Wintle’s World of Angling

Mark Wintle, an angler for thirty-five years, is on a quest to discover and bring to you the magic of fishing. Previously heavily involved with match fishing he now fishes for the sheer fun of it. With an open and enquiring mind, each week Mark will bring to you articles on fishing different rivers, different methods and what makes rivers, and occasionally stillwaters, tick. Add to this a mixed bag of articles on catching big fish, tackle design, angling politics and a few surprises.

Are you stuck in a rut fishing the same swim every week? Do you dare to try something different and see a whole new world of angling open up? Yes? Then read Mark Wintle’s regular weekly column.

NEW SEASON BLUES

By the time you read this the new season will have started, and I hope you have had a chance to enjoy a great day out. Others will be planning sessions for the first weekend. Despite the lifting of the close season on stillwaters, most lakes around Dorset remain closed, with the mainstay of spring sport being commercial fisheries. So for me, it’s tremendous to get out on the ‘proper’ waters again. There is always a sense of anticipation and excitement before the great day and yet things don’t always go to plan. Personally, I have had many excellent opening day sessions, though a few remained engraved in my memory for all the wrong reasons…

THE barbel swim on the Stour (click for bigger picture)

Many years ago, when I was so young that I didn’t drive a car, the restrictions of cycling to fish made the choice of venue for opening day crucial. About four miles was my limit. I didn’t always get it right…

One venue was just five minutes away, and I reckoned that I could fit in a session before work, packing up at seven. It is a small river with some excellent dace, roach and trout, and early in the morning quite capable of providing good sport. I got up at 4am, allowed for it to be chilly with a thick jumper and coat, and set off. When I got to the big wooden gate halfway across the meadow, I realised why I felt so cold. The gate was encrusted with frost. Undaunted, I carried on and fished for three hours, my fingers numb, and the fish unwilling to have more than a tentative go. The clear night and gentle northerly wind had done the damage, and I was glad to return for breakfast, with a total of five small dace. Yet, by 1pm, the wind had reversed into a southerly sea breeze and the temperature was in the eighties. Frozen in the Piddle….

But once we could drive, it didn’t always make much difference.

Three years later, the prospects looked far more promising. On the Friday, the 13th, we watched as carp and tench fed avidly in the warm water (over 70 degrees) resulting from a fortnight-long heat wave. The lake was heaving with fish, which were bubbling and swirling. On Saturday morning the weather broke, with pouring rain both Saturday and Sunday, and a drastic drop in temperature. I had to work on the sixteenth, and could only get to the lake at 5pm. I got there to find it crowded with just two swims available. Worse still, it had been flogged all day with very little caught. Furthermore, the lake was coloured up from all the rain and a foot above normal. Still, the fish were bound to bite, weren’t they? I waited…and waited…to finally get a roach so small it didn’t register a bite. Best forgotten.

Rain, What Rain?
The following year, my mate Phil found a shoal of barbel on the Stour, about two miles upstream from Throop. Most were around five or six pounds. If you waited long enough a double-figure fish would join them. Bear in mind that our total catch of barbel at that time between us was about five, and it’s hardly surprising that he got excited at having a crack at them. To make sure he got the swim he planned to get there before first light. Two days before the start of the season, it rained all day in North Dorset, the headwaters of the Stour, thirty miles from Bournemouth. On the fifteenth, we watched the barbel moving in the swim, feeding greedily on the hemp that he’d introduced.

The tench were bubbling like mad (click for bigger picture)

Bubbling Like Mad?
Then there was the small clay pit that teemed with small tench, roach and rudd. It was only shallow but by bulking the shot two inches from the hook, it was possible to get the tench. These were mostly about half a pound with the odd one over a pound. What they lacked in size they made up for in numbers, and one opening day we got about sixty between four of us.

It had an algae problem that sometimes resulted in de-oxygenation, leaving the fish gasping. The following opening day we arrived before dawn to find the surface seemingly covered in bubbles. As the sun came up, we realised that the bubbles were millions of tiny roach and rudd gasping for breath. No wonder nothing was biting. The only thing for it was a move to another lake. The super enriched pig manure that was seeping into the lake eventually wiped it out. Pig Sick…

Just a Little Storm
I have often begun my season on the tidal Stour. You never quite know what you’re going to catch, and it can turn up trumps. Over the years, I have had bags of bream, roach, dace, and chub, with a mullet or two thrown in for good measure. There are usually plenty of swims available, and lots of methods work, though my early season preference is trotting bread. But opening day, four years ago, turned into a struggle of the worst kind. My mate Terry turned up at 6am just as the heavens opened. After an hour, the rain had abated, and we drove to Christchurch. A long walk across the fields brought us to the riverbank.

The yellow iris heralds a new season (click for bigger picture)

The water was practically black in colour. The problem on this part of the Stour is that after very heavy rain the storm drains from Bournemouth all empty into the tidal Stour rather than the sea. The result is a foul, oily brew that puts the fish off for hours. Though the odd roach topped from time to time, it was hard going to scratch out a dozen small fish apiece. A touch too much colour…

Total Bull!
Then there was last year. I fancied a very quiet stretch of the upper Stour for a session on the stick float, trotting casters. The first meadow is completely weeded up then there is a short meadow, followed by a big meadow with loads of cracking glides. The only problem was that the short meadow had a load of cows in it – no problem, and a dirty great bull – not keen when carting a load of gear. Fortunately, when I arrived he was occupied with his harem at the other end of the meadow, and I got through without any bother. Several hours later, after a reasonable evening’s fishing, it was time to try and get back through. He was not keen on me entering the field at all. Eventually he lost interest and wandered off after half an hour of waiting. Oh for a helicopter…

Fortunately, for every disastrous opening day I’ve had five or six good ones. I have all sorts of new plans for this season, with some very different challenges to those of last season. Different waters, species, targets, methods; time will tell, and so will this column.

So, wishing all FISHINGmagic members the very best of prospects for the new season, may all your fish be whoppers!