Citronella Nights

 With my newly re-connected fishing head firmly back on I pass through the clanky gate to the inviting green sanctuary that is Ouse.

 The undergrowth seems to have grabbed and kept the days sun and I stroll headstrong through it's thermal pockets.

 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.

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.

 Settling on the farthest swim from the gate I sit amongst dock and the huge mutant plantain, bright green filigree'd leaves surround.

The Davenport & Fordham MkIV & Speedia Deluxe combo is tackled up and seems just about right here, not overly long and with backbone if required.

 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.

 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.

 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!

 The tip judders, and then again and I raise it aloft...fish on.

 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.

We're at that time now when the local wildlife begin to complete the days business.

The heron is flying from bough to bough, looking for a roost.

 I see the kingfisher, frantically diving along the beat, searching for the last meal of the day.

 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!

Another tap, and then a click of the centrepin, I strike and another chub.

 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.

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.

I wait beneath the enveloping branches of this old willow, the rod tip now invisible, I leger by touch.

 My eyes feel heavy. The heady whiff of citronella, darkness and concentration are taking their toll and I nod off.

 Something pulls at my fingers, which are still holding my line. I wake, strike and miss...Go home to bed Gurn.

Back Amongst It.

 

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.
 Treading pathways, newly formed by the excited river angler, I stroll, focussed.
 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.
 Inevitably, I'm in a swim that has been kind in the past. These days you take what you can on the Ouse.
 Somehow the fish are secondary here, though when they happen along you know that you deserve them.
 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.
 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!
 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.
 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.

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.
 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.
 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.

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
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.
 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.
 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.
 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!

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.
 A Tawny Owl screeches from the trees and a large unseen flock of noisy birds passes above as dusk becomes dark.
 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.

Trotting for Roach and Chub - Hemp and Caster

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.
 With this in mind, it was the Earl Grey that I reached for to fill the flask.

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.

 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.

 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.

 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.

 Whilst feeding the swim I tackled up with a bulk shotted 4BB Drennan balsa float and 1lb 14oz hooklink to size 18 hook.

 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." 

 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. 

 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.

 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.

 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.

 As I netted her I knew that she'd already made my day........

The noblist of fish, on release she just glided away, seemingly unconcerned by it all.

 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.

 The first coming to my first trot on the pellet....

I stuck with the pellet for the second.......

 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....

 This fish is absolute belter for the stretch of river.

 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.

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.

 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....

...Scale perfect, real roach perfection.

 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!

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.

 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.

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.

He'd led me a merry old dance and completely trashed the swim. I had visions of fish scattering in all directions.

 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.

 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...

The float here is for scale.

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.

 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.

Lea, Me and a Flask of Tea

On misted dawn, through dew dropped grass I walk. To nestle 'mongst reed and nettle. The upper Lea...low, slow.

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.
 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.
 I watch attentively for a flicker of the tip, but that attention soon wanes, too much to see....a shoal of massive roach.
 Then 'tap'....the tip grabs back my attention, and round it arcs, I strike.
 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.

  Time for tea, Twinings of course, not best from the flask, but needs must.
 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.

In the next swim I see....barbel.
 A handful of pellet and a couple of chopped boilies will keep them occupied whilst I get the rod.

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.

 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. 

 A quick photo,then a good rest in the landing net before release. Very important, especially in these conditions.

 More tea Stanley!.....Perhaps it's time to take a bit of Lemon cake down stream to Mike.

I thought about it, I really did but I'll have one more cast before cake...

 Just as well really, this lively fellow decides to interrupt the two damselflies who were having a little rest on my rod tip.

OK, cake .... now.

 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.

 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.

 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..

 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.

 I like this swim, it feels right.

 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.

 The bait is in the water for no more than two minutes before the rod wraps round and the Speedia bursts into song.

 A hearty battle on lightish tackle, and a fitting end to the session.

 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.

Back On The Lea

Awake, in the still of night, 3-15am to be precise. With the flask filled and food prepared, I was ready for the off by 3-45.....
 I'd loaded the car in warm silence and began my 25 mile journey to the River Lea.
 In 1617 the Inn in the area I was to fish owned 119 acres of land,. It was a favourite angling resort and Izaak Walton himself is reputed to have stayed and fished there. I wondered if he had reached the fishery gates before 5am as I had.
 Having met up with friend and colleague Mike en route, we were surprised not to be the first there. The alleged best two swims had already been bagged.
 Settling down in my chosen swim, I slowly set up my Sealey Octofloat De-Luxe and Speedia for long-trotting. The water came fast through a bottle neck upstream with messy water and had gouged a deeper gully under the far bank trees. Downstream was even and slower.

Mainline was 6lb Drennan Float Fish and hooklink was 5lb Guru N-Gauge to size 16 Super Specialist, with traditional avon style float .Bait was to be double white gentles, though I also had hemp,casters and soft pellet.

 The swim was fed little and often whilst setting up and with one pinch of hemp catapulted upstream before the cast we were now ready.

 Within a couple of seconds the float was under and the newly revived Sealey was re-christened with a fine dace.

  I love the way one can learn about a river pool by searching it out with a trotted float, those hang ups, those unseen current changes, it really is the most pure form of our pastime. That familiarity one develops allows the manoevring of the float to be developed and honed as the day goes on, it's real thinking angling.

 The next few fish to come to hand were chublets, little pristine scrappers.

There were also roach, wonderful chunky roach. I will definitely be back to specifically  target them later in the year.

 So, with the feed going in little and often the bites were coming at a steady rate. I decided to experiment with the set-up, deepening up so that the bottom shot was dragging the river bed.

 Down the stream the float bobbed, slower and seemingly unnatural, but it produced something lovely, something that brought the biggest of smiles to my face.......

....Now THAT is a gudgeon, a true monster....I love them.

It was shortly after this that Mike arrived in my swim. He was fishing in the next swim down from me and as etiquette dictates he asked if I would mind if he cast his feeder to an upstream feature, apparently a known holding area for barbel.

 I answered that the spot was only a couple of metres from the end of my trot and that the chances were that it would kill my sport. He understood and said he would try further upstream.

 Now, with Mike vacating the downstream swim he had, of course, made things better for me.

 I decided to up my feed and was soon into a larger unseen fish which I guessed was a chub, unfortunately the hook pulled.

 On recasting I immediately hooked a harder fighting fish which led me a merry old dance with surging runs downstream. Eventually it was close enough to see that I had foul hooked a barbel. Knowing that they are rarely alone I fed hemp and caster as I played the fish, inevitably the hook came out and the fish was free. A foul hooked fish is not a sporting catch so I wasn't at all disappointed. With the next cast the feeding payed off as I was into another fighting fish. This one was hooked fair and square and duly banked, my first Lea barbel...small but perfectly formed and great fun on the cane and pin.

The fishery is busy and other anglers had arrived. Fishing is from numbered swim only and it was just a matter of time before someone settled in to the swim below. I had just got the barbel in my swim when a large feeder sploshed just down from my killing zone. Yes, this fellow knew of that spot too, but lacked Mikes manners.

 He had a barbel almost immediately. It had proved Mike's hunch correct, barbel were to be found there , but it also proved my point also, in that I didn't have another bite.

The Octofloat had proved itself to be a welcome addition to my armoury. Versatile, crisp and didn't feel too heavy in hand.
 It was time  to up sticks and find Mike.
 Some distance upstream he'd also landed a small barbel and as there was some decent space between swims here, I dropped downstream of him.
 I made the decision to fish a hair rigged half boilie on a size 12 Drennan hook and my usual small river running drilled bullet rig. All this with my B.James Mk IV and I opted to still use the pin, even though I had brought a Mitchell 300 along.

That reedline shade just had to harbour fish and I opted to fish nearside with fourteen half-boilies as free offerings around the hookbait.

  It was just a case then of sitting back in the dappled shade and pouring myself a cup of Twinings Afternoon Tea.

 There's not much better than the shade of a riverside willow in the midst of an English summer. Things progressed favourably some twenty minutes later when a savage take ensued with the rod wrapping in a downstream direction.
 On striking, my first thoughts leant towards a quality barbel, but barbel are eventually controlled. This fish had gone out of sight. I stretched the rod out over the water and gave it some welly. Slowly, very slowly it came towards me, intermittently diving head first into the reeds as it came. The old Mk IV eventually subdued the species it was designed for.

The little bruiser only had one eye, a proper little character.

It was time to crack open the Lemon Drizzle cake, so having returned the fish I strolled up to Mike's swim to share. Now, within the 'traditional' fishing community there are those that bestow much majesty on the humble cake. Some will tell you that the consumption of certain cakes will help the angler to lure specific species of fish. There are also those that believe it to be flowery claptrap.

 Mike hadn't had a bite for over an hour fishing the maggot feeder but knowing about cake theory declared, "I'm bound to catch another barbel now ". I kid you not, the magic was instant, his rod whacking round immediately.

 The result...........

  

It is therefore Lemon Drizzle for barbel for the cake theorists then !

Soon after, I ventured a maggot/hemp feeder myself and had a wonderful couple of hours sport with chub and roach.

There were many last casts, you know, 'just one more', but I strolled back to car thinking that the spirit of old Izaak might have smiled on me. A truly enjoyable day and that gudgeon'll live in the memory for a good while.. I'm still smiling about it now.