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.

A Pot Of Lobs

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.
 Just for a change I thought I'd take just one pot of lobs for bait, nothing more nothing less.
 Come five 'o' clock I found myself once again at the boundary oak...

 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.

 I viewed the walk ahead with trepidation, 300 yards of untrodden jungle to a swim I'd last seen in the winter.

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..
 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.
 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.

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.

 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.

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!

 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.

 So with hook and bait reattached I was ready to fish, I didn't cast,  more just lowered the bait in front of me. 

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.
 Next time round I waited,"Give it enough rope" I thought and struck to resistance.
 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.

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.
 The swim went quiet after the perch capture, it happens in these intimate places, you often only get one chance,
 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.
 Sometime later I flicked out a few more pieces of worm and ventured another dabble.
 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.
 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.

I'm holding him tighter than I normally would, I genuinely feared that had he flipped and fell I'd have never found him.

 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.

 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.

A Fresh Approach

I can admit it, I didn't try too hard with my fishing last year. That's not me being smug and I'm not saying it's a bad thing. Sometimes we just like to go to a lake and really just relax, not chase.
 The one thing that disappoints me though is that I didn't motivate myself to do enough of it. Hopefully, things will change for the better this year as I've vowed to try to keep the enthusiam up and set a few targets. There's a new lake on the horizon where I intend to target some fat tench, there's also a real enthusiam to get amongst the carp on the new syndicate lake. All this and probably some opportunist river and canal angling mixed amongst it...Then there's my secret quest, which will become apparent as the year progresses.
 With my new found enthusiam I'd intended to go to the syndicate lake to see if it held some large roach, it's a hunch, nobody fishes for them, I need to know. The problem, however, is the weather conditions, far too warm for specimen roaching, I just know that the bream will beat them to bait until it gets colder. The weather and river levels looked spot on for a bit of small river perching though.
 With the river being just a few minutes walk from 'Gurney Towers', I travelled light, just a bag, rod and the smallest net I thought I could get away with. The sun had shone all morning and I found myself in the weird situation of waiting for the weather to get worse before going fishing.
 With sodden grass and residual mud left over from the recent floods the banks were decidedly dodgy, but I managed to find my way to a quite unassuming area that has produced a few perch for me in previous years. It's my theory that the area, though devoid of obvious features, has a higher concentration of signal crayfish than other areas, thus encouraging their predators.

Tactics were simple, some might say crude. Allcocks Nimrod, Mitchell 300, 4lb line, 2.5lb hooklink, the smallest drilled bullet I could get to hold bottom, stopped by a Korum link bead. The size 8 Gamakatzu hook held one lobworm (cut in half, both halves hooked at the gooey end and tipped with a single red maggot).
 This area is surrounded by industry and there was a public footpath behind me. It's amazing how soon you get into the zone and the sounds of machinery, vehicles and barking dogs drift away.
 I fed maggot and flicked a bait to the near bank a little way downstream. Having tightened up and placed the rod in it's rest I was now in need of a cuppa, just the thermos today, travelling light remember.
 The rod soon went into a strange sinewy dance, so savage were the taps from the crayfish that had I not known better I'd have struck.Time has taught me the difference, so the bait stayed out. It was just as well, after around twenty minutes I received a proper bite and struck to resistance and a fiesty 'footballer' was soon netted.

 He was a beautiful little fellow, and very welcome.
 Having been dragged from my trance-like state, I once again became aware of my surroundings. I've said it before but it does amaze me how many dog owners shout at their dogs for things that could be avoided if the owner was a little more sensible. Having never owned a pet dog (I have owned racing greyhounds) it seems to me to be part of the reason some people keep them...I think I might have a Jack Russel one day, I might call him Alan. I'm sure if I shouted at a Jack Russel it'd perhaps shout back.
 With my mind back on the fishing I wondered if I might next time bring the trotting rod, this stretch looks ideal for it.

 After another cuppa, a strange twitchy bite, not a crayfish, I thought...I struck into nothing and recast. Soon after the same sort of bite came and I struck once again to nothing.
 I replaced the lobworm for two dendrobaenas and recast. On the next strike I landed the culprit a lovely little roach, the first I'd ever caught here.

That's the joy of this, or I suppose any river really, you just don't know what you might get.
 I didn't really intend it to be a roach day so reverted to the double half lob approach. This turned out to be a wise move as some time later I was into another stripey, I must admit that at first I thought it might be a chub, such was it's first run. It turned out to be the biggest fish of the day. Though not as big as this photo might suggest it was big enough to put a smile on old Gurn's face.

Though I always take a roll-mat on the river I feel that in these situations of sodden grassy ground there's little need for the unhooking mat, the ground being more like their domain and easily soft enough not to cause damage, it's a common sense thing for me. If you disagree I'd be interested to hear your opinions.
 This fish was rapidly followed by another lovely looking perch.....

 About an hour later a customer of mine strolled towards me from the footpath just as I was into a fish. He wondered how I'd put up with the noise. If I'm honest I didn't hear it, my concentration was elsewhere. I suffer from tinitus and it's amazing how the brain has a way of putting it to the back of your conciousness. Someone was using a loud angle-grinder nearby, I was now aware of it, but couldn't say how long the din had been going on for.
 He kindly photographed my last fish of the session, the day cut short so that I had enough time to go to Kenilworth Road to watch the mighty Hatters win 6-1. Now that's a good day, all round.

Not a bad few hours. Last year I'd have probably stayed at home. Happy New Year all.

Karma Strikes Again

Good news, a fellow strolled into the shop today with my stolen rod. My investigations are ongoing so best not to divulge too much information. This is however a major result.
 This, of course, meant that although I gave my Allcocks Nimrod / Felton Crosswind combo its first outing on a different stretch of my little river today, the fish weren't forthcoming.
 Choosing to fish my usual banker of drilled bullet, big hook and lobworm. The crays had a field day, I soon became bored of tossing the little blighters squashed remains over my shoulder. I did catch a little perch, got wet again and went home early. Oh well, one must always take the rough with the smooth.

Lucy's First Fish

JMW Turner would've loved this morning, real weather and watercoloured backdrops set the scene as me and Lucy(that's the name of my recently re-furbished Lucky Strike) set out to see if we could just catch that one fish. A fish that would truly mean the rod was alive and free again after decades of dark, dusty confinement in a shed....I could write paragraphs on how much pleasure reviving this beautiful rod has given me....Her first fish was small, perfectly formed and beautiful, but mostly special. The photo's I took at The Lone Tree Beat will tell the rest of the story.

Bless that little Perch. It just goes to show that any fish can give a memory that will last a lifetime.

Hot To Trot

With the arrival of the cusp between winter and spring, the time is nigh for the concluding chapters of the traditional river season.
I always use this most special time of the year to just get out and enjoy getting out, I actually don't even care if I catch any fish, which sometimes is just as well!
 Arriving at the little plot of a farmer's field that the controlling club would have you believe is a car park, I carefully took out my gear.
 On closer inspection I realised I'd brought along my Chapmans 500 instead of my, as yet, unchristened Lucky Strike. I was intending to do a bit of trotting, oh well, 'keep calm and carry on'.
 I was on the bank of a little river that has a big place in my heart, the Ouzel, a tributary of it's more famous bigger sibling the Gt. Ouse.

With so many swims looking like they should have a sign saying 'A Big Chub Lives Here' I was almost tempted back into specimen hunter mode and to chance my arm.
 After a short walk I found myself sitting aside a nice trottable stretch with a nice snaggy area downstream. "That'll do nicely", I thought, and the sun started to rise up enough for me to feel a little of its heat.
 These days mean so much to me, I talk to anglers all week at work, about baits, methods and product, each has so much to say. Today I'd hear nothing about angling, I'd just be angling.

Having baited the swim with a few maggots and a tiny bit of crumb down by the 'killing zone' and being reluctant to fish straight away, hoping to give the fish some time to find the free offerings, I made tea.

Up and away from the swim I gathered up some of last years dead nettle stems for kindling and. with the help of some firewood I'd brought along, within no time at all the Kelly kettle was starting to 'rattle and hum'.
I wasn't too far away from home and work, but my mind was.
 Laying on my  back in a field looking up into the welcomed blue of early spring, what a treat. Things just happen at times like this, memories are made, so how delightful that four Red Kites soared above swooping and rising on newly found thermals.

Truly majestic birds, they really seem to making a comeback in the Chiltern Hills area, I felt blessed to see them.
 Back in the swim with tea beside, I tendered a first trot. That first cast is usually one I send out with trepidation as it gives a clue to way the day might progress. Today, to be honest, I only really cared that I might not happen to find that overhanging branch with my end-tackle.
 After a satisfying 'plop' the float set off on it's merry way and it was not long after that it bobbed under. A first cast fish, a lovely little Perch, he looked at me, as if to say, "Nice to see you, thanks for the free maggots, can I go home now".

He was soon back home, none the worse for his excursion.
 Then, suddenly my first Kingfisher of the year arrived in the swim, shouting about like an adolescent punk rocker, he even snaffled a small fish from my swim,
 I didn't mind sharing, and neither did he...I went on to catch quite a nice amount of Perch and Roach, none of them big, all of them welcome and appreciated.

These days have a grounding effect on me, they calm and recharge me..What more could we ask from a pastime. I fed my remaining groundbait to a lovely pair of Swans and headed off home.

After such a fine day, feeling the heat of the sun on my face and not  speaking to a sole,  I felt that it couldn't get much better. It did though........I found Excalibur...Some of you will know what this means, I'll write of it in a future blog.

 As I strolled back to the car, I pondered that I was a lucky man and that I might be back next week, with Excalibur....and the Lucky Strike.