Mermaid Award

I've been boat fishing for pike for more than thirty five years now. Safety is obviously very important when you're out in a boat and I never, ever go out without my lifejacket on. Now I've never fallen in from my boat so I've never had to put that lifejacket to the test. We never wear a lifejacket when we're bank fishing though do we?

Denis and I went back to the stretch of river I fished last time. I was the driver but we were forced to split up as each of the areas that looked worth fishing only really had enough room for one person to fish. Our plan was to fish from dawn until noon and then move on to another area, staying in touch by phone in case we wanted to change that plan or in case either of us wanted to stay put.

I dropped Denis off close to the feild with a bull in it and drove off to the place where there's a steep climb. Tackle on my back, I scrambled down the greasy slope and was soon set up with two baits in the water. Before long I gave Denis a ring to check that he'd found the swim I'd directed him to and hadn't been gored by the bull and I was surprised to hear that he'd already had two pike. They weren't big fish but they were at least fish.

Time passed slowly and I was starting to nod off when I heard a rustle behind me. It was the bailiff for the stretch and after checking my licence he stayed a chatted for a while. It seemed that the swim I was in was a bit hit and miss, often devoid of pike but that the swim I'd sent Denis to was reliable and held some big ones.

The bailiff left and I called Denis again, he'd had another pike and he was happy to stay there for the rest of the day, I'd made the wrong choice it seemed. Twelve o'clock came and I decided to move on, there was another good looking swim on the stretch just by the bridge and I decided to try there. This was only a short walk from one of the car parks which was nice but the banks were difficult, steep, overgrown and very slippery.

I set up and cast in my two rods. Nothing happened and after a while I stood up for a recast. It was difficult to tell where the riverbank ended and the river began because of the thick vegetation but by the time I realised my mistake it was too late and I was falling into the ten foot deep icy water. I managed to grab the long grass as I went down and clung on as I felt the cold fill my boots and start to climb up my legs. I was in up to my waist but the goretex bib and brace was being surprisingly resistant and the water was slow to fill it up. I heaved at the grass with both hands and luckily my foot found a purchase on something and I hoisted myself back up onto dry land.

I was quite shaken, I don't mind admitting it. The water was cold and dark and the current was strong and better swimmers than me have lost their lives in such situations. I slumped in my chair and pulled off my boots, emptying them out before wringing out my socks, grateful that I was still around to do so.

In time the light went and I packed up the tackle and loaded it into the car. I picked Denis up at the appointed time - he'd had quite a good day with five pike in all, though none of them were very big and we drove home in the dark.
Maybe I'll start wearing that lifejacket on the bank from now on.

Pastures New
After that debacle I had two days on Blithfield and then I managed a couple of days away on my own to a new river.
Blith was a disaster, with no pike caught either by me or by Kevin although we both came close. Kevin hooked a good fish of around 23lbs on a Bulldawg but it threw the hooks at the side of the boat then a few minutes later I hooked an immensely powerful creature which took off like a train. I got this under control after a while only to discover that it was a pike of around 28lbs hooked in the back! I got it boatside and kevin flicked out the hook with his pliers, letting it sink back to the depths.

The new river was a great venue although with lots of walking around looking at swims and lots of time spent talking to people I didn't actually get in much fishing time but I did manage a twelve pound pike on a wobbled dead roach.

I'll be back there in the near future as there are some very big pike to be caught in the area and when i get one, I'll let you know.

Otter Watch UK

Yes, the way things are going I'll have to change the name of this blog. I see otters in so many places nowadays I'm beginning to think they're following me around. I'm not one of the anti-otter brigade, I like to see them, but I have to conclude that when they put in an appearance the fishing's probably over for the day.

I had a two-day trip to a stretch of the severn this week and an otter came into my swim both days. This was a new stretch of the river to me and I researched it using the various mapping and aerial photography sites available on the net and I was intent on fishing two big wide bends I had picked out. These websites are a boon to the river angler but there's one thing they can't tell you and that's where the flow is in the river. Sometimes it's best to fish the inside of a bend but sometimes the outside is better - you can't tell until you actually see it.

I arrived at dawn on day 1, loaded up the gear onto my back and walked to the inside of the first bend. It was a very long walk and I was disappointed to find, when I got there, that this was one of the awkward bends with all the current on the inside and none on the outside of the bend. I fished for a couple of hours with a bait very close in in the slackish water close to the bank and another cast well across, keeping the rod high to keep the line off the surface. Nothing happened though and I moved on mid-morning.

I yomped back to the car where I loaded it up then drove round to the other side of the river where I bumped into a farmhand who was building a big fire. He was surprised to see me, telling me he never saw anglers on that stretch. Hmm, was that good or bad?

This bank was a much shorter walk but a very steep climb down to the river. The bank was very muddy and it was a struggle to get down with all the gear so I had to take my time, the dodgy knees protesting with each downward step. It looked worth it when I got there though, there was a big slack on my bank now and after a bit of plumbing I discovered that it was around seven feet deep - perfect! I dropped in a floatfished whole herring, propped the rod up on the marginal vegetation, switched on the baitrunner on the reel, sat back and waited.

Nothing happened, but before long I saw a splash way out across the river and spotted the telltale line of bubbles that could only mean one thing. It was a small otter, maybe a youngster and it was busy feeding on something it was finding on the riverbed. I couldn't work out just what it was eating but every time it surfaced I could see that it was chewing away on something. I don't think there are crayfish in this stretch of the river so maybe it was finding small fish or some other crustacean. It worked its way off upstream and was gone before long.

I stood up and picked up the lure rod, not worrying too much now about spooking fish close in since lack of action on the close-in rod suggested there was nothing there anyway. I clipped on a slider and flicked it out to the left, three or four twitches and the lure was hit quite hard - but the fish wasn't hooked. Two more casts with the same lure didn't provoke a strike so I changed it for a purple raider and first cast with that, I hooked a fish. It felt like a double figure pike but I never got to see it, it came unstuck halfway in!

I cursed the usual curse, reeled the lure back and checked the hooks. They weren't bad but I reckoned one of the points needed a touch-up with the hook sharpener so I started to root around in my bag to find it. Just at that moment I heard a steady buzzing sound, the float had gone, the bait had been taken! I picked up the rod, wound down hard and struck, meeting a solid resistance. Something was wrong though, there were no kicks, no head shaking and slowly I gained line until I could see I was hooked into a waterlogged branch. The fish had obviously run into a snag and somehow transferred the hook to the woodwork.

Two fish lost in as many minutes and I was really fed up. What made matters worse, the otter came back and spent quite a bit of time in the swim. I packed up after a while, hoping to get to the other bend on the stretch and have an hour's fishing before dark. The climb up the slippery slope was tough and I was well out of puff when i got back to the car. Short drive up river and I was out and yomping once more, another long walk to this swim. Halfway there my journey was interrupted, the next field had a bull in it. Now bulls are unpredictable, most of them are docile but the odd one can be a bit feisty and there's no way of knowing for sure until it turns on you. I waited at the fence for a little while and the cows that were in the field along with Mr Bull started to drift away to the far side of the field. The bull obviously thought they were far more interesting than me and he followed them, leaving my path clear.

This bend was, if anything, even more inviting than the last A big slack, 12ft deep and the river more than fifty yards across, there had to pike here. I fished deadbaits and lures but nothing happened so the day ended in a blank but I'll fish that bend again. I slept in the car but was awoken sometime after midnight by the sound of heavy rain hammering on the roof. The rain lasted until dawn and then the sky cleared but I knew it bring the river up and sure enough, when I slithered down the slope to the spot I lost the fish just after first light I could see that the river was on the rise. A rising river is often the kiss of death and so it proved to be. I fished for a few hours anyway but the only thing that happened was that another otter came into the swim. This was a larger beast, a dog otter I think and like the other one it was finding something small to eat on the riverbed.

I packed up once more and spent the rest of the day looking at swims and stretches I might fish in the future, hopefully without too much company from our furry friends.

What else did I do this week? Well I was on the telly, Sky Sports to be precise.

You can see it here, navigate to the Nov 4th episode and click on download;


http://www.skysports.com/podcast/0,20494,19916,00.html

Hitting The Ground Limping

Six days fishing on two of the top trout waters in the UK, what could go wrong there? Kevin and I were to fish Blithfield Reservoir for two days and then move on to Chew Valley lake for four more, surely we'll get something worth catching. As usual though there was a fly in the ointment when I developed agonising toothache on the first day. It was expected, and the dentist had given me antibiotics to get me straight again but boy did it hurt!

That first day was wasted rather. I spent most of the time in the boat with my head in my hands wanting to cry with the pain but slowly, over several days, the antibiotics worked their magic and the pain subsided. The pain of blanking persisted however! Kevin got on with the job of catching pike and had several doubles at Blith while I remained fishless. We started off in shallow water as we always do in October but the pike were nowhere to be found and all those swims which people had fought so hard for, racing to get there first, were soon deserted as they all went off to try and find the fish.

As ever, those who did find the fish first had a good day with a number of fish falling to both baits and lures but most people struggled - even the ones who didn't have toothache! Day two was a little better as I did at least hook a couple of pike. The first hit a jerkbait but didn't feel the hooks at all and the rod sprung back as quickly as it had been pulled forward. I changed the lure, the fish having been spooked by the first one and on the next cast I got a better hit. It wasn't good enough though and after two hard kicks the fish dropped off.

A little later we moved out to deep water, away from the awful algal bloom that was dogging the lake and the sounder betrayed the presence of an enormous shoal of bait fish. We dropped an anchor here and started to cast with heavy soft plastics and after four casts I was into a pike. It fought hard as I pulled it up towards the boat and within seconds it burst from the surface in a tailwalk. I watched in awe as it shook its head, mouth agape and the lure went flying. A little later Kevin caught a similar sized fish, fourteen pounds or so but there was no more action for me.

Chew was no better it seemed, and we had a bit of a shock when we arrived. Overnight, vandals had set light to several of the fishing boats and had stolen some engines. For a time we weren't sure if there would be enough boats for us all to fish from but the fishery pulled out all the stops and everyone was catered for.

Once again I had to watch as Kevin got all the action and on day one it was very big action. Kevin took a great fish of 26lb 4oz on a smelt in the early afternoon, one of the biggest fish he's had from there and what a superb creature it was, fat and healthy unlike the Blithfield fish which were showing signs of red sore disease. He took a good double the same day but once again, I was fishless. Day two was little better but I did at least catch a jack, as did Kevin and the wind turned to the north and became quite strong.

Day three was another grueller with the nagging north wind making things uncomfortable and while Kevin managed a nice 16 pound pike, I was fishless once again and as we set out on our last day, the fourth on Chew but sixth overall, I had given up hope. It was clear that every fish we were going to catch was going to be caught by Kevin despite us using similar bait, similar tackle and both fishing from the same boat. Something was different now though, it had been a very cold night with a widespread frost but the wind had subsided and at first, it came from the West.

We got out a few minutes late in the boat, for one reason and another and headed out to our chosen spot. There were quite a few boats out there already and we had to squeeze in where we could. We dropped anchor and all was quiet in the light breeze and early morning sunshine. Soon though, there was action! Another boat had a fish, a good one and then the miracle happened - one of my floats moved!

A big chunk of bluey had been picked up by something and as the float bobbed and dithered I picked up the rod and started to tighten down to the fish. I struck hard and the fish pulled back with equal resolve so I piled on the pressure. This was a good fish I could tell but I was determined that it would learn who was boss. Within a few minutes I had the pike at the boatside and Kevin did a sterling job with the net, scooping it up first time. At 21lbs 7oz it proved to be my first twenty pounder of the season and was in quite fabulous condition, thickset with stunning markings and not a fin out of place.

We returned the pike and within a few minutes Kevin followed it up with another of around ten pounds. Then the wind swung round to the north again! It was quite amazing what effect this had. We were catching, the boats around us were catching and then nothing, the action ceased immediately. No-one could have imagined that such a simple phenomenon would have such a dramatic effect on the fish's feeding habits but it did, they just melted away.

Hours and hours passed with nothing to show. Boats moved out of the area in search of pike but we stayed put, knowing the fish were not far away and trying to find the trigger that would make them feed. In the end we moved across the bay where the weed was dense. The fish were in that weed, I was sure and so we lobbed out our baits (big baits) into the weed and waited.

We hadn't long to wait before Kevin had a run on a headless herring. He picked up the rod, wound down to it - and struck at thin air!. The fish had obviously not turned the bait and had left not even a toothmark on it. It was my turn next though and when my large whole herring was picked up I made no mistake. This turned out to be a super fish which fought like a tiger and looked every bit as beautiful as one. Fat, and with a broad back it weighed 21lbs exactly, making this my first brace of twenties for 18 months.

Phew!


You know what, I've just realised this is my 100th blog entry!

October's Here!

October, and the pike season 'proper' kicks off. It's been a faltering start for many as this year we've seen exceptionally high temperatures at the beginning of the month, higher than we've ever seen before in fact and such sultry conditions are bad for pike and bad for pike fishing.

One good thing about this was that it probably contributed to a good turn out at the PAC convention which was held, once again, at Kettering Conference Centre. The decision to hold it on the first day of the pike season was a risky one but with most waters out of sorts because of the heat everyone knew the piking would be rubbish and they came in their droves. I was running the junior event at the convention this year and I thought it went quite well. We got 19 boys there ranging in age from 6 to 16 and I had managed to persuade some of the biggest names in pike fishing to donate their time to give the lads a show to remember.

Indeed it wasn't just their time that they gave. The generosity of the speakers and the tackle trade was tremendous and all of the boys left the event with armfuls of goodies along with, hopefully, lots of inspiration to set them on the road to being tomorrow's pike anglers. Of course I couldn't possibly have staged all that on my own and I was ably assisted by the newly formed PAC coaching team who worked like trojans on the day to keep everyone safe and happy. We're already looking forward to next year at Harrogate when the junior event will be bigger and better still.

My first day's piking was also courtesy of the PAC as Kevin and I attended the club organised event at Esthwaite in the Lake District. Esthwaite is a trout fishery which has had a reputation as a tremendous pike water in the past. The huge pike of yesteryear are no more on there but there are still good fish to be had and the club holds a day's fishing for members on Esthwaite each year. This was the first time we had attended this event and we were both hopeful of a fish or two to get out season off to a flying start. We debated beforehand whether or not to take deadbait fishing gear with us or just fish lures and in the end we went with the latter.

We arrived early, selected our boat and loaded it up with gear. Esthwaite only allow electric outboards but we have quite good ones and we soon found that the 55lb thrust Minn Kota pushed their little boats along just fine but as the day dawned, damp and murky we soon became aware of a problem. The water was very coloured for a glacial lake with visibility down to less than two feet and we soon started to question the wisdom of a lure-only approach.

I had got some information from Dave Kelbrick who is a regular on here about spots to fish but by noon we had tried them all with nothing to show and we were starting to get desperate for a fish. We weren't alone. The fishing was proving to be very difficult and it seemed just a couple of jacks had been taken by the anglers in the fifteen boats that had set out that morning.

By mid afternoon we had done a complete circuit of the lake and found ourselves back at the spot where we had started the day. By this time each of us had had a bump on the lures but nothing hooked but we suddenly had some encouragement when a big fish rolled nearby. Neither of us actually saw what the fish was but the disturbance it made was big and we were in no doubt that it had been a pike. We continued to cast our jerkbaits and before long Kevin was into a fish. The pike gave a spirited fight but was soon at the boatside and swallowed up by the waiting net. It was a low double figure fish of eleven or twelve pounds in good condition and with the hooks removed went off strongly after a quick photo.

Fifteen minutes later it was my turn and I had an almost identical fish, again of eleven or twelve pounds. We were hopeful of another fish or two in the remaining hours before dark but that was it, no more takes to our lures. We weren't despondent however as word was filtering through that the fishing had been hard for everyone and ideed only one other double figure pike had been caught along with a handful of jacks. The lure only approach had been the right one it seems and the bait anglers had done very poorly but we had both been out of practise and boy how we ached!

Let's see what the rest of the season brings then.

When the Wind Blows

Ok hands up all you who thought I was dead! Yes, it's been a while since I updated the blog but as my regular reader knows, I often leave it a while during the summer. I don't really fish much during August as Mrs Edwards is a teacher and she gets that month off - I much prefer spending time with her than spending time with the likes of you smelly fishermen. This year I had a special project which kept me off the bank. My eldest daughter Sarah was married at the end of August and preparing for the wedding took up much of my time. After that, Mrs Edwards and I needed a break so I whisked her off to Madrid for a holiday.

Back in blighty I looked forward to a couple more trips to the syndicate water before the pike season begins. I made all the usual preparations and loaded the car up for a Monday morning start but there was a little fly in the ointment which held me back for a day - hurricane Katia, or what was left of it. The lake is well south of the eye of the storm but gusts of up to fifty miles an hour were forecast and so I waited until the worst of it was over. The problem with this lake is that the main features are well out of casting range and so a boat is needed to bait up and to tow baited rigs out. We aren't allowed to use proper boats, just inflatables and an inflatable in a 50mph gust doesn't sound like my idea of fun.

I arrived at the lake late on tuesday morning and I was glad I had delayed. There were trees and branches down everywhere and in one place the access path had been completely blocked by a fallen tree. I chose a swim on the opposite side of the lake to where I usually fish. This meant that it would be a little further to tow my baits out but at least the still strong wind wouldn't be blowing into my face. I soon had everything set up and went out in the little boat to bait up. It was a little scary still but I wasn't intending to put out much bait, just a couple of pounds of pellets and around a quarter of a kilo of boilies. The stock density in this lake is very very low and I'm always worried that baiting too heavily will feed the fish up before they get to my hookbait.

Some time later I towed out the baited hooks. I was only fishing two rods - quite enough in difficult conditions and both were baited with boilies. Bait out, I got the kettle on and cooked a nice meal before settling down to listen to the radio, or what I could hear of it above the roaring of the gale in the trees about me. It soon gets dark at this time of year and tired out after all the business of setting up, I drifted off to sleep.

Shortly after midnight I was awoken by the alarm on the right hand rod and looking out I could see that the bobbin had dropped to the floor. Shoes on, I stepped out grabbed the rod and lifted but there was nothing there. It takes a few minutes to reel in 200yds of braid and when I got it all in I could see that this had indeed been a run. I was fishing helicopter style and the fish had pulled the bead up the line as it had taken the bait. This wasn't the first time I'd had an aborted run at this lake and it bothered me. I can't afford to have fish shed the hook, runs are too hard to come by here.

I retied the rig, making it much shorter and set off into the darkness with it in the little boat. The wind hadn't dropped very much and the lack of daylight only made the experience in the little boat even worse than it had been during the day but the GPS on the sounder proved invaluable and I found my marker ok. The lead went in with a plop and I hurried back to shore as quickly as I could before setting the bobbin and crawling back into the sleeping bag. I was soon asleep again and awoke just as dawn was breaking, thankful that the wind had finally abated. I lay there for a little while considering whether to switch on the radio again when for the second time, the right hand bobbin fell to the floor.

I jumped up, grabbed the rod and lifted - this time there was a solid resistance. The fish felt heavy and ponderous but occasionally it lunged, taking line against a generous clutch and my mind turned over and over, is it just another tench or is this the fish I've been after? Slowly it came and soon it began to kite round to the right - a typical bream move. The fish was in open water and I was confident that it wouldn't snag me but was the hookhold a good one? It seemed hours before I got the fish close enough to get a look at it but sure enough when I did, it was a great bronze back that cut the surface. My knees began to knock and I held my breath as I heaved the enormous bream closer and closer to the net.

All at once the fish's head was against the spreader block and I lifted- it was mine. I pulled the net in and hoisted the great fish up onto the mat. What a creature, it was absolutely huge! I found that I needn't have worried about the hookhold which was a good one firmly in the bottom lip and with the hook removed I transferred the bream to the weigh sling for the moment of truth.

17lbs exactly!

Boring, Boring, Boring.

I think I remember now why it was that I packed in fishing for specimen bream long ago - IT'S BORING! My biggest bream weighed 15lbs 2oz and was caught 26 years ago from Queenford Lagoon in Oxfordshire. I fished 74 nights at Queenford for just two fish and at the end of it all I would have been happy if I'd never seen a bream again.

The syndicate lake is, if anything, even harder than Queenford. It's more than twice as big and the stock of bream it holds is tiny. The only advantage is that no-one seems to be fishing the lake midweek when I'm there so I have my pick of the swims. That's a double-edged sword though and I'm finding myself getting more and more fed up having no-one to talk to for days on end.

Two trips in the last two weeks, one for three nights and one for two. The first trip produced nothing but I did come close to catching something. I had a steady run at 5.30 in the morning but when I lifted into it all was solid. Whatever it was it had run straight into thick weed and it was well snagged. Not wanting to tear the hook out of the fish I just maintained a steady pressure for several minutes but after a little while there was a click and the rod sprung back. On retrieval I discovered that the hook had opened out, allowing the fish to go free. On reflection I decided that it was probably not a bream that I had hooked, more likely a tench or even a carp, the run was far too positive to be a lethargic old bream.
All in all it was a boring trip, made a little more entertaining by the visitors I had whilst I was there. Two mallard ducks seem to be keen to make friends, too keen as it happens. The moment my back is turned they are in the boat or in the bivvy looking for something to eat and if they aren't doing that they're swimming across my lines or pecking at insects on the bobbins giving me false bites. This became infuriating after a while and I was ready to strangle the damn things. Eventually I cracked and grabbed hold of one of them as it rummaged through my food bag inside the bivvy. I imprisoned it in the landing net for several hours giving it water and pellets to eat. I expected this period of imprisonment would scare it off but no, ten minutes after I released it it was back in the bivvy again!

I had a visit from a bat too. There was obviously something wrong with this creature as it spent its time crawling around on a log neaby and made no attempt to fly. I took a few pictures and looking at them afterwards I realised it was alive with blood-sucking mites. I think it was a Serotine bat but then my bat identification skills may need some work.

Next trip I got close to a fish again when I had an early morning run that stopped after a few seconds. I've uprated my hooks and hooklengths after the lost fish but obviously I've not quite got it right yet as it managed to shake the hook out. I did get a fish on the bank the next morning though in the shape of a 6lb 6oz tench. It was a rough looking thing just like the last one - the tench don't seem to do so well here.

Only one of the ducks put in an appearance this time, perhaps the other one chose to get too friendly with a fox or an otter!

Gimme a Break!

Buoyed by the success of that syndicate lake bream I expected to catch more, and bigger! I didn't of course, another three nights produced nothing more than a 5lb 7oz tench, well spawned out and rather tatty and I had a five pound jack that grabbed a boilie on the way in. Three nights on your own without actually speaking to another human is quite hard going even for an antisocial sod like me and at the end of it I decided to give the syndicate lake a miss for a while.

The plan was to spend a couple of nights bream fishing on an easier water where the fish run to 14lbs or so but that soon fell apart because the other water involves a long walk. Now I don't mind long walks too much, even though I've got dodgy knees but the weather forecast showed that it was going to be a wet wet week. Fishing overnight in heavy rain demands that you carry a fair bit of gear in order to make it bearable so my plans to travel light and fish just one night at a time were scuppered. I had to make the choice between travelling light and going home wet and miserable each morning or taking the kitchen sink which would mean staying for several nights if it was to be worthwhile.

In the end I chose neither, preferring to spend a bit of time barbel bashing on the Ribble instead. Getting a break from the bream fishing could only do me some good anyway and at least on the Ribble I could pretty well guarantee getting some fish on the bank. The first trip was to be an afternoon/evening session on a stretch I knew well and i was surprised on arrival to find that there were no cars in the car park. I chose a swim near the bottom of the stretch. Experience has shown that when the river is low, as it was, the fish didn't move up too far from their hidey hole and so fishing close to their home was the best option.

It was a day of heavy showers, making me glad of the light umbrella I'd carried along and I was soon into fish. I packed pellets into pva mesh bags and attached one to the hook on every cast and it soon got the barbel going. I used the same boilies I'd been using for the bream and the barbel seemed to like them a lot. By the end of the session, as it was getting close to midnight, I had put together a catch of two chub and eight barbel. No really big ones but a brace of eights and a brace of nines featured in the catch with the biggest fish going 9lb 2oz, a really pleasurable evening.

Session two was to be to a stretch I had never fished before. I started a little later this time, arriving at the riverbank at around 5pm and as I walked along the stretch looking for a likely area I bumped into a salmon angler who was just leaving. He was very helpful and put me onto an area where he often saw barbel so I set off to find it. I was a little disappointed when I got there to discover a number of anglers already fishing from the opposite bank but I managed to squeeze into a likely looking spot sufficiently far away from them not to cause annoyance to them or to me.

The current ran along the far bank and the water looked quite deep but I reasoned that I wouldn't need too much lead as the line would be mostly passing through dead water so I clipped on a three ounce lead to each rod. This proved to be just right and I set about casting in with those little bags of pellets in order to lay down some feed. I soon discovered a problem however, this was a very snaggy swim and I steadily lost leads and hooks in amongst the rocks.

The first bite came after about an hour and I had a real tussle on my hands with a very hard fighting fish. On the bank it looked like it just might scrape ten pounds but it missed by the narrowest of margins and i recorded a weight of 9lb 15oz, not a bad start. Twenty minutes later the same rod was away again and I pulled in a plump eight pounder. At this point I was quite taken with the stretch despite the snags which continued to claim my end tackle but things were about to change. More anglers arrived on the far bank and yet more. It was clear that most of these people knew each other and while they didn't interfere with my fishing at all, keeping a respectful distance from me, they were pretty noisy.

A sudden violent squall almost caught me out. The wind blew and the rain hammered down for ten minutes or so before it passed over and I found myself having to gather in the tackle and hang onto the little brolly throughout. The squall passed and I continued casting - and losing tackle. Hours passed and yet the rod tips didn't tremble again. Indeed I didn't catch another fish, nor did any of the anglers on the far bank and as darkness fell, one by one they packed up and left. Eventually my turn came and I reeled in the rods, snagged again, and packed up. I had no more leads left and I was down to my last hook!


All in all, I won't be visiting that stretch during the summer again. There is clearly a lot of pressure on the fish there and the snaggy nature of the riverbed only serves to complicate things further. I was pleased with the result though, a near ten pounder on the first trip is definitely a success.

I suppose it's back to blanking now then!