Pilgrim’s Progress

He is also a very keen angler, having come back to the sport in 1995 following a break of several years. In this regular column he will tell us about his progress as an angler – his thoughts about the sport, what he learns, the fishing trips he makes, the anguish, the humour, in fact everything he experiences as his angling career develops.

Pilgrim’s Progress – read it everyThursday!

Nearly Made It To The Trent…..And More Adventures On The Mease

Looking through the many options I have available to me, via the numerous club cards I have in my possession, I decided to have a bash at the upper Trent chub. Armed with the directions for the stretch I had chosen, I found the locality with no problem. (In reference to my recent comments about dodgy directions that seem to be the norm with many club handbooks).

However, even though the directions were fine, what the club book forgot to say is that one really needed to be the driver of an armoured personnel carrier to reach the river from the main road. Leaving the road, it became a lane, which quickly became a track. The problem was the further one drove down the route, the deeper the tyre ruts became and the narrower the track itself. Overhanging branches scratched the car as I tried to work my way along and the potholes got bigger and deeper as the underside of the car dragged permanently on the ground underneath.

I managed somehow to back up and turn around, and get onto the main road again, without reaching my destination. Not to be deterred, I knew the club had another stretch of the river, just a mile or so upstream. Whilst I had no problems parking, unfortunately the map giving directions regarding the walk to the river was now out of date.

Standing there, rod in hand and rucksack on back, the sight of a dense hedge, enough barbed wire to re-enact a First World War battle, not to mention the electric fence, proved too much. Realising I’m not exactly in the SAS as far as fitness is concerned, I retreated to the car, and decided to give up on the upper Trent and head across country to the River Mease.

More on the Mease

Although I hadn’t set out that day with Plan B in mind, I guess there’s no harm in having options up your sleeve, just in case. Anyway, parking in a lay-by and having to negotiate a mere style to reach the river was a luxury compared to what I had just left behind on the Trent. In familiar surroundings, I settled into my standard procedure – bait up three swims and then flit between them.

I fished with bread and even though I had a number of bites, only managed to catch four chub, but they were all landing net size. The two biggest were 2-10-0 and 3-1-8. Not likely to make the national angling press, but certainly good fish for the stretch I was on. Anyway, fishing is about enjoyment, and I had a good session on the river, and that’s the most important thing. I’m actually really enjoying my fishing lately. Not that I wasn’t before, of course. Fishing is a very big part of my life, and means an awful lot to me.

A new stretch of the Mease

My next two chub sessions were back on the Mease again, this time by intention. A change is as good as a rest and all that stuff, so I decided to search out a new stretch. This time I headed downstream towards the confluence with the Trent. Now into Staffordshire, the Mease is generally wider and deeper and starts to actually look more like a river, rather than the brook like appearance of the stretch I’ve been fishing in Leicestershire.

I fished a couple of consecutive evening sessions. As it was a new stretch I set off with plenty of time in hand. I didn’t want a repeat of the experience of the episode on the Trent. And if I did, then I wanted to give myself time to move to a more familiar part of the river. However, all went to plan. Parking the car I set off downstream to check out the river. A healthy (ie, long!) walk and I found a nice looking area that was as good a place as any to have a go at.

I baited up four swims with mashed bread, all within 20 metres of each other. This allowed me to flit between each peg, and hopefully catch a fish before moving on to the next. What I often do when fishing this way, particularly when there aren’t obvious bank side features and I’m not too familiar with the stretch, is to push a stick or some other noticeable object into the bank at the spot that has been baited up. It’s amazing, how, once darkness falls it can be confusing as to where you’re supposed to be fishing.

The weather forecast was for temperatures of minus 2. And believe me, on this occasion, Messieurs Fish, Braine and Co got it spot on. Not to mention the new weather facility here on FISHINGmagic, which is another step in making the site a one-stop, all you ever need type of facility for anglers. Anyway, I digress slightly. Did I catch any fish? I had a number of enquiries from semi-interested inhabitants of the river, but none of them bothered to take it further. OK, I blanked!

Fishing well into dark, by the time I packed up my tackle was covered in frost. I think only a chub angler can appreciate the enjoyment that one gets from being out at the river’s edge when the temperature is the ‘wrong’ side of the zero mark. For the second time in as many weeks my wife has told me I’m mad. As I wrote a couple of weeks ago, maybe I am. But I’m happy in my madness, and that’s what really counts!

Back the next night

Part of my wife’s reasoning concerning the state of my mind is that I returned to the river the next night with the temperature forecast being for more of the same. But she did make me a flask of hot tea and ensured I was well wrapped up. I decided to return to the same stretch as the night before. Walking across the field I passed a lovely looking stereotypical chub swim – overhanging bush, raft of debris, etc. I made a mental note to fish that swim in the future, not realising it would be sooner rather than later.

Four hours of fishing produced not even a tap on the rod. Conditions were good, I felt confident in the tackle and bait that I was using, but nothing was happening. I kept thinking about the swim I had passed on my way downstream. Eventually I decided to give it a go. I had nothing to lose, as the river was absolutely dead. Flicking out bread flake I was immediately greeted with the encouraging sight of rod tip movement.

Striking into a fish I landed a chub that weighed in at 1 lb 14 oz. Not a big fish by any stretch of the imagination, but very welcome indeed considering how the evening had progressed so far. Not to mention the previous night. Call it intuition, experience, luck, or whatever you want, but my decision to move to the swim had paid off with a fish. I did end up very grateful for that fish however, as it was the only one I caught. A case of being thankful for small mercies.

I’ve continued on the chub trail recently, and a change of venue has seen an upturn in my fortunes. The clue as to where I’ve been fishing is found in the title of next week’s Pilgrim’s Progress. Join me as we take a look at ‘Sow Far…..Sow Good’. There, you don’t exactly need to be a sleuth to work that one out. By the way, nineteen days to go to Christmas. Getting excited yet? See you next week.

The Reverend Stewart R Bloor
Sedgley International Christian Ministries
PO Box 1216, Dudley. DY3 1GW.
Telephone : 01384 – 828033
Web site : www.sicm.org
e-mail : missionscentre@sicm.org