Last knockings

Here be Chub!

It's always a bit hectic for me at the tail end of the coarse fishing season - I have even more of a desire to go fishing than I normally do.....last gasp effort and all that before the 14th March.

The last couple of weeks have seen me chance my arm at anything and everything on the Stour, Avon and small streams of Wessex including the jewel that is the Ebble. The full range of weather conditions too. Freezing, balmy, cold SE winds, warming spring sun, poachers moon and ice cold rain have made it challenging to say the least. 

Some huge fish have been caught as I trundle along just doing my thing - today is seasons end and I will be fishing where I always fish on this day, the lovely Upper Stour. The maggots are ready (curried of course), bread has been liquidised, big tub of lobs and away we go!

Only a short break until it all starts again with the trout and before we know it the mackerel will be in and it will be June 16th as the fisherman's year continues on its watery way.  

Here be Grayling!

Harcork Heaven

It just wouldn't be Christmas without at least one festive trip after the wily old grayling of the River Ebble. I was lucky enough to squeeze in a short trotting trip before being struck down with the cold to end all colds....................it was below freezing as I tackled up in the church car park still shaken after witnessing an awful accident en route. Slow down!

At first bites were hard to come by, but with the sun shining, maggots plumper than a suckling pig and a Harcork float like a Christmas decoration how on earth could I be down hearted.

The little Ebble is a joy to behold in its winter cloak. Fast, clear and cold. When the first dip of the float comes it is so fierce it almost wrenches the rod from my grasp.

Seven lovely grayling came twisting and turning to the net to be admired and then returned to their winter home. The float ambled its way down the stream in the most appealing way........Harcork Heaven!

The last cast

A few images from my end of season flurry last week. A super few days on the Wiltshire Ebble and Dorset Stour. One of the highlights being the ball of Starlings swarming during the day to dive bomb a flock of Dorset Down sheep - never seen that before, the noise was incredible. My poor shot not doing the scene justice. Fine fishing by myself, with good friends and thoughts of friends much missed. A short piscatorial interlude now before the mackerel and trout season.

A worm on one end.......

The last few days of the coarse fisherman's season usually sees a flurry of activity. I am less earnest these days, but certainly pick up speed at both ends of the season. The rivers read like a who's who of piscatorial jewels - Hampshire Avon, Berkshire Kennet, Dorset Stour and Wiltshire Ebble. Just as the start of the season in June, seasons end is a social affair - a time of celebration and a time to fish with friends, eat cake, drink tea and not take the fishing too seriously.


Kennet Grayling

 I am longing for the trout season to begin in April as the weather has been so appalling over the last twelve months. So bad that I have hardly wet a line. The trout season in springtime brings with it hope for the months ahead. The sound of the cuckoo as a backdrop is one of the years highlights. Just a minute, I am getting a bit ahead of myself here, we have the last few days of the traditional fisherman's calendar to deal with.

Kennet Grayling

The weather was positively balmy on the Kennet last week with temperatures into double figures. The river looked perfect for roach as I set up the trotting gear at a stretch I had not fished for twenty three years. In fact I have a particular fondness for this beat as it gave me my first 2lb roach and was where I served my apprenticeship with the centrepin - no roach today, a few grayling, dace and over wintered greedy brown trout followed by a lovely evening in the Dundas Arms with a pint or two of Ramsbury Gold. 

Berkshire Kennet

The day was made even more special by the visit of an inquisitive stoat, don't see nearly as many as I used to, and the odd Red Kite overhead which are commonplace here. A real treat for a visiting Dorset angler like me, but taken for granted by the locals I guess. I haven't seen a weasel for a long time. Like the stoat they were once both common sights when spending a day by the river.

Wiltshire Yew



The Wiltshire Ebble was next with temperatures dipping and thankfully the float dipping too. A few grayling from the main river and the tiny side stream that took a liking to my left over Kennet curried maggots. After the wettest Wessex year on record I have never seen the river so high which bodes well for the start of the trout season for the Ebble will be where I cast my first fly of 2013. 

 

Ebble Grayling

The temperatures dipped beyond belief after my Ebble excursion and two trips to the Dorset Stour and Hampshire Avon were deemed to be lunacy by my nearest and dearest. Snow flurries and a morning temperature way below zero even had me questioning my sanity. The wind chill made me wince and give thanks to extra layers and an extra flask of tea. It was even too painful to light the Kelly Kettle which is rare in itself. The main river Avon was far too exposed for my liking, so I sought refuge on the tree lined carriers where I could at least get out of the wind chill. 

 

Flotsam and Jetsam



Even the maggots were feeling the cold, but amazingly I did manage a small bag of dace and chub which was far more than I expected on a day like this - the sight of a hunting barn owl capped a splendid day and three more were seen through the flecks of snow on my way home, drifting in front of the car windscreen like lost souls in the night. I did not move from the wood burner for a good few hours on getting home and drained the dregs from my flasks before heading wearily to bed.   

 

An Idle Interlude

I have yet to cast a line in 2012, so I have been reflecting on years gone by from the leaves of my fishing diary. I hope the early days of 2012 are not so grim as those in 2011……..this day, from January 2010, turned out to be just the tonic for the January blues.

Sometimes just being there is enough. And being there was more than enough for me this week. More than enough to ease the pain of a troubled heart. For January, that most torrid of months, had delivered all manner of disasters and all without warning.

I needed some persuading – even to spend a day by the Wiltshire Ebble. I was more than happy to stew in my own juice at home, but I was assured it would be the tonic to get me through these difficult days. Not a day to angle alone, so a day akin to a tale from that most glorious of books “Hot Pot” by Francis Francis was in order for my pal Jim and I.

Think Dickens, happiness, feasting, Christmas, joviality, pies, tramps storytelling by the river, ale, beef tea and the lady of the stream and you may get the picture.

The Ebble is a joy to behold. It glistens like a stream of jewels - you can walk its banks, hop and skip across it and wade wellie deep, but what wonders it has in its shallow waters.

Walking the banks of this truly wild Wiltshire stream would have been tonic enough and I would not have been troubled for one moment if my cane had remained straight – just being there and following in the footsteps of my angling and naturalist hero Ollie Kite, who we would indeed toast later in the day, was a simple enough pleasure to see me right.

My lovely grayling float dances down the tiny stream and plunges so quickly it startles me with the ferocity in which the grayling takes the bait. I walk and fish, walk and fish for hours totally lost in my thoughts totally forgetting Jim who is doing the same somewhere else on this river.

These little silver darlings or ladies of the stream as they are affectionately known twist, turn and search for every nook and crannie to evade capture - grayling are lovely to eat, but who could take one on such a day? This is a day for reflection and they are to be admired and returned to glisten once more.

The church bell tells me it’s time to meet up and exchange tales of our mornings adventures. We will eat, drink and go our separate ways again until tea time and then meet up again at dusk in the Radnor Arms for a farewell libation in front of a roaring fire.

We both greet each other with child like smiles and tales of grayling large and small, both caught and lost, mentalist wild brown trout that greedily devour our maggot cocktail, the wildlife we have observed, but for now lunch is the order of the day.

Kelly Kettle beef tea, smoke, soot and fire, Bridport pie, mustards, fruit cake and all manner of delights are greeted with oohs and ahhs as they emerge from our secret bags. The joy of fishing, friendship and just being there has recharged and rejuvenated me.......reminded me of the small things that matter. The small things in life that help keep my world spinning round.

All is well again with my world.