At the time I was about 10 and had been fishing for about 3 or 4 years but my fishing was confined to a small pond that held roach and small tench, and the local canal that held small roach and old bicycles. Naturally as a 10 year old about to fish his first match I was excited and the night before the match all the tackle was lined up ready, the maggots bought, sandwiches and flask prepared.
Next morning about 5am my father and I were up and waiting for the coach to the Trent, the early hour did not dampen my excitement at fishing the Trent, a river I’d heard other talk about but never fished. After a break for breakfast we arrived at the stretch of the Trent we were to fish and I got my first sight of the river. Now having only fished ponds and canals before standing on the banks of the Trent I was somewhat overawed and couldn’t wait to get fishing.
So having tackled up with my favourite float as I would for fishing a canal, I cast in and my float promptly sped down the swim and into the swim of the angler next to me! This didn’t happen on the canal! A couple of casts later, the angler in the next swim explained I needed a different float and shotting pattern and the float would still drift down the swim due to the flow of the river. So after trial and error I got my float to drift gently down the swim and then retrieved it before it entered the next swim.
The morning was warm and sunny, not the best weather for fishing, and I was used to fishing a small well-stocked pond the club had where the first fish was caught within the first ten minutes. So as a 10 year old not having caught in the first hour I was bored and thinking that the Trent held no fish (the fact that the anglers either side of me hadn’t caught either only confirmed my suspicion) then suddenly my float dipped and I had a fish in my keepnet: my enthusiasm for fishing was restored! I was encouraged further by the angler in the next swim saying something like “Well done, lad, at least one of us is catching” Beaming with pride and joy I quickly put another maggot on the hook and cast in.
That moment was the pinnacle of my fishing life. Here I was, fishing my first match on the Trent, a river I’d only heard others talk about; the weather was sunny and I’d caught before the more experienced anglers! I did consider that small roach my first ‘proper’ fish – sure, I’d caught bigger fish but this was a fish from a river and not just any river, this was a River Trent roach. As midday approached the weather was hotting up and my father walked down to see how I was getting on. He said that those he’d spoken with reported few fish being caught. He’d only 2 himself but by this point I had 5 or 6 small roach in the keepnet and I began to think I may beat some of the better anglers.
As the afternoon wore on I caught a couple more fish but the sun was really beating down and the fish had stopped biting, I did ask the anglers either side and they hadn’t caught much all day. As I sat there trying to tempt another fish I started to think that I was in with a real chance of finishing well up the field and maybe collecting one of the brown envelopes containing money or even winning outright and I’d go home proudly holding the small silver cup that was for first place.
Photo: thanks to badwolf-fishing.co.uk
Sadly the match ended without me catching any more fish and it was time to wait for the weigh-in. As I packed my rod and reel away I could see the chairman of the fishing club and another couple of blokes coming down the line of anglers to weigh each one’s catch, as they got near I did see one angler shake his head and empty his keepnet in to the river without bothering to record the weight. This filled me with even more hope that my meagre catch might be enough to actually win on the day. Then it was my turn at the scales. I pulled my keepnet out of the water and saw… NOTHING, not a fish in the net. To my disbelief the net contained nothing other than a big hole. What I’d not spotted in my rush to get set up was that mice had chewed through the net when it was in the tackle shed and my har-won roach were back in the Trent – maybe I’d even caught the same once twice after it had escaped first time! The weigh in party looked at my empty net and asked “Has tha not caught owt son?” I explained that I’d caught 8 small roach but they had fled through the mouse made escape hatch “Well we can’t weigh ’em if they’re back int’ river can we” was the reply
To say I was disappointed is an understatement and even a visit to the pub on the way back home for pop and crisps didn’t do much to cheer me up.
I did fish the Trent next year in the annual match but this time with a new keep net which was stored in a bag to prevent a repeat of the mouse incident, and yes I did catch, but only a couple of small fish. The weather was terrible that second match, blowing a gale with the rain coming horizontally. The fishing was poor and the Trent was more like the North Sea. I must admit I packed my gear away with at least an hour of the match remaining and put my 3 small roach back in to the water
Those 2 trips to the Trent left a young boy scarred and battered and it was many years before I again fished the Trent, on a fish-in with some of the FM members but sadly my angling had not improved and once again I was left with only one small dace to show, the other fared little better with a couple of perch, an eel and one barbel caught between about 8 of us. Plus, to make matters worse I lost a decent chub during the night.
So in conclusion my Trent experiences have not been happy ones and whenever someone suggests fishing the river I need a stiff drink.
Lord Paul
Mouse: thanks to plunketts.net
