First knockings....

I like the prospect of a dawn start which coincides with the high tide...it's the best start to a day, especially when the forecast is set good and gives me the rest of the day to do other things as well. 

The beach car park was busy at 4am - a mix of anglers, beach campers, dog walkers and those recovering after too many libations around the fires which now smouldered in the early morning hush. As per usual I walked as far away as I possibly could from everyone. The terns confirmed my plan a good one as in the distance I could see a few diving for whitebait.

Within half an hour the old Dennis Pye was casting out, not to the distant horizon but a fair chuck where the fish were hitting the tiddlers - it wasn't long before a hollow in the shingle was the final resting place for my mackies.....these destined for the freezer as winter pike bait. 

The Kelly was duly fired up for the first brew of the day and tackle changed to catch a couple more on a small lure close in before the tide changed. It wasn't long before it was all over and another angler decided to fish next to me.....with miles of beach he decided my spot was the one....I decided on another brew before heading home.

That contemplative moment when all is done and all is good is magical - time to just watch the day unfold...a mix of birds coming in...egrets, yaffles, swifts galore and then the cry went up from the terns....a peregrine. The other angler didn't notice. No response either as I wished him tight lines as I headed back up the beach. It was a joyous drive home along the Jurassic Coast Highway with the swifts still screaming above.  

The social pike

I hadn't been fishing for weeks and weeks. You know how it goes....stuff comes up from all angles and it just doesn't happen. The date had been in the diary for weeks. It was never going to move as it is one of the most eagerly awaited trips of the fishing season - The Christmas Pike Social.

I fish with my pal Jim regularly, but this trip involves another good friend who I sadly only seem to see on this festive social trip and we enjoy the day from the minute we start planning where, what food, what libations and then it stumbles to tactics and weather until the day finally arrives and we greet each other like excited schoolboys.

The Dorset Stour is always our venue of choice and we were lucky after some recent lumpy weather that the river was just fishable for our day. Colour had only just dropped out and the level was down by quite a few feet. We exchange small gifts before we start and then the most social of days begins.

It's not just about the pike. I am pretty sure we three have fishing as an excuse for actually just being there in the landscape, in nature, breathing it, smelling it and seeing it. Each year this trip provides us with pleasure for what we see - otters, egrets, lapwing, water rail, kingfishers galore, sparrow hawk and an amazing rook display at dusk. 

Even though an otter had obviously taken a liking to my pike at some stage during its life I still do get a feeling of complete excitement when I see one on my fishing trips. 

The wind was biting. One of those squally windy days which Simon said "send kids and cats loopy" - it was cold too. They generally are from the east. We would be fine though as the social provides - Kelly Kettle tea, pork pie, mince pies, stollen, whisky and pickled onions.

The fishing was hard as it can be on such days, but the river did grant us a wish to see a fish or two and bring some Christmas cheer. We three, kings of the river for a day reflected on what had been a special day as we trudged across the fields to the twinkling festive lights of the village and home to warm fires and liquid cheer....

Summoned by Bells

Another fishing season begins…June’s Glorious 16^th seems to come round quicker these days just as life’s turning does and the way I notice the changing of the seasons and mark each coming and going on the previous years experience – the joy of reaching a significant age maybe? I just seem to notice it more now – once I felt and looked the youngest of our merry band who meet at this time, as we have always done for over thirty years, and now we sort of look similar – musty, creaking like our cane with age but in our hearts we are young and still miss those who had the happy times with us but are no longer here. We toast them each year and laugh heartily as we recount wonderful tales of joy and friendship.

I have been to the place that calls me so often, at all ages, in all weathers, physically, in my dreams, often alone, with my friends, some of my closest friends and we did realise at the time we were living the dream as we cast our baited hooks for myths and legends. These days it’s just the being there that’s enough. Comfortable in each other’s company and comfortable just listening, sitting, watching and noticing. We almost get enveloped by the place and are growing old like its ancient trees that have witnessed so much of us. Boy and man.

I wouldn’t change the way I see in the new season for anything. I missed one year in pursuit of another quarry and my capture became my wife much to the amusement of my pals – back then as I watched the sparkling sea from our small cliff top tent I toasted them and sent good wishes on the wind. It stays with you wherever you are and with the closing of the eyes you can be walking, watching each footfall in front of the other as you creep quietly over centuries of fallen leaves along a fisherman’s path so familiar you could walk it blindfolded.

I fished last night at another place I hold dearly and have written of fondly in my anglers journal – it was so peaceful and quiet – a sense of quiet I had not experienced for a while. It felt like I was the only person alive, but perhaps not. The hum of insects and fizzing of fish were the only indication that this scene was moving and not still.

My mind wandered to friends who I have shared such days with before and are now fishing more celestial waters – are they here on the light warm breeze? Do they see the float as I do? I like to think so. As the kettle finally boiled and smoke drifted across my pond the wind brought with it the sound of church bells as soft as a hand on my shoulder. It felt reassuring.The float twitched and slid away as floats sometimes have a liking to do on a summer evening…   

      

At the time of the gloaming...

It’s a busy time of the year – hard to squeeze in a fishing trip of more than a few hours, so anything is gratefully received. I think they call it being opportunistic. Tackle at the ready and a tub of lobworms to hand. It was just so the other evening.

The Stour is up and down at this time of year, you have to time your trips to perfection…..if you get it wrong you are fishing in chocolate soup, but all the stars were going my way and I arrived with a couple of hours to go before last knockings. The banks were wet and slippery after rain and the wind was up. I knew where I wanted to go as perch were my quarry - I walked with purpose across the fields head down. The wind was biting and thankfully my perchy hole would at least shelter me from its bite.

It never ceases to amaze me that roach love a big lobworm, much more than we give them credit for – I never set out to catch roach on lobworms, but when perch fishing they are the first to take. As the witching hour approaches I am thankful to have caught a few lovely silvery blue darlings of the river.

The light fading and our resident otter makes an appearance and screeches at my outline and is gone. I love them. The fish continue to feed and as the owls start to call in the woods across the river I get that wonderful jaggy sensation as perch takes worm. The wind is deafening, but I feel warm and contented knowing I am the only person here experiencing this joy that is nature…..the sound of nature……..I get back to my car and pour a cup of stewed, sweet flask tea just as the rain makes that wonderful, almost metallic noise as it hits the glass.  

Finnicky feeders and the price of gold

After a break from Blighty (more of this another day) it was a joy to return to my favourite crucian pond and watch the comings and goings of all that live on, in and around this haven. I, of course, spoil the whole scene as I bimble through the undergrowth, brew tea, eat inordinate amounts of pie and pork products whilst watching a float which remains motionless for great parts of the day - the general public if they were to view such a scene would probably think I was mad.......I know otherwise, I am in heaven.  

Not much has changed in the few weeks since my last visit. I was pleased to see, if anything, it was more overgrown. Obviously very few other anglers have been to fish and the weed growth was a tad dense and the lily pads were still in fine fettle. I have sensed a slight change in the season these last few days......you can sniff autumn is in the air and as I settled down the wind was blowing in the trees around the pool and the leaves are just on the turn. I love these subtle changes and they make the year of the fisherman all the more memorable.  

The crucians had obviously had their breakfast as my float did not stir for some considerable time. This does not matter in the slightest as there is much to observe and take in - the dragonflies were active as were the birds around the pond - long tailed tits were on the wing and having family arguments about the insects they were consuming on a sallow. It always surprises me when the float stirs. When it does it is like a little electrical charge which makes me almost jump from my idle thoughts.

The first crucian of the day is a perfect little bar of gold, a delicate delightful fellow who is handled with such great care as in my eyes he is worth far more than gold. He is admired with wet hands and gently returned to the pond.

My tackle at these two Saxon ponds is delicate - for there are two, one upper and one lower and both completely different in appearance and atmosphere. A small quill float which is gently shotted coupled with my 1950's Hardy General rod and Overend's Speedia reel. That's it - I keep it simple and it will not change for the summer and early autumn here. 

I have not caught a single tench all summer although today I lose one in the pads as my mind and eyes wandered - there was the most amazing spectacle of a Brown Hawker dragonfly chasing his lunch through the trees, the most amazing acrobatics I have seen of late. Just as the afternoon moved towards evening I continued to catch a few more of these little chaps and was joined by another angler (Stephen) who fished a little further along the path. 

The time the float moves and you are coupled to a larger specimen always surprises me, it is one of the joys I guess, and at a tad over 1lb 8oz I was really pleased. Another chubby one graced my landing net and it was soon time to leave.

Stephen and I discussed the atmosphere here, it can be strange and is not surprising for such place of antiquity.......you just know when it is time to pack up and the silence and darkening skies told me now was the time.

Stephen was at the gate and had come with the most welcome of gifts....a jar of his home made jam which, like the crucians, was worth more to me than the price of gold.

Pallant Delight

A day jolly by train to Chichester with friends Ferney and Demus was just what the Doctor ordered. Just the ticket to keep ones pecker up during these dark days. A visit to the delightful Pallant House Gallery was the order of the day and this gallery is fast becoming a favourite. It is such a warm and welcoming building. The collection of British Modern art is second to none. 

As ever our day does involve a spot of lunch, afternoon tea and general over indulgence. I couldn't resist taking a picture of my lunch at the ever reliable Cathedral Cloisters Cafe - superb stuff or as Demus put it "trencherman tucker" - steak pie if you are interested and trimmings galore.

The main purpose of our visit was to see two exhibitions. Demus and Ferney were excited by the David Jones exhibition (which was excellent), but for me it was the Evelyn Dunbar exhibition as I have long been an admirer of her work. This focused on her lost works which have recently been found - both did not disappoint and you will need to get your skates on if you wish to visit - they are both on for another week or two. 

The day was rounded off in front of a gentle fire in the St Martins tea rooms, which again is becoming a firm favourite. Another slice of cake?

Yuletide Pike

I am not a pike fisherman. I am a fisherman who occasionally fishes for pike. When I do actually go pike fishing I enjoy it so much that I tell myself that I must go more often, but I enjoy my pike fishing more so if I am with friends. My first "proper" pike trip of the season usually falls around the festive period and is what is more commonly known as the Christmas Social.

In previous years the ground under foot has been hard with frost and one year we actually had snow carpeting the ground and covering our brollies, but this was the first social where the temperature had been above ten degrees - it was fifteen degrees, mild, wet and unseasonal. 

Bumblebees were active, daffodil in flower en route to the river and for two days before the trip there had actually been a dawn chorus.......I had to pinch myself when it started but the robin was a lone voice getting it going and by the end he had everyone joining in.......what is going on? This year more than ever the weird weather has had an impact like I have not seen before.

The Christmas Social is a day for fishing close together - brewing fresh coffee, tea, eating pork pie, mince pies, Tunnocks Tea Cakes, drinking brandy and yarning about anything and everything...........oh and casting the occasional deadbait for a pike. 

It's a miracle we catch anything, but we did get some action. The old Dennis Pye pike rod did me proud and my rancid deadbait theory worked again. The company as ever was splendid and even though we didn't catch our expected amount the fisherman's calendar would be rather a sad affair without the annual Christmas Social. I just hope that it's a bit colder 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.   

More tea Vicar?

I know I do it and have gone and done it again............I am a sucker for quality packaging and if done correctly I do get sucked in......more often than not for the better I might add! Good old Miles Tea got me the other week. I only popped in to the wonderful village stores in Cerne Abbas for a bit of tucker to keep me going on my evening fishing trip when I caught sight of the delightful box below. Now I am a lover of tea in leaf or bagged form and will rarely deviate from the teas of Clipper, but this brew from Miles is a good pantry back up.



I drink an inordinate amount of tea in a day and even better if it is taken as in the above photograph from my favourite 1960's Portmeirion mug...........such simple pleasures to help keep things on an even keel. More tea Vicar?

Early morning hush

      

      

There was no need for an alarm call.This was quite surprising considering our taste for fine ale had not wavered the night before opening day. I just knew it was the right time to be up and out - the opening day of the new season drifts, as it usually does, like a piece of flotsam over the lakes surface on the edge of the breeze. It all sort of happens.

We drifted between tea, cake, chatter, fishing and generally taking in the rich and perfumed air of the Wizard's Cauldron. It is a miracle we actually catch anything at all. The dawn chorus builds very slowly to its full crescendo by about 8am and is followed by the gentle hum of insects and soothing coo of the wood pigeons.

By this time I had been blessed by Izaak and landed four fish of mostly ancient and wild stock. The early morning hush had been and gone, punctuated by ratchet, mumbled prayers to help ease fish away from underwater tree roots and the creaking of cane.

These are perfect days - as I have mentioned in previous posts, these openings have been the only constant for nearly twenty five years with fine friends and fine memories........yet again, another season has begun.