Well, yes, I s’pose I do lead the life of ‘Essex Man’ – cop that address for starters. We really DO have real-life Dorians around here, you know, Jewish mothers who take their kids to school in Mercedes ‘n’ mink, rows of them can be seen at the school entrance any morning of the week, still that’s life and there ain’t much I can do about it.- it’s the way I was dragged up!
Still, I am an avid Crabtree-ite and as I write this I am overlooked by Bernard Venables’ prints that sit on my dining room wall, opposite my stuffed pike. One of the prints is titled ‘September Barbel’ it depicts Crabtree ‘webbed-up to a dog’ – that’s Essex–speak for ‘bent into a big ‘un.
This leads me nicely into the story of my new barbel rod and ultimately to a new PB barbel. The story goes like this.
In the close season, another Essex Man, Coley, bought himself some new kit, amongst which was a rod I really lusted after, 12ft, 1.25lb test carbon Avon. Well, I just had to have one, did I not? Anyhow, the rod was duly acquired and the new season eagerly waited for so I could try it out on my local Lea Barbel. First trip was on June 17th when, on the aforementioned pole I proceeded to hook and lose two fish. Now, as you know, hooks NEVER fall out of those rubber lined mouths do they, especially size 4s, these buggers did though, against 8lb line and a well bent rod. This was only a foretaste of things to come though.
Next trip out I had two fish on my old Bruce and Walker Avon Perfection and decided to cast this rod well out of the taking area, about 30 yards downstream and put the new rod into the hot spot. Well, the inevitable happened at about half past midnight. The top of the old rod swept round to a powerful bite which, for some reason, I failed to connect with. Whilst re-baiting this rod, I had the sight of a new cork handle flying past my ear. Yes, the new rod was dragged in. My mate came running down the bank and declared that he could see the handle of my rod being dragged all over the river. “It’s no good, ol’ son, you’re going to have to get in there after it”
Now I was none-too-keen on this idea as it was pitch black, I had to get down an 8ft bank and I can’t swim (can any Essex Men?) Anyhow, I summoned-up the courage and got in there with it and after wading about up to my waist for some time was delighted to be told that I was too late because he’d just seen it disappear over the weir. Well, picture the sight: there I was, soaked, standing in the middle of the river and pissed-off to the back teeth. To make matters worse, on the way home I caught my balls on a fence as I climbed over (I am still not fully recovered, so my Essex Woman says and am writing this in a high pitched hand) and just as we were crossing a field, cut my bloody ear badly on the biggest blackberry thorn you have ever seen. Well, I thought that was the last I’d see of that rod. Next morning, I found a note pinned to my car saying ‘Give me a knock, I’ve taken the day off work to look for your rod’. Well, I really had to go and have a look now, didn’t I, although I’d written the rod off. We did find it though, after wading and probing the river bed for two and a half hours, reel still attached. Trouble was it was about half a mile downstream with six inches broken off the tip. Now the plot thickens…
I have been trying to catch a barbel from a stretch of the Lea that holds some big fish into doubles. I am fishing it legally after managing to get into the club which manages this stretch. I’ve had bugger all to date. It’s that sodding rod, I tell you. Anyway, just recently we had our annual Avon trip. First day I actually caught a fish on my new rod (forgot to tell you – I got a replacement top for it, didn’t I) It must be a ‘12’ I thought, and yes, it was! 12 bloody oz! That evening I did hook a decent fish on it but we had been advised to use small hooks so I had a size 12 Super Specialist on and I played the fish a bit carefully despite the 8lb line. The beaten fish took one last dive at the net, snagged in streamer weed and the hook pulled! Jesus! Will I ever catch a fish on this effing rod I thought. To make matters worse one of my mates who was with us picked up my other rod which was set up with trotting gear. Now it is a wish of mine to catch a barbel on float tackle…HE proceeded to knock out two fish!
It got worse! Next day I thought ‘sod the little hooks and went onto my usual size 6s. That evening the rod swept round and I hooked what I thought to be a very heavy fish. Right, you bastard, thought I, you ain’t having any line. The rod was bent into an impossible hoop and was actually creaking and still it bent further, enough to make the same bed of streamer weed that I’d lost the previous day’s fish in. The water is deep in this swim and I lost the fish after not even seeing it, had to pull for a break after trying all the usual tricks. Although that rod is a jinx for fishing I can tell you it would make a superb javelin. The way it flew though the air after I’d lost that fish was a sight to behold I can tell you… I think my language actually shocked the band of Essex Men who I was with when I recounted the tale in the boozer that night. Anyhow, I got extremely pissed to fortify myself for the morrow.
Now we come to the good bit. Next morning, feeling the worse for wear, I forced the huge fry-up down in our digs amidst ribald comments from our joyous crew and allowed them to drag me off to the river. I chose a different swim this time not because I know when I am beat but because it was closer to my comrades and I was determined to throw up over them should the opportunity occur. Fortunately for them it didn’t and by mid-morning I was feeling decidedly better after having the Coleman on overtime making lashings of coffee.
Around lunchtime I connected with a fish that I actually landed, only a little ‘un of about 5lbs but at last I had landed a fish on my ‘new’ rod. That’s it, I thought, I’ve broken the jinx at last and was well satisfied with that. Now, funnily enough, the previous evening in the pub, although I was well pissed, I was playing pool like Minnesota Fats – couldn’t do a thing wrong, and I overheard the Hedgehog saying to The Whinger “ The way that ****’s playing tonight he’ll get a double tomorrow”. Well – I did!! Literally, on the last cast of the day I got an absolute corker, eleven and a quarter pounds it was. I was ‘over the moon’ (now that’s a REAL Essex phrase for yer) Playing this fish was like trying to lift a block of concrete from the river bed. I absolutely couldn’t shift it for two or three minutes despite heavy pressure. The Hedgehog said “Your ****ing snagged” I said “Bollocks, I am” as, despite unremitting pressure the fish would not move. I knew this swim well and knew it definitely was not snagged. Eventually the fish did lift and treat me to a Battle Royal before coming to the net.
Well, that was it, a really beautiful fish in superb condition. The Whinger grudgingly did the honours with the camera and in the car park the Hedgehog said “I s’pose I’ve got to ****ing well shake your hand” He hates it when anyone gets a big ‘un other than him. “Well ****ing done” he said “but you know you owe me a piss-up now, it’s traditional – didn’t you know? Well, he’s had his piss-up and very welcome to it he was.
The curse is still not fully lifted though. As I got home from the trip, EssexWoman said “How did you get on?”
“Great” I said, “I got a lump so I’ll be in a good mood for a couple of weeks now”
It didn’t last as my dear daughter No.1 decided to back Essex Woman’s car into the house causing hundreds of pounds worth of damage. It’s that rod having the last laugh I tell you.
Anyway, my bad luck continues… I had my first piking trip of the season on Saturday just gone. Hooked a nice fish on a big crucian livebait – Jesus! Did it fight hard! Under the boat, the whole bit – well, they do at this time of year, don’t they? Anyway, just as The Whinger was about to slip the net under it, it leapt, flared its gills and spat the crucian back at me! I nearly fell over backwards out of the boat and the fish just lay there on the surface. “Net the ****er!!!” I shouted at The Whinger. As he tried, twenty-odd pounds of pike just drifted back into the depths. “Wouldn’t have counted anyway” said The Whinger “the hooks weren’t in it when I went to net it”. No comment. I did smile a little later though when he lost a fish after it spat out the crucian. He’s never a happy sight at the best of times, but his face when the hooks pulled out looked like a bulldog chewing a wasp. Don’t you find crucians bastards for this? I have lost many fish – including several big ones – after failing to get the hooks out of the bait. I think the pike lever the bait against one hook-hold. Should know better I s’pose. Still, they do get runs though I prefer a big roach or even a bream or a chub.
Anyway, it was good to hear from you. Essex Woman wants to arrange a gathering before Christmas if possible, with all the crowd. Coley in particular is a well-read Crabtree-ite and his eyes mist-over at the mention of the Avon. He insists on using cane rods and centre-pins down there.
As I finish this, I have just looked up and Mr Crabtree still has not landed his September Barbel. Well, I’ve had mine and I hope his one is just as big when he finally slips the net under it.
Regards and tight lines.
PS: I KNOW Patsy was Crabtree’s daughter – even an old Essex yobbo like me knows that. She’s not like my daughters though. If I brought them a couple of nice perch for the pot they’d say “piss off, Dad, I’m going dahn the disco”
PPS: What do you think of ‘Passion for Angling’? Great stuff, eh?
Really must go now, got to go to work in the old XR3 dontcha know…
