Fresh air, peace and quiet, thinking space and a chance to relax - all
the things guaranteed to be AWOL on a typical Christmas day. Hence, why when
the opportunity arose for a couple of quiet hours on the river bank today
(26/12/07), I leapt at it. Various factors had conspired in the run up to the
festive period to prevent any piscatorial adventure, so this was doubly
welcome.
The day started with me trying to find my light trotting gear, I found everything eventually, except one thing. Where the *?*£ are my stick floats? I know I have some, I've put them somewhere safe, together in a completely logical place. I just wish I could remember where. Ho hum, an emergency lash up with some pole floats was thus in order.
As I climbed into the car and scraped the ice off the back window, one has to say that the omens were not overly good and the low temperature warning on the car did little to encourage me. Still it's better than another day indoors.
A short drive to the venue, and it was time to get the gear together.
Via careful planning and a bit of frugal packing I'd manage to take the bare
minimum of gear. Namely, one telescopic rod and reel, landing net and handle,
one small rucksack with one small sandwich box of tackle, one bait box with a
few red maggots, some hooklengths, camera, scales and catapult. That's it. I
like travelling light, there's a nice feel to it and somehow it feels more
natural.
I walked around the nearby lake on the way to the river. The ice
covering half the surface of the lake did little to encourage me. But still I
was out of the house…
I arrived at the first river peg, found about 6 foot of water on the
stick float line, pinged in a few maggots and had a few trots through.
Nothing. Then the occasional snag on the bottom and the odd twig. Then
some more nothing.
I dropped a few pegs further down. With much the same result.
I passed a few pleasantries with another angler at this point, one of
half a dozen or so souls I met in a few hours. I was not alone in my midwinter
madness.
Continuing down below the weir and the story was much the same. The pegs
were shallower and a bit boily in places, but the result was the same. No
bites, no fish, nada. The colour of the river was very grey and I guess the
extra flow and salt off the roads may not have helped. Still, I persevered as I
continued my wander down the stretch.
I skipped a few pegs that didn't look great or were difficult for
casting until I found myself down on peg 17. This had slightly more depth and
bit more even flow so I had my usual dozen casts with the stick to see what
might be about. Just when I thought it was all over the float went down, and
for once it was not a twig or the bottom. The resultant dace, was to say the
least, rather paltry. Weighing all of half an ounce it put up a sterling fight
as I swung it to hand. Not a monster, but not insignificant - I had saved the
blank!
No more fish followed so onwards and downwards I continued, more twigs,
more snags until I found myself at the peg opposite the pub. I don't know why
but this peg just seemed to hypnotize me as if drawn by some giant alcohol-fuelled
magnet. Weird.
Third run down and the float dipped in exactly the same place it had
dipped on the previous run-through, I struck expecting the bottom but felt an
uncommon resistance. And then it pulled back. Keeping low to the bottom the
fish came up the swim towards me, eventually showing the stick float, but
refusing to surface. It sat and fought in the current for a few minutes and I
wondered what it might be. I also wondered what I should do, 0.08mm line (a
little over 1.7lb breaking strain) and a size 20 hook does not bode well for
bullying tactics.
Shortly the fish rose, gave a flick of tail and went back again. Looked
like a chub. Nice. Next time I was ready, landing net in hand ready to get it…
and missed. Bugger, but at least the fish was still on. What felt like hours,
but was probably just seconds passed before it surfaced again and this time the
net did not miss. Yes, lovely chub.
A quick weigh and a couple of quick photos and the fish was returned to
it watery abode. All 4lb 8oz of it - chuffed. I don't catch a lot of decent
sized chub generally, and almost never in the winter, so this was more than
welcome.
Only time to try one more swim before I had to call it quits and head
back home. Nothing at all, except for the attentions of the local cheeky robin,
a fed him a few maggots and started the walk back to the car.
It had been a pleasant few hours, a bit of peace and quiet, a couple of
fish, some fresh air, some exercise and break from the norm - all for the price
of a few maggots and a bit of spare time.
And all inside the M25 - who could ask for more?
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