THIS YEAR I had decided to avoid the first day and the opening weekend and start my campaign when some of the fuss had died down. I’d been persuaded by my mate Mick to join him on a lightening raid into the territory of the DVSG to fish the Don on Monday afternoon, but I blanked.
Tuesday was to be the real start of my barbel fishing for the 2006 season. Mick and I decided to fish a day ticket stretch of the Swale that fishes well in the first few weeks of the season. On arrival I walked Mick along the river, pointing out likely areas as it was some years since he’d last fished the stretch. The river was low, but with a tinge of colour which suggested that it had risen slightly before we arrived. The day was bright and sunny with a very strong, blustery wind. Not ideal conditions, but not too bad either. I felt confident of a fish or two! Mick wandered off upstream and I settled into a likely looking swim, a deeper run at the bottom of some fast shallows. Tackle and Bait Whilst I was setting up I covered some mixed pellets and boilies with water and left them to soak so I could use them in a cage feeder. I also put a few droppers of the dry mix at the top of the run and was ready to go. Tackle was a 12 ft 1.75 test curve Korum Neoteric rod with a Diawa free spool reel loaded with 12 lb Berkley XT line. The business end was a size 14 Drennan Super Specialist Barbel hook on a hook link of 10 lb Airflo G4 fluorocarbon, set below a medium cage feeder. Rolling Meat and a Flashing Barbel An hour and a half of inactivity made me decide to rest the swim and see what I could find on the rest of the length. I set up a meat-rolling rig on my spare rod and went for a wander. The strong wind made rolling meat very difficult, but at least it was giving me a chance to fish spot and mark down any likely swims. Some way downstream I saw a decent barbel flash at the bottom of a long shallow run. I’d had fish from this area before so I decided to return to my rested swim and, if it didn’t produce anything, move down to this swim. Half an hour of inactivity decided things and I gathered my gear and set off downstream. The first problem was getting into a fishing position as the Swale has very high flood banks and there was no cover on my side of the river to hide my approach. A bit of crawling about saw me down at the water’s edge and I fed a couple of handfuls of my feeder mix (the damp pellets squeeze together nicely for throwing) and a few small catapult loads of 8mm halibut pellets which I was using as hookbait, banded on to the size 14 hook. I decided to stick with the cage feeder, but I had to attach a dead cow feeder weight to hold bottom in the fast water. I’ve found that the splash of the feeder doesn’t seem to disturb the fish too much and it keeps a steady trickle of feed going into the swim. This swim is a difficult one to fish as it is has overhanging bushes on the far bank and weedy shallows on the near bank leaving a 3 ft wide run of slightly deeper water. The bushes are not too snaggy and the near bank weed isn’t up to the surface so with a bit of persuasion, backed up by brute force when necessary, fish can be extracted without too much trouble. Just as I made my first cast I heard a car door slam in the distance and, sure enough, a figure appeared on the skyline and descended the flood bank for a chat. Aargh! At least he’d not stood at the top for a shouted ‘chat’ and he was wearing dark clothes. I decided to keep fishing and used the opportunity to build up some bait in the swim by keeping the feeder going in at regular intervals. Half an hour later saw a good pull met with solid resistance on the strike. I waited for what felt like a really good chub to pop to the surface when the hook pulled. The hook point was still needle sharp so I suspect a foul-hooked fish to be the culprit. Then the Classic Barbel Bite Another half hour of tweaks and pulls which I put down to chub was followed by the classic barbel bite – a vicious lunge of the rod and a screaming spool. The fish was a fair way downstream before it realised its mistake, turned and powered for the bushes. I piled on the pressure, almost lifting its head out of the water, but it looked like it was going to make it. I changed the angle of pull so that I was pulling the fish upstream and at an angle away from the bushes. Ping! The hook knot went. I sat down calmly to work out what had gone wrong (OK, I cursed myself for a clumsy so and so and stamped my feet, quietly) and decided to change to a 12lb braid hook link as I had more confidence in my knot strength. ‘A Good Nine’ – a Very, Very Good Nine! A quiet spell was followed by some sharp bangs on the rod tip which I suspect are caused by barbel knocking against the feeder as they hoover up the free offerings. Sure enough another classic barbel take saw me connected to a decent fish. This fought much like the previous fish, but this time I managed to stop the mad dash for the bushes. It then started the immoveable object routine that says big fish. I shouted up to Mick who’d moved to about 200 yards upstream of me by this time. I made slow progress on the fish, trying to keep it high in the water to get it over the near bank streamer weed. As Mick appeared on the skyline it made another dash for the bushes which I only just stopped. “Looks like a good fish, probably over eight,” I said. I managed to get her over the streamer weed without incident and she cruised about in front of me, still not ready for netting. “A good nine I think.” As I said it she paused in front of me and I took the opportunity to net her.
Now my only excuse for the following conversation is that I’ve spent years after my Swale double and I’ve always just missed, resulting in a daft number of nine pounders and a subconscious belief that I’d never get my biggie. “Definitely a big nine.” “Don’t be daft, it’s enormous! Looks like a twelve.” Mick said. My mind still refused to accept this, but my legs and hands were obviously listening and I started to shake! Mick held the fish in the net to recover while I fumbled about getting my camera and scales ready. We eased the fish into my damp weigh sling and I lifted the scales. Orange appeared in the window on my Avons. I’ve never seen that colour with a barbel before. Still not quite believing it I turned the scales so Mick could read them. “Told you! 11lb 8oz!” Sorry about the serious expression on the picture, it still hadn’t really sunk in. But it has now! I’m still wearing a silly grin! Don’t be misled by the huge weights from down South, this is a seriously big fish for a Yorkshire river and has the potential to reach 13lbs later in the season when it could well shake the Swale record. I’ve been privileged to meet her. |
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