Diary of a River Angler, Part 1

Diary of a River Angler by Jed Jones (Images by FishingMagic)

Part 1 – The River

On this evening it should be easier than usual to spot the fish, for my river has been starved of rain for several weeks, and the water is running low and clear. I keep well back from the water’s edge while I move from one likely area to another, and then sneak up behind a tree or a bush, peering from round it like a spy in a ‘B’ movie. I have to restrain the temptation to swat at the insects that find my head so attractive for fear that my hand movements will scare my quarry. A careless footfall or sudden movement is all it takes when my intended victims are chub and barbel for it is all too easy to cause them to melt away like shadows suddenly starved of sun. Although I must say I have no intention of fishing this particular bit of the river; ‘my’ length is over the brow of a hill some 300 yards on.

Apart from the hungry insects I’m enjoying the walk, for this type of fishing demands little tackle. The small rucksack over my shoulders and the quiver holding two rods, landing net and bankstick slung across my body weigh hardly anything. It is still more than I normally carry on these evening sorties, for this evening I have a float rod and some of the paraphernalia that goes with it, as well as the leger rod and its partners. Even so, it makes a nice change from the mountain of tackle I usually take, especially when I’m off for a night session, complete with camping and cooking equipment. One of these days I’ll make a really determined effort to cut down on what I carry for a night session, or a long daytime visit. Although, if I’m honest, there is as much chance of me doing that as there is of me ever having just the one last cast.

I have a few different baits with me this evening, the usual bread, lobworms and luncheon meat, a tin of sweetcorn in a baitbox, and then I have about a dozen slugs I picked off the dew-damp grass yesterday when taking the dog for her early morning walk. Half a pint of casters mixed with half a pint of hempseed for the float rod completes the list. I’m carrying two rods for a change, and for one very simple reason; I couldn’t make up my mind whether to choose a favoured swim and float fish for a mixed bag, or wander with the leger rod. I closed the argument by deciding to take both, leaving fate to decide as I walk the bank.

I gasp my way to the top of the hill and look down the 30ft drop to the river below, where it squirms its way through the gorge like a silver serpent. I have never fished it down there, but have always wanted to. Twenty and more years ago I would have ignored any danger of slipping down the steep slope, and been prepared to make the effort to get back up again. But not now, I’m older and I’ve got more sense. And I’m less inclined to believe that the inaccessible and long distance swims are always best.

I drop down the bank to the river’s edge where it pulls out of the gorge, the water tinkling and tumbling fast for 20yds before it deepens and slows. Now I have a lovely piece of river ahead of me, before it reaches another wooded hill and the next gorge. The wood is only half a mile away, but the river twists and turns so much there is at least a mile of water. This is one of the best lengths of river I’ve ever seen (and I’ve seen a few). Every 50 yards or so huge crack willows threaten to fall into the water, their trailing branches gathering floating debris and forming rafts that offer some kind of sanctuary to chub and barbel, but draw knowledgable anglers to them like moths to a flame.

“In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.”

The first swim I come to is a deep hole which always looks interesting. Even when the water is high and coloured it harbours fish, often more than in the clear water that currently prevails. It is home to almost every species the river holds. I have to say ‘almost’ due to the fact that although I have caught roach, dace, chub, barbel, gudgeon, pike, perch and trout (not to mention all the tinier species that hang themselves on maggots) I have never taken a grayling from it. Probably because the water is too slow to attract them, for even when the level is up it saunters round in slow circles.

It is also an interesting swim because the head of it is shallower in the middle than it is at each side. This is due to a small island at the head of the swim that splits the current and pushes it along each bank, forming a channel and an undercut. From the end of the island, which you can paddle to in wellies in low water, it is possible to fish two swims. When the fishing has been difficult I have often fished a leger down one bank and then tried float fishing the other. At the tail of the swim is the deeper hole.

Today I decide to leave this swim till last, for it is my banker swim and, who knows, before the last casts are made it could be my saviour.

Next: Part 2 – The First Cast