If you see someone, tell them that someone is safe

The blog has suffered from radio silence for a while – the dreaded blue screen of death appeared and I thought all was lost. A lifetime digitised and not backed up. I closed the screen and thought that I would have a little sleep and see what happened…….nothing happened so a technical expert was called in whilst I went fishing and forgot about it for weeks.

Success! Normal service resumes…….

I have just returned from a delightful adventure to the River Severn in Shropshire. The annual pilgrimage to a water of my youth is now, hopefully, a permanent fixture in my anglers calendar. I have written about the place before, which sits in a quiet fold of Shropshire cattle countryside, where memories are fond and paths well-trodden. They say never go back, but I think once a year is just enough to keep the old memories alive.

It’s barbel  and chub country and I rarely fished it years ago if the river was anywhere near the level it was on this trip – flood conditions were the time to head to the river and huge lumps of Spam (4 hook baits from one tin) on a size 1 Aberdeen hook. Big bait, big fish.

These days it’s a tad more refined, you have to find fish along a long stretch as the barbel have certainly dispersed and are not there in the numbers we enjoyed back in the 1990’s. The locals blame a few summer floods which wiped out the ranunculus beds which the barbel loved, but who knows……….

The fishing is not important to me really, the joy is friendship. Friends who never change, unlike the river, and have their own lovely ways. For that the trip was memorable and I can’t wait for next year.  

Weir Pool Magic

Over the last week the landscape has changed considerably. Leaves fall like confetti and even though the temperature has been fairly high in the day it drops swiftly at night, but not quite cold enough for a warming fire. As I have said in a previous post the rods have been getting a number of outings of late. The photo above was just before the leaves turned and only a week or so ago - I was in shirtsleeves and mighty glad of my wide brimmed hat - as per usual the chub obliged to the mighty lob.

It then got colder, wind from the NE and the river as clear as gin. The fishing much harder, but still the chub obliged. I never tire of them - some Avon anglers don't give them the time of day, but for me they are one of the Avons blessings. 

The weir pool was a good shout as it had depth, but still so clear. I love the weir pool and have a secret nook that hardly gets fished - I sit on my log, gnome like, drinking tea in quiet contemplation. It's one of those spots you can happily stay in all day which is rare for me as normally I am a roving angler. Would the barbel be holed up in the oxygenated water? That would have been a bonus, but what brought me the most pleasure was a fish I was secretly hoping I would catch. Again, not high on the Avon anglers list of "loved" specimens but one who also loves the lob. The bream flashed like a golden dustbin lid once hooked and then made use of the weir pool flow and his depth to move like an aquatic kite. Me in thick coat, hat and scarf........but at over 6lbs that would have been enough to warm me on such a day.   

Pink Moon

I occasionally have a little breather from the blog, so apologies for the paucity of posts........I have been fishing constantly over the past few weeks. It has been sort of all consuming in the loveliest way.

It all started with that amazing supermoon a few weeks ago. I went to bed listening to the superb world premiere of Max Richter's Sleep. An eight hour lullaby that was to be the soundtrack of my day. I awoke and it was still there, trundling like me as I gathered my tackle and travelled north to Shropshire. I arrived at the river as the low applause signalled its end - lovely.

The Upper Severn, this particular beat of the Severn, has a special place in my heart. Many happy memories and days with good friends many moons ago and my first visit in thirteen years or so. I just needed to come back to close the chapter as it hadn't happened back then.

The day was a joy - barbel and chub the quarry with my good friend Rocket Wrudd of Wigan (official supplier of fireworks to the Golden Scale Club). 

I left the river as the moon came up over the wood down river. Like Richter's Sleep it stayed with me all the way to Dorset and I viewed the climax at the best place in the world -  Eggardon. Wrapped in a duck down coat I felt like the only man alive. 

The next best thing

They say the next best thing to actually fishing is reading or talking about it. I do agree, but also include walking by water - rivers or lakes where one fishes or intends to fish. I needed a fix and my favourite venue never fails. Only a few weeks left of the coarse fishing season and the Avon was slightly coloured and tanking through after some heavy rain of late. Really looking forward to squeezing in some tail end trips, but this wooded glide won't be one of them. Wrong time of year.

The conker copse is one of the best places on the estate to wind down and contemplate a barbel in the early autumn. After then it seems to get harder to catch the fish. I don't think they stay here all year round. The barbel are few and far between, but monsters do lurk around these chestnuts. Recognise the glide above? Autumn Glory in the delightful A Passion for Angling series by the lovely Hugh Miles and starring Ferney and "him who we don't talk about". This is the scene of the conker match and barbel capture. Moody today in its winter cloak. 

Roach Rule OK!

I often get asked by angling friends and also by those who have never fished what my favourite fish is - it's easy. The roach of course. It has taken me a few years to realise that this is the case mind you. In the 80's and 90's when I would drive the length and breadth of the country at all hours of the day and night to get my fix of barbus I would have answered differently. I am as chilled out now as I will ever be with my fishing and get more chance to contemplate and reflect. The roach has given me the most pleasure - as a boy, teenager and adult. The red letter days in my diary are usually associated with the fish of red fins. 

The annual bash and fund raiser of the Avon Roach Project is eagerly awaited each year. It is a chance to support those splendid fellows who do so much to preserve an iconic species on an iconic river that I love so much. I have written before of their work which I find totally inspirational. A change of venue this year and very lovely it was too. I had to check my diary when I got home, but I hadn't fished this particular stretch of river since 1992 and whilst contemplating my surroundings over a bankside cuppa I realised I had fished this glide before......there had been a stile here on my last visit some twenty odd years ago and with a sense of melancholy I found the flood warn remnants of the stile post (see picture above). The memories came flooding back of trips with friends, some no longer around, and carefree days when fishing was the be all and end all. 

It was fitting that I should use one of my more recent purchases in the rod department. A lovely late 1940's Sowerbutts Roach Master (151 Commercial St, London E1). More of a general coarse rod than a roach rod, but a lovely thing nonetheless. Found by master tackle sorcerer Jason White - he knew that I would be unable to resist. Lovely agate rings, stamped handle collar and named rod bag - I could not resist!  

A delightful day - I have never seen so many grass snakes, wild bees, hornets and even a very late hatch of mayfly in temperatures more suited to August. No roach today though. Just a net full of chub, dace and grayling and on the last cast a pike that took my chubling............I'll be back! I won't leave it twenty two years next time.

Barbus blank!

The river has held its own since the worst of the winter weather. High groundwater levels have meant we have had higher flows on the Avon than we ordinarily see over the summer months. It has only really been these last few weeks that river levels are starting to look like they could do with a top up. The temperatures have been unseasonably high too making the scene positively balmy. Not like autumn at all. Real Indian summer conditions.

My first forays of the autumn after Barbus barbus have seen me in shirt sleeves and packing bottles of water rather than a Thermos - if only the Barbel would oblige. They are there, but only come out at dusk from the shelter and cover of the Ranunculus beds for a tentative nose around, but as the old saying goes there is always a chance.

I thought my luck was in the other evening. Two huge fish were spotted nosing around my carpet of free offerings (spam, hemp and sweetcorn). The sort of sight that almost makes you hope they don't take the bait! A fine and handsome Avon Chub was first on the scene. He had a liking for my huge lump of Spam and was most welcome. They don't hang about with their greedy bully boy tactics. 

Then at dusk the rod thumped over.......for the first few seconds I thought I was going to catch my first barbus of the season. It's not only Chub & Barbel that have a liking for the meat - a fine Pike of around 7lbs decided on a meat rather than a fish supper. True, there is always a chance, but it will have to wait until next time. 

Autumn bliss

It feels like autumn has come early this year – we had such a good spring after a mild and wet winter that it was not only the garden with its fruit and veg that got going. The wild harvest is also gearing up to be just as good. Berries and fruit for jamming, brewing and pickling with still enough for the wildlife.

I haven’t been shrooming, officially, yet this season, but that is just about to start. I have heard that all manner of wonderful specimens have already been found locally, which sort of makes me twitchy – In a “I need to get out now” sort of a way!

It’s also this time of year, well ordinarily in a few weeks, that I really get into Barbus barbus and I don’t just mean the delightful beer of the same name. The scent of autumn is a time that I associate with one of my favourite river fish species. Usually when it’s conker collecting time, not so soon after the August Bank Holiday.

I tend to start lighting the Kelly Kettle more at this time of year and it becomes even more of a companion on field trips and fishing jaunts. There were a few lovely old battered and much loved kettles being used at last weekend’s Stock Gaylard Oak Fair. I’m still on a bit of a high after this year’s 10^th Anniversary event. It was so enjoyable. All things associated with wood – bodgers, coppicers, charcoal burners, shepherd hut makers, peg makers, brush makers, wood fire camping gear, boats, whittling knife makers – you know the sort of stuff. I’ll try and post a few more pictures of the event in the coming days.

 One of the highlights was our lunch! Salt marsh lamb tagine with a couscous and bulger wheat salad and various accompaniments – absolutely amazing and probably the finest show food I have ever had. Cooked by the Thoroughly Wild Meat Company and washed down with a pint of Piddle ale – doesn’t get much better than that.

Finest purchase of the day has to be this wonderful new wallet hand made in the Purbecks by Embla Leather / Wood – I can’t begin to tell you how splendid it is. I wanted it as soon as I held it. I’ve never really used a wallet before but I cannot imagine one being as good as this. Not only in looks, but the way it feels and sits in the pocket. The time, effort and skill that Fiona de Wert put in to making it is something I can only marvel at. Handmade items such as this are the things to treasure as they have been created by such clever crafts people and have such a story to accompany them.   

Tent of the day had to go to the rather splendid one belonging to ORD Knives – I was lucky enough to treat myself, last year, to the most wonderful Yew handled knife from ORD Knives. I absolutely love a good knife, not in a macho posturing sort of a way, but in an appreciative way. I have them for all sorts of uses and at the moment cannot find a specific use for my Yew handled knife other than fondling it, admiring it and doing the odd bit of whittling with it. Early days yet and it will become an heirloom.

Blockheads?

It's no use going to the river with a plan in your head as it invariably doesn't work out - my plan was to cosy up in the woods and look down on huge carp hoovering up my bait and all being well my first river carp of the season would be in the net. I can hear the trad amongst you wince at these tactics - carp on a river, an iconic river like the Avon too - how dare he!

The omens were good too - on my drive over I spied a Red Kite whirling over the eastern edge of Cranborne Chase so I couldn't possibly fail.

A first outing in about ten years for the old B.James MKIV Avon too, a treasured family heirloom that I had actually forgotten was lurking at the back of the rod rack. It once looked like a chimney sweeps brush until some magic was done by the mighty Edward Barder in the 1990's and now it is as good as, if not better, than new.

You can rest easy, the carp didn't happen. I got side tracked by some enormous chub and whoever said chub were stupid and the first fish to eat anything thrown at them needs to think again. In fact the Germans call them blockheads, but I don't think they meant it in a derisory way and there was nothing dim witted about these bullish fellows. I found a delightful pot hole in the river bed where chub to over 6lbs were ghosting around. My feed of hemp certainly got them going along with a nice barbel or two and it was just a case of casting out my hemp juice steeped spam and they would be mine!

This part of the plan didn't work out either. Although I did catch six chub to about 4lbs or so, the big 'uns were as wily as foxes. The pot hole was like looking into an aquarium of gin, so clear that polaroid glasses were not required. They spat out my spam and generally viewed everything with the utmost suspicion.

It does add to the mystique that you don't get everything you wish for first time round, so let's wait until the next time and possibly a few times after that, but even so, what a lovely way to spend an evening! 

Market Finds No 9

I have a bit of a Market Finds backlog, even with the weather being so grim I have managed to find the odd nugget of treasure. This is quite a large nugget, possibly a jewel.

This huge framed and glazed print by Edwin La Dell (1951) caught my eye - I nearly missed it as it was tucked away, but the scene looked familiar. A Thames fishing scene not too dissimilar to the one provided by me old mucker and last of the Thames Professionals Styx (Roger Wyndham Barnes) perhaps? It is now hanging in its rightful place - my living room!

Edwin La Dell - Fishing at Marlow (1951)

After paying and lugging it back up the hill to home I cleaned it up and was overjoyed to discover it came from and once hung in a Lyons Tea Room and is indeed a Thames scene at Marlow. See the lovely boat houses in the background, tins of worms in the punt no doubt to maybe tempt an elusive barbel. Maggots in bran too I shouldn't wonder and pale ale cooling in the rivers sweet waters to compliment a pork pie lunch.

I particularly like the round faced gentleman and the way the standing angler is holding the line from the pin dressed in fishing mackintosh.

Edwin La Dell - Fishing at Marlow (1951)

The splendid River and Rowing Museum at Henley (home of the magnificent AE Hobbs collection of cased fish) knew all about my find of course and directed me to this on their website! Three cheers for Lyons Tea Rooms!

You'll have had your tea Mr Barbel?

The last couple of days have certainly brought some welcome rain to hopefully sustain our rivers over the winter months. Fishing can be difficult now, certainly if chub and barbel are your quarry. With low conditions, swift changes in both temperature and dissolved oxygen make them slightly edgy and even more difficult to catch than normal. With an autumn dollop of rain they will soon know winter is a coming in and hopefully feed like mad to build up fat reserves for the winter.

My trip last evening was certainly more difficult than the previous week where the lovely barbel you see above was one of a few caught to 9lbs 6oz along with some splendid chub and bream.

The river was slightly coloured after rain and the temperature had dropped making anything behave in an all too familiar edgy manner. Anyhow, one last trip before the clocks change would still mean an enjoyable mid-week interlude with fish or no fish.

More often than not I have this particular corner of nowhere to myself, but last night this was not to be. As I climbed the stile what greeted me brought a smile to my face and thoughts of how an incident could be averted. Two young likely lads, reclining in deck chairs sharing a bong and a beer and ledgering for anything that would care to take their bait.

"Afternoon, any good?" I say - "hello mate, nothing yet" says they. "Haven't seen you lads here before, you syndicate members?" says I. "Syndicate? We are waiting to buy a ticket when the bloke comes round" says one of them offering me the bong for a suck. "No thanks mate, but the keeper will be along shortly and it certainly isn't a day ticket water. He probably won't be too chuffed to see you here". BANG! - out of nowhere a duck shooter on the opposite bank shoots at and misses a poor unsuspecting mallard drake peppering BB shot over our heads and into the water at our feet. I decide to wend my way and so do they. I bid them farewell and as I look over my shoulder they are packing up. It's a difficult call really. I am pretty chilled out about the odd "poaching" trip, but I know others who fish here would have booted them in.

I arrive in my chosen nook to see that glorious crease in the river which tells me there might just be a fish on the prod and one that fancies a big lump of Spam for his tea. Tackled up in a jiffy, 3 swan shot is enough to just hold the river bed and a lump of fatty goodness on a size 6 hook will suffice. BANG! - my friend with the shotgun misses again and BB shot peppers me, my chosen pitch and more worryingly my prized B.James whole cane Avocet rod - that will not do. Some loud coughing on my part alerts Mr Gun that I am where I am and hopefully that's the end of it!

This short trip started to remind me of a delightful (but not for him) piece of writing by HT Sheringham entitled "A Day of Tribulation" - I can't remember which book of his it was in, but the gist of it is that everything that could go wrong does go wrong. Just as it does on certain fishing days when you feel it probably might just be best to pack up and go home. I hadn't got to that stage  just yet, I hadn't even cast a line yet when it all goes wrong again!

Two resident black swans decide to mug, rob, molest and nearly kill a lone mute swan who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. The ferocity of the attack really shocked me. The sound reminiscent of a Star Wars light sabre fight and after some minutes, barely able to move, the mute swan forced itself out of the river and sat down next to me. This I was not expecting and for the next twenty minutes I stroked and caressed the neck of this bird that I am sure actually realised I was a friend. I was not expecting to be doing this either when I came here to hopefully catch a fish. 

Now, I am not a huge fan of swans - people big them up far too much in my eyes, but I don't dislike them in a Dick Walker kind of way. He detested them (see Drop Me a Line). This poor old bird needed some help and that's what I hope I did for a while. In the end it joined me, by my side, as I fished for what was now becoming a very short trip indeed.

I finally cast my bait the short distance required and settled down for two very quiet hours of nothing - nothing other than the odd chat with my new feathered friend and the odd cup of tea, which was certainly welcome on this now chilly evening.

Two more casts were left until the very last cast and I drift away with my thoughts of what the late autumn and winter will bring to the river. BANG! Mr Gun brings me back to earth and at the same time my rod arches over - the bite of a barbel never ceases to amaze me and I guess it is my form of addiction, I return for more time and time again. Very other worldly and a weird connection between my life and something unseen in a watery world.

In the gathering dusk the fish takes me everywhere and anywhere it likes whilst my Altex clutch purrs and my white feathered friend watches my every move with some suspicion. He is eventually landed, stroked and admired just like my swan.

A beautiful autumn barbel of about 7lbs, gold and stunning in every way. With hands shaking and praise be to Izaac he is photographed, recuperated and returned to his watery world. I bid farewell to the river, my swan and leave in a vapour of ecstasy.