A couple of chub trips - the river being lower and more house trained than it has been for two months. We've had 5 metre floods repeatedly, as witnessed by the debris in the fields , but the river is now that lovely, late winter deep green , and is running at normal level at last. Still cold though, at 45-46F but the odd barbel man seems happy to spend a day in the hope of one. Not me, they are a high summer and autumn fish and chub are never fitter or feistier than during the next two weeks.
So , armed with a whacking great lump of cheese paste/crust on a size 4, battle commenced . Where possible -that is , where I could point the rod at the bait, I touch legered and 30minutes before dusk on day one came a long, slow and deliberate bite. Thump thump , thump - a gorgeous fish of 5-7, maybe the same one I'd caught a few weeks ago at that weight in the same area? Hope not - I dislike repeat captures almost as much as I loathe giving fish names. But if they have to be given names at all , can some imagination be allowed in nomenclature ? I'd much rather catch a carp called Miles or Gervaise than one called Big Lin , or a tench called Pitchford ...
Trip two - confidence buoyed , and exploring a new swim - the furthest walk , so lightly fished (what lazy so and so's even some fit anglers are) . A tentative , but unmistakable bite on my first cast produced the smallest chub of the winter, about two pounds and the only one under four since last summer. An hour later, mid river with 1/2 oz of lead , a walloping take , a powerful scrap and a 4-11. Not another bite in the next three hours but I went home happy.
