Every day's a school day...

Mist rising beneath a captivating sunrise at Chantry lake.

By coincidence more than design, my fishing this year  has taken me on a path of discovery. At any given moment I might not have seen the wood for the trees but sometimes, taking a step back to reflect allows the bigger picture to be seen...

Sunset on 'Fiveways', Ashmead.

In March I received an invitation to join a friend on the banks of Ashmead and fulfil a long held ambition to fish there. The reading I had done to prepare for my 3 day stint sent the mind boggling, but nothing could prepare me for the intimidating labyrinth of channels and pools of the wetland's carp fishing Mecca. 

My intention was to be invisible; for the carp to be completely unaware of my presence. To this end, casting was largely replaced with commotion-less delivery from my homemade baiting spoon constructed from an old Silstar match pole specially for the occasion. Where it could not be avoided, a single, accurate cast with the lightest possible lead would have to suffice and not be moved, unless by a fish. In spite of my best efforts to merge with my surroundings and fish effectively, my time at this formidable venue came to an end with my net still dry. I was fortunate however to witness one of Ashmead's finest carp, Moonscale, caught by Chris Shute. 

Chris Shute with 'Moonscale'.

By the time the rivers opened for the new season, I was champing at the bit to wet a line in running water once more. My local stretch of the Bristol Avon has high banks and is largely overgrown by the time June comes around and so one can access long runs of water that most anglers cannot reach, simply by donning a pair of waders and getting in to trot a float. My first few trips of the summer were spent this way and I took great pleasure in catching a good many chub on light vintage tackle. 

A Bristol Avon chub.

On a few occasions I used more stout, modern gear to present static baits, intended to attract a better stamp of chub - or even one of the Bristol Avon's elusive barbel, and stayed out into the night in the hope that the cover of darkness might induce more confident feeding. The plan came together in the shape of this 6lb 2oz chub -  a new PB for me and a new club record. Over the next few trips the bites dried up in this spot and so I explored in search of deeper water (I did not fish during the extreme heat of the summer but even when it passed, I suspected the fish would have sought cooler climes). The Bristol Avon certainly appears to be in fine fettle, but the effect of the resident otters, whom I have witnessed on multiple occasions, is apparent and so a degree of despondence sets in after a while and my attention veers to other venues. I do have a growing affection for this river though and will surely return soon, perhaps next time in the hope of a large roach...

My PB chub at 6lb 2oz.

Having not been able to access the moat for almost all of 2021, and the summer of 2020 culminating in a session of a lifetime, catching a beautiful net of specimen crucians all beneath a homemade quill on the lift-method, I was desperate to pick up where I had left off. I've written in more poetic detail about this experience, and about the moat in general, in my contribution to Crucian Renaissance.

An unforgettable day's fishing!

Try as I did however, the crucians this season were not forthcoming. Perhaps a year of dependance on naturals in the absence of anglers had created a tough situation for anyone trying to persuade them to deviate from this food source. Regrettably, having managed to coax one to take a single maggot on my first visit of the summer,  it successfully shed the hook just as I attempted to draw it across the net. There is seldom time to grieve such losses at the moat however, as distractions are always forthcoming. On this occasion a brace of fine male tench provided consolation in the last few casts of the session.

Two tincas!

For the next couple of trips, I focused more on carp and, under the watchful eye of one of the resident foxes, managed to winkle out a few gems. The moat is the ideal place to make effective use of the baiting pole that I had fashioned initially for my time on Ashmead: it allows you to place bait accurately beneath overhanging branches, close to lilies or in gaps in the weed - all of which are abundant here. Furthermore, I don't usually leave the house until the kids are tucked up in bed, and so by the time I've driven down to Hampshire, it's quite late at night. The last thing I want to do is alert the fish to my presence and so gentle, accurate placement of my rig and free offerings is a tangible edge.

My biggest carp from the moat: 23lb 4oz.

With the summer quickly fading into the realms of distant memory, it occurred to me that I had renewed my ticket on a beautiful little syndicate water just across the border in Somerset and had barely fished it. So a spontaneous decision to go into the back garden lamping for worms one night and an early alarm the next morning facilitated a joyful few hours catching perch after perch beneath a charming bobber made by my good friend Graeme Pinkerton. 

Though completely transfixed on the float and temporarily transubstantiated into my childhood self, it was still impossible not to be distracted by the activity of the carp all around me. A large white mirror encircled my float whilst others crashed beneath branches overhanging the bank opposite. In spite of my previous lack of success with the carp here, which could be explained by my lack of effort, I had now acknowledged a new imperative. I thought back to my approach at Ashmead and remembered my aim to be invisible to the carp. The spot on which I wanted to place my bait was out of reach for my baiting pole and so a cast was unavoidable. This pool has quite a silty bottom so my concern was that my whole rig might bury itself too deep to be easily found if my lead was too heavy. Since attending a talk with Frank Warwick a few years ago, I have tended towards very heavy leads; not for their casting ability but for their hooking potential and since I've started using the baiting spoon I have been able to minimise the splash they cause completely. On this occasion however, 1oz leads were the perfect compromise - just enough to reach the spot first time, little enough I believed to lay atop the silt. My only question was whether I would get a good hook hold but faith had to be placed in the sharpness of the hook and the mechanics of the rig itself. I remembered also Trevor Sturgess, whom I met at Ashmead, describing the carp using the weight of heavier leads to shake off the hook and so a little more confidence in my strategy was warranted. 

I need not have had any doubts! On the stroke of midnight, my reel screamed to life, announcing a connection with a very angry, zealous carp. I had heard from other members of the syndicate that the carp here are 'unstoppable' - I can see why they have that reputation as the initial run had incredible power. I had to steer the fish, encouraging it to kite wide, rather than stopping it but even when in open water, surge followed determined surge. I was surprised then, when such a small fish eventually came to the net. I dread to think how I might have fared if I had hooked one of its bigger siblings! Nonetheless, I was absolutely made-up. 

Whilst I have managed to continue to fish intermittently over the last few years since my children were born, my experiences on the bank have, until recently, been shorter and more fragmented. As a result I have found it hard to connect the dots or consider a story of any meaning to recount in this diary. However, since my trip to Ashmead this year, I feel that each trip has unlocked another piece of a puzzle, teaching me something of value that I have been able to apply in successive trips. 

There are still pieces missing of course; inconsistencies in my approach and by extension in the rewards that I reap. And then there are the pea-soupers; times when everything seemed spot on and yet the plan did not come together. Surely though, this is what fuels the fires of obsession, and keeps many of us coming back again and again to figure it out!

The Milky Way above Chantry Lake.

 

I've been Itchen for a Grayling!

Under ordinary circumstances, my morning alarm is not a welcome sound. Its terrifying timbre signifying the beginning of another working day and, whilst I enjoy my job, I commit to involuntary avoidance behaviour, akin to Pavlov's dog's salivation, and hitting snooze at the first ringing of the bell. 

But not today. In spite of an excitement induced lack of sleep I was up like a shot when first it chimed at 4am because today was the day I had been looking forward to: my first outing to the River Itchen in pursuit of grayling.

My friend Matthew was soon at the door, helping me load my tackle in his car and after I had woke the whole neighbourhood by setting off his vehicles burglar alarm by trying to open the door before it was unlocked, we commenced the long drive from Kent to Hampshire. 

Good conversation and good coffee helped the journey pass quickly and before long I was following my guide for the day down the path of this idilic rivers beautiful banks.

Today was all about new experiences. Whilst I grew up fishing in a relatively traditional style on the Longleat Estate lakes and River Wylye, these skills have been superseded, not necessarily for the better, by modern carp fishing and specimen angling. So Matthew, and later Colin who came to join us, had brought lovely cane float rods for me to test drive. I'm not sure if there was an evangelical agenda going on but I was happy to let them try and convert me! I had however brought my own carbon avon rod as a comfort blanket having fished with cane as a teen and not got on particularly well with it. Today I learned that this childhood disagreement may have been the result of the limitations of my pocket-money! Both rods I tried were a pleasure to fish with and following a little coaching on the finer points of trotting I experienced my first 'lady of the river' on traditional tackle. Double maggots seemed at first to be the winning combination, fished slightly over depth however following the capture of several small salmon parr and a few wild brownies a change to worm and slight change of depth secured grayling number two.

Meanwhile, Colin had arrived and setup a little way upstream with a 'cunning plan' for catching a bigger specimen! Whilst to the purist it might not be cricket or produce as many fish as the float, ledgering for grayling increases chances of a larger one. Colin touch-ledgered with a small maggot feeder and had a several good fish of which this was the first. 

Once Matthew commenced fishing he was quickly amongst the grayling and caught consistently throughout the day. He tells me that today was slow but I lost count of how many fish we caught so goodness only knows what this river is like when they are feeding hard! 

Unfortunately, with so much going right something had to go wrong... I must confess to having a funny five minutes when I allowed the centrepin to overspin and created a terrible tangle. It wasn't too much trouble to resolve this but I feared that in doing so I may have damaged the line in places and didn't want to risk continuing to fish and losing one as a consequence of a break. This is where my contingency plan came into play and whilst my carbon comfort zone now seemed to lack soul by comparison, I did feel more at home with it and certainly had more control with my own centrepin with which I was better acquainted.

After wading through several more salmonidae I finally caught my third and final grayling of the day.

Soon after, it was time to leave. A swift beverage in the pub at the foot of the stretch marked the end of a fantastic day and a chance to recollect some of the highlights of the session. The early start and 300 mile round trip was no bother in light of the majesty of this mile of river we had the privilege of fishing. I must thank Matthew and Colin for looking after me and giving me this experience which is quite far removed from my day to day angling. Now I look forward to the coming weekend where I shall be celebrating my dad's 60th with him on a charter boat from Dover on Saturday and then he will join me on the water again on Sunday to celebrate my 35th as we take a punt to the 'jungle' in search of predators at Old Bury Hill. Perhaps if we are successful I may be writing to you again very soon...