have not ever had that much problem with them and to that extent I don't feel there is that many, but it seemed a sure sign that either the fish were not about or not in a feeding mood.

I chopped and changed between baits most of the day but to no avail and as daylight had faded, I was beginning to think that I might be heading home with my tail tucked firmly between my legs. I had introduced the last of the liquidised bread to the swim and changed baits yet again, this time changing from bread back to maggot, the rod cast back out tight to the bush, a glance at my watch told me that time was of the essence, if this was a football match, then surely we was into injury time.

A faint pluck, it could have been debris, but it did not have the usual deliberate movement as debris. Tap, pluck, tap. I struck, the quiver responded as did my quarry at the other end of the hooklink. Thump thud thump, I eventually could see a nice bar of silver and red. "Don't you dare lose this fish" I said to myself. As the fish slipped into the waiting landing net, the hook slipped out.

A lovely looking Roach of 1 lb 12oz's, I was chuffed to bits, a blank saver and a new personal best. A perfect way to end what had been a very slow afternoon on the Thames, I now really believe that there is a good chance of a 2 pounder, perhaps even larger from this area of the river.