Pilgrim’s Progress

He is also a very keen angler, having come back to the sport in 1995 following a break of several years. In this regular column he will tell us about his progress as an angler – his thoughts about the sport, what he learns, the fishing trips he makes, the anguish, the humour, in fact everything he experiences as his angling career develops.

Pilgrim’s Progress – read it everyThursday!

Coincidences, Boy Racers And Drama On The Dove

This week’s Pilgrim’s Progress begins on August 27 this year. Imention the date for a very specific reason, as you are about todiscover. On that day I visited the River Mease in Leicestershire foran evening session. Usually, when I fish the Mease, my target speciesis chub and I fish with bread or paste. However, there are some niceperch in the river (I’ve had them over 2 lb) and on the odd occasionwhen I fancy a go at perch as well, I fish worm. That’s what I did onthis particular trip.

I caught six chub and three perch, the best of the bunch was achub that weighed in at 3-1-8. Not a massive fish, certainly, butarriving home, I was interested to see how it figured on my list ofpersonal best chub. As I keep quite detailed records I am able tolook back over previous fishing trips. Imagine my surprise todiscover that on the exact corresponding day last year I visited theRiver Mease, and also fished the same swim. But the coincidencedidn’t end there, because on that trip I also fished with worm andcaught 6 chub and 3 perch. And to top it all, the best fish was achub of 3-1-8. So the run of coincidence took in the date, the river,the venue, the catch, the best fish and even the bait. Yet, when Iwas fishing I didn’t have a sense of deja vu whatsoever!

Severn success but………..

Coming right up to date now, the second week of September saw mepay what was just my second visit to the Severn this season. Fishingmidweek, as I do, I had the whole stretch to myself. The first thingI did was bait up. On the lower Severn I favour a bait dropper, whichallows the accurate presentation of feed. I aimed to fish the bottomof the shelf a couple of rod lengths out and proceeded to deposithemp and corn, laying what I hoped would be an enticing trail oftempting titbits that would ultimately lead to the hook bait itself.

To many anglers the lower Severn is a daunting prospect, due toits sheer width and depth. However, once one gets confident byputting a few fish on the bank, it can prove a very productivestretch of water. For those who receive the quarterly BAA newsletter,you’ll know that in my article that appears in the current edition,I’m singing the praises of the lower Severn as a barbel river.Certainly, the Great Ouse is constantly in the news, but in myopinion, one would be hard pushed to find a river anywhere in thecountry that has the proliferation of doubles that are to be found inthe lower Severn.

The session in question looked good, for as the afternoon wore onfish started to roll. My confidence was rewarded when I hooked abarbel. As I played the fish I was convinced that I had anotherdouble on the end. It was deep and slow and I just knew that therewas something special on the end of the line. Not for the first timethis season though was I surprised. As I netted the fish, it was justa ‘baby’. It made 5-7-0 on the scales, hardly a monster for the lowerSevern. But it had certainly got my heart pounding as I played it.

The boy racers arrived

Putting the fish back in the water, I was now very confidentindeed that I would be amongst the fish. All across the river, bigfish were rolling and jumping. Casting out I was waiting for the rodto lurch forward once more. However, just as I was settling down towatch the rod, a convoy of boy racers arrived on the car park. As theloud music and shouting shattered the silence of the Worcestershirecountryside it became obvious they were here to stay for a while. Irecalled an angler telling me that on this very stretch a couple ofyears ago here had been problems with youths doing drugs on the carpark. (It’s in a remote area).

But what was more of a concern to me personally at that time, isthat cars had been vandalised in the past. From where I was fishing Iwas not close enough to the car park to monitor the situation. Itherefore felt I didn’t have any other option except to pack up. Evenif I had remonstrated with them on the car park and they had leftwithout any trouble, the likelihood of them returning once I had goneback to my baited peg was very real. It would then have been acertainty that I’d have returned to my car to find damage. On thedrive back home I was annoyed that I had been driven off the water bya gang of kids. I wasn’t particularly intimidated by them, just moreconcerned what they would do to the car. What was particularlyannoying is I left a river that was alive with fish crashing allaround.

Return to the Dove

My next session was on the Dove. At least I have found a safeplace to park when I visit the river, adjacent to houses, with streetlights offering peace of mind. Tramping across the grass to the riverI reminded myself that my previous two trips to the river had bothresulted in doubles. Surely not a third in as many trips? The riverlooked good though, and I remained hopeful, so why not? The onlynegative thing as far as I could see is that I was here just for anevening session rather than the overnighters, that I had becomeaccustomed to recently. Still, it’s better to fish under restrictionthan not to fish at all.

Within an hour of casting I was into a barbel. This one weighed inat 6-10-0, a nice looking fish, that along with its fellow comradesfrom the Dove put up a fight that made a mockery of its actualweight. Forty five minutes after landing the first fish of thesession, I was into barbel number two. Playing it away from the treesthat overhang the far bank, for which it was initially headed for, Ibrought it gently but firmly to mid river. But something didn’t feelright. The fish was stuck and wouldn’t come any closer. I quicklyrealised what the problem was. A previous angler had lost tackle onthe far bank trees. When he had broke off he had left line trailing,and it was this line that somehow had tangled with mine.

Sedge to the rescue!

As I applied pressure from my side the trees on the far bank alsotightened up. The poor fish was in the middle, being pulled as if ona pulley. The sudden dilemma was resolved when my line gave way.However, the barbel did what all barbel anglers dread to see, itbellied up and started to float downstream. I quickly grabbed mylanding net and made my way to the waters edge a few metresdownstream from my peg. I was faced with making a split seconddecision, which I did. In I went, wading out to the fish, scooping itup and taking it back to the bank. Fortunately, no harm was done. Ieven managed to weight the fish, the scales registering 8-5-0.

I don’t know if fish have nine lives (catfish may do perhaps?) butthis one had certainly used one up on this occasion if that is thecase. As he was blind in one eye, I assume he’d also got rid ofanother life there. Following on from my naming of Finny Jones, thisone had to be called Nelson. Putting him back, he safely swam away tofight another day. He certainly had a story to tell his fishyfriends.

Tench are renowned for responding to a raked and disturbed swim.However, I don’t think barbel feel the same way, as the rest of thesession remained biteless. Obviously, a near seventeen stone anglercrashing around the swim doesn’t turn barbel on.

I was now soaked to the proverbial bone. My new boots weresupposed to be waterproof, but they had let me down dismally. Perhapsthough, the guarantee doesn’t extend to wading through four feet ofRiver Dove, so I think I’d better not take them back to complain.Even as I sit here at home typing this, two days after the trip, myboots are still drying out.

For once the weather girls were right and the forecast gales andtorrential rain materialised as I continued my session on the Dove.At one stage, the heavens opened so much that rain literally bouncedback off the river. The wind was so powerful I was pinned to theground as the Brotel gave way. As far as I’m concerned, the worstpart of fishing is packing up, but believe me, on this occasion Ididn’t feel it was a great sacrifice as I trundled across the fieldsback to the car. As each footstep sloshed as it made contact with theground beneath, I was glad to be driving home that night. Whoeverinvented car heaters – I salute you.

A job for a line cutter

Perhaps a lesson to be learned from the drama on the Dove is thata line cutter is an invaluable piece of equipment to carry in ourtackle bags. Not only will it cut down on lost tackle but it willensure that there are not metres of line left in the water.Certainly, my problems would not have happened if the previous anglerhad used a line cutter. (That’s not a criticism, by the way, just anobservation). Although there have been eight up for grabs here onFISHINGmagic this month, perhaps it’s an item of tackle that weshould all consider purchasing?

The Reverend Stewart R Bloor
Sedgley International Christian Ministries
PO Box 1216, Dudley. DY3 1GW.
Telephone : 01384 – 828033
Web site : www.sicm.org
e-mail : missionscentre@sicm.org