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WaterbloggedDiary notes, views and thoughts on fish, fishing and the people that do it June 17 My double firstFor the first time in I forget how many years, my hayfever was sufficiently under control to make fishing on the first day of the river season possible. Dave and Terry, friends and co-owners of Fishful Thinking traditionally see in the new season from the boat and then regale me with tales of their midnight exploits. Last year Terry had to wake Dave up to deal with a barbel that was halfway down the river and the highlight the year before was Dave's mobile phone falling in.
This year, armed with a fisftul of tissues and just about every hayfever antidote you could sniff, swallow, drop or inhale, I would be joining them to make it three men in a boat. Except that another buddy, also called 'Terry (known as London Terry), joined us. Even three in the boat is one too many, so we hatched a plot to drop Dave and Terry on the bank whilst London Terry and I fished from the boat.
We did a Saturday afternoon recce, venturing further upstream than ever before - a whole 40 minutes of high speed cruising (well, as high speed as 4hp and a boatful of us can manage) - we found ourselves at Sonning weir. Ooh, it did look good. Dave and Terry selected their swims and after a few more drive bys we went home to prepare for the big day.
Said big day arrived. 5.00pm and we met at Dave's house. The plan was to load the tackle and other supplies into Dave's van. He and London Terry would then drive to Sonning. Terry and I would pilot the boat upstream to meet them and transfer the kit plus Dave and London Terry into the boat. All went well. We arrived at the rendez vous at around 6.30pm. Dave had picked up a Chinky take away which we scoffed on the lawns of The French Horn, one of the posher river side restaurants in the area and one not usually acustomed to hairy, sweaty anglers making the place look untidy. However before they could unleash the hounds we were back onboard and chugging away upstream.
A couple more drive bys and we dropped Terry off at his selected swim next to the weir. Dave decided that his swim would be too uncomfortable and that he would be scared in the night on his own, so he decided to join Terry. London Terry and I said our goodbyes and puttered away downstream. I presented London Terry with the swim I had earmarked on the recce the day before. He was none too impressed and suggested an alternative which happened to be the swim Dave had abandoned as being too uncomfortable. I couldn't resist the irony of catching from 'Dave's swim' so readily agreed.
By 9.00pm we were set up and ready to go. The tackle in the boat was been arranged with meticulous precision, then re-arranged, then re-arranged again, and then finally kicked into an untidy pile. London Terry had brought some walky talkies with him, so we amused ourselves for another 20 minutes swapping insults with Dave and Terry.
Gradually time inched its way to midnight and June 15 ticked over to June 16. A few seconds later and London Terry's feeder plopped into the water. Mine made a rustling sound in the tree above. A few choice words later and I was re-united with my tackle. At the second time of trying I too was fishing. We sat, attention transfixed on our betalights - London Terry's green, mine a defiant red. They remained motionless, but surely the fish too would realise the new season had started and would be as excited us. Surely they would want to join in and play their part? Evidently not. Time crept along. It got colder and we drank our bodyweight in tea. Still nothing. Then, in that magical half asleep, half awake dream state I sensed my rod twitch. Before I knew it, I had struck and was attached to a large fish. I was still wondering if I had actually connected with a bite or if I was indeed dreaming when London Terry awoke and said that our lines were tangled. Fortunately though I could still gain line. The strong current meant that I was already fishing well down stream and the fish had dived into near bank trees. Everything went solid and our hopes for the new season sank. London Terry's line was still tangled around mine and he took advantaged of the stalemate to free his tackle - gently at first and then resorting to a good old fahioned yank. His line came free as did my fish which, weakened by being forced to sit in the upstream current for five minutes, came towards the net with no further dramas.
Earlier in the fight London Terry had asked if I thought I had connected with a barbel. I told him it had to be given the power of the fight. Now as the fish drew nearer we could see even in the dark that I had not hooked a barbel but a common carp which we estimated to weight around 10 lbs once unhooked. Although it was my first ever river carp, and the biggest from Fishful Thinking we did not bother weighing it as the fight had been a long and we were keen to return the fish.
Feelings of delight at my piscatorial double first paled into insignificance at the joy of being able to call Dave and Terry on the walky talky and ask if they had had any luck and then drop in the news about my carp caught from 'Dave's swim'.
We settled down for another couple of pints of tea. Hopes that the fish were now coming on the feed dwindled and then evaporated completely. London Terry and I settled back into our dreamlike rod-in-hand trance. Around an hour later London Terry connected with a three foot twitch which turned into a superbly conditioned, fat-as-a pig barbel which we estimated to weigh a good 8lbs. Another text to Dave and Terry...
By around 8.00am we had no more bites and decided to call it a day. We picked up Dave and Terry and motored back downstrem for breakfast at The French Horn. A great start to the season.
June 10 I'm not codding you - a great day outIt's been a while since my last posting. I apologise to all my regular readers - both of them.
Not that there has been much fishy action since my last blog. A couple of trips to a commercial trout fishery - one with my dad. We caught one trout between us. Not a bad return for £55 is it?
My last trip, and the motivation to put finger to keyboard again, was last Sunday, June 8. For the last seven or eight years a group of friends and I have chartered a boat to go sea fishing. The last three or four trips have been aboard Panther (http://www.eastbournecharterfishing.com/) out of Eastbourne and with skipper Brian at the helm we have had some good days. Plaice to 5lbs one year and a bass of a little under 10lbs another for yours truly.
We always argue how long to takes to get from Reading to Eastbourne. The concensus was just under two hours which would have been perfect for an 8.30am start. At a little after 8.40am we arrived, met up with the rest of the group, faffed around for a while and then made our way down to the boat. We were greeted by Paul and Ian who would be our skipper/mate (not sure who was which or even if it mattered) who evidently did Sunday bookings.
We immediately launched into tales of what a good day we had had with skipper Brian the year before which, as suspected, got Paul and Ian's competitve juices flowing and resulted in comments about secret wrecks no one else, even Brian, knew about. At around 9.00am we set off, queued for the lock, and then made our way out of the harbour. Forty or so minutes later we stopped at our first mark. No luck. We steamed on to the next mark another 30 minutes on. This time my cousin Andrew, he of Mr Crabtree fame (see an earlier posting), caught the first fish of the trip. With much delight at this achievement, and comments about 'showing us how the experts do it' he swung his miniscule mackerel over the side. Skipper/mate Ian was on hand to unhook the beast. "We throw tiddlers like these back in," he said much to the horror of Andrew and delight to the rest of us.
Andrew's 'success' plus a couple more mackerel to Carlos was the extent of our luck at the mark. Incidently, for Carlos, who hails from Spain, this was his first sea fishing trip. Predictably as he caught a run of mackerel and pollack, comments along the lines of 'bloody Spanish, come over here, steal our fish' flowed. Being a fishing virgin the act of unhooking fish was a daunting experience for Carlos. Someone helpfully suggested that humanely dispatching the fish before unhooking them might make things easier for him. We meant that he should use the boat's hefty priest, but somehow he found a brick and used that to batter the poor fish about the head. Some wag on the boat was heard to call out "Bugger me Carlos, next you'll be throwing donkeys from the top of buildings."
Some three or four hours into the trip and things weren't looking too good. Time for the 'secret wreck'. Another hour later and we arrived. Unfortunately several other boats seemed to know about the secret wreck as well. But the good news was that they had caught. First drift past the wreck and skipper/mate Paul caught a 4lb cod. Next drift down and skipper/mate Ian caught one of 4 3/4lb. We were all delighted for them as we sat fishless. Third drift and our luck changed. I caught a cod of 5lbs, and fourth drift had two at the same time including a 10 pounder. By this time cod and pollack were being caught all around the boat every drift, including the biggest of the day, a 12lb fish to Alex, and four on the same drop to Charles. In all 27 cod were boated, along with half a dozen pollack to 5lbs making the trip our best charter trip to date. November 13 Go West old manTwo significant things have happened to my mate Dave recently. First of all he had his last birthday beginning with a '4'. Secondly, he recently underwent his gender re-assignment operation. He says it was to repair a hernia, but how many brickies do you see wearing steel cap high heels and lipstick?
To prepare him for these twin events, we had a day's fishing with Trefor West, who as many of you will know is a renowned barbel fisherman, author and fishing guide. It was my second time with Trefor, having enjoyed a day with him on the Bristol Avon three years ago. For Dave, soon to be Davina, it was his first time.
We met in a road side layby close to the River Teme early in the morning. Introductions made, we walked off to the river across a couple of fields. As I suspected, Trefor stuck to pretty much the same formula he used on the Avon three years ago and we settled down for a review of eachothers' tackle which, for Dave was something he would soon be no longer able to do.
I had remembered my lessons from three years ago and had deliberately re-stocked with the items I knew Trefor recommended. Fortunately Trefor had no recollection of having met me three years earlier as he commended me on my choice of tackle whilst chastising Dave on his choice of hooks, line, swivels and links. I just sat there shaking my head in an 'I'm with you Tref, what an idiot' kind of way.
Then we moved on to knots. "What knot do you use to tie on your swivels?" asked Tref. "Bloodknot," says Dave. "Well, Trefor, in my humble opinion, only an idiot would use a blood knot in place of the palomar which I believe owes its superior knot strength to the fact that there is no nylon on nylon conact," I said. Trefor beamed at me like his star student. Dave looked like he would have punched me if it wasn't for the fact he had only recently re-painted his nails.
The time came to put theory into practice. The river was low and gin clear. Many of the fishy features Trefor usually relied on were above water. The conditions did have one benefit though in that they allowed us to witness with our own eyes, the effectiveness of the process Trefor had described for feeding and attracting fish into his swim. Without revealing some of the fine detail, Trefor's approach is to cast first, then loose feed 12 - 15 pieces of bait. His theory is that chub are attracted first and hoover up the loose feed, picking up and ejecting the hook bait several times. Their activity attracts the barbel which, left with only the hookbait and the inability to mouth bait like chub, get caught. The secret is to resist the snatchy chub bites and wait it out for the barbel.
With the low, clear conditions, polarised glasses and a high bank giving us an almost vertical vantage point, Trefor and I watched the fish respond exactly as described whilst Dave sat below us and tried to catch one of them. In went the cast, in went the loosefeed, a couple of minutes later the first of seven chub appeared. Dave's rod tip bounced around as the chub ate all the loosefeed and ejected the hookbait. Five minutes later a barbel arrived on the scene, did a couple of drive bys before picking up Dave's bait and tearing off down the river. It was like watching it on TV.
I won't spoil the fun for anyone contemplating a day out with Trefor. Suffice to say that you get a full day's service. We covered miles of bank, dozens of swims, had a great laugh and only stopped when the light failed making the Teme's steep banks too dangerous to navigate. I cannot recommend a day with Trefor enough...
August 09 Funny old gameRefreshed from two weeks flopping about in the Greek sun, last night saw a welcome return to the river bank on the Twyford & District stretch of the St. Patrick's Stream. Every once in a while you have one of those days that can only be termed 'unusual'. Let me me explain...
I arrived in my swim opposite a delightful cottage at around 2.00pm to be greeted by the site of the lady owner mowing her grass in her underwear. Having been exposed to acres of flesh in a variety of shades for the previous fortnight I did the very British thing of ignoring her lack of clothing as I bid her 'good afternoon'. She didn't seem worried either as she waved to me. 15 minutes later she went indoors only to reappear a few minutes clad in a bikini to take a quick dunk in the river. Fully refreshed she disappeared back in the house whereupon she decided to play her Chas n' Dave greatest hits followed by her Shirley Bassey compilation.
Its a good job I had these distractions as the fishing was pretty mediocre with only a few roach and dace coming to my maggot feeder and no interest on my pellet rod. A couple of hours went by punctuated by a bloke and his wife cruising downstream in a boat towing a second boat behind them. On a river which you can cast underarm to the other side this was disruption enough, but when the tandem boats where followed by a flotilla of canoes I thought things could get no worse. How wrong could I be; five minutes later a groups of kids wearing lifejackets and sat on boogie boards came splashing through my swim.
By now I was convinced I had entered a piscatorial twilight zone. But then things took a turn for the better. First a green woodpecker landed in the tree opposite me, no more than 20 yards away. He was replaced by a kingfisher which dived twice returning with a fish each time (at least one of us was catching). And to complete a twitchers hatrick, another woodpecker of the lesser spotted flavour alighted in a tree just a few yards away and started hammering on the truck to be rewarded by a monster bug. I had forgetten all about the aquatic children.
From a fishing perspective I had given up on the maggot feeder and was concentrating all my angling abilities on my barbel rod, which needless to say, hadn't moved an inch. 6.00 pm arrived as did my mate Dave who plonked himself down next to me, cast out and caught a barbel of about four pounds within a minute. Listening to him rattle on about 'showing me how its done' the evening took a definte turn for the worse. He suggested that from now on I refer to him as 'The Master'. I suggested an amendment to 'The Master Baiter' which I felt entirely more apt.
Another couple of hours ticked by and thankfully Dave did not catch any more barbel. I gave up on my pellet rod and resumed hostilities with the maggot feeder. Once more I entered the twilight zone. My first cast result in a thumping bite which resulted in what I thought was a reasonable dace but turned out to be a barbel of about four ounces. A few casts later and a perch of around 10 ounces picked up my bait. The following cast I caught a real beauty knocking two pounds.
Dave had been telling me about a huge carp he had seen in the swim a couple of days earlier when I struck at a tentative pluck pluck bite. The unseen fish moved slowly at first and suddenly woke up, realised something was up and took off down river. The only conclusion to be drawn was that I had hooked a barbel and a good one at that, the timid bite and the fish's delayed reaction making me suspect a possible foul hook. I succeeded in winning back some line, but the fish sat in mid stream. No runs, no head shaking, just a heavy weight. I could feel the fish was not snagged. It simply decided it was not going to budge. Dave suggested the monster carp he had just spoken about and with the way the day had gone so far the idea started to make sense.
Imagine my surprise then when the carp/barbel/submarine surface and revealed itself to be a bloody great eel as thick as my arm and a good bit longer. With a sense of anticlimax (apologies to any eel fishing fanatics) I managed to get the thing in. Coiled in my landing next we estimated it to weight around five pounds (though neither of had any real term of reference). Fortunately we were able to remove the hook without any mishaps. "Just lay it on its back and stroke it" said Dave who was not willing to give a demonstration.
July 16 A chub, a chub, my kingdom for a *$%"*& chub!I've been doing it for more than 30 years and like to think I'm a reasonable angler. I've caught my fair share of fish - chub, barbel, bream - in fact just about everything that swims other than catfish and zander. Why then is it that I can't catch anything of a reasonable size when fishing from my damn boat? Admittedly this summer has so far been a bit of a wash out (being on an open boat in the rain is not great fun), but I've spent enough time this season, and certainly last, to have earned more than an endless stream of roach and dace, welcome though they are. I tell a lie; the first time Dave and I went out on Fishful Thinking we spent more than an hour bouncing pinball fashion along the bank trying to moor up to likely looking swims. Eventually we tied up to a spot that was more comfortable than fishy. First cast with my maggot feeder and I had a chub of three pounds. That was nearly two years ago and still accounts for exactly half my chub count (not including chublets).
My standard tactic is to fish a stickfloat against the tantalizing features which abound from a boat on the Thames - overhanging trees, creases and the like. Loosefeed is plenty of maggots, casters and hemp fed on the tried and tested 'little and often' method. As I say, roach and dace line themselves up - I've caught 15 or 20 pounds of them before - but no chub more than a few ounces. Yesterday was a case in point; roach, dace and a nice perch knocking a pound provided great sport, but no chub.
I have to admit to being at a complete loss; I'm fishing virgin swims which for a bank angler would be magnets. So far I'm putting it down to the fact that there is too much water, too many features and too few fish to go round them all. Unless things improve the next stage will be to blame the dozen or so cormorants that have taken up residence on the stretch of the river I fish, and then, when all else has failed, I'll start to doubt my abilities as an angler (though many would say that's where I should start!)
If any experienced boat anglers have a view, or even better, some tips, I'm all ears. |
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