I was supposed to be fishing Avington for giant rainbows until Pete cancelled on me. So I was open to offers. Will Barnard emailed me. What are you doing on Thursday? I replied; Fishing with you again? Because I’d spent a session last week with Will on an Essex trout reservoir.
I had been fly-fishing for whatever came along with Tim Joyce the Trout-guide and Will was lure-fishing for perch with Andy. He couldn’t find any that day but a couple of days later he took about a dozen in an hour up to 3lb all on the new Fox Rage lures. Worth investigating!
The trout were delicious. I’d caught about six which sounds good until you discover that Tim, eight foot away from me, had caught at least fifteen! And one time he had two fish on the same cast, one on the point and the other on the dropper. Tim is seriously worth a go if you are looking for a guided trout trip.
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And so it transpired that Thursday came around. First though I had a 40 minute session of torture with the dentist in the morning for which he charged me £178. Then a friendly £350 bill when I collected the car from the mechanic. Then the realisation I would have to stop off and buy some bait. And the missus had the car so I would have to take the Jeep. Oh. Another huge fuel bill.
The Jeep is 4.2 litres and petrol driven. Why am I driving it? You see, I was about to buy a fuel-efficient duel-fuel Prius when… Oh. Don’t bother. It involves number one son writing off my old Astra and number three son buying a jeep he couldn’t afford. Which is now mine. I got a Staffordshire bull terrier from him the same way. Humph.
So it was around 2pm before I finally arrived at the club car park on the Kennet. The weather looked a little threatening so I packed a brolly and stumbled off down the bankside, totally overloaded as per usual. I eventually found Will tucked away in some rushes, with a float rod in hand. He’d been catching lots of fish whilst trotting maggots on a dumpy tipped stick-float. Roach, dace, perch and chublets. Even a brownie – all mainly small but with the promise of larger fish to come.
I settled in to the next available swim, about a hundred yards downstream and started to copy the local expert. Unlike Will’s, my float was a fat bodied Topper Haskins which made a much greater disturbance on the retrieve. Every time I wound the line back onto the pin it was like a jet-ski coming upstream. Hmm. I started getting bites after about 10 minutes feeding. My feeding style is Lots and Often. Until I start running low on bait, then it becomes Little and Often, before morphing into Sod That, Have you any Idea How Much Maggots Cost? But I wasn’t about to run out as I’d brought a couple of pints and only had a few hours fishing.
Each cast was followed up with a small sprinkle of maggots, expertly scattered randomly all over the place. Some hit the water though, which was a good omen. And the odd bites started coming. The first couple I missed, thinking they were down to the hook catching the bottom weed. Then an identical ‘weed-bite’ produced a chub of about a pound. Followed a couple of more weed-bites later by another, closer to 2lb. Then a much bigger fish which put a rather decent bend in the rod before the hook pulled. Then a nice roach, then another chub of about a pound. There was something strange about this one but I didn’t pay it too much attention until I released it in the margin and it put its fin up. It was concave. Nah! It couldn’t be. It was probably an ide. I’ve caught a couple in the Kennet, not far from here, but not for a few years. Don’t even think it.
Another heavier fish hooked, again from the ‘hot-spot’ right at the far end of the trot-down. And AGAIN the hook pulled! A distant roll of thunder growls it’s disappointment at my lack of skill. Time to do something about these hooks. I rummaged through my hook packets determined to replace the size 16 barbless with something barbed. The problem was the only hooks with barbs I could find were size 10s to 8lb bottom Yes, 8lb! I’d bought these by mistake a year or two ago and had never used them because… well, what would you use them for? Flying Gaffs are illegal these days. Well, they are on the Kennet. But I had nothing else so I tied one on. Don’t tell anyone! Again the thunder in the distance. Thor disapproves.
Another couple of trots down and a fat six ounce dace is being skimmed back across the surface with the skill and delicacy of a tug-boat. Then just as it gets close WHAM I’m attatched to a pike of about five pounds. The pike drops the dace which is looking now like an ex-dace. I leave it in place. Wham. The pike hits it again. Another bit of fun before it drops it again. More thunder, much closer. And I leave it and esox hits it again. But this time I have the net under it and I experience the surge of elation as a worthwhile fish is conquered. The pike has dropped the dace again, so I just dip the net and allow it to swim away.
A non-angler watching this would surely shake his head in wonder. And the dace amazingly is still alive! I unhook it and toss it back into the margin. The pike re-emerges from the depths and grabs it. The pike sniggers and looks at me warningly before turning back to the deeps and I feel chastised. Ho hum.
I realise it is raining. Not a lot. But there’s now lightning too, so it’s getting worse. All the while I have been feeding the swim. Every cast sees more maggots hitting the water in front of me and every trot down I hold my breath at the far end, the hot-spot. And nothing happens. Until it does. At the far end of the trot the float lifts instead of sinking and some inner sixth sense compels me to strike. The ancient Hardy Carbon Match rod hoops over and I’m fighting a good fish. A very good fish. A very, very good fish! It’s fighting really hard and fast. Too hard to be a summer chub. Perhaps a barbel? Or even a big brownie? It dives into the rushes and I manage to coax it out. Thank gawd for that 8lb hooklink!
It plunges and dives and after several more heart-stopping runs ramming the marginal rushes, eventually it is in front of me. I dip the net and up from the deeps she comes. First the float appears, then some shot, then the fish. And it IS a chub! The biggest, fittest, hardest fighting, brassy-silvergold chub I have ever hooked on a float rod. Or anything else. Huge steel head solid and wide. Well over six pounds – this is going to be a personal best yes yes yes and the bloody hooklink snapped! Urgh. I lost it! I can’t believe it. I’ve got adrenaline zipping and surging and pumping through every vein in my body and the efffing bloody eight-pound ruddy hooklink snapped six inches above the hook! Arrrrgh!
The storm burst over my head. I hid under my brolly, too shocked to be disappointed really. Will came by to advise me to stop waving carbon about in a thunder and lighting storm. But I already knew that, and was already switching to the cane rod anyway. When the storm blew over it left behind a startlingly good rainbow which I absolutely had to photograph – but they never do it justice, the reality is always much better than the image.
Whether it was the sudden cold rain entering the water or the disturbance from the mammoth fight with the huge chub, the bites had all but dried up and only a solitary small perch fed thereafter. The walk back to the car park was slippery with sudden mud. That’s fishing. It is better to have hooked and lost…
In retrospect it was a very expensive day in all respects. I can only imagine the 8lb hooklink was damaged, perhaps by a gill-cover, in the games with the pike. I was so sure it was so thick and invincible I never bothered to check it for damage. Another lesson learned. I won’t forget that chub in a hurry, the image will remain in my mind. And I have the photos to remind me of chasing the rainbows.
Geoff Maynard
