Wintle’s World of Angling – A Twist of Fate

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 column.

Wintle’s World of Angling – A Twist of Fate

MUCH OF OUR angling is planned and predictable but once in a while events turn out quite different from what we are expecting. Just that happened to me back in August when some roach fishing turned into a planned perch trip that ended up as something very different.

Throop

But first a brief look at the previous summer. I’d spent three months in my quest for a big chub at Throop, getting plenty of big ones. Now and again I encountered barbel but only landed a modest one of 6lbs although I had some idea of where they lived. But also I’d sometimes paused when crossing the old weir bridge and seen some big roach in the Mill pool. I promised myself that this summer I’d have a go for those roach.

The Mill pool in summer has immense weed beds around much of its perimeter. It’s deep in the middle; around 12 to 14 feet deep, with only the gentlest of currents in summer where the derelict sluices allow a merest fraction of the Stour’s flow through. At about sixty yards long and thirty yards wide the pool has an air of mystery; just what giants lurk in its depths? There are plenty of roach of all sizes, some perch, big bream, tench, double figure pike and carp, as well as innumerable small fry.

And it’s the tiddlers that make catching the roach a challenge. Baits like maggots, casters and bread are torn to shreds long before reaching the bottom. The answer then had to be baits like sweetcorn, hemp and tares.

So back in the middle of August, armed with a roach pole, corn, hemp and tares I set out to fish the Mill pool one Sunday evening. Positioning myself on the now dry sill of the old weir I set up my pole in comfort. At eight metres it was around 12 feet deep, and a float taking 1.5 grams fitted the bill. I decided to start with sweetcorn, feeding it sparingly over a bed of hemp, and also feeding a few tares every cast.

It wasn’t long before I started catching decent sized roach, around three to the pound on sweetcorn. After an hour or so a string of bubbles indicated the presence of bream, and a slow bite resulted in the elastic streaming out. The bream was a good size, perhaps five pounds but just when I thought I’d got it beaten the hook pulled. After that I caught roach steadily with some taking tares at half depth. But it was the perch activity that caught my imagination. Every so often big perch were herding small fry against the weed beds, and chomping them; a challenge for another day, perhaps?

A week later, minus the pole this time, I headed back to the Mill pool. But several other anglers had the fishable water well-covered. Little did I know what difference this would make. As I had my chub gear with me, together with the ubiquitous pellets and boilies I headed for a nearby area on the main river where I thought there might be some chub. The swim I fancied was free, with another angler in the next swim downstream. Leaving my gear at my chosen pitch I went to talk to the angler next door. He’d got two double figure barbel and several very big chub milling around his swim, occasionally feeding on his loose fed pellets.

The swim I’d chosen had produced some good fish for me last season including my first six pound chub and some five pounders. I could only see chub in the swim so fed it up with some pellets and hemp, and let it settle for half an hour. It was one of those summer evenings when it’s just good to be out on the river bank. This part of Throop is especially rich in wildlife; during the evening I spotted a sparrow hawk, egret, kingfisher, and heron. The resident barn owl often shows later on. It’s not hard to see what it feeds on; the river bank was alive with shrews seeking out the pellets I was using.

But from a fishing point of view all was quiet; just the odd taps and knocks on my link-legered boilie. I missed one good bite after an hour, and remained convinced that there were big fish present, at least some of the time. Because I’d expected to fish the Mill pool I hadn’t bothered with waders but the swim I was fishing was wade-able in case of hooking a monster! With that in mind I’d taken my socks off and put my old shoes back on when I’d started fishing.

It was dusk when the rod was almost pulled in. I grabbed it and started pulling as hard as I dare on what was obviously a big fish. It was vital to keep whatever I’d hooked out of the reed beds. The drag was screwed down pretty tight but this fish, whatever it was, managed to rip line off. I shouted to the angler downstream who came up to watch the fight. I don’t think he ever seen anyone put so much pressure on a rod before as the corks were creaking! The very heavy pressure had halted the fish but then it went downstream and got well and truly stuck in a weed bed.

There was only one thing for it and that was to go in after it. I kicked off my shoes, emptied my pockets of wallet and car keys, grabbed my landing net and got into the water. At least I knew that the water was only ‘wallet’ deep but it was cold enough to be chilly around certain parts! Hoping that there was no broken glass or sharp flints I crept up on the fish and was able to scoop it out of the eel grass where it had got stuck. I needed to free the line by breaking some of the weed and unhooked the fish whilst still in the water. I waded back to the bank with my prize.

A PB for Mark at 11lb 6oz

This was no chub but a superb barbel. Keeping the net in the water so that the fish could continue to recover I handed over my rod to the other angler, and then he found my scales and camera. After zeroing the scales I had my verdict – 11-6, a double at last. A quick snap and time to hold the fish in the current until fully recovered when it gave me a final soaking as it swam off.

By now it was practically dark; I was soaked, so it was time to recover all my gear and squelch back to the car. Sitting on my fishing coat at least kept the car seat dry. My wife declared me mad!

On reflection if ever there was a test to the limits of 8lb Daiwa Sensor and 8lb Krystonite then this had been it. And was the soaking worth it? Just for once I think so but please bear in mind that I had waded the swim before (with waders) and knew the depth. I wouldn’t have ventured in if it had been much over three feet deep, or the current had been strong or the bottom silty/muddy. No fish is worth risking your life for.

So a quest for big roach turned into a thwarted perch trip that finally produced a PB barbel – figure that one out!