My recent illness had kept me away from the river since June, so you can imagine what it felt like just to be there again. Me and my mate Dave (Colclough) had been looking forward to it all week, especially since the heavens had opened earlier in the week and the river would be up and coloured. It was 2.30pm when we arrived and our first choice of swims had been taken, but we were surprised to find that the whole stretch along our second choice was deserted. We fished neighbouring swims, which happened to be good swims when the river is up, with slack water right by the edge that you could just lower a bait into. I spent the first ten minutes using a baitdropper to feed hemp and pellets. We both tackled up with Harrison Chimera rods, 12lb mainline to 12lb fluoro hooklengths, 2oz swimfeeders and 6s hooks. We would feed soaked pellets in the feeders and fish Active-8 boilies on the hook. The river was now only about 3ft up, but the water was still thickly coloured. Better still, most of the loose weed had been scoured out when the river was at the top of its banks two days previously. That’s when we would have preferred to have been there, but neither of us could make it. I’d been torn between fishing the inside edge and out in the flow, about two thirds of the way across, where the fish usually feed. The day before, when the river had been much higher, the inside edge would certainly have been the spot to fish, but now I wasn’t so sure. Anyway, I decided to start in the margin swim and see what happened. What happened was nothing. Over an hour later neither me nor Dave had had a bite between us. Just as I was toying with fishing in the flow I had my mind made up for me; a barbel came crashing out, right over the usual line. Both of us were scrabbling for heavier swimfeeders almost before the barbel’s tail had disappeared.
The 3oz feeders we chose held bottom okay and it was no more than 20 minutes later when I had my first bite. But disaster struck, the fish took off downstream and I was just bracing myself to pile on some pressure when the line parted. It was the mainline an inch or two above the swivel. Obviously there had been some damage I hadn’t noticed, for I hadn’t applied anywhere near the amount of pressure I normally do. Bitterly disappointed, but not too downhearted (how could I be, I was fishing, something I hadn’t been able to do for some weeks) I retackled and cast in again. After I’d cast in I was allowing a big loop to form in my line so that the line was actually coming back upstream to the end tackle. This helps you to hold bottom much more easily in a strong flow. But what you have to be aware of is that you don’t get the usual butt-bending barbel bite. What happens is that when the barbel shifts the lead/feeder, it drops downstream a yard or so and all you see is the rod straighten up and then nod a little. The bite can easily be confused with weed hitting the line and shifting the feeder, but there is a subtle difference, and one that can be easily detected if you’re holding the line. What I do is wait for that first bite/lead shift, and then pick up the rod and hold the line, ready for the next indication. If it is a bite than it invariably happens again, for the barbel will have hooked itself on the first pick-up when the heavy lead/feeder shifted downstream and you can feel the barbel shaking its head. And that’s exactly what happened when I got my next bite. I picked up the rod, let the loop of line between butt ring and reel ride over my index and middle fingers, and immediately felt the tension shifting as the barbel shook its head. I lifted the rod and it was on, heading downstream for 10yards or so before it turned and began plodding upstream, which is when you know you’ve got a good one, for the smaller fish just charge off downstream like express trains and only stop when you bend the butt into them. This one stuck to the bottom like faeces to a bed cover, behaving itself really well and not causing any problems at all. But it wasn’t going to fool me. I’d been there before and knew that the fireworks would start as soon as it came level with me and I tried to pull it into my bank. That’s when it would wind its body up and those powerful fins would propel it towards the snags along the far bank. I was ready for it and it came as no surprise when a big tail thrashed the water and the rod tip tried to shake hands with the butt, with the reel’s drag seemingly applauding the meeting with a loud screech. It’s always the same. Just on that point when you think the hook is going to pull or the line break, with your heart and your mind expecting the worst, the barbel turns and you know it’s yours unless you do something really stupid. I didn’t and it was soon in the landing net and then being hung in the weigh sling on Dave’s digital scales. “You’ve done it you jammy b*****d,” he praised me, “a double, but only just. Ten pound one ounce!” “Yes!” I shouted, and punched the air. A double was a great fish for the Dove. About an hour later I got the nod again and soon after a barbel of about 5lb was in the net.
At 7pm we’d gone a long time without a bite and we knew that if we hadn’t had another bite by 8pm we either had to go home or wait till at least 11pm before they’d feed again. Neither of us were inclined to fish until that late, with me feeling a little worse for wear with not being back to my full level of unfitness. Besides that, the chippy closed at 10.30. So we decided to give it till 7.30 and then have a slow pack-up. The gods were indeed smiling on me. I hadn’t killed a robin and I must have seen two magpies without even noticing. At 7.30 on the dot, just as I was putting a few things away, the rod tip sprung back and then nodded. I picked the rod up, felt the familiar shifting in tension coming through the line, and then tightened into the fish. It was almost a replay of the 10.1 fish, except that this one fought twice as hard and for three times as long. Several times it turned round at the net and ripped line from the reel, making the Harrison bend up to and beyond any curve it was meant to bend to. I don’t know if the joint in the rod was creaking but mine certainly were. And of course long before it was finally netted we’d had a few good sightings of the fish and knew it was a bigger one than the 10.1. I was guessing at a big 10 and Dave was proclaiming it to be a good 11. Eventually the scales declared it to be 11lb 6oz, my best Dove barbel to date, beating my previous best by just 1oz. Not only that, but it was a fish we hadn’t seen before, and one that was thickset and broad, and probably one of last year’s big nines that’s shot through the ranks. I went home a very happy man, a great session with a brace of doubles to mark my return to fishing. Dave? Let’s just say it was his turn to be ghillie. I have my turn just as often with his fish. And we’re both happy about that. Touch Legering Barbel Bites |
Welcome!Log into your account
