The Average Angler

The Average Angler

NO ONE ADMITS to being a poor fisherman. We may concede we are not as successful as others, but it is in much the same way as nobody admits to being a poor driver.

We gloss over poor days with philosophical bleatings like “I was happy just to be there amongst the wildlife,” or, “They just weren’t having it today.”

The ‘Expert’, resplendent in expensive camouflaged jacket

In reality, the end of a poor day sees the Average Angler trudging despondently, wet and miserable, the half mile uphill walk (even on a river) casting envious, loathing glances at the local expert photographing a double figure something or other. The expert is dry and warm, resplendent in expensive camouflaged jacket with a Colgate smile, whereas our man is soaking, chilled to the bone with oversize waders chafing badly on his heels. The rain intensifies as he finally reaches the car and thankfully peels wet muddy straps off his face, when to his horror he is confronted by another expert loading streamline Gortex bags into his Vauxhall Fisherman.

“Any good mate?”

Dilemma! He knows this camouflaged delight has probably just emptied the river and despite Average Angler’s attempts at a ‘specimen hunter’ ensemble, he suspects the expert knows our man is a mere average angler.

The expert walks over, squinting inquisitively through his night vision Polaroids. Lies, vague previous ‘golden day’ catches and more lies race through Average Angler’s mind before he mutters: “Had a couple of knocks at Brambles Corner.”

“Good spot there! ‘Goosebumps’ came out there on the third at just over 13. Bit heavier than when I had it!”

Against his better judgement, average angler replies:

“Really? You do any good?”

“Nah! Just a couple of low doubles. Had ’em before, but I was experimenting with a new silt flavoured boily so wasn’t expecting much anyway. Bob Catchum has been introducing it for the last three weeks and had ‘Black Spot’ on it, but he’s pulled off now because the pumpkinseed are about to spawn at Watermead. Wouldn’t bother here now mate, barbel and chub start losing weight around now.”

Oddly, expert’s pessimism inspires the average angler and during his slow circumnavigation of the M25 he is already dreaming about next Saturday and a plan of action is formulated for his dawn arrival in a week’s time.

Unfortunately, work hampers average angler’s intention to bait the river lightly each evening and the money he put aside for some of those crushed krill boilies had to be spent on food for the family. However, he had read the weeklies and went to sleep on Friday evening with high levels of optimism particularly as the weather had remained unseasonably mild.

Saturday, an hour before dawn, sees our man scraping thick ice from his windscreen, surprised by the first severe frost of the winter.

Unperturbed, he looks forward to a picturesque river valley on his arrival.

Slightly surprised by the strength of the wind on arrival at the river, the Average Angler still has a spring in his step as he makes his way back down to ‘Brambles Corner’ and is heartened to find the swim unoccupied. In fact no one is on the river at all!

“He hastily erects his brolly against a driving rain”

He hastily erects his brolly against a driving rain which has sprung up and allows himself a wry smile as he picks his hat out of the mud where the strengthening wind has deposited it. Even the sight of a river with more leaves in it than there is left on the trees does little to quell Average Angler’s optimism. He is inspired by John McFish’s article in his Coarse Angling magazine about ’embracing changeable autumn conditions when barbel are feasting for the winter.’

He overlooks the fact that John McFish is wearing just a t-shirt and shorts in bright sunshine as he cradles a 12lbs barbel.

‘Brambles Corner’ is a ‘crease’ swim and average angler spots the ‘boil created by a submerged reedbed, a perfect haven for chub and barbel,’ which is in fact a horrendous weed ridden eddy fuelled by the first icy north easterlies of winter.

He clips on a baitdropper to ‘set the dining table’, but the ‘crease’ is slightly obscured by the wind whipping the surface of the river. After a dozen or so attempts at depositing his high protein halibut entrails onto the ‘six foot deep even paced glide over clean gravel’, bait is spread evenly all over the river in front of him, his accuracy hampered by the wind plus snagging continually on an algae strewn weedbed.

Finally, after retrieving the snagged baitdropper from the willow above him, Average Angler baits his hook and casts out. 30 minutes later he makes his second cast after spending 25 minutes untangling the kryston, backleaded, knotless hair rig.

Another cast is made. Instead of the bait settling in the ‘danger zone’ and despite using 3ozs of lead, the rig is continually swept up with a lethal combination of leaves, floating weed and vicious gusts of wind to fish unconvincingly in a nearside slack. Here, the bait is attacked mercilessly by small gudgeon and minnows which entails a re-baiting procedure in the cold and wet which would test the patience of a Saint.

Average Angler persists, however, alternating between crushed boily hemp bags and bloodworm glugged ice pellets on his new one and a half inch variable hair until dusk. Nothing! The rain stops and just as renewed optimism flows through Average Angler, he finds himself impaled on an immovable snag. After pulling for a break and running short of patience and time, he ties a simple running leger rig and snicks two lobworms onto his size 6 hook. Forsaking the snag ridden ‘golden gravel glide’ a longer cast is made towards the overhanging downstream willow branches which have been continually catching his eye. After all, some old books he has read suggest chub used to live under such features before the new century.

After luckily whipping his first cast out of the branches, two lobworms drift enticingly under the willow. Casually resting the rod across his knee, Average Angler is startled and excited by a ‘tap tap’ felt through the rod. Before he can convince himself it is more gudgeon, the rod tip pulls round beautifully and a firm strike sets the hook into the unseen quarry. Foregoing ‘steering the fish firmly away from snags’, Average Angler brutally hauls what now feels a substantial specimen into the main flow.

“ensuring that the fish is out of focus and his head is cut out of the picture and fires off a few shots”

After a hard, adrenalin-filled fight a fine chub surfaces and following two, wild, wind assisted slashes at the fish with the landing net the prize is landed. Weighed and admired, he sets up his self timer camera, ensuring that the fish is out of focus and his head is cut out of the picture and fires off a few shots. With reverence, his personal best 5lbs 6ozs chub is lovingly returned.

Average Angler slumps into his chair and surveys the muddy devastation that is now his swim and is overcome with satisfaction and contentment. He looks at his watch, then the worsening weather and decides to pack up. Job done! This time he glides back to the car park looking forward to the football results and arrives dry and warm. The expert from last week is again at the car park.

“Any good mate?”

“A personal best chub!” He replies.

And that is all he needs to know!