Another trip to a previously unfished stretch of river(to me) courtesy of a lift from the Chav as I don't have car. What a generous guy.
Couple of hours running a crowquill thro with maggot was good fun for some small roach and dace. Tricky conditions with gusty downstream wind. I'd seen roach topping and fancied trying for them whilst I could before the enforced switch to static water. Float needed overshotting and holding back hard in an effort to to hold a line along the swim. First 30 mins only produced gudgeon, and a jack which snaffled one of them on the way in. Dropped a big handful of maggots in and returned the pike downstream in a reedbed hoping he would stay there. Immediately started getting roach and dace steadily if not spectacularly when I was called away to be allowed to photograph a nice Chub for Christian. Generous guy. Did I say that?
Took the risk of putting in a few balls of dark groundbait and 15 mins later got a run of better roach to just under a pound but still struggled to trot cleanly. Laying on became the only viable option for the float in the wind. Fewer bites but again decent quality roach. The wind dropped just as it got too dark to see my float and I cursed it as I brewed a cuppa and got out the quiver ready to receive guidance from the chub maestro, who had bagged a couple more 4 pounders. That same generous guy put me in a couple of 'banker' swims that I swiftly stuffed up by casting into trees, snags, reedbeds and eventually a swan. I hadn't even noticed it drift round the upstream bend.
Chris took pity on me by calling to mention he'd had an even bigger specimen. Very thoughtful.
More cursing as I hooked myself, retied a hook then broke off again before the rig had even touched the water. Fortunately no one about to suffer the profanities.
Undaunted I set off to a new swim that now has far fewer snags than before I arrived. But hope springs eternal and i battled thro the misery and frustration to find a fresh spot to start again.
Setting off downstream to seek some encouragement and support from my mentor i paused briefly to check if I had broken my rod as I lurched headlong after rucking my ankle in a rabbit hole. All good and a 10 minute limp had me sitting by Mr. Generous with a cup of warming and very welcome coffee. Christian was just about to move off himself but waited long enough to drag out another lovely looking 4lb fish. He really is a master as he barely stopped laughing and taking the **** during the fight. Again he kindly allowed me to photograph another of his fish.
By now he was keen for me to succeed and showed me the ever reliable 'raft' swim. It was a classic chubby spot, big weed raft under a willow. Big enough for me to find the middle of first cast! I sulked and stomped as I walked past Christian. I was perfectly able to find my own swim to cock up and spurned any more assistance.
That stroll took me by a footbridge over a drainage channel. Still on form I sunk my left foot deep into mud and followed that with the right deeper yet, and sent myself sprawling into the structure breaking my fall with my face, with a rucksack pinning me to the ground. Fortunately when I looked behind me Christian was too far back to see this latest calamity. In any case he would have been otherwise distracted judging by the flash of his camera. Very good of him not to invite me to share his latest triumph.
One last determined effort lasted a single cast, and a pull for a break.
All I had to look forward to now was an hour of more mickey taking as I was driven home.
I bet he's rubbish at golf. Now where did I put those clubs?
Couple of hours running a crowquill thro with maggot was good fun for some small roach and dace. Tricky conditions with gusty downstream wind. I'd seen roach topping and fancied trying for them whilst I could before the enforced switch to static water. Float needed overshotting and holding back hard in an effort to to hold a line along the swim. First 30 mins only produced gudgeon, and a jack which snaffled one of them on the way in. Dropped a big handful of maggots in and returned the pike downstream in a reedbed hoping he would stay there. Immediately started getting roach and dace steadily if not spectacularly when I was called away to be allowed to photograph a nice Chub for Christian. Generous guy. Did I say that?
Took the risk of putting in a few balls of dark groundbait and 15 mins later got a run of better roach to just under a pound but still struggled to trot cleanly. Laying on became the only viable option for the float in the wind. Fewer bites but again decent quality roach. The wind dropped just as it got too dark to see my float and I cursed it as I brewed a cuppa and got out the quiver ready to receive guidance from the chub maestro, who had bagged a couple more 4 pounders. That same generous guy put me in a couple of 'banker' swims that I swiftly stuffed up by casting into trees, snags, reedbeds and eventually a swan. I hadn't even noticed it drift round the upstream bend.
Chris took pity on me by calling to mention he'd had an even bigger specimen. Very thoughtful.
More cursing as I hooked myself, retied a hook then broke off again before the rig had even touched the water. Fortunately no one about to suffer the profanities.
Undaunted I set off to a new swim that now has far fewer snags than before I arrived. But hope springs eternal and i battled thro the misery and frustration to find a fresh spot to start again.
Setting off downstream to seek some encouragement and support from my mentor i paused briefly to check if I had broken my rod as I lurched headlong after rucking my ankle in a rabbit hole. All good and a 10 minute limp had me sitting by Mr. Generous with a cup of warming and very welcome coffee. Christian was just about to move off himself but waited long enough to drag out another lovely looking 4lb fish. He really is a master as he barely stopped laughing and taking the **** during the fight. Again he kindly allowed me to photograph another of his fish.
By now he was keen for me to succeed and showed me the ever reliable 'raft' swim. It was a classic chubby spot, big weed raft under a willow. Big enough for me to find the middle of first cast! I sulked and stomped as I walked past Christian. I was perfectly able to find my own swim to cock up and spurned any more assistance.
That stroll took me by a footbridge over a drainage channel. Still on form I sunk my left foot deep into mud and followed that with the right deeper yet, and sent myself sprawling into the structure breaking my fall with my face, with a rucksack pinning me to the ground. Fortunately when I looked behind me Christian was too far back to see this latest calamity. In any case he would have been otherwise distracted judging by the flash of his camera. Very good of him not to invite me to share his latest triumph.
One last determined effort lasted a single cast, and a pull for a break.
All I had to look forward to now was an hour of more mickey taking as I was driven home.
I bet he's rubbish at golf. Now where did I put those clubs?
