tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25488118269314831172024-03-13T00:20:29.612+00:00 The Intrepid PiscatorGurnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10140937461283076494noreply@blogger.comBlogger240125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2548811826931483117.post-3573978099208126092017-06-26T13:30:00.001+01:002017-06-26T15:56:00.061+01:00"Just one more"<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I know a place not far away, where I can have this solitude. I can wander the fields, unhindered, locate barbel easily and catch a few of them with a certain amount of ease.<br />
There's something within me though, something that stops me taking this easy option.<br />
It's been said by far better anglers than me that "life's too short" to continue with a passion for the Gt. Ouse, and it's barbel.<br />
The problem is, I've been enchanted, the spell is cast and so I have to go, I have to know.<br />
The harsh truth is that I don't even know if barbel still exist in the beat I will be fishing this season.<br />
Just take a bit of time to compute that..I am fishing on a stretch of river that hasn't produced a barbel in four seasons! Add to that, the crayfish make it difficult to present a bait. In reality, I could be sitting next to the river all night hoping to catch something that isn't there, with a bait that might not be there.<br />
I love this stretch, it produced my pb barbel of 14lb 15oz many years ago, and now I have returned...I crave just one more.<br />
I'm going to take you on this journey if you choose to come along, it will be tedious and uneventful on the whole, but maybe, just maybe we'll share the joy of 'just one more'. <br />
So, here I sit again, alone at the rose bush pitch, an old happy hunting ground.<br />
Tools for the job, once again, the Davenport and Fordham MkIV and Speedia Deluxe.<br />
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The familiar sounds of the <span data-dobid="hdw">incessant Reed Warbler, the diving Terns and darting 'fisher. All bring back memories of halcyon days.</span><br />
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<span data-dobid="hdw">You can see that I have abandoned the tip isotope in favour of the good old bottle top conversion.</span><br />
<span data-dobid="hdw"> I find that the taps and pulls show up far better using this method, whereas the cane tip just seems to absorb them.</span><br />
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<span data-dobid="hdw">When the light fades, the temperature plummets as the heat sink effect occurs down in the river channel. I'm glad I am well insulated and that darkness is short at this time of year.</span><br />
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<span data-dobid="hdw">And so begins another blank night, in blissful ignorance of the fact that I will be reeling in a bare hook at dawn.</span>Gurnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10140937461283076494noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2548811826931483117.post-60285939320657627492017-06-22T12:16:00.000+01:002017-06-22T14:37:53.536+01:00I'm Back<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The clanging of agricultural gates and rutted roadways. The dodging of the cow pat and nervously passing my bovine companions. Pigeons arguing among the branches and grass snakes basking in the evening sun.<br />
That familiar stroll along the willow'd bank of the first field, where the river runs deep and the sound of the weir fades the birdsong.<br />
It's hot, really hot. The air full of insect life. I plod on, further, quieter...<br />
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A few months earlier my good friend Derren and I had discussed a potential return to this beat. Unfished for two seasons and not much to report in the preceding two. It has lain dormant to many, but not in our minds. In our minds it was a slice of heaven with a secret life, difficult fishing, yes.....but it has mystery.<br />
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With the lease secured, we now set about hand picking another eighteen friends to share our return. All places filled, work party completed. It is ours, and only ours.<br />
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..Arriving at the far end of the beat I set up the Davenport & Fordham MkIV and Speedia Deluxe combo for a night among the reeds...and so begins my return to the Gt. Ouse..and the first of probably many a blank.<br />
The twilight call of the cuckoo, the smell of citronella..and the hope for gold.<br />
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It's good to be back. <br />
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<br />Gurnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10140937461283076494noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2548811826931483117.post-91574921231437865642016-12-21T11:52:00.000+00:002016-12-21T16:52:30.722+00:00Thoughts...and grayling.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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To be roused by Lady Sarah with the words, "What time were you <i>supposed </i>to be up?" is never ideal. "5.45", my reply...."It's 6.15", she said..so began the day.<br />
Hurriedly, the car was loaded. The journey to my rendezvous point, rapid.<br />
I'd overlooked the loose top to the maggot tub so arrived with the escape committee in full flight.<br />
Morning greetings with old friends, Derren and his father, Brian and we set off for a day of grayling fishing.<br />
Fortunately, I remembered all the tackle, which was just as well, as I'd forgotten money and cards in my haste.<br />
At this point one might say that it was going to be one of those days!<br />
The river?....low, not ideal.<br />
Trotting is a favourite method, though I always feel that I have never mastered it. Perhaps it's one of those things one never truly does.. so a lifetime as a student, perhaps?<br />
What I really know is that a size 16 hook has a habit of finding it's way into every piece of weed, bankside vegetation, jumper cuffs, hats....and when dangled in the margin for a split second..Minnows!!<br />
The swim in the photo above was too much to resist despite the fact that I absolutely knew that somehow, some way I would leave a float on that tree...and so it was.<br />
Fortunately, not one of Andrew Fields' finest!<br />
It began to rain, my back and legs aching. <br />
The clarity of the water and the caginess of my quarry caused much frustration as I watched them time and time again rushing towards my hookbait only to turn off at the last second..I almost wished I'd forgotten the polarised glasses.<br />
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Of course, catches came. Wiry and difficult to hold, as usual; many slippery, contorting beauties...I took to photographing them as they rested post-catch, in the shallow stream. A dog walker passed to see me welly deep in the stream edge and remarked, "Just watching you makes me feel cold."<br />
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Doesn't sound like fun to many people, I'd guess.<br />
But in this year, more than any...I was grateful for the opportunity to be with good friends and netting a few fish.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In Memory of 'Gudgeon Jim' (Maker of Fine Landing Nets)</td></tr>
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Gurnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10140937461283076494noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2548811826931483117.post-78190547053055403072016-07-28T11:35:00.001+01:002016-10-07T15:49:05.458+01:00Another Old Friend - Redmire 2016<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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There are those that think the pool is finished, a muddy, weedless shadow of her former self. It's easy to be dismissive, negative......wrong!<br />
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I'd already heard that the pool was perfect this year. Well, perfect to me anyway.<br />
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Not for me, this year, the cane rod and pin approach. You see, though some may call me a romantic, I do not always see life through the rosy glow of vintage spectacles...Time and place. On a Redmire blanketed in weed (the weed that they said is gone), carbon is the only sensible approach.<br />
I decided on Pitchfords and set to work with a cast-able weed rake once permission had been granted by Ian the bailiff.<br />
The greenery was increasing by the minute in the very hot weather , but after some hours of clearance I was happy that I could present a couple of baits..<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The view of my swim from The Stile Pitch</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">All set, after a bit of 'gardening'</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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I guess that the knack is to remove a bit, but leave enough..I do know that my activities seemed to have had very little effect on the carp, they were soon back on the spot.<br />
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Meanwhile, up at 'Keffords', the ducks mocked me loudly, as they are inclined to do, for being so active on a lazy sunny day..<br />
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I assured them apologetically, that it wouldn't happen again...this is Redmire after all, time to relax.<br />
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The swans sought sanctuary from the summer heat at 'In Willow'.<br />
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I popped around to say 'Hello' and enquired about the availability of quills for floats.<br />
They're never much problem to the Redmire carp catcher and as I've said before, I like to think they remember those that pay them due respect.<br />
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The days and nights have a habit of gelling together, merging..Was it Yates who said that time doesn't pass here, it just collects? I can kind of understand that.<br />
This isn't a diary, just events plucked from five heady days. <br />
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Well, it was my birthday...and there would be brandy! Indeed, brandy...after food.<br />
We had consumed the traditional "Redmire Rissotto" the day previous, to once again rave reviews and the odd grumble that such a delight should have it's own dedicated pots and bowls...next year.<br />
So, my birthday?...of course I received a run on my left rod. I'd had three previous, all lost to the weed, hook pulls. It was my birthday now though, the pool was kind....the brandy tasted even better after a carp.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Birthday present</td></tr>
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I'd decided that all further takes would be treated as follows..Strike fish, allow it to penetrate<br />
the weed, wind down, place rod on rest, tell a fellow piscator, go around to fetch the punt (now allowed for snagged/weeded fish), row to swim, collect rod and fellow piscator, row/wind to fish, handline/play to net.<br />
This method gave 100% success in the harsh conditions. Easier for us, kinder to the fish.<br />
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At first light the following day I had my next run and was straight in the punt with my old mate Tony..<br />
From our new vantage point the pool looked majestic..<br />
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..With the fish safely on the bank at the Dam wall there then followed a routine I have endured for nigh on thirty years. Now Tony is a true friend, a top bloke, fine angler and a joy to have as company on the bank...but in his own words, "No David Bailey". I hark back to the weekend over twenty years ago, the film years, when I caught the two biggest carp in the lake, one of them twice (!) but ended up with not a single decent shot. Oh and the time I caught my first catfish, every photo a decapitation...you get the picture?...I don't!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First attempt</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sixth Attempt!</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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There was still enough time for more early action so I re-rigged and cast back to the spot.<br />
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Twenty minutes later I was back in the punt.<br />
I was pleased to see that the swans had left me some prime wing feathers on the surface so I collected a few as I slowly plodded towards my prize.<br />
After the undramatic procedure of extracting a sprightly common we were once again back on the dam wall. At this point I was able to give Tony a quick tutorial before raising the fish for the obligatory photos.<br />
As I lifted the fish, something profound struck me. A sense of familiarity.<br />
He lay across my hands, tensing his muscles, flexing his fins.....I'd seen this before. I knew exactly at this point which fish this was. It's perfect proportions, it's flexing and writhing, it just had this aura.<br />
I told a couple of the lads that I knew which fish this was....They scoffed, "How many commons are in this lake?"....One even said,"They all look the same".<br />
Well have a look at this my friends.....In my opinion, the finest fish swimming in Redmire..The fish that made my angling dreams come true. Here is a photo taken in 2010 of my first ever Redmire carp..<br />
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-dfoM_s1pWH4/V5nVg0NKkBI/AAAAAAAAD1E/Ou2jJM3yWPUbuRxzyXKPdEb8IczVjYRlQCLcB/s1600/redmire%2B2010%2B043.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-dfoM_s1pWH4/V5nVg0NKkBI/AAAAAAAAD1E/Ou2jJM3yWPUbuRxzyXKPdEb8IczVjYRlQCLcB/s400/redmire%2B2010%2B043.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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..and here is the fish I caught last week..<br />
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YcW5esg5Ezk/V5nWa7MTUCI/AAAAAAAAD1M/AMBYhkUaj5gd3Kp9mSwpppiAN7BchSFvgCLcB/s1600/IMG_2732%2B%2528Medium%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YcW5esg5Ezk/V5nWa7MTUCI/AAAAAAAAD1M/AMBYhkUaj5gd3Kp9mSwpppiAN7BchSFvgCLcB/s400/IMG_2732%2B%2528Medium%2529.JPG" width="400" /> </a></div>
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How could I not recognise it?..Just imagine how impressive this fish will be at 20lb+...I will always love him and it was so nice to make his acquaintance again. I had often wondered if he'd survived the removal of single figured commons in recent years. Truth told he should've been put in the removal cage when I first caught him..I couldn't bring myself to do it. Hopefully he'll continue and thrive from now on in the depths of Redmire, he'll always be the best fish I ever catch.</div>
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We saw some very large fish amongst the weeds on this session and we all caught, there are still some great fish here, but even if there wasn't...this place wouldn't be finished, it wouldn't be a shadow, take it from me...I know.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Friend Mike fishing from the fallen oak</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The fruit of his labour</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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Gurnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10140937461283076494noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2548811826931483117.post-42422192776289285542016-02-04T14:10:00.001+00:002016-02-04T16:26:39.451+00:00Old Friends<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-U7nZq4kU3ZI/VqjE8SOt_jI/AAAAAAAADwI/ByCRAoNajIU/s1600/12032950_10153035937101712_5207847320318117061_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="275" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-U7nZq4kU3ZI/VqjE8SOt_jI/AAAAAAAADwI/ByCRAoNajIU/s400/12032950_10153035937101712_5207847320318117061_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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The sounds of the city,</div>
Sifting through trees,<br />
Settle like dust<br />
On the shoulders<br />
Of the old friends</div>
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Take a look at these two 'erberts. That's me on the right, and my old buddy 'Birdy' catching carp that would go on to be 40+.....just like us!<br />
We met at work, getting on for 30 years ago.<br />
Soon discovering that we had both found a 'brother of the angle', plans were hatched for many fishing adventures.<br />
In the early days it was the canal for carp....With us both being welders we became quite adept at 'borrowing' bits of metal to make fishing related items. When we saw our first 'rod pod', the one made by Gardner Tackle, we soon rustled up a copied version each for our own use.<br />
Imagine the scene then, whilst angling for canal carp one evening with our rods perched on our newly made creations, as Birdy spots the company MD strolling down the towpath towards us with his lady..We were busted, he'd surely recognise the metalware and we'd be 'up the road'....or so we thought.<br />
Fortunately at that very moment Birdy had a take which produced a fine carp of around 18lb, the likes of which our MD had never seen before..so much so that he couldn't take his eyes of it..Here's the fish that saved our jobs..<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DGbMW5d94tQ/VqjI2Ax3ItI/AAAAAAAADwc/EqDMczJzuHU/s1600/12375037_10153154948726712_887105452060099178_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DGbMW5d94tQ/VqjI2Ax3ItI/AAAAAAAADwc/EqDMczJzuHU/s400/12375037_10153154948726712_887105452060099178_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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..Note my kit in the background, a rather dodgy Argos bedchair and that pod.<br />
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Of course we became quite obsessed with carp..to be honest that species of fish probably cost us both our first wives!! Fortunately, we have more 'understanding' spouses these days.<br />
We always like to consider ourselves as allrounders though and we have had great times chasing other species, not least the pike..I could tell stories of sea-sickness on Grafham Water and drunken nights preceding a day or ten on the fens and drains. Maybe another day.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We even had a photo with the bait!!</td></tr>
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Let's fast forward to this week..<br />
We don't fish together so much these days, but I thought it was about time Birdy caught a grayling. A plan was hatched for a trip to a little chalk stream that I knew would come up with the goods.<br />
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The weather was not the frosty, crunchy ideal that I love so much when angling for this species, indeed we arrived at the first swim quite warm. The weather has been so bizarre this winter.</div>
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The first swim is pacey and has depth. I dropped my bag and undid the tub of red maggots and chucked a few mid stream.</div>
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Little Lady darts drifted in and mopped them up. Staying silent about the presence of fish I told Birdy that he might want to bait a line and have a dabble.</div>
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Having set the depth and baited a hook the cast was made and the float vanished immediately, and so Birdy lost his grayling virginity.</div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0nfPPgIOhSo/VrNXs3OCTtI/AAAAAAAADxc/8WxdtmYVzn8/s1600/IMG_2285%2B%2528Medium%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0nfPPgIOhSo/VrNXs3OCTtI/AAAAAAAADxc/8WxdtmYVzn8/s400/IMG_2285%2B%2528Medium%2529.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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My tackle for the day was my Hardy Perfection Roach and Allcocks Match Aerial combo.</div>
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It has to be said that my relative lack of angling recently has left me a tad rusty and I found myself in all sorts of tangles and strife, not helped at all by the gusty weather. I feel that the shallower drum on the Match Aerial and wind are not a great match.</div>
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Fortunately, I don't take my angling and myself too seriously these days, so kept my mini nightmares in perspective.</div>
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Once I'd learned to trot again I was soon into the grayling and a few rogue trout...</div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-c9uGYURRBug/VrNZFrwTXnI/AAAAAAAADxo/6tU_t9MIDPs/s1600/IMG_2288%2B%2528Medium%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-c9uGYURRBug/VrNZFrwTXnI/AAAAAAAADxo/6tU_t9MIDPs/s400/IMG_2288%2B%2528Medium%2529.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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..but my personal highlight of the day was my first ever roach from this river..</div>
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..the rod clearly weaving it's magic again.</div>
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Of course the greatest achievement of the day was seeing a bit of that youthful excitement in the face of my old buddy when he netted some fine grayling and one or two large brownies. The years came rolling back..Good times..</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Birdy with one of his grayling.</td></tr>
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Gurnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10140937461283076494noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2548811826931483117.post-72306288606792376322015-11-19T13:56:00.001+00:002015-11-19T13:58:20.328+00:00A Special rod - B.James & Son - Peter Tombleson<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I purchased something special today. <br />
I am an acquaintance to the son
of a sadly departed pillar of the local angling community, a respected
gentleman who lived to a decent age and fished to the bitter end.<br />
His son has had many conversations with me about how they fished
together, along with his uncle, and the great catches they had. The
stories of their time together, always a joy to hear.<br />
His father
purchased the best tackle that money could buy in those days and his rod collection
would make many a collectors toes curl. He was also fortunate enough to
have some very esteemed angling companions.<br />
The son has always been
aware of my interest in vintage tackle and has furnished me with many a
tale about the fantastic rods he knows the whereabouts of..At first, I
listened with a bit of disbelief..Until I delved deeper.<br />
<br />
About
six months ago he declared that although he would be holding on to the
majority of his late father's rods...he did have one I might be
interested in purchasing....when he got around to sorting his Dad's
stuff out.<br />
His description of the rod had me quite excited, I had an
inkling to what it might be but I was respectful and didn't want to
push the issue.<br />
Today I received a phone call saying he would bring the rod to my workplace where I could peruse it and make an offer.<br />
A colleague brought a rod bag to my office, an immaculate green rod
bag..Upon it was the label which read B.James &Son..On the inside of
the flap, the ex-owners name and address in his own hand.<br />
It soon became quite apparent that I was holding something special.<br />
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This rod has been hardly used, if indeed at all.<br />
The
original whippings are green, it has an onion butt and the guides still
have the varnish on them giving them a golden glow. The ferrules pop
nicely and it is as straight as an arrow.<br />
It is not however a
MkIV...The words upon the rod read "Peter Tombleson"....a rare rod
indeed, especially immaculate and green whipped....and the name on the inside of the bag?...Bernard Pollard. <br />
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Now
that name may not ring any bells with most of you, but Bernard was a
recipient of one of the original Walker made MkIV's and a good friend of
RW. They fished together many times.<br />
I have to say that sitting
there looking over this rod and wondering what to offer for it was
difficult..I am quite aware that I could've purchased it for perhaps a
third of my eventual offer, but I wouldn't have been happy with myself. My offer
was accepted happily and I am delighted. <br />
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<br />Gurnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10140937461283076494noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2548811826931483117.post-57477175602572496342015-08-31T15:56:00.000+01:002015-10-06T12:08:42.310+01:00A Redmire float.<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6rcdJSqdR7w/VeRMtKCJEAI/AAAAAAAADs4/S0G9Bps7BLc/s1600/155.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6rcdJSqdR7w/VeRMtKCJEAI/AAAAAAAADs4/S0G9Bps7BLc/s400/155.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4LaYhHL7KSE/VeRNVgZyRWI/AAAAAAAADtA/fXwwJM7KYu0/s1600/favicon.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4LaYhHL7KSE/VeRNVgZyRWI/AAAAAAAADtA/fXwwJM7KYu0/s1600/favicon.gif" /></a>I found myself at the Fence Pitch, sitting, watching, waiting. I should have really been concentrating on the scarlet tip placed just feet away from me.</div>
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My mind drifted back a few months to an email to the fine floatmaker, Mr Andrew Field.</div>
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I'd seen a photo of a particular float on his website that looked just the job for use at such a prestigious venue as Redmire.</div>
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Having enquired as to the availability of said float I soon received a reply from Andrew stating that the particular float was the only one left from all in the photo. This meant that although I did not yet have it in my possession, it was already lucky.</div>
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I now have a a few of Andrew's creations, all of the highest quality, all mini works of art , all used for the intended purpose.</div>
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I'd encamped at Pitchfords, rising early to walk the short distance past Stumps whilst the others were still dreaming of glorious galitians. Walking aside the holly trees, then tip toeing on to the precarious platform to deposit 15 handfuls of micro pellets about a rod length out.</div>
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Steam rose from the mirrored pool as dabchicks sat amid the reedmace and the first wood pigeons broke the silence with their distant 'coo's.</div>
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Back at base camp I threaded the 8lb line from the Mitchell CAP 304 reel through the rings of the B. James Mk IV and tackled up ready for a morning's float fishing...First things first though.</div>
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My good friend Tony awoke about an hour later and duly set about producing a hearty breakfast of sausage, bacon, eggs and mushrooms. Whilst the kettle was on I strolled back down to the Fence Pitch to deposit two handfuls of sweetcorn onto the baited spot and stealthily plumb the depth.</div>
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As I drank my first tea of the day I recalled my six previous trips to the pool and all the wonderful fish she'd offered up to me, but not a single carp to the float despite my efforts on every single visit.</div>
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By now the sun was up and I quietly edged my Lafuma low chair and rod in to position on the platform, nestled in the undergrowth.</div>
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The end tackle comprised of two small drilled bullets between two Drennan grippa stops which in the unlikely event of a mainline breakage could slip off of the line very easily. A 6lb hooklink to size 12 hook completed the end tackle. Bait was to be two grains of corn.</div>
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The float was attached by a rubber at the bottom only...</div>
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I suppose this method can be described as somewhere between lift method and float legering.</div>
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With everything set I gave an underarm flick to the spot and sat back..</div>
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...and so I found myself at the Fence Pitch, sitting, watching, waiting.</div>
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Wrens, Tits and Warblers gorged on insects and grubs within feet as I remained still, statuesque...transfixed.</div>
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Even the attention of the wasps, one of which landed on my nose, didn't cause me to faulter.</div>
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As I sat amongst the Willowherb and Nettle a decent looking common cruised in just below the surface and completely circumnavigated the float slowly, attentively, before cruising off on his way..I hadn't fooled him at all.</div>
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In the next few minutes the float was landed upon by two damselflies, double somersaulted by a gymnastic gudgeon and checked out by the dabchick which broke cover to see if it was edible, leaving her miniscule offspring to call frantically from beneath the willow fronds......</div>
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...and then, quite magically, the classic lift bite...Up...Flat....then drift away...and.....strike.</div>
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The fish, quite clearly a scamp, dashed for the nearby willow and once turned, zoomed around in ever decreasing circles...It has to be said that getting to my feet, grasping the net and engulfing the fish was a quite delicate affair, but my balance remains good enough.</div>
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The result of this little plan? An absolute gem of a fish..Small yes, but perfect in every way. With fish like these,the future remains bright for the 'Mire.</div>
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It had taken 7 years to catch a Redmire carp on the float. I've caught some of the pools greatest treasures, but this little fellow and the way it was caught will live long in the memory.</div>
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Despite fishing on in the same manner for another four hours I received no further action. With this catch I'd blown my cover completely, but I strolled back to base feeling more than contented with my perfect little prize.</div>
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Andrew Field's website can be found <a href="https://www.lureofthefloat.co.uk/" target="_blank">here.</a></div>
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Gurnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10140937461283076494noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2548811826931483117.post-77860643891668833712015-07-23T13:18:00.001+01:002015-07-23T21:59:53.588+01:00Barbel Bullion<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Disorganised days drift into the chaos of traffic, and so follows the haphazard loading of tackle.<br />
About an hours drive away lies the low flowing sinuous abode of gold. Through humid field and o'er five bar gate, I go to prospect.<br />
The chatter of the magpie, shrill call of the 'fisher welcome, as the mallards argue. The grass moist, seeps, as the evening sun begins to fade.<br />
The water runs low and fast at the top of the beat where small unknown birds dart for grubs and insects amongst the rampant reed growth. Thin, fast, shallow?...No, not here..onwards to the grasping, rasping snags and depth, today.<br />
The crunch of pulled balsam beneath my feet betrays my presence to wood pigeon and noisy pheasant and startles us all.<br />
Well away from the flow I tie the simplest of rigs, then stealthily edge riverside concealed behind reed mace as the nettles brush my forearm.<br />
Vehicle noise is now just as distant as my memory of the home time traffic, once more I enter the heady world of the evening barbel fisher..<br />
I prime three swims with just two pieces of bait each, which today is meat, and then a moment of contemplation, no rush now, everything has slowed, a time to savour before that first cast.<br />
With an underarm flick to the faster midstream flow, it sinks unseen, to where in my imagination the barbel are stacked like pure ingots..<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">He who dares?</td></tr>
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On the opposite bank, murderous squealing, something was being killed by a predator..I was quietly glad it was still a bit light..spine chilling stuff, I don't usually get spooked. However, the unseen does play tricks.<br />
Suddenly, the rod whacks over with such ferocity that I jump! The tip almost hitting the surface of the river as the Speedia check screams.<br />
The strike is immediately met with aggression from upstream, not down....Upstream being where the snag is and the fish has gone straight through it still taking line...I'm in trouble, eventually I gain a small element of control but the line is grating awfully.<br />
I come to a position where the fish is tight to other side of the snag..With no other option, I am set to go in.<br />
Hand-lining slowly I think that the fish though not in view, could indeed be nettable, alas the line goes limp and with a great boil whatever it was, is gone. It seems that he who dares doesn't always win.<br />
My first thought is carp, but I'll never know...It is time to move swim.<br />
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After the addition of a couple more free offerings a cast is chanced towards a recently fallen willow.<br />
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There is streamer weed and depth here and I am able to see the baited hook fade in to the depths before sitting back in what can only be described as a bog.<br />
I need the chair in this swim but I still have that 'Titanic' feeling.<br />
The sun has peeped back round from behind the evening cloud prompting a festival of midges who seemed to want to party the evening away... in my eyeballs! It is whilst trying to extract one of these eyeball headliners that my rod pulls around again. My strike is late, but not too late, the fish hasn't yet reached the sanctuary of the fallen branches, though the intention is certainly there. I give no line, my thumb pressed firmly against the narrow drum and the trusty Chapman 500 holds firm. This rod has taken some punishment over the years, it is dog-legged with numerous 'sets' but I like it that way..It bares the scars of battle well and soon has a small, spirited barbel with a tail grown for fighting ready for the net..I have struck a little bit of gold.<br />
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No messing about with the roll mat here, there is no man made substitute for natures unhooking mat of moist, lush grass. Fish dealt with fast and efficient and back in the net to recover a while before release...and so, it is time for the next swim.<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-h9o8ANxn2yw/VbDSZteq0II/AAAAAAAADr0/irLvs0O5Ph0/s1600/2015-07-22%2B210952.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-h9o8ANxn2yw/VbDSZteq0II/AAAAAAAADr0/irLvs0O5Ph0/s400/2015-07-22%2B210952.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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A deepish bend with no real feature other than it's bendiness! I feel that with the sun beginning to fade it will give a better chance of playing and landing a hooked fish.<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-rqOTpofYFpY/VbDSxZnuqdI/AAAAAAAADr8/ueqtSl3Li6s/s1600/2015-07-22%2B203709_phixr.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-rqOTpofYFpY/VbDSxZnuqdI/AAAAAAAADr8/ueqtSl3Li6s/s400/2015-07-22%2B203709_phixr.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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First chuck produces a bite and results in another 'dart' of a barbel, released without photo.<br />
The light fades and I'm now fishing by touch as the tawny owls call to each other from distant trees . The mallards strolled off over the field and have now fallen silent.<br />
Heat has become cool and the whole scene has taken on an air of expectancy.<br />
I've cast into the slower water and can feel chub plucking the bait, so move back to the faster mid flow and add another few morsels of bait.<br />
The line is yanked from my hands and the drum whizzes as a fish takes the natural chicane and tries unsuccessfully to ram itself into the downstream reeds, the rod is perhaps at it's limit now but the fish is turned, yet not beaten. Using the flow to it's advantage it evades the net, perhaps four or five times before eventually succumbing.<br />
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These fish are lean, wiry beasts with big tails. They know their home well and are a great match to the tackle I use.<br />
It is time to leave this wonderful world, time to join the traffic once more...and dream of future gold.<br />
<br />Gurnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10140937461283076494noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2548811826931483117.post-58045769335954531422015-07-16T16:59:00.000+01:002015-07-17T16:27:20.659+01:00The Voices<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Do you ever get that feeling? You know the one..that inner voice that whispers, "Go there, you'll catch there".</div>
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I took the back roads home, tearing round the bends like an inept rally driver..stupid. That's fishing for you, or me anyway. Makes me throw caution to the wind and focus attention on just rivers, fish..and stuff.</div>
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I reached home in one piece, loaded the car messily, kissed the missus and set off....rapidly.</div>
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Two hundred yards up the road the voices started, " You've forgotten your camera you baffoon, more haste , less speed."</div>
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I actually just abandoned the car and the gear in the middle of the road and ran home to fetch the camera, much to Lady Sarah's dismay...she's sees this behaviour regularly.</div>
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The journey to the river is a short one and once through the noisy fishery gate that inner voice, call it intuition, insisted that I walk to the very furthest swim again...without looking at any of the others for signs of fish.</div>
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The session was rather auspicious in that it was to be the first time I would use the Hardy Perfection Roach that I had purchased some months ago, alongside my Allcocks Match Aerial.</div>
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Bait was caster, hemp and bread. Tackle was one of Richard C's floats and size 14 hook.</div>
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The flow was not excessive, just enough for the reluctant reel to do it's job.</div>
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First trot, a lovely 10oz dace to caster.</div>
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Then not much at all..I fed hemp and caster, a pinch every trot. </div>
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I know that the fish could take hours to get on the feed and that just before dark would be my time..but how did I know that? Something was keeping me right here, searching the swim, holding back, adjusting shot.</div>
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The inner voice knew I should stay.</div>
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Darkness began to fall and by this time I'd taken the rod's first roach and a few chublets. All very nice. Is it experience that guides my path or have I absorbed some of the river's spirit over the years? I fished on, straining to see the float tip, and when I could just about see no more...under it went.</div>
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The strike was met instantly by a very satisfying arc of the rod and the fish was soon some way downstream and making bid for freedom up a nearby inlet.</div>
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I was more than a match for this fish though and he was fought and duly landed. </div>
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Laying in the net was a rather nice chub which I weighed in at 5lb 2oz, worthy of a photo I thought.</div>
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I took the camera from the bag, the camera I had run back home for, and pressed the ON button..nothing...battery as dead as a Dodo...The bloody voices didn't tell me about that!</div>
Gurnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10140937461283076494noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2548811826931483117.post-13803224630506189962015-06-26T12:01:00.000+01:002015-06-26T23:20:06.428+01:00Citronella Nights<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GQit5JtHrf0/VY0sHGhDSDI/AAAAAAAADqE/7AeWnfhojRQ/s1600/smoke.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GQit5JtHrf0/VY0sHGhDSDI/AAAAAAAADqE/7AeWnfhojRQ/s400/smoke.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QNKnc9CHihc/VY0NlQRTa4I/AAAAAAAADpQ/F7ksXknoZKU/s1600/favicon.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QNKnc9CHihc/VY0NlQRTa4I/AAAAAAAADpQ/F7ksXknoZKU/s1600/favicon.gif" /></a> With my newly re-connected fishing head firmly back on I pass through the clanky gate to the inviting green sanctuary that is Ouse.</div>
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The undergrowth seems to have grabbed and kept the days sun and I stroll headstrong through it's thermal pockets.</div>
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This evening I do consider my options, the entire beat is mine. Passing every pool and glide, weighing one's options as the blood sucking insects case me out.</div>
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There's a tinge of colour to the flow and the fish only give themselves away at surface level, chublets, dace and roach chasing the hatch.</div>
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Settling on the farthest swim from the gate I sit amongst dock and the huge mutant plantain, bright green filigree'd leaves surround.</div>
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The Davenport & Fordham MkIV & Speedia Deluxe combo is tackled up and seems just about right here, not overly long and with backbone if required.</div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GyVCsBZFD5g/VY0pZEIpbnI/AAAAAAAADps/pTM5FhJ8QwI/s1600/downstream_phixr.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GyVCsBZFD5g/VY0pZEIpbnI/AAAAAAAADps/pTM5FhJ8QwI/s400/downstream_phixr.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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My swim is quite featureless, straight and deep. I consider that it might be great for many things; trotting, laying on, predators; pike and perch will definitely live here.....but maybe not a classic barbel swim. However, you never know on the Ouse..and you have to try.</div>
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I arrived at this swim choice because the area downstream is gravelly and has lots of cover, thinking maybe I could tempt a barbel up to me with the fourteen boilies I have baited. Confidence is everything, so fourteen it must be, it's a magic number. Doesn't seem a lot of bait to prime a swim with, does it? The barbel are so few now that you are angling for single nomadic fish...less is more. I purposely take very little bait, if I took more it would be used, and more never works.</div>
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As the sun begins to lower itself I hear voices, loud voices. Someone is showing a friend the fishery..loudly. I become agitated, how dare they break the spell..how dare they both stroll straight into my swim..loudly. Eye contact is all that is needed to tell them to move along but I hear them for ten more minutes. What has happened to angling etiquette?..I feel like I'm turning into my father!</div>
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The tip judders, and then again and I raise it aloft...fish on.</div>
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No drama here a small, welcome chub. I can feel that this swim has the ingredients for big chub, but I take whatever comes gladly.</div>
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We're at that time now when the local wildlife begin to complete the days business.</div>
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The heron is flying from bough to bough, looking for a roost.</div>
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I see the kingfisher, frantically diving along the beat, searching for the last meal of the day.</div>
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A solitary magpie flies through the overhanging branches as chub rise for the relentless insects in the flow beneath. The magpie is not a harbinger of bad luck for me, I have much wierder superstitions!</div>
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Another tap, and then a click of the centrepin, I strike and another chub.</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-b7BLEKGJC3s/VY0rnOI3MXI/AAAAAAAADp8/Y-u_PGRmGbU/s1600/Chub%2Blice_phixr.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-b7BLEKGJC3s/VY0rnOI3MXI/AAAAAAAADp8/Y-u_PGRmGbU/s400/Chub%2Blice_phixr.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Netted, released and recast just before darkness, and so to what I call the quiet hour. As the light drops away, so does the sound...Silence and a marked drop in temperature.</div>
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The otter appears, in no hurry to pass through my swim. Steady and methodical is how he works. I have a love/hate relationship with them. I love to see them, they have a right to be here..they have also eaten most of my beloved Ouse barbel.</div>
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I wait beneath the enveloping branches of this old willow, the rod tip now invisible, I leger by touch.</div>
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My eyes feel heavy. The heady whiff of citronella, darkness and concentration are taking their toll and I nod off.</div>
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Something pulls at my fingers, which are still holding my line. I wake, strike and miss...Go home to bed Gurn.</div>
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<br />Gurnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10140937461283076494noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2548811826931483117.post-71149645390635363422015-06-19T12:21:00.001+01:002015-06-19T13:39:27.851+01:00Back Amongst It.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-kEAkfJUsVLg/VYPnPhsgFTI/AAAAAAAADns/u0itEhBl038/s1600/SAM_1339.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-kEAkfJUsVLg/VYPnPhsgFTI/AAAAAAAADns/u0itEhBl038/s400/SAM_1339.JPG" width="400" /> </a></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Gehoccg5EKM/VYPns1Mm6xI/AAAAAAAADn0/nxDcQIrN78c/s1600/favicon.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Gehoccg5EKM/VYPns1Mm6xI/AAAAAAAADn0/nxDcQIrN78c/s1600/favicon.gif" /></a>It's always there, it's a calling. The Great Ouse, sometimes I forget that I miss it, but yes, I'm always conscious that it's flowing mass somehow has this impact upon me. It's not called 'Great' without reason. I curse myself for letting life get in the way, but sometimes it must.<br />
Treading pathways, newly formed by the excited river angler, I stroll, focussed.<br />
In the back of my mind I know where I will end up but kid myself that I shouldn't be blinkered, so view other likely places through nettle and over broad leafed plantain the size of side plates, it grips at my stride. These moments have missed me too..Uncaught fish, lost memories, but now I'm here it feels cosy and correct.<br />
Inevitably, I'm in a swim that has been kind in the past. These days you take what you can on the Ouse.<br />
Somehow the fish are secondary here, though when they happen along you know that you deserve them.<br />
Settling in, one rod, baited, waited, cast. Instantly I realise that my once accustomed body is not as ready to sit on an old Lafuma low chair as it might be.<br />
The odd angler strolls the far bank, not enough to bother a searcher of solitude. I exchange an obligatory nod and nothing further..Move on, nothing to see here!<br />
The rod tip jags twice..why am I still lazily looking at it?..it jags twice again and I lift the rod and start to play the fish in a position that seems too low down...I get to my feet, eventually.<br />
After a spirited initial surge, so typical of the chub, he tries to ram his way beneath the near bank. He's mine though...an Ouse fish, first of the season.<br />
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With the rod re-cast I sit back down with what I can only describe as a feeling of smugness, not because of the fish but because I am alone, at peace. Is it selfishness? No apology here.<br />
A pair of swans with two young arrive downstream, grazing on the present weed. They're noisy, but in a good way. I'm reacquainting myself with these once familiar sounds.<br />
A great heron soars above, screeching like something from the Jurassic, searching for a spot to fish and though I hear the other 'fisher I do not see his flash of azure.<br />
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It occurs to me how little I actually watch the rod tip directly, though I'm always aware of it in my peripheral vision. There's too much going on to worry about bites, a sharp tap re-focusses the<br />
mind for a few seconds. It may sound a bit weird, but I believe that I could actually somehow feel a bite without even looking.<br />
The light is beginning to fade and my swim takes on a spiritual vibe with more than a couple of citronella incense sticks burning around me.<br />
The mosquitos and midges swirl in great vortices atop the trees like starlings coming to roost or the funnels of insect tornados. I've never seen this before, silhouetted trees like arboreal log cabins look to have smoking chimneys, such is the abundance of these bugs.<br />
With the coming of the insects, so come the bats, amongst my favourite creatures, their acrobatic displays are worth the ticket fee alone. I often wonder why they sometimes fail to detect fishing line though!<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nlN0MeVuqj4/VYP2Gv9KVEI/AAAAAAAADoc/uFgjGil1kcI/s1600/SAM_1341.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nlN0MeVuqj4/VYP2Gv9KVEI/AAAAAAAADoc/uFgjGil1kcI/s400/SAM_1341.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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One of the many advantages of using a cane rod is that any available light bounces off of the varnish rendering the rod white...I have my own light sabre, no isotopes here.<br />
A Tawny Owl screeches from the trees and a large unseen flock of noisy birds passes above as dusk becomes dark.<br />
Just before midnight the downstream swans become agitated and the cob hisses incessantly. He's definitely disturbed, it can only mean one thing, a predator is close. Human? Fox? ..... a couple of minutes later a large dog otter swims nonchalantly through my swim..and so, nature tells me it's time to go home.Gurnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10140937461283076494noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2548811826931483117.post-76334461204335396832015-01-30T14:45:00.001+00:002015-02-23T16:19:49.247+00:00The Magic<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ii01xMqOF2g/VMuYktIxJII/AAAAAAAADls/oSnygz7bXOg/s1600/335594_444703045571032_694521387_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ii01xMqOF2g/VMuYktIxJII/AAAAAAAADls/oSnygz7bXOg/s1600/335594_444703045571032_694521387_o.jpg" height="300" width="400" /> </a></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0ChIszVFbh4/VMuYymIcvaI/AAAAAAAADl0/GE_IKyAvtXY/s1600/favicon.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0ChIszVFbh4/VMuYymIcvaI/AAAAAAAADl0/GE_IKyAvtXY/s1600/favicon.gif" /></a>It's been just over a year, a busy year, a 'not much in the way of fishing' year. I've moved house, have a new job and we've planned a wedding. I'm amazed at how popular this site has remained and I thank you for your messages, most of which were telling me to get my arse back in to gear! Well I'm back., and though this will be an even busier year, I'm determined not just to angle more, but to write more.<br />
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Let me tell you about a fish I caught back in August..<br />
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Did it all start on a cold January morning with a phone call to Les Bamford, or when I discovered an obscurely listed fishing rod on ebay?<br />
You know my love for Redmire, blimey, it's taken a bit of a peppering this year. I mind not...for all those that say 'it's finished' 'the magic has gone' etc. do not know the same pool as I. Their loss, would be my gain if I thought of it in a selfish manner, but it truly is their loss.<br />
The magic is still plentiful for those romantics that happen to indulge it. <br />
I also have a fondness, nay, addiction, to carp rods of the MKIV taper, or variations thereof.<br />
Scouring the darkest recesses of that bloomin' auction site we all love and hate in equal measures, I happened across a job lot of old rods. I recognised one of them as an early Constable 'Forty Fore', a rod I'd been chasing for some time. In fact I'd have settled for a later version such is their scarcity.<br />
I messaged the seller, who lived around thirty miles from me and arranged a visit.<br />
On arrival I heard from a lovely old lady of the sad passing of her husband 'Tom' an avid angler in his day, who bought the best he could afford.<br />
I perused the rods on offer, I really only wanted the 'Forty Fore'.<br />
It needed some restoration, but the nice lady was pleased to hear that I intended to have it restored and it would be used again.<br />
I ended up buying all of the rods on offer, most of which I had no use for, for a fair price..it just seemed right.<br />
Here is the rod, at the ladies house, as purchased...<br />
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The cane was sound, a testament to the rod building of Cliff Constable, he's truly one of the greats.</div>
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The job of restoration would fall to someone else, I just knew I wouldn't have the time. Responsibility fell to Steve Boncey who agreed to take on the task, he came highly recommended by people I trusted.</div>
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I have to say that Steve is not only good at what he does, but he is a gentleman too. Always keeping me informed of the minutia of the build and even sourcing new ferrules to match my insistance for originality.</div>
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Here is how it came back to me..I'll let the photos speak for themselves...</div>
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..and so, fast forward then, to a balmy August evening at Bernithan Pool, Redmire.</div>
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It has to be said that there is a fine line between indulgence..and over-indulgence, on this particular evening it was unfortunately the latter.</div>
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With rods rested against the shelter and spots primed with free offerings..We indulged in the hospitality of one Mr. Bamford.</div>
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Amongst my closest friends, the stories, food..and yes, shamefully, the Napoleon brandy did flow.</div>
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Les is now one of the few fortunates to have tasted the delight that is 'Redmire Rissotto!'.</div>
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The 'nightcap' was extended and the atmosphere became 'heady' as only Redmire (and Brandy) can deliver.</div>
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Common sense did slightly kick in and I made my way tentatively back to the Open Pitch before too much damage was done.</div>
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The first rod, The Forty Fore, was cast to a prepared spot..and cast well, all things considered.</div>
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I stood back a while as the line sunk, taking in the timeless scene before me, set the Mitchell to 'churn'...and I really was about to turn on the bite alarm...honest.....when my good pal Tony appeared, somewhat worse for wear!</div>
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It transpired that he'd arrived at his bivvy, gone to sit on his bedchair...and missed! Now Tony is not a big drinker and had been affected by the evening a bit more than myself..He was scared to fish in such state and decided to come to my swim to clear his head and talk crap for an hour or two as us men are inclined to do at such times. </div>
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In reality, we discussed much, a catch up, putting the world to rights, long into the night.</div>
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Perhaps, two hours later, the handle on my old Mitchell 300 did indeed begin to 'churn'.</div>
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Tony was stunned that I'd not set the bite alarm......I was going to...I really was. No matter, I struck and connected to one of the pool's jewels.</div>
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This was my first action on the new rod and it felt awesome.</div>
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Standing there in the moonlight Tony remarked, "It's like Walker and Thomas all over again"...The scene could've been sixty years previous..Alas, I'm no Dick Walker!</div>
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Now both very sober, the state of unspoken teamwork we both attain at such times had kicked in and Tony set about unjamming the tip ring of weed that was coming up the line in abundance. I did tell him at one stage that, "You're not playing a double bass, you know?" such was his twanging of the line, but he had it all in hand.</div>
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The fish was a plodder, staying deep, moving ponderously but determined for some time. The rod performed impeccably soaking up each dogged run.</div>
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Slowly, very slowly, we gained line on the fish...Tony grasped the landing net..I had reservations, "You gonna be alright with that mate?"..His reply, " It won't get two chances" and with the fish finally subdued, he was..of course..proved correct. With the fish netted first time without drama we both collapsed to the floor giggling, as we'd done so many times in the last thirty years... In the net lay a Twenty pound plus Redmire common, a fish worthy of christening any rod and another Redmire ambition achieved.</div>
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Don't tell me that the magic is gone.</div>
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In Memory of Peter Thomas, Eddie Price and 'Tom'.</div>
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Gurnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10140937461283076494noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2548811826931483117.post-80815189550693965852014-01-01T00:00:00.000+00:002014-01-01T00:00:00.959+00:00A Pause For Reflection, and a New Adventure.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It's time to sit awhile behind the long fallen tree, with baited hook...and ponder. Ponder the flow before me and gaze downstream at the distant bend in the river.<br />
At the point where I rest the river flows steady. There are of course, seasonal differences, but it's path is predictable and unwinding.<br />
I crane my neck to view ahead. It's different there, fresh and stimulating. I've concluded that I need to go explore the backwaters and tributaries beyond.....and I need to go alone...However..I will be back.Gurnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10140937461283076494noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2548811826931483117.post-88736432171608404282013-12-24T07:00:00.000+00:002013-12-24T07:00:04.230+00:00Merry Christmas All.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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To all who have shared my angling exploits this year, to friends old and new, brothers and sisters of the angle. I thank you, one and all and wish you a very 'Merry Christmas' and a prosperous new year.Gurnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10140937461283076494noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2548811826931483117.post-91535233471481641072013-12-11T18:30:00.000+00:002013-12-12T13:38:42.398+00:00Grayling - Back Amongst the Ladies<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-a-kWIC4whcA/UqeDgxRXwSI/AAAAAAAADg8/4rhYo31cMpY/s1600/favicon.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-a-kWIC4whcA/UqeDgxRXwSI/AAAAAAAADg8/4rhYo31cMpY/s1600/favicon.gif" /></a>What is it about angling for this little fish that captivates us so. They seem to be loved by everyone that throws a line.</div>
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Perhaps it's the anticipation.....</div>
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James had told me that he would be angling for grayling and asked if I'd like to join him again. We had such a great time last year that it made me wish for the winter months to arrive a little quicker this year. I do love my winter fishing and the addition of grayling to my winter list just seems to be the icing on the cake. </div>
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The Speedia was oiled for the occasion, something I do far too infrequently. I do make things difficult for myself because the addition of just one drop of oil makes such a difference.</div>
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With the bait sorted and tackle ready, an early start was in order.</div>
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Perhaps it's the tackle...</div>
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The Allcocks Lucky Strike seems to be just about perfect for small stream grayling fishing. I will admit that I've not actually tried anything else but I just don't need to. I have no problem at all trotting a traditional style float all day with the Lucky/Speedia combo. Some people actually claim that cane is heavy, it's not. OK, it is heavier than carbon, but let's face it, if you can't hold a bit of bamboo all day.......</div>
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Perhaps it's the river....</div>
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The chalkstream, a fragile environment , bestowed upon us by this diverse and wonderful country of ours. How lucky we are to be able to idle away hours of our lives in such enchanting places.</div>
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We arrived at first light, that first glimpse from the bridge giving all the information we needed to assess the days fishing. Low, cold , clear...for any other species I'd have been worried, yet I revelled in the sight before me.</div>
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Perhaps it is the company....</div>
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James is a good companion. He's fished the stretch more than me and knows the swims well. Like myself, he is fortunate to have a knowledgable angling father who has taught him a little too well. </div>
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My love of solitude dictates that I give much thought to who I choose to fish with.</div>
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Perhaps its the joy of angling.....</div>
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Having caught a few small grayling upstream I took a stroll to a swim I did well in last year. I could clearly see a few fish present, just drifting into view as they snaffled passing red maggots.</div>
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The cast is often grabbed by the overhead branches but I succeeded in avoiding the twiggy grasp and the float was on it's way, effortlessly towing line from the Speedia.</div>
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The orange tip vanished and the strike connected. The dark cane of the 'Lucky' flexed it's steel against the fish, which was now sitting in the fast central flow. Such strength for such a small fish. He was no match for such a classic combination though and he was eventually mine.</div>
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Perhaps it's the fish.....</div>
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I once read somewhere that a grayling looks like it has been knitted. Well I can see exactly what they meant. They have a look all of their own. Those exquisitely iridescent colours, that gorgeous sail of a fin, those eyes.</div>
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Add to that the tenacity of a fish twice it's size. The strength to hold in the current, that fight and their wirey, muscular contortions when held a little too tightly for their liking....I love 'em.</div>
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We caught many. We once again had a fine day, a day to remember. I could wax lyrical about it all, but will save some for another day.</div>
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What is it then, what does a grayling have that strikes a chord with all brothers and sisters of the angle?</div>
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I'll tell you what it has.....</div>
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.........It has it all.</div>
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The easy option is to fish with my modern tackle on a commercial fishery, that is if I want to catch fish all day. It has to be said that the aforementioned is perhaps not my primary objective. I do the things I do because they make me smile. I like to think that I take the fun option. Cane rods are not as adept at catching fish as their carbon cousins, they are more fun though.</div>
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So then, let's take photography. A digital camera will produce a high resolution image that can be manipulated, should one wish, to become black and white, then aged, quite simply. That's not real though is it?</div>
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At a summertime car boot sale I chanced upon a Kodak Brownie 44A, a camera that is contemporary to some of my old tackle. I purchased it for 50p and purposely hung it around my neck for the rest of the sale,much to the embarrassment of Lady Sarah. I new exactly what I wanted to do.Just like the rods I refurbish, I wanted it to live again, and in style. I would purchase a film for it and use it at Redmire Pool!</div>
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Lady Sarah gave a customary eye roll at my latest barmpot scheme.</div>
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The camera takes the now obsolete 127 film. I thought my only option would be ebay, and after some perusal found that I'd only be able to buy the film from old expired stock or from eastern Europe. I didn't fancy either option and searched the internet for something else. Fortunately ,I stumbled across this fantastic site....<a href="http://www.lomography.com/magazine/reviews/2011/04/12/kodak-brownie-44a-more-than-medium-format" target="_blank">Lomography</a>....which in turn directed me <a href="http://www.photosupplies.co.uk/wpc/2010/08/22/kodak-brownie-44a-and-44b-camera-fun/" target="_blank">this site</a>,a site with instructions on how to convert your Brownie camera to the more readily available 35mm film format.</div>
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Having carried out the conversion I purchased an Ilford HP5 plus 400 film and loaded it as instructed.</div>
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Having the camera alongside my digital at Redmire just seemed right, and I followed the shooting and winding procedure as set out on the site.</div>
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On return I sourced a processing lab in Devon...<a href="http://www.blackandwhitefilmprocessing.co.uk/index.html" target="_blank">Spectrum Photo Lab</a> and having manually rewound the film under the duvet, it was sent off to be printed.</div>
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I'd long forgotten about the anticipation, the old questions, "Will they be blurred, double exposed etc."</div>
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I was able to obtain 15 images from the 24 exp.film and I'll let you make your own decisions about the results, ironically digitalised here in order upload to the blog.</div>
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Clearly not the easy option, but it has been really good fun.</div>
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I think they have an old fashioned charm and thoroughly recommend that you have a go.</div>
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Link back to <a href="http://www.traditionalfisherman.com/viewtopic.php?f=134&t=10432" target="_blank">T.F.F</a></div>
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Gurnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10140937461283076494noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2548811826931483117.post-52433632151028594782013-11-24T18:55:00.002+00:002013-11-24T18:57:08.399+00:00A Poem...Found.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xfLPxHaapas/UpJK89WKacI/AAAAAAAADek/AbDkrkHEAdw/s1600/favicon.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xfLPxHaapas/UpJK89WKacI/AAAAAAAADek/AbDkrkHEAdw/s1600/favicon.gif" /></a></div>
Whilst strolling along the River Gt. Ouse at Bedford today with Lady Sarah we stumbled across this little gem. I felt it rude not to share.......<br />
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<br />Gurnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10140937461283076494noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2548811826931483117.post-64916052910360641622013-10-20T17:45:00.000+01:002013-10-30T22:14:41.241+00:00Redmire Pool 2013 <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Uci4wMznXAQ/UmFoQ-OL5eI/AAAAAAAADOE/gtvWeIziCZo/s1600/redmire+pool+2013+067.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Uci4wMznXAQ/UmFoQ-OL5eI/AAAAAAAADOE/gtvWeIziCZo/s400/redmire+pool+2013+067.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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"Patience is bitter, but it's fruit is sweet."</div>
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The remaining ancient oaks drop acorns, as if tears, shed for their fallen comrade who still lies wounded in the pool of dreams.</div>
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Small fry leap just for the hell of it, carp ... not gudgeon, flamboyantly somersaulting.</div>
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These things break the silence now that the rain has abated. I'm here again, It's wet again.</div>
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Moorhens stalk my pitch for crumbs and a huge fish gives out a 'kaboosh' from the sleeping oak.</div>
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With two rods out, the autumnal blaze drifts into monochrome and I drift into that heady world that only a night at Redmire brings.</div>
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I'm in the famous "Willow Pitch", it'll never be "Walkers" to me. If anything it should be "Richards'", the true pioneer of the pool, I digress.</div>
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With Ash opting for the productive "Stumps" and Tony in "Pitchfords," I've chosen this pitch with one thought in mind, it produces the bigger fish.</div>
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My starting tactic, to fish just two rods, my rigs tied with the larger residents in mind. </div>
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The night shift begins with the bats, only three this year. They're some of my favourite creatures and I watch them until my eyes can strain no more. The tawnys up in the oaks call out, first 'toooit' repeated many times until the eventual reply 'Woooo'. The reeds start to shuffle, rodents large and small scavenge the surrounding area. The alarms stay silent and in the early hours I eventually succumb to light sleep.</div>
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I wake to light rain and the news that Ash has caught his first ever Redmire carp, this being his second trip, a common of around four an a half pounds. Promising news.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Oks07aGXkiA/UmmjY2s7UUI/AAAAAAAADVY/xwQc4pdNtLk/s1600/ash+fish_phixr.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Oks07aGXkiA/UmmjY2s7UUI/AAAAAAAADVY/xwQc4pdNtLk/s320/ash+fish_phixr.jpg" width="228" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ash's fish. Taken on a mobile, at night, in the fog!</td></tr>
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Around mid-morning the lads venture into town. I'm awarded a rare treat, I have the whole pool to myself. The rain persists and it's tempting to confine myself to the bivvy, but this opportunity may never arise again, I sit out.</div>
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For an hour and a half I'm able to indulge myself in the fantasy that the pool is mine and mine alone. She is a moody companion though. My thoughts turn to the years previous.</div>
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I've trodden these banks a good few times now, usually in less than clement conditions. She's given up a few of her prizes to me. I've felt the elation of a capture on these banks, even in this most esteemed of pitches. But there's a dark side to the pool. It can wound you. I hark back to the deluge and floods of last year, the harsh reality of enduring the worst fishing conditions I've ever encountered, and not a fish to quell the pain</div>
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The lads return and the rain stops..</div>
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Shortly after, a fine figure of a man appears, apparition-like on the dam wall. As he strolls it's length I recognise a gentleman I know only from his writings. We'd corresponded and I'd organised permission for him to visit. It is none other than Dave Burr of the wonderful <a href="http://daveburrsblog.blogspot.co.uk/">"From the Banks of the Wye".</a>
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We greet at the end of the Dam wall and he takes a seat. I have to say I enjoy his company and it's clear we have a lot in common.<br />
Unfortunately, Steve, my kettle doesn't take a shine to Dave and is reluctant to boil, resulting in perhaps the worst cup of tea he's ever had....Sorry mate, Steve's fault, not mine.<br />
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A good while passes, in which time we have put most of the world to rights and observe that rather nice fish hurl itself out by the oak again. It's time to stroll around the pool.</div>
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It's now that I read Dave's mind a bit. I've told him of my fishing plan for the week and as I reel in the rods and show him my rigs, I know that inside he's thinking something along the lines of "subtle, they ain't.".</div>
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It was good to meet up at last. I'm sure we'll fish together some day, though he sadly seems not to want to fish the pool. We bid farewell and before long darkness cloaks the pool again. And so to a quiet, dark fishless night.</div>
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I wake early, Lady Redmire is in a good mood and I never tire of watching the sun come up over the oaks, it's shafts of light piercing through the foliage and down onto the pool. I'm always minded of, in my opinion, the best line Walker ever wrote, perhaps whilst sitting in this very spot...."Our long vigil had begun. It continued until daybreak and after. The sun rose deep orange, it's beams making the lake steam. Nothing moved; I was lost in a quiet world of green and grey and gold".</div>
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Opposite is the corner swim known as "Cranstouns", home of monster gudgeon, but nowadays little fished for carp. Here it also rains acorns from the oaks near to the spot Jack Hilton caught his forty pounder. The falling fruit cause the same noise a boilie makes upon landing, when having been launched high into the air with a catapult (we've all done it).</div>
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I'd remarked to Dave on the possibility that this might have a dinner bell effect on the carp. That large carp is still hanging around the area and launches herself skywards. I'm able to see she's a sizeable mirror.</div>
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There's only one place to be on the pool when the weather is like this, the shallows. For the first time this session I thread the 8lb line from Peter Frost's old boomerang check Mitchell 300 through the rings of my B.James Mk IV. The rig is a size 10 Gardner Mugger hook fished blowback hair rig style to coated braid. The bait, three grains of sweetcorn.</div>
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Nestling in to the swim amongst what appears to be watercress and wild mint I now have command of the extreme shallows. The air smells sweet and fish soon betray their presence.</div>
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I think the swim is now known as the "Top Pitch" but in the past was called "No.3 Pitch". It's cosy, if a tad moist.</div>
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A gentle underarm flick is all that's required and I sit back, arms folded, hat on, shades on..hiding my obviously white skin, blending in.</div>
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..Yes, blending in is exactly what I'm doing. I really feel absorbed by it all...so much so that I nearly nod off, this always seems to happen here! Fortunately, the odd large fish breaching the surface shatters the tranquility and focuses my mind.</div>
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To watch these legendary fish actually turn on to their sides to propel themselves through the shallows, is a joy to behold. Great plumes of red silt stir up with every beat of their tails.</div>
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Alas the line stays ever still and my attention wanders to the shuffling of a small mouse, frantically searching for morsels to eat, no more than four feet away. It's his lucky day, I'm willing to share a few golden grains with him. In fact, it was a fine day for both of us despite my lack of a bite after many hours of static contemplation.</div>
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Back at the "Willow" and with the evening drawing in, I take time to greet the lone Mire swan. He seems not to have discovered a new mate having sadly lost his partner a couple of seasons ago. I find him friendly and no problem to my angling at all. I like to think he remembers me, he almost certainly doesn't.</div>
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He's still king of the pond though. The small flock of Canada geese are well aware of where they sit in the pecking order. It's the first time I've seen Canadas on the pool. They are also an interesting and entertaining addition to the daily life of this microcosm.</div>
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With the Mk IV now set up to fish, it seems logical to set it up as a third rod for overnight, sticking with the sweetcorn. The other rods still rigged with big carp in mind.</div>
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With the setting of the sun, so comes the inevitable Cranstouns/Fallen oak dolphin show.</div>
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That fish is at it again, so much so that one could quite easily be fooled into thinking the swim was packed with feeding carp.</div>
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A few bleeps emit from the sweetcorn rod's alarm. I'm unsure of the cause, perhaps small carp picking up the bait, perhaps large fish causing line bites, perhaps rodents walking into my makeshift stick bobbin..I drift off to sleep.</div>
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Did I hear my name being called in half slumber? Was the spectre who called me from "Stumps" five years ago back to lure me again? No, I awake to torchlight. Ash has come around to inform me that his father has caught a nice common and ask my advice on how to proceed. I tell him to sack the fish till daylight.</div>
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All too soon it comes for me as my eyes welcome another fishless (for me) dawn. Looking across the pool that old saying resounds in my thoughts, "Red sky in the morning, shepherds warning".</div>
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It is a morning of breakfast in bed delivered early by Tony. Bacon and egg roll, thank you very much. I suggest we sort the fish and photos as soon as possible and we are soon down at the Dam. However, the rain has beaten us.</div>
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What cracking fish these Mire commons are, we both agreed that it was a fine result for Tony. I was so pleased for him.</div>
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With the fish safely returned we also agreed that we'd probably be bivvy-bound for the rest of the day.</div>
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An Intrepid Piscator has a a couple of choices at times like this. One can sit in the bivvy with a view such as this...</div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-TZ4Uz6O7jUc/UmPH1IqDZvI/AAAAAAAADRM/zteEg94Ctj0/s1600/redmire+pool+2013+034.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-TZ4Uz6O7jUc/UmPH1IqDZvI/AAAAAAAADRM/zteEg94Ctj0/s400/redmire+pool+2013+034.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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.....or one can sit out in the rain making cheese toasties!</div>
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You will need the following items...</div>
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One vintage Nutbrown sandwich toaster</div>
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Two slices of white bread (buttered)</div>
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A bag of grated mature Cheddar</div>
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A Primus (or similar) stove</div>
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Apply one slice of bread to one side of the toaster, butter side down then pile on copious amounts of grated cheese......</div>
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Apply the other slice of bread butter side up on top of this. Then clamp the toaster together to trim the edges pretty sharpish to avoid sogginess in the rain......</div>
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All that is then left to do is hold both sides over the stove to produce the finest toasted sandwiches you will ever taste..It is not, however, compulsory to do this in the rain..</div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iYFirp8pOBg/UmPLdTln2fI/AAAAAAAADR0/-C4prQLIhCc/s1600/redmire+pool+2013+045.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iYFirp8pOBg/UmPLdTln2fI/AAAAAAAADR0/-C4prQLIhCc/s400/redmire+pool+2013+045.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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The darkened skies had lulled the leaping carp into thinking it was dusk and she was soon up to her tricks. Crashing through the snags beneath the oak and hurling herself about like she was half-demented.</div>
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By midday the gastronomic delights were in full flow, with me dashing around to the lads with some of the Redmire cake kindly produced by Lady Sarah for the occasion.</div>
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Slowly but surely the inclement weather passed and the sun tried hard to poke itself through the grey clouds. I don't need much encouragement to be back on the shallows, this time at "No.1 Pitch".</div>
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Just a couple of snatched hours really, with still nothing to show for my efforts. As time moved on I start to consider a move of swim for the night, the opportunity was there this morning but time had run out due to the earlier weather. "Stick to the plan", I think.<br />
To be honest, the thought of yet another infamous Redmire tradition had by now taken over and I am soon in Tony's swim to partake in the now legendary Redmire Rissotto. Describe by some as "food of the gods" and by others as "something that might have been down and up twice". The sight of this wondrous dish polarises opinion. I know it looks like something that you might find on a town centre pavement on a Saturday night....but it tastes fantastic. We really excel ourselves this year.Tony and I eat two bowl fulls each.<br />
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Night falls quickly on the pool at this time of year and I'm stubbornly sticking to my big-fish rigs on the two original rods with the MK IV being used as a 'snide' with the sweetcorn.</div>
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It gets really dark at Redmire! Though when the clouds part, my whole swim is illuminated by the fat moon.</div>
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They're long, these nights, so long, too long. Gazing, waiting, drifting, waking. Never a full night's sleep. No sound, no fish..except the Cranstouns leaper.</div>
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Morning breaks on our last full day and no-one has caught in the night. The sun shines bright in intervals and Tony tells me he has plans to fish with me in the shallows from my side of the lake today. I've secretly been thinking of fishing "Hilton's" and suggest that we have a bank each with Ash preferring to stay behind his alarms.</div>
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I'd noticed quite a bit of fish activity in the area in front of Hilton's on my previous forays down on the shallows. </div>
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I think I might try the tactics that have proved so successful in the the low clear river conditions I have encountered in previous weeks. That being to use a light mono hooklink, size 12 fine gauge hook with soft pellet on the hook, no hair, and a very small semi fixed lead..</div>
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I love this swim but one must be very stealthy in approach and indeed whilst in residence. I tackle up behind the trees then slowly position myself in situ and catapult out some feed pellet, before gently flicking out the rig.</div>
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Tony is nowhere to be seen in No.1 pitch, yet I know he's there. We both melt into the backdrop, motionless for a couple of hours, until I see movement on the opposite bank as Tony vacates.</div>
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About five minutes later he's behind me, informing me of his plans to visit Ross-on-Wye for lunch and to refresh body and mind. I now have a dilemma, in less than 24 hours we will be leaving. Do I 'waste' valuable fishing time? "Don't chase 'em Gurn," I tell myself. </div>
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The line is carefully reeled in and I apply around ten pouches of the feed pellet to the swim. Proceeding to create my own version of 'Kevin the scarecrow', leaving my low chair, rod and hat in position, before leaving for respite in Ross-on-Wye.</div>
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Fully refreshed, we return. It's straight back to Hiltons for me and the fish are well on the pellet. Manoeuvring myself back in to position, I cast to an area beside the coloured water and sit back and wait, and wait.</div>
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The fish appear to be everywhere except close to my hookbait and a decision is made to reel in and climb the pollarded willow made famous by Chris and Bob.</div>
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From here I can clearly see where the fish are feeding and also that the water is so coloured now, that sweetcorn is an obvious choice of hookbait. Back down in the swim I attach two kernels to the hook and cast into the correct area, a high, looping accurate cast.</div>
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Sitting back, I take up some of the slack and try to sink some of the 8lb Daiwa Sensor main line.</div>
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Sudden 'churning' of the Mitchell 300's handle takes me completely by surprise and my eyes sharply scan the swim for the swan or the geese. The only thing I see is the rapidly tightening line and I take up the MkIV and raise it hard and forcefully, it takes on a fighting curve and I'm finally attached to a carp. The corn had been in the water no more than twenty seconds before it was taken and the perpetrator was now within feet of Tony on the far bank, who seems oblivious to the saga playing out before him. Scrambling to my feet I now stand upon the small platform, the usual thoughts running through my head. "Easy does it, six pound hooklink" "Fine gauge hook" "Snags to the left".</div>
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Five minutes in and with the fish having now paraded it's way around a full circuit of the shallows, Tony enquires,"Are you in Mr. Gurn?", my reply, "Well in, sir". Realisation hits that my net is stealthily placed behind the swim and I tell Tony of the situation, he immediately reels in to assist. As he arrives, with young Ash who looks at my rod and reel with an element of disbelief, the fish seems to be ready to net. "I'll walk it back, you net it", I instruct Tony. There's no real need to tell him what to do. We have fished together for many years and we automatically know how to assist each other at these times..He nets it first time. My long wait is over, and in what style? MkIV, Mitchell 300, sweetcorn straight on the hook, from the shallows. Pretty near to perfection for me.</div>
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I am a right mess, a self imposed burden has been lifted. Adrenaline courses through my veins making me shake so much. The rod and reel have performed impeccably and my thanks go to the lads for safely transporting the fish to the dam for a quick photo call.</div>
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Again I now consider a move, Tony has had the self same thought, but after lengthy discussion we talk each other out of it.</div>
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With the evening now approaching, the time seems right to pack away the Mk IV, return to my swim and indulge in my own sausage and ale festival. The pool had rewarded me for not chasing and I sat alone contemplating the events of the afternoon with a bit of a golden glow. Perhaps the catches from this pool mean too much to me, I'll never make apologies for it.</div>
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Having nothing to lose by persisting with my big-fish rigs. I send them out, freshly sharpened, to spots by the tree that had received the majority of my bait over the last five days, not too close to the tree mind, I am not of the 'fish at all costs' mindset.</div>
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Darkness falls and in the moonlight something stirs, a beasty on the dam ? No. Perhaps one of the lads? No. It is Bamford, custodian of the pool. Now considering that I'd partaken of a few ales I am quite pleased to see that he only holds four cans of bitter.</div>
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I love talking to him, such a character, so knowledgeable. I say 'talking', it has to be said that you mostly listen!. We discuss everything from bait theory through to Ashlea Pool. After an hour or so has passed the big fish leaps from the area by the tree. "That's been doing that for weeks", exclaims Les. "I'd thought it was tethered but it seems to have been spotted in various areas of the swim". We agree that it is probably gorging on the bloodworm in the silt near the outflow and intermittently clearing its gills with aerobatic displays. Les and I converse another hour until he leaves with this parting shot,"Catch that f*cking fish."</div>
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Still feeling 'wired' from my earlier catch the nocturne envelopes me. Not a chance of sleep, I scroll my cameras screen in self congratulation. The night progresses and I am startled as my left alarm bursts into life, my first run from the swim this week. On connection, my brain immediately evaluates the situation proclaiming that I am attached to one of the 'scamps'. No line is given as it kites, unseen, towards "In Willow". I literally pull it back to me, winding as I go and before long it is in front of me, sending boils from about two feet below the surface. I raise the rod in the moonlight and she glides effortlessly to the spreader block to be enveloped with no drama at all.</div>
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It is only when I fetch the torch to have a look that I realise I've caught something very special. A phone call to Tony has him reeling in to be at my side to help with the unhooking and sacking. Things I do effortlessly on other lakes seem to need more attention on the pool and my first thought is always for the safety of the fish. More hands make this easier.</div>
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I'm not a huge fan of sacking fish, not that I think it's of detriment to them. Far from it, I actually think it's a good way of resting them after the ordeal of capture. The problem for me comes with the huge responsibility. I can't rest, constantly checking and re-checking.</div>
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The fish is safe and deep, I know that, but there is no way I am going to sleep. </div>
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An hour and a half later another alarm sounds out, not mine but Tony's. I reel in to return his favour and dutifully assist with his fish an absolute belter of a common.</div>
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I have never been so pleased to see the dawning of a last day on the pool and photos and release are carried out early.</div>
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The big fish plan had come good on the last night. I recall my words to Dave four days previous, "All I need is one good bite". I also recall Les' parting words and reflect that the fish hadn't leapt in all the time my carp had been retained.</div>
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Lady Redmire had decided to be nice to me again. A fish of dreams. I'll not venture weights here, such is their immateriality, but one can be safe in the knowledge of another personal Redmire milestone easily surpassed. I suspect this fish fell victim to the rogue otter of a couple of years ago. I know of at least one other fish with this tail damage in the pool, a large common. I just pray thanks that it has lived to tell the tale, and fulfil my dreams, even if it has lost a bit of fight.</div>
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And so to Tony's final fish, another corking Mire thoroughbred, just beautiful...</div>
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We leave on a high. Thank you Redmire, we will of course return.</div>
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My thanks go to all involved in the running of this great place, it never lets you down. Also to the lads for their great company. But,mostly to my Lady Sarah who went above and beyond the call of duty to do two five hour round trips to drop me off and pick me up, my car being a bit ill at the moment.</div>
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Special mention once again to Graeme of <a href="http://www.carponbaitsltd.co.uk/">Carp On Baits</a> who just keeps on coming up with the goods.</div>
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Link back to Redmire Pool forum........<a href="http://www.redmirepool.biz/forum/viewtopic.php?t=1176&start=0&postdays=0&postorder=asc&highlight=">Here.</a>
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Link back to Traditional Fisherman's Forum....<a href="http://www.traditionalfisherman.com/viewtopic.php?f=23&t=9819">Here.</a>
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Gurnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10140937461283076494noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2548811826931483117.post-79597024898426791182013-10-03T20:58:00.000+01:002013-10-03T21:35:13.176+01:00Sloe Gin, Long Walks and Green Thread.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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With the blackthorn positively bursting with sloes this year it was time to forage . Tradition usually dictates that the sloe should be harvested after the first frosts. In reality most have been harvested by then. There is a fine line between allowing them to grow fat and ripe, and turning up late for the harvest.<br />
With this in mind, and with this years fine weather bringing the berries on nicely; Lady Sarah and I collected a tidy little harvest in just an hour or so. All this for the preparation of Sloe Gin for the winter hip flask and Sloe Vodka for the Christmas festivities.<br />
We kept to the following recipe...<br />
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1lb Sloes</div>
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8oz Sugar</div>
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1.75 pints of gin/vodka</div>
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Of course we've seen variations to these quantities and ingredients, but this seems more traditional and if it isn't broke, we don't fix it.</div>
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All the sloes were washed and pierced a few times with a sterile needle. We then placed them, the spirit and sugar in a clean 2 litre bottle with the aid of a homemade funnel and closed it tightly. After a good shake it was stored in a cool dark cupboard.</div>
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The bottle should be shook every other day for the first week and once a week thereafter. It should be good to strain and drink by the festive season.</div>
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It was time for a long walk, a walk that took me through mown meadow to reeded flow.<br />
In the distance, walking towards me, a brother of the angle .</div>
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As our paths crossed in the midday sun I enquired "Any luck?". He answered that he'd caught a few small chub and the conversation meandered through barbel to roach. It transpired that this gentleman had read this very blog and was pleased to be able to see a fellow angler's tales from the place he himself cast a line. Well I hope you are reading this post sir. It was nice to cross paths with you and I hope the rest of your day was fruitful.</div>
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Walking down the beat I noticed just two other anglers and gave them both a wide berth, strolling further downstream.</div>
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I eventually arrived at a likely spot.</div>
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The river is low and clear and I dare not even chance a sneaky peek with the polaroids. Instead, a good plan seemed to be to have some carrot cake and tea whilst sprinkling the downstream area with caster and hemp.</div>
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My tactics here, in these conditions are simple. Three small soft-hookable pellets straight on a fine wire size 12 hook to 5lb line. That is the joy of using forgiving cane rods.</div>
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You can see here that by using mono instead of braid and the lack of a hair, that the rig is not at all blatant.</div>
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Having quenched my thirst and quelled my hunger it was time to cast. A gentle underarm flick to the baited area, then sit well back , and wait.</div>
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And wait............and wait!</div>
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No solid bites were forthcoming. With cunning stealth I'd set my traps, but the fish were wiser. After a couple of hours trying I reeled in and went for a stroll.</div>
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The river needs rain, for colour more than level. I did eventually find a swim with a bit of depth, chucked in some offerings, then returned for my kit.</div>
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Sitting amongst a mix of Himalayan balsam, reed and nettle..my mind wandered to thoughts of the Redmire gudgeon, and a swim known as Cranstouns..The rod tip flickered, then jagged chub-like. I struck.</div>
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It was as if I had summoned the beast from the depths, as there before me hooked fair and square was this lovely fellow.</div>
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I'd seemingly found a lovely space to sit and wait for monster gudgeon to snaffle my barbel baits..I stayed a while and caught some more, they made me smile..they always do.</div>
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Deep down, I knew it was time to take another long walk and then another short one, if I was to find a barbel or a roach....</div>
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Amazingly, I found myself able to bag the productive swim of previous weeks. With an angler downstream I decided to stick with my simple leger tactic, alternating between caster and pellet on the hook. Caster were the the bait that scored first, a feisty small barbel, golden and wiry. </div>
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Having bagged a baby barbel my mind became set on roach, so I upped the hemp input and stuck to multiple caster on the hook. Slowly but surely I am honing a method that I'm sure will eventually bag me one of the monster roach I feel sure are present.</div>
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The method worked, providing a succession of quality roach. I guess it's not innovative angling really, but I'm learning and tweeking things as I go.</div>
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What a cracking fish this last one is, I don't think I've seen a more beautiful roach. A fish to make anyone's day, it certainly did mine.</div>
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As I photographed the last roach a call came from upstream. The chap was beaming from ear to ear having just caught a near double figured barbel on meat. I strolled the fifty yards or so and helped with photos. Fortunately he had the same camera as me so there was no drama. We chatted a while about vintage tackle and the like and as I returned I said he'd soon be down to use my camera, as I was to shift my attention to barbel now.</div>
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Having politely declined the offer of a couple of chunks of meat a move back to the small pellet was in order.</div>
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The wait was perhaps an hour or so but as the light began to fade I received a savage bite, matched only by the fight of a fit barbel. It is the first time since using cane rods that I thought I might break one, but it stood firm and was eventually able to subdue the fish..Not huge, but very reluctant to be netted. My fellow barbel catcher duly obliged with the picture. You might notice that the Redmire beard is coming along nicely. I actually loathe it, but tradition is tradition.</div>
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My fellow piscator remarked that we had another half an hour before we had to be off of the fishery,"Enough time for another one" he said.</div>
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Within five minutes I was indeed into another hard fighting fish. For their size they fight so hard, but once again everything held together for me to land her.</div>
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I probably had enough time to catch one more, but I have learnt to sometimes be happy with my lot and go home happy........which I did.<br />
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Well I received my whipping thread yesterday for the restoration of my new Allcocks SuperWizard, a rod that I have big plans for. I have gone for Pacific Bay Green in grade C for the rings and nodes and grade A for intermediates. The original colour whippings for the rod are red but I will be putting my own personal touch on this particular rod. I think that green will go better with the later green Allcocks decal and is also a nod in the direction of the original Wallis Wizard. I'll not be documenting the refurbishment here, but will post some 'before and after' shots when complete.</div>
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Gurnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10140937461283076494noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2548811826931483117.post-23985794239450020332013-09-25T13:16:00.000+01:002013-10-02T21:20:56.315+01:00Adapt and Thrive<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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With the lure of fat roach foremost in my mind, it was back to the upper Lea this week. I'd decided to visit another stretch. This beat being not much more than a brook. Low and clear, a stealthy approach is required.<br />
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Peering over the nettles, I could clearly see a couple of small barbel and the odd chublet without the aid of polarising glasses. Alas no fat roach.<br />
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Hemp and caster were introduced to a few areas and a trot taken here and there. All efforts resulted in one conclusion...minnows. Stacks and stacks of them. I could see my hookbait engulfed by a ball of these ravenous little chaps time after time..I tried to get through them, I really did, perhaps a little too long. It drove me a bit bonkers, so a move a mile or so downstream was in order.<br />
Back on my usual beat and having seen a lot of cars parked I thought the chances of me getting in to last weeks pitch to be trifle slim, especially when I noticed two old fellows strolling up to the top of the beat.<br />
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The lower beat is always busy and I hurried past the hoards to the lesser fished upper beat, all the time hoping that one of the the old boys hadn't bagged my roach swim.<br />
Now let's have a think about how their conversation went.<br />
"It's a lot more peaceful up here. We can afford to spread out a bit"<br />
"Good idea, we'll leave a pitch between us, give ourselves a bit of space"<br />
Yep, you can guess which swim they left. I'll have that if you don't mind.<br />
Looking through the polaroids, I could clearly see that the chub shoal was still in residence and a large shoal of roach, all around the three quarter pound to a pound and a half mark, that'll do I thought.<br />
The river was lower and clearer today, and feeding caster and hemp soon had the fish feeding confidently.<br />
As I sent the balsa float on it's maiden voyage I could clearly see fish racing to my bait and turning at the last moment. This process was to be repeated time and time again. Something was amiss.<br />
The difference in water clarity and depth were working against me. I tried different shotting patterns and eventually changed to different coloured shot, which resulted in a few perch.<br />
It was around this time that I saw a roach that certainly concentrated my thoughts. In fact it was so big that I initially thought a bream had shoaled up with the roach. It was so big that it scared me a bit!<br />
Now, I did of course try a few glory casts with the float, but as the bait trickled towards it there was investigation, then reluctance....I needed a plan.<br />
The next half an hour was spent just building up an area of feed. Hemp and caster were placed quite close to me on a gravelly area, where I could view the fish. It was perfect, I learn so much at these times.<br />
Every now and again one of these skittish fish would spook for seemingly no reason at all sending the shoal scattering. In these times I'd re-bait the spot. Thereafter they'd regain their confidence and once again return to eat, including the big fella.<br />
Rummaging around in my bag , I figured I'd fish my reliable drilled bullet leger method with a large hook, the biggest I had was size 12. This, when stuffed full of caster seemed a good way of selecting the big fish.<br />
I waited maybe ten minutes for them to spook themselves, then cast to the spot.<br />
Sitting there watching the returning shoal, including the big one pick at the river bed whilst the rod tip bumped and tapped was amazing. I resisted the strike a couple of times, waiting for a definite take...It came soon enough, the tip whacked round and I struck..a spirited fight was on. The culprit was this ....<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LKJpKAKtBYw/UkHulXlKGfI/AAAAAAAADIk/pJGvY-tuLsQ/s1600/leabarbel+122.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LKJpKAKtBYw/UkHulXlKGfI/AAAAAAAADIk/pJGvY-tuLsQ/s400/leabarbel+122.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Incredibly, even though the barbel had led me all round the swim, the roach had regrouped and were now back on the feed....I tried again.</div>
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This time my persistence and method payed off with this beauty, not the big one, but handsome nonetheless...</div>
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I now have a method that in low clear conditions on this river might trip up the big roach I have seen here.</div>
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However, the next attempt resulted in this fellow, who scattered the shoal for good..</div>
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With the barbel unusually feeding so well in the swim it would've been foolish to not capitalise. Deciding to adapt to the situation a tub of 4mm soft hookable pellets was found and three were delicately threaded on to the hook and cast centre channel. </div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Hd_rt8g4QZQ/UkH9hI7FTgI/AAAAAAAADJI/XM0Xh0nj8TY/s1600/leabarbel+128.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Hd_rt8g4QZQ/UkH9hI7FTgI/AAAAAAAADJI/XM0Xh0nj8TY/s400/leabarbel+128.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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..A violent take was almost instant and the old centrepin spun against my thumb as the fish disappeared around the downstream bend.</div>
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With cane rods, one must be patient and you soon get a feel for these situations. The fish always come out of reeds and always eventually come back upstream with patience and delicate coaxing. After a fantastic battle, viewed with much nostalgic enthusiasm by the aged bailiff, the fish was safely in the net. She deserved a well earned rest in said net to recuperate.</div>
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With constant feeding the barbel were veritably queueing up for the pellet, and the rod was soon going from this......</div>
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...to this.</div>
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And these feisty fellows just kept coming.</div>
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I told this one to fetch his Dad..</div>
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Although my set-up was a bit makeshift, I had set out for roach remember. I do think that I have stumbled across a perfect combination for these low/clear river barbel. A small hook having obvious advantages and three pellets camouflaging it completely. I'm pretty sure that a hair-rigged bait would've been ignored in these conditions.</div>
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Also, the bait of choice is more akin to a feed pellet that has been in the water a good while and perhaps deemed safer to eat by the fish.</div>
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Well after nine barbel and with light levels diminishing I re-tackled for trotting. To be honest it was still really difficult going but with heavy feed I managed to tempt just one more roach of more modest proportion.</div>
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It seemed wrong not to try for that tenth barbel, so the experiments continued with a size 14 hook with a single pellet. These tactics soon had me in double figures.</div>
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It seemed a fitting time to pack up.</div>
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As I strolled back through the mist laden meadow it struck me that the day had began so differently to how it had ended. An angler can learn so much by viewing his quarry and the ability to adapt ones methods and outlook can turn a bad days trotting for roach into a good days legering for barbel.</div>
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<br />Gurnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10140937461283076494noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2548811826931483117.post-48583781345319883132013-09-18T19:00:00.000+01:002013-09-18T19:46:15.215+01:00Trotting for Roach and Chub - Hemp and Caster<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Piscatorially speaking, there isn't much better than a chunky river roach. I just couldn't stop thinking about the shoal I'd seen last time out and just had to have a little go for them.<br />
With this in mind, it was the Earl Grey that I reached for to fill the flask.<br />
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After quite an eventful 35 minute journey where I actually saw some mad bloke unleash his dog on a busy main road to run in front of me and test my emergency stop skills, I eventually reached the fishery gate.</div>
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With six cars in the car park I wondered if the swim I wanted would be taken. Luckily, it isn't a favoured barbel swim and as I walked up the beat I counted the anglers and knew I'd be fine. In fact I had the whole of the upstream section to myself, perfect.</div>
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The swim looked good and as I threw in a pinch of hemp a fish rose to grab it. I'd seen the roach do this last time out with my pellet, promising.</div>
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Having over-cooked and ruined two batches of tares, today's baits of choice would be hemp and caster as the mainstay, and soft hookable pellet and sweetcorn as alternatives to be used on about every tenth trot.</div>
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Whilst feeding the swim I tackled up with a bulk shotted 4BB Drennan balsa float and 1lb 14oz hooklink to size 18 hook.</div>
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The cast was a bit tricky in that the float needed to pass through a gap in the trees to find the pacier far side water. The slacks being the domain of some sizeable carp who'd seen it all before and just wished to watch from the fringes with a knowing look that said, "You've seen me but I've also seen you." </div>
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Having primed the swim with hemp I stopped to have tea without baiting, my thinking being that by the time I ventured a trot the fish would be searching out single straggling morsels. So, when I finally cast through the tree fronds, saw the float bob on it's way, then promptly vanish, I wasn't surprised. The first fish to come to me was a small chub, not the hoped for roach. </div>
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The plan of baiting was to be a pinch of hemp and caster alternately, baited little and often. Then two or three grains of sweetcorn or hooker pellets to be fed occasionally. It's easy to overfeed so one needs to be quite disciplined and a bit robotic, this is the bit that lets me down. I don't really care for disciplined angling, but the thought of fat roach made me try...a bit.</div>
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When one gets the cast, the trot and the retrieve right it really is a joy, add to that the feed and the little tweeks, and a 'feel' for the swim is soon attained.</div>
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A trot with a caster led to a quick bite and I was soon looking through the water at a sizeable roach, they really are most majestic in battle, spirited, yet composed. They fight without the panic of other fish.</div>
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As I netted her I knew that she'd already made my day........</div>
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The noblist of fish, on release she just glided away, seemingly unconcerned by it all.</div>
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I consumed a slice of fruit cake as I rested the swim for a while, but upped the feed a bit, just in case her shoal mates were still about. This turned out to be a wrong move, as the events of the next couple of hours proved...A veritable cavalcade of chub ensued.</div>
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The first coming to my first trot on the pellet....</div>
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I stuck with the pellet for the second.......</div>
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Knowing that the chub had moved in I tried a grain of corn, this resulted in a cracking fight which had me thinking I'd hooked a barbel, but no....</div>
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This fish is absolute belter for the stretch of river.</div>
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With the chub now coming in quick succession and me releasing them in the the next swim up. I arrived at a stage where I didn't stop for photos on a few captures. It became clear that if I wanted more roach I'd first have to catch all the greedy chub...A fine problem indeed.</div>
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Sometime within this bonanza the heavens opened to a hailstorm. I was pelted for about a quarter of an hour. It also had the effect of whipping up a hearty blow. Wet rods and wind, the bane of the long trotter. I was constantly towelling down the rod to dry it out and stop the line sticking to it. It didn't stop the chub coming though.</div>
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And then, once again on the caster and out of the blue came another one of those bites, and I instantly knew I was into another silvery beauty. I sat in awe of her as she casually swam in front of me to the waiting net. Such a lovely fish....</div>
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...Scale perfect, real roach perfection.</div>
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I was still struggling with everything being wet, the moisture had seeped into the backplate of my reel and was causing it to make a rather disturbing noise. I'm amazed at how little it takes to stop these marvels of engineering running free. All this became quite immaterial shortly after, because although the sun had now tried to come out, my reel decided that it would much rather be at the bottom of the river than on my Chapman 500 and promptly detached itself and jumped in!</div>
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Retrieval wasn't too difficult but it was definitely time to have tea and food in order to take stock and compose myself and my tackle.</div>
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Whilst generally milling around waiting for things to dry in the sun I came across what I believe to be cyclamen, growing loud and proud at the riverside. I don't believe it's a native plant so can only assume it was washed down in a flood from someones garden. It was a nice surprise all the same.</div>
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Feeling fully refreshed it was time to get back to the angling and the resuming trot on the caster resulted in a right old character of a chub that knew every bolt hole in the swim. He fought well, but once again the old cane came good with the light tackle and this elder statesman was eventually subdued, bless him.</div>
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He'd led me a merry old dance and completely trashed the swim. I had visions of fish scattering in all directions.</div>
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Time was pushing on but I persisted with the caster having tried hemp on the hook to no avail. The next five trots produced some rather fat minnows, so it's hardly surprising that the sixth produced my only perch of the day, which in the absence of chub (and now minnow) in the swim seized the opportunity for an easy feed.</div>
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The caster was fed little and often for the next fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes without a bite meant I'd caught all the chub. I thought that it might be a good time to nick another roach and was proved correct as the float dipped and I saw a silver and red blur beneath the flow. Another cracker was soon mine...</div>
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The float here is for scale.</div>
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After release I tried unsuccessfully for another ten or so trots for a shoalmate . Thereafter, I was happy to rest upon my laurels considering that I'd had a fine day.</div>
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I'm looking towards winter with much excitement. There are much bigger roach to be found on this river, of that I'm sure, and I will keep on trying for my holy grail.</div>
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<br />Gurnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10140937461283076494noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2548811826931483117.post-63352068468664749032013-09-04T21:09:00.001+01:002013-09-04T21:09:45.940+01:00Lea, Me and a Flask of Tea<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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On misted dawn, through dew dropped grass I walk. To nestle 'mongst reed and nettle. The upper Lea...low, slow.<br />
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Drawn to sit aside her snaking flow, the early morning sounds are all around. The relentless cooing of the wood pigeons and shrill call of the moorhen, all too familiar.<br />
A cast is ventured and white feathers pass by like little boats on the surface, as if to signal the flyover of the swan, his wing beat reverberating to the angler below.<br />
I watch attentively for a flicker of the tip, but that attention soon wanes, too much to see....a shoal of massive roach.<br />
Then 'tap'....the tip grabs back my attention, and round it arcs, I strike.<br />
Immediately, I'm aware that I am connected to the ever reliable chub, I love them for their ability to make a difficult day worthwhile.<br />
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Time for tea, Twinings of course, not best from the flask, but needs must.<br />
On the small river, especially when low, a catch can send every other fish in the swim scattering. Patience is needed. I rest the swim and wander, the grassy path downstream.<br />
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In the next swim I see....barbel.<br />
A handful of pellet and a couple of chopped boilies will keep them occupied whilst I get the rod.<br />
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Not too long before I'm waiting, watching. So much to see through Polaroids, a dip into their world, I never tire of watching a fish in it's domain.</div>
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Whack, the tip slams round, the wait was short, but sweet. This one fights harder, barbel? Yes barbel! Tearing up and down like a thing possessed, but he will eventually be mine. </div>
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A quick photo,then a good rest in the landing net before release. Very important, especially in these conditions.</div>
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More tea Stanley!.....Perhaps it's time to take a bit of Lemon cake down stream to Mike.</div>
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I thought about it, I really did but I'll have one more cast before cake...</div>
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Just as well really, this lively fellow decides to interrupt the two damselflies who were having a little rest on my rod tip.</div>
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OK, cake .... now.</div>
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Feeling somewhat replenished and back to the serious(?) stuff of angling. I become sidetracked by the visiting carp under my rod. Round and round he goes, the same circuit over and over. I give him a bit of pellet and chopped boilie...he likes it. I wonder if I might formulate a little trap and catch him, but then I wouldn't be able to watch him...so I decide against it.</div>
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The sun is now high in the sky, the fishing slowly grinds to a standstill. I'm still happy to idle a few hours, Mike has had enough and departs.</div>
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With bites grinding to a halt my thoughts become fishlike, where would I be. It is actually bloody obvious, in the reeds, in the shade. An upstream cast is needed., and the result is immediate..</div>
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I only drink tea when I'm fishing, it focusses the thought processes when old Gurn's head has had a bit too much sun. I drink and it soon becomes blatantly obvious that I should move back upstream.</div>
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I like this swim, it feels right.</div>
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When they feel right, they usually are right, so knowing I might only get one opportunity I'm keen not to mess it up. One bait, no freebies...stealthy.</div>
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The bait is in the water for no more than two minutes before the rod wraps round and the Speedia bursts into song.</div>
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A hearty battle on lightish tackle, and a fitting end to the session.</div>
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A shake of the flask concurs, I'm out of tea. Off then, through haystack'd meadow, past ripening sloes. Another delightful small river session comes to an end, but I'll not forget that shoal of roach.</div>
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<br />Gurnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10140937461283076494noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2548811826931483117.post-74415707722641825842013-09-02T16:25:00.000+01:002013-09-02T16:26:33.052+01:00The Sanitisation of the Countryside, and Another Gamble.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The area in the photo above is just a small part of a large tract of ancient deciduous woodland, intermingled with evergreen forest.<br />
This place is special to me. I grew up here, the woods were our friends and as youngsters we roamed free from dawn to dusk without fear.<br />
We'd build camps, play 'war', swim in the lakes and climb to the very top of those ancient oaks.<br />
All my mate's parents knew I'd been around because I was renowned for always leaving a large stick in their porchways.<br />
They were halcyon days, we lived for the summer holidays and our band of brothers and sisters felt that we owned those beautiful trees and the pathways and tracks between.<br />
I returned recently, and whilst those arboreal giants still remain, I was saddened at what I saw.<br />
In their infinite wisdom the local authorities have sought to tame and 'improve' my wood.<br />
A new visitor centre behind a mechanical barrier, where one must pay to park, with leaflets telling you where you can and can't go, and a price list for the cyclists and horse riders they are encouraging.<br />
Amongst the trees, a slide, some bizarre spider sculpture and a wooden chair of gargantuan proportions, no doubt to attract kids who no longer climb trees.<br />
Worst of all though.....the unnecessary signage.<br />
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All this is quite beyond me. There are even signs telling us, or maybe the fauna of the area which bit is a 'nature reserve'. Of course, these signs ruin the 'nature reserve', but at least everything knows where it needs to be!</div>
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This woodland has survived quite nicely and been visited by humans for thousands of years. It angers me that local authorities can exploit it in such away and sanitise it such, just to make a few quid.</div>
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On a lighter note, I've taken another gamble today on a rod purchase. Some of you may remember my last successful ebay punt for a bargain MK IV.</div>
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If my latest gamble on a very obscure listing pays off you'll be hearing about it here. I'm quite excited because it just might be the start of something good, more of which in good time my friends.</div>
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Gurnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10140937461283076494noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2548811826931483117.post-32147776099733607542013-08-26T22:07:00.000+01:002013-08-27T00:19:39.542+01:00A Pot Of Lobs<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Working on a bank holiday Monday isn't much fun, but I was only in for four hours and for much of that time I had the long walk and the eddy swim in mind.<br />
Just for a change I thought I'd take just one pot of lobs for bait, nothing more nothing less.<br />
Come five 'o' clock I found myself once again at the boundary oak...<br />
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I paused a while. This is where I'd seen a badger on my previous visit, this evening it was to be a fox. He'd heard me coming and watched me a while from the undergrowth before drifting quietly away.</div>
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I viewed the walk ahead with trepidation, 300 yards of untrodden jungle to a swim I'd last seen in the winter.</div>
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Onwards then, with polaroids donned for protection. I'd received a puncture wound to my eyelid from a dog rose thorn last year which could just have easily have been my eye itself...once bitten..<br />
The vegetation was over head height and I ploughed onward with my spoon net before me as protection, fencing style. The teasel seemed to jump on my net and clothing as I pushed through, every step a chore, with something trying to trip and unbalance me.<br />
About halfway in I was beginning to wonder what the heck I was doing, too late now. Onward through nettle, stinging through my combats and stabbing at my forearms.....but eventually I reached the swim.<br />
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The best way I can describe it is that it's the kind of swim you're not going to get a back cast from or indeed a side cast. The kind of swim where you're not sure whether your next step will be into the river. The kind of swim that you wouldn't want to drop keys or phone in.</div>
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I broke a couple of the lobs up and dropped them into the near margin before tackling up a loafer style float with three AAA's bulk shotted and a size 10 hook to nylon.</div>
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It seems that my hat makes a very good platform for my tackle box, perched atop the stalks. One day I might even organise my float rubbers in order of size in my little Allcocks Handy Outfit tin!</div>
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It was around this time I baited the hook and realised that I had been a bit of an idiot. In my haste to get fishing I'd actually picked up barbless hooks, every time I put a lob on, he wiggled off. I was mortified and scrambled around in my bag for something that would suffice, eventually finding some size 6 Super Specialists. A bit (lot) bigger than I wanted but it was my only option.</div>
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So with hook and bait reattached I was ready to fish, I didn't cast, more just lowered the bait in front of me. </div>
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There was movement on the float almost immediately and it jagged out of sight. I struck to nothing and repositioned the bait, another bite, strike and nothing. I cursed the big hook.<br />
Next time round I waited,"Give it enough rope" I thought and struck to resistance.<br />
After a spirited little scrap I was thankful at having the forethought to bring my 3 metre landing net handle. I still had to stretch precariously to net the fish...a rather fine perch.<br />
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Look at his humpy shoulders. One of my ambitions is to catch a 3 pounder from this little river, they're in there, and probably bigger. My reluctance to use live fish as bait is a definite handicap, but I will persist come Autumn.<br />
The swim went quiet after the perch capture, it happens in these intimate places, you often only get one chance,<br />
I sat back with a canopy of summer growth above me, took a drink and enjoyed the fact that I'd probably go unnoticed by any passer-by, not that there was going to be any.<br />
Sometime later I flicked out a few more pieces of worm and ventured another dabble.<br />
The float vanished instantly and once again I struck to nothing, these bites were different though and as I went through the same routine over and over my curiosity grew.<br />
I took off the whole worm and threaded a tail section up the shank of the large hook and dropped it back out. Under it went again and my strike connected, it was a dace, a beautiful, lively dace.<br />
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I'm holding him tighter than I normally would, I genuinely feared that had he flipped and fell I'd have never found him.</div>
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I soon got to thinking about leaving, what with the bait having run out and the thought of doing the long walk in the dark sending shivers down my spine. Time to go back through the bush then.</div>
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I think I timed it perfectly really. I arrived at the car as the sun was beginning to set and as I admired the view I reflected that I had only caught two fish, but also pondered that one can have a fine adventure with just a pot of lobs.</div>
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<br />Gurnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10140937461283076494noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2548811826931483117.post-24294549817977621932013-08-25T14:03:00.000+01:002013-08-26T14:58:05.049+01:00Back In Business<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I suppose that one of the worst things about running a large tackle shop is the fact that the best time to go fishing is also the busiest time of the year. My own angling suffers as I cater for the masses. I'm not complaining, business is good. It just means that I tend to fish more in winter than summer.<br />
With business booming, we do seem to buck the industry trend. I needed a little solitude and eventually found a few hours to re-visit my little stretch of river.<br />
I had a specific swim in mind which was far upstream. Truth is, I hadn't accounted for the surge in growth of the bankside vegetation.<br />
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It was clear that no-one had been here for a while. </div>
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With only a couple of hours of daylight to play with I decided on the easy option of my old dace swim which was at the right end of the beat.</div>
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I was amazed at the sight before me as I reached the swim.......</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-qVE5MJM8BeE/Uhn8QNr3zYI/AAAAAAAAC90/GoqVMHgpsP4/s1600/river+eve+001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-qVE5MJM8BeE/Uhn8QNr3zYI/AAAAAAAAC90/GoqVMHgpsP4/s400/river+eve+001.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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...It had clearly not been fished since my last visit well over a month ago.</div>
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It really does give me a closeness to this little stretch and the river itself. We are friends, it welcomes me, not others.</div>
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I sat amongst the vegetation, blending in as best I could. The odd nettle couldn't resist a swipe at me, it comes with the territory.</div>
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Just a few years ago this beat was decimated by chainsaw and dredger, you'd never believe it now, yet people still believe the fish have gone for good. Mother nature thrives on neglect.</div>
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It was always going to be a Lucky Strike evening, sit back , de-stress and await whatever might come, nestled within the welcoming arms of my special place.</div>
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The trotted balsa glided away to bring many silver bars of dace and the occasional stripey swirl of a perch.</div>
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However, it was the one nice roach that was given up that made this Intrepid Piscator smile in the face of another week at work.</div>
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Gurnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10140937461283076494noreply@blogger.com6