There are so many of us who would agree that barbel are just so addictive and that it is so hard to turn away from them, even when deep down you know you should. In my case, what I know is that my challenge this winter should be to accept the trials of catching, or at least pursuing, a big Wye pike, and move onto something completely different in what is left of my career. But as we all know, what we should do and what we want to do are not always an easy fit. At present, in my life, I’m unsure whether a hard road is the one to follow. I desire that big river pike, but perhaps it can wait ’till clearer, calmer times and, anyway, who says that winter, Wye barbel are the soft option?
I wrote a while back that it was in my mind to see if I could keep at least one swim “rocking” through a barbel winter, and it’s this experiment I am well embarked upon. My approach is based on regular, thoughtful baiting in a swim that is relatively flood-proof, or at least fishes to a degree in a river six to eight feet up. This swim I have located is one that is distant, remote and never fished, certainly come winter. It also has the benefit of being snag-free. I do not want to sit in near-freezing conditions, fretting my bait is in a submerged tree. I began baiting with Nash Squid/Scopex boilies two weeks ago, getting down to the swim at least two days out of three. During the late afternoon of 16th December, I had a barbel in the late afternoon when temperatures were in the 10-11 degree range. Nothing too remarkable there I guess but still, one of my first ever Wye winter barbel and a triumph of sorts at least.
Friday, 17th and though air temperatures were still good, I was too lost in life’s concerns to get out there. By Saturday, 18th, air temperatures had fallen to 7 degrees, but I was up to a three hour session. There was action. I missed a clunker, and several times the rod banged hard without any development. These violent, abortive pulls I generally put down to barbel, and they gave me the encouragement to presume barbel were still down there and moving freely. The procession of long tail tits and the constant companionship of a robin did much to mend my spirits, and I counted the session as a restorative success.
Sunday, 19th, Enoka and I braved temperatures of 3 degrees to spend at least two hours in the swim. In the event, we were there for four hours, experiencing a succession of violent knocks again, interspersed with tentative flicks and twitches. On the edge of darkness, however, the rod all but disappeared into the mist-filled gloom. What a scorcher in every way. The bite. The fight. The fish in the fog of the mid-winter Wye valley. One fish a visit is absolutely more than enough, and as we left the valley floor for higher ground, the car temperature gauge rose to 4 degrees giving me hope for a frost-free night and action come the Monday, work commitments willing.
Addictive, yes indeed. Sometimes, we all need a drug to pull us through and perhaps there are few as effective and as benign as barbel. I’d like to think there are more tales to be told…
