I woke fairly early and talked, ney steeled, myself into taking my responsibilities seriously so I put the laundry in the washing machine on setting C (I choose this one as it seems to do all things for all men), and after breakfast stumbled on a lost box of blues CD's, a lot of them British - superb.
I downloaded them onto I-tunes and, eventually, my ipod over toast and coffee whilst beginning the first of five unwatched episodes of Ripper Street. So began my leisurely Sunday. A pact with myself was made to visit the Stour again later to finish off yesterday's red maggots.
I opted to fish with different kit from yesterday, no particular reason certainly no tactical take, just fancied a change.
Out came a 14ft Drennan Matchpro and a closed face Silstar MG29 reel, tooled with a 2.6lb main line.
Arriving at the river, there were more than a few kids present so I figured it might be another day of being slowly stripped of hooks, disgorgers et al so I ensure my bag overflowed.
I ended up on the same swim as yesterday although it looked to have had a previous tenant as there was, sadly, detritus left by a fisherman, I cannot award them the accolade "angler" as the leaving of hook and groundbait packaging is unacceptable at best.
With a slightly lighter 5 no. 4 Woody's wire stem stick on, backshotted with a no 8 a foot or so above, to an 18 on 2lb bottom, I baited single red mag and, bait apron on, began to despatch regular helpings of chilli hemp and reds.
This time, more than a dozen trots produced nothing and it was number 14 before a tiny dace bit, all of an ounce. Still, it was a start and, as the song said, things could only get better (and bigger).
A shoal of small dace and two small perch followed and it began to feel like every fish of more than 4oz was removed from the river and rehomed in a liquid nirvana, probably far away.
Another period of inactivity followed as, again, a dozen runs through produced the square root of......it was fruitless, anyway.
The one thing which was sure to spoil even this drudgery was an eel, 10oz or so of slippery, slimy, squirming trouble. Unhooked with the aid of a square of cloth, it was returned in the hope it could help restore its species fortunes and keep away from me in the process.
A mixed bag of mostly small dace followed, punctuated with the odd perch, tiny roach and even a tiny chublet. Sweet.
The ante was upped slightly with a chub around the pound mark, still extremely modest but most definitely an improvement.
Another half a dozen dace, one of maybe 6oz. Not a groundbreaking bag but very enjoyable, even more so with Paul Jones, John Mayall et al on the ipod.
Jones had just latched into Work Song when the float, carrying two reds, plummeted and the strike met a pleasing resistance that felt good but not like a chub. I could feel this angry charge shaking its head and soon netted a nice perch around the pound mark. Big smile. Right up until I got the usual stabbing and it always, without fail, has to be in that fleshy part under the thumb, doesn't it? It stung like b8ggery but it wasn't going to spoil the day.
Another dozen or so bits followed, dace again mostly, before just another bite produced good, solid resistance - the kind that made one think about what main line and bottom I was using. I knew I was going to have to go easy here. I steered the raging leviathan across the river and away from the far bank where I could feel it wanted to make for, pretty sure we were dealing with Kevin the Chevin then. Surety grew to certainty when it then changed tack and made for the near bank cover.
After an enjoyable fight lasting a good five minutes and more, a shining chub of around 2 and a half pounds was enmeshed in the net, making the 18 look almost invisible in its great, cavernous mouth. It coughed up a couple of dozen maggots and the red chilli of a great many hemp grains too.
Another shedful of small fish followed, nothing major but all welcome.
I'd estimate I'd maybe scraped double figures but, more importantly, had a really enjoyable day. I'm not back at work until a week on Thursday and, after a long, luxurious shower I decided another visit to the Harvester for steak and chips. I could get used to this luxury and the only bad news is for you guys, I'll be out again soon.......and writing about it. Don't say you weren't warned.
Bestest.
