There are many things that set us anglers apart from the rest of the world and many questions to answer from baffled colleagues, friends and relatives.
“Why bother catching it if you just put it straight back?”
“Why not just go for a walk if you want to be outside?”
These questions and others are asked so frequently that I feel like just handing out crib cards to save me the tedium of explaining it all and the labour of putting the whole ethos of angling into one easily digested nutshell.
The one thing that really baffles people is the fact that I am at my happiest in the winter time, apart from the fact that us red heads can filter vitamin D even on the murkiest of days, I’m buoyed by the fact that the perch are big, the pike are hungry and, of course, the local chalk streams become available, in part, to coarse fishing and the last few winters have meant one thing for me, grayling.
My passion for grayling came long before I’d even seen one in the flesh, and like many schoolboy crushes, it developed through the telly. Of course, I’m not talking about the ethereal moment when Kelly LeBrock steps out of the shower in ‘Weird Science’, but certainly enough for me to pine for a while.
With no transport or easy access to anywhere holding grayling, as with most crushes, the intensity passed and I was soon onto another, more viable love affair, this time with the far more accessible perch.
A few years ago good friend Ian Crook offered an opportunity by way of an invite to fish the Test at Timsbury for grayling. With weeks remaining until the day, my time was spent Googling and YouTubing grayling and hourly my heart and head were re-igniting passions of old, my wife became concerned at the thought of the suggestion of some strange role-play as I would murmur about the ‘lady of the stream’ in my sleep.
The day eventually came and Ian was eager to make sure I finally shut up about catching my first grayling and put me in his ‘banker’ swim.
As the stick float trotted down I jerked and struck at the slightest dib, just hoping that a flash of silver would show behind it. Eventually it did – a tiny little thing and as it flapped there I was 9 years old again, even as I type this my memory is of a few seconds of absolute blissful excitement.
That winter and others passed with various trips to southern chalk streams, and although they weren’t numerous enough to sate my passion they were enough to recruit more grayling enthusiasts from my dear clan of fisherfolk.
The thing that separates a passion about fishing for a particular species and, say, a schoolboy’s TV presenter crush is the fact that your dream is much more achievable without landing yourself with some form of restraining order and of course the grayling are delighted to be in my company – well, they aren’t saying otherwise.
How achievable became apparent when I received a phone call inviting me on to a winter coarse fishing syndicate on the Test, I’d been on the waiting list for some time and had actually given up any hope of even ever seeing the place.
The only bad news was that I joined in July and had to wait until November for it to open to coarse angling so that I could actually fish it. Another period, similar to that of a small town boy waiting for his girl to come back from university ensued, another blasted section of my life that I wished away just to get to November.
As it tends to do time passed and as a birthday treat for my friend Sy Haze, he joined me as my guest for the opening day…which was hard as the river was high and coloured; not a problem if you knew the water well – but we didn’t!
We fished on however and took in the Hampshire countryside and although Sy worked hard he wasn’t justly rewarded. Something seems to be against Sy when it comes to grayling; if a trip is arranged anywhere conditions do their best to create the opposite of ideal grayling fishing conditions, and on this basis he does well!
The next few weeks saw me exploring the river, every nuance was given a chance and I was getting results, gradually building my PB every trip, 1lb 9oz to 1lb 12oz then incrementing all the way to the season’s close on 2lb 6oz.
Whenever a guest joined me: Crooky, Vinnie, Jim or Jez, I would take great delight in being able to put them into a swim that would provide them with a decent fish, this also gave me a chance to fish in the vicinity, exploring finer, more subtle features and areas to find more.
Aside from the remarkable ambience of the place, which I think has left a marked impression on all us who fish it, decent fish abound and all came away with good PBs and wonderful memories of their own, something which, I will always hold fondly in my fishing memories bucket.
For each visitor, I only hoped that they were feeling the same things I did when I eventually came face to face with my first grayling, more so in fact as the fish in front of them were much bigger.
Towards March I became conscious of the fact that I hadn’t tapped into any of the other attainable fish on the two and a half miles of river, namely roach and dace. By March I had topped up about 25 Grayling over 2lb, many, many more just under and had pretty much explored every feature, obvious and slight, along the river.
My last planned trip was just before the season’s close, accompanying me was Gary Cullum, a true purist who cooks up a lovely bankside sausage sandwich, and as we ambled around the hotspots all I could think about was taking stock and fishing a couple of the roachy looking holes. If it hadn’t have been for the personality of the man I would have been tempted to leave him to it…and I hadn’t had the sandwich yet.
The afternoon came and Gary explored some more while I took position and soon had the roach feeding as planned, with the biggest a fish of 1lb 14 and a beautiful dace of 13oz minutes later.
A terrific end to my winter on the Test was dawning and it really did feel like a chapter was closing, certain changes had occurred which potentially meant that I wouldn’t be able to renew the ‘golden ticket’ but instead of lamenting, I was grateful for the opportunity.
Things did pick up however and I filled out the renewal form and again began counting down the days. As the days moved into autumn, by calendar anyway, I was becoming concerned at the lack of…well, coldness and frost, November came yet my enthusiasm had waned.
Though eager to come face to face with my enigmatic lady again, this wasn’t meant to be a summer time love affair, I wanted to be wrapped up against the elements, I wanted to be startling hares and rabbits among the bracken and sparsely covered thickets, not being distracted by sedge hatches and broody cattle in the fields behind.
There doesn’t seem to be the same connection in warmer weather, not with the wildlife, certainly not with grayling.
In winter, when everything reverts inside, the playing field changes, those that brave the elements do so together, of course, nature does it out of need, us anglers do it out of a need too, though not life or death.
I love the seemingly bemused look on the face of a muntjac as it chances upon me sat there in a foot of snow, almost pitying this poor human who is out here, far from his home and no doubt scared and hungry, the winter makes the banks of these rivers their world and in the same way that I like to think we stay quiet and still in order to glimpse a rare work of nature in the summer, in winter, we become the watched.
As Christmas and New Year loomed there was still no real grayling conducive weather; I had a few sessions in early November and took a new PB but this was marred by the fact that I was fishing in short sleeves. I have had a few Roach sessions with decent results as well as a number of good dace though.
All I can do now, as I stare across the Thames in resplendent sunshine and at the young buds already showing on the trees, is wish for a proper cold snap before the days get too much longer.
Still, if not, there’s always another autumn and winter coming.
