For me, ‘proper’ fishing means rivers.
Sure, you can find me happily alongside a lake particularly if tench or trout are involved. I’ve even recently bought myself a proper bivvy for those overnighters after tench. But it’s flowing water that does it for me.
I was brought up on rivers and for most of those early formative years all my fishing was on the moving stuff, principally the lower Dorset Stour and occasionally the Hampshire Avon. In those days I rarely ventured onto any lake or pond, typically because most were too far away and beyond the range of my bicycle. Strangely enough most trips to lakes were on the ‘glorious 16th when I tagged along with my uncles for the traditional opening day tench bonanza or, in reality in the early years, a sleep under the brolly.
I lived within easy reach, walk or ride, of the tidal Stour or, if I was feeling a little more adventurous, the hallowed banks of Throop. Had I been aware of any lakes or ponds in the area I probably wouldn’t have fished them anyway. Back in those days the Stour held plenty of fish and I ‘learnt my trade’ with the masses of bleak, dace and roach that, with a bit craft, could be found throughout its length. That craft was acquired by following my uncles everywhere, listening, watching and trying to copy what they were doing. The fact that they were, and still are, among the finest anglers in the area, helped somewhat. If my version of that craft failed, and I wanted to put a real bend in my rod, I would chop a bleak in half and leger it alongside a weed bed and wait for the eels to find it.
The vagaries of the ‘tidal’ meant the river was constantly changing and knowing when, where and how to change tactics was an art form and for many years, as far as I was concerned, something akin to black magic. But my youthful world consisted only of river fishing and thoughts of river fishing.
All my fishing revolved around the club, in my case Christchurch AC. The local tackle shop, Bill Longmans in Barrack Road, was the hub of everything as the great and good met there regularly to discuss next weekend’s match or get together. I used to sit in the middle of them all soaking up the information and trying to store it all away for future use. And it was all about rivers! The nearest I got to stillwater was the trip to the Huntspill for the away leg of match against Bridgewater AC.
So fast forward 50 years and the anticipation is still at its greatest when I approach another river trip. Even when I’m walking down to the river I know so well there is still much to be answered. Height, flow, pace and colour are just part of the equation. The swim I fished last week, last year and 50 times before is still there and outwardly looks the same but rarely ever is. It’s that initial sight as I approach the river that prompts so many questions and hopefully the answers come along quickly.
Last season was a good case in point. The summer rains resulted in very high levels and, even when not in full flood, the pace was exceptional. Some of my favourite areas and swims were simply just not within the norms that I had come to expect and forced a radical rethink. In many ways last summer reminded me of the conditions I encountered in my youth – minus the bleak, dace and roach!
I also reinforced my love for rivers when I finally discovered my local Rivers Loddon and Wey. It only took me 20 years to finally get acquainted with these marvellous little rivers and by that time they had probably past their peak. But they were within 10 miles of my front door, very new to me and, once I’d joined a local club, their banks saw me several times each week. I really relished getting to know these rivers over a period of time and trying to work everything out for myself. I even put in a few all-nighters when searching for barbel, something I hadn’t done for many a year.
Late summer and autumn saw me almost exclusively on the upper Loddon after barbel and, by my standards, I had some excellent results. I even surpassed my long standing PB with a stunning 13lb 3oz whiskers. The vast majority were much smaller but hooking even an average sized barbel in the dark from a very tight swim on a little river is absorbing and exciting!
As autumn moved into winter I started to explore the River Wey. I walked for many a mile, occasionally finding the odd little chub or grayling, and really enjoyed the experience. But as the winter really took hold, the call from my angling ‘home’ was too great. The Dorset Stour and particularly its potential to produce huge chub, is usually the backdrop for most of my winter efforts. Although it’s now a 160 mile round trip, it’s still ‘my’ river, I know a lot of it intimately and I’m addicted to trotting a float for chub.
Last winter on the Stour was generally a tough one as conditions generally conspired against me but, oddly enough, I achieved a long standing ambition to net a 7lb fish on the float. That was a ‘day to remember’ as I had three chub for a total weight of over 20lb; river fishing at its finest.
So, now in my 60th year, rivers have always been in my blood and will continue to be the main reason I get out of bed (or indeed stay out all night) to go fishing.
Long may it continue.
