"Just one more"

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.
There's something within me though, something that stops me taking this easy option.
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.
 The problem is, I've been enchanted, the spell is cast and so I have to go, I have to know.
The harsh truth is that I don't even know if barbel still exist in the beat I will be fishing this season.
 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.
 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.
 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'.
So, here I sit again, alone at the rose bush pitch, an old happy hunting ground.
Tools for the job, once again, the Davenport and Fordham MkIV and Speedia Deluxe.

The familiar sounds of the incessant Reed Warbler, the diving Terns and darting 'fisher. All bring back memories of halcyon days.

You can see that I have abandoned the tip isotope in favour of the good old bottle top conversion.
 I find that the taps and pulls show up far better using this method, whereas the cane tip just seems to absorb them.

 

 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.

 

And so begins another blank night, in blissful ignorance of the fact that I will be reeling in a bare hook at dawn.

I'm Back

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.
 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.
 It's hot, really hot. The air full of insect life. I plod on, further, quieter...

 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.

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.


..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.
The twilight call of the cuckoo, the smell of citronella..and the hope for gold.

It's good to be back.

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.

Great Ouse Barbel - The Return

The good Lady Sarah's 'Moo' cup is just the right size to hold a bulk spool of 10lb Daiwa Sensor Clear, for loading purposes.
  It was time to get the old Shimano 3500's spooled up and head off to rekindle my beautiful relationship with the Great Ouse.
 I'd got it into my head that I'd quite love to catch myself just one more Ouse barbel. Not an easy task, some Ouse barbellers go a whole season without a fish, they just aren't there in the numbers anymore. I wasn't going to let it stop me, I'm always up for the challenge.
 I was to do my first night on this river for a few years and set about searching for the swim that had what I was looking for. I tend to stick to one swim when fishing two rods overnight, so choice is not to be hurried. There are certain criteria it must have, I eventually settled in a swim that ticked most boxes.
 With fluffy seeds hurrying downstream with the flow, I sat bankside peering at two rod tips again. It had been a while. Was there anything out there?
 A kingfisher cruised noisily about two feet above my head and swans grazed at the shallows. I was back on my beloved Ouse, at peace.
 The flotsum made it easy to read the river, showing creases and eddies in enhanced detail. Did they harbour one of those fantastic nomads, were there any left?
 I had placed my first hook bait on the far crease, in front of some rushes, and the second on the near crease behind submerged cabbages. An hour previous I'd baited the two crease lines with fourteen (for it is my magic number) boilies each, and nothing else.
 Another hour had passed and I was listening to my first cuckoo of the year, thinking that he was late on parade.
 The tip of the far rod jagged round twice in quick succession, I struck to firm resistance and the fish tore towards the near cabbages, he made it, but after a minute he was back in open water, heading upstream.
 He was only subdued by my reluctance to give any more line and I bullied him to the net.
 A fine chub, and I hadn't been there long. With him still in the net I texted my colleague Carl, who was fishing further upstream, to come and take some photos, as had been previously agreed.

 As with most chub, he was a bit of a character. A big black spot on his left gill cover and not much of a dorsal fin, I had no doubt that the fin had been damaged in an encounter with an otter.

 Crows flew diagonally overhead, and jets droned as darkness slowly crept upon me. The river takes on a different persona upon nightfall. Pigeons shuffled about on their roosts, cuckoos made way for owls and bats gorged on the relentless mosquitos. One thing that was missing though was crayfish activity. In the past these little (sometimes big) crittas have driven me to despair with their bait eating antics. Had the otters made a big dent in their population as well, I wondered. I wasn't complaining.
 We've all been there, the isotopes started dancing and my eyes began to ache under the strain. More tea, I thought, "Keep alert Gurn".
 I probably did roll in and out of some transient state, but I was wide awake when slowly but surely the light drifted back and things began to stir. I had a feeling that something was about to happen, I have felt like this many times before on the Ouse, usually nothing happens. Except today something did happen.
 It was 3:30am and the nearside rod wrapped around with such ferocity that it made me jump. On grasping the rod I was soon witnessing the power of the, as yet unidentified creature as it shot off downstream.  I had to let it go. I was half in control and half winging it at this stage but knowing I needed to put the brakes on sooner or later, was truly frightened by the dogged determination of this fish. I clamped down and didn't give another inch. I whinced as I upped the pressure, I knew that these opportunities didn't come along too often. "Don't blow it, Gurn", I thought. Then something else occurred to me, this might be a carp.
 With the rod at the limit of it's capabilities the fish turned and launched itself upstream as fast as it had gone the other way, I struggled to keep up with it's lunges, constantly making clutch adjustments.
 As it made it's way through my other line and the cabbages, fortune smiled upon me. Not only did it come out, but it's face had been masked with weed . This seemed to calm it down and after what was still a too long time seemed ready for netting despite being impeded by my other rod.
 At last, it was in the net, but what was it?.....BARBEL, bloody immaculate, BIG BARBEL. I was shaking like a leaf.
 As I rested this wondrous creature, my adrenaline coursing. I realised that I had fulfilled my quest. A quest that could've lasted months...in one night!..God, I love the river.

 This fish was scale perfect, not a sign of damage. There are still a few nomads left......I was buzzing.
I was even able to don my new TFF badge upon my hat for it's first fish pic.

 Well, I've decide not to release swim details, I might want to return. I will, however, tell you about the kind of rigs I use on the Ouse.
Below is  picture of the complete set-up. The lead is easily able to jettison due to the line running around, instead of through it, and this did happen during the fight with this fish. It also works just as well with a Guru lead clip and swivel bomb. The backlead is pushed onto the gripper stop and is semi-fixed about two feet above the lead, but becomes free running during the fight. The hooklink is two feet long. The Extender stop slows down the Crays.

 There you have it then, mission accomplished......I'll be back.

 I'm going to give a little shout out to Graeme at  CarpOn Baits who always comes up with the goods.

A Return To The Great Ouse?

It's a wonder I catch any fish. There's something within me that shuns the easy life and the runs waters.
 I like the quiet places, you see? Not for me the commercials and heavily stocked lakes. There's no release from the shackles of work there.
 I make life difficult, a kind of piscatorial masochism. I set myself challenges that I rarely fulfill, but it's not the success that drives me. I just like the difficult path.
 Many of my quests are ongoing. My hit-list includes 'The Common', A double figured Tench, a Grand Union crucian to name a few.

 They're all do-able, but difficult....and now I have another one niggling away at me.
 I want to catch a barbel again. That's easy enough.right?....Wrong, because I want another Great Ouse barbel.

 The Great Ouse wasn't easy when it was in it's heyday. Yes, we all know about those massive fish, but they were never there in the numbers one finds in the prolific barbel rivers.
 The decline in Ouse barbel stocks has been dramatic. I've witnessed the decimation of those wonderful fish for years, it breaks my heart.
 The fish pictured above is from the fabled Kickles Farm stretch, it was caught a few seasons back, some time after the death of The Traveller and all.
 Kickles was difficult in it's prime "a blank waiting to happen"said one highly respected angler. Yet  there I was after the circus had left town, cradling that fish.
  I need to catch one more from the Ouse....just one.
 Conversations with them that still try do not fill me with optimism. I hear of just a handful of captures a year. There are just so few.
 The fish pictured here is my biggest ever barbel. It was caught from a club stretch many years ago..

...The stretch produced some very large fish up to 19lb+ and was taken over by the Barbel Society for a while.
 I loved fishing there and had a lot of success....A private syndicate of 30 members fish there now and  not a single barbel was caught from the stretch last season.
 I just love that river, I'm going back to try for just one more...and I'll write about it here.

Further reading...here.