Silver rather than gold in the end.

As I stood atop the bridge looking over the Avon I thought to myself this was either pure genius or total madness. It also occurred to me that if it did turn out to be pure genius, the attempting to fish the river when it was in such a bilious state could produce rewards not just big, but massive. It was that possibility of a huge, fat, late season barbel that drove me onto the submerged banks of Lucy's mill.

Now I've fished this section of the river on and off for close to fifteen years and in that time I've seen in it in all states, but this occasion this was the worst I'd actually attempted to fish it. I knew though that if I could access some of the slacker water between the two weirs, the chances were that some fish would have pushed in there to escape the savage flow.

The normal area most anglers fish from was a good two or even three feet under water and where the flow was diverted by forty-five degrees across onto the bank huge eddy had formed. This tempestuous bit of water looked as mean as they come. Fifty feet wide and constantly churning, it was full of branches of all sizes from those you'd throw for a dog to ones the size you'd throw for Godzilla. There were chunks of trees, old plastic drums and what looked like a section of a kids play house. Honestly, I would have not been surprised at all if a kraken emanated from the centre and grabbed one of the Japanese tourists that seemed obsessed with photographing it.

Happily though as I predicted there was a nice bit of slacker water on the far side of the river between the two weirs. The benches and ten foot wide concrete parade that were opposite the slack on my own bank were a bit under water and therefore I figured the safest place to fish was from behind one of the benches where I stood zero chance of slipping in. Although amusing at first the constant slew of comments about why I was fishing when the river was in flood grew very thin very quickly, until the point when I was ready to start throttling people whilst yelling "It's my last chance to fish that's why I am here you moron". The fishing though was actually easier than I expected! Most of the debris was drifting onto my own bank and under my rod. With my line cutting into the chocolatey water half way across the flow my tip remained motionless.

In an attempt to draw any fish downstream up I had been recasting every fifteen minutes to keep the message travelling down stream. Three hours passed with zero fishy attention to be seen on the rod tip. Really, when it's like this I was expecting the rod to instantly lurch over or all tension to spring off the rod tip. But in fact when some interest did begin to register it was more of a hint of a bite. That hint though kept coming again and again. On inspection of my paste wrapped pellet I noted lots of small chunks being bitten out of the paste. I reckon eels were the culprits and as I needed one for a few challenge points, I changed over to a lob worm hook bait.

The bites that ensued were lightning quick and I was struggling to register them on my barbel rod, so I swapped over to my Avon rod and hoped to hell I didn't suddenly find myself attached to a barbel on this much lighter outfit. The lighter tip turned a tap into a full on jerk and after missing three bites a blind man would have hit, I connected with something that was neither barbel nor eel...

What else can I say other than what better way to finish up the river season than with the last fish being a near mint condition 1.4lb roach caught in flood conditions. The only disappointment was that I couldn't catch any more even though I was convinced there were more in the swim. But anyway, I was more than happy with silver rather than gold to end the season on.

Return to the river.

It seems like forever since I've paid the Avon any attention. I have had an odd look here and there since the season opened up, but frankly I've been a bit preoccupied with trying to catch a crucian out of Napton Reservoir. Anyway whilst away on holiday the idea to get my arse in gear and head back to the river really came to the forefront of my mind. It just happened that a bit of rain the few days before I got back had the river in tip top conditions for my return.

I have a new membership for a bit of the Avon which some of my angling buddies have been recommending for years, which this year I decided to get on. So with a couple of rods set up ready to go I decided to head down the A46 for a morning session. Normally I would have tried to be on the bank for first light, but my early morning bumbling roused BB and he discovered some presents which had been stashed in his room that were to big too transport on holiday, so my leaving was delayed a little whilst they were opened.

In the end I found myself pulling up in the car park around 9am and shockingly there was only two other cars evident. Where was everyone? I asked myself, as I had suspected everyone would be on the river given the conditions. The first angler I came across was on the first peg through the gate and a quick chat turned up that he'd already had three chub and two barbel from out in the faster water. This was good news and got me quickly heading off looking for a swim up river. I soon found a great looking swim where the fast water is deflected by a big bed of reeds and with the extra colour on the water it looked great for the barbel I so much wanted.  

Trying to be as careful as I could I gently cast into the crease with a PVA bag full of goodies attached to my rig. Although I did receive several taps of interest I was soon recasting again and again, working my way down the crease in subsequent casts towards some cover where I suspected the barbel might be lying in wait. After a few hours I was getting concerned I may have missed or messed up my shot at a barbel from this swim, but rather than just move off I opted to make one final cast a bit further out, away from the crease I'd been targeting into the faster water.

I'd been sitting on the cast for a good fifteen minutes before another angler from upstream dropped by to see how I was doing. We'd been whacking on for ten minutes as I kept an eye on the white rod tip out the corner of my eye. I clocked a slow nod of the tip which grabbed my attention then a quick sharp pull got my hand hovering over the rod and then bang, as predicted, the rod bent over as the fish tuned onto the weight of the lead.

In the fast shallow water I lent hard on the fish to stop it finding any of the weed beds which I knew lay hidden by the coloured water.  A long pause with both of us refusing to give an inch ended when the fish was pushed down stream by the flow... then all hell broke loose in the deeper clearer water under my own bank. This powerful fish worked me hard to keep it from getting back over the river into the fast water but everything held true and the soft action of my rod soon subdued the fish and a gaping mouth lined with barbules appeared on the surface before what looked a big fish slipped into the net.

After letting the fish recover in the water I lifted the net out and put it onto he mat. I lifted back the folds of the net to reveal a perfect long lean summer fish. I can truly say I was beaming with the sight of this perfect first barbel off of a new stretch of river, and my companion who had stood silent the whole fight seemed very impressed too. We both agreed it looked to be a good one though on the scales my suspicion that it was in lean condition proved true and even given its long length the fish was only 7.14lb. 

Maybe in the winter this fish could have been at least nine pounds or more. The weight though hardly mattered at all to me as I was over the moon that I should catch such an amazing fish for my first barbel off a new stretch of river.

The rain came in quickly after that and I opted to make a tactical retreat, but I was back a few days later to fish another swim aways downstream. This time the river had cleared and with that in mind I had brought a second lighter rod along to fish the maggot feeder upstream of the barbel rod, with the hope that the maggots going downstream, combined with the activity from other fish might draw up any wary barbel to have a look see what was going on. The plan actually worked, but not quite exactly as I wanted it to. The maggot line was alive with fish chasing the freebies as I dropped the feeder again and again onto the same spot at the head of the swim. Roach, dace, gudgeon and perch were queuing up waiting for the feeder to release more free maggots into the flow.

As the session went on the interest in my downstream rod increased slowly but surely. It took a while but random jags on the rod tip indicated something was afoot. Soon enough the rod bent over hard as something took the bait. After those initial moments when you lean into a fish feeling something powerful abated, the fish power dwindled and I realised the chub had turned up, attracted by all the activity. The first fish was a greedy two pounder but the second was a much longer fish just under four pounds, which like that first barbel would be much larger come winter.

The bug had really bit and another evening session was penned into my diary for a week or so later, after seeing that the long range forecast predicted another deluge of rain to bring the river into peak condition.

I arrived as quick as I could get there after work to find only one car in the car park, and after rushing over the fields to the river I scouted the whole section, baiting up a few spots as I went. The other angler was nowhere near where I wanted to fish and after a quick chat and finding out that although he was really after the silvers he had been skinned out a couple of time by big fish. This was perfect, no other anglers and feeding fish, how could I fail..?

The scene of my first barbel capture seemed the logical starting point and I was soon set-up and watching the river, trying to figure out the water in front of me as the added water and flow had seemingly changed the whole dynamic of the swim. It didn't take long to figure I'd chosen the most complicated swim to start with. There must have been seven or more areas in front of me screaming for a bait to go on them. In the end I began close in targeting a small crease right under my own bank. This produced nothing at all so I went about casting into each area I thought might hold barbel one after another for the next three hours. In the end I spent far too much time trying to logically cover the whole swim, in which time Mick had turned up and headed off upstream to fish for predators.

Having kind of shot myself in the foot time-wise, I decided to move downstream to fish one of the swims I had pre baited. With only enough time to fish one last swim I missed out a couple I had dropped bait into and went for the one I thought most likely to produce in the conditions. It was quite a simple swim I went to, with a large bed of bulrushes at the head that was creating a crease right down the centre of the river between the fast and slow water.

My first cast sent a tasty bag of morsels quickly down to the river bed just in the fast water, attached to a two ounce lead. The reaction was instant as my pre baiting already had fish nosing around on the gravel. Convinced the rod was going to bang over I had to sit on my hands as the small fish attacked the hook bait. I waited patiently and as I did, the rod soon indicated the presence of a bigger fish. A couple of nods later and the rod was nearly ripped of the rest and I was into a barbel. The initial savagery subsided and an interesting battle ensued in the slow water. It was only about four pound but this solid and fresh barbel took no prisoners as it dived into every possible place it could get snagged. In the end though the fact I was fishing gear capable of landing even the biggest fish won the fight and I netted an immaculate barbel that saved my session. 

The next cast produced the same response but this time I thought I'd hooked a small chub or something until I went to lift it out and a tiny sub pound barbel managed to shake itself off the hook, vibrating mid-lift, and dived straight back into the river. They were only small but two barbel in two casts were good numbers for me. I really wanted to get my bait right onto the bait I had put down earlier so I tried my very best to land the rig and new bag of freebies on the very centre of the crease. In doing so though I tightened up and it was more than obvious my bait was on the inside of the crease in the slow water. I decided to give it a chance and wait, letting it sit there for fifteen minutes at least, but I didn't feel in was the best place for it at all. 

The bite came out of nowhere with no warning which made it all that more shocking. One moment the rod was stationary the next it was bending double, lifting the butt out of the rests. Straight away I could feel this was a fish in another league. It powered all over the swim through both the fast and slow water with me just holding on tight and trying my best to steer it away from any hazards. After covering every bit of water in front of me, the fish dived straight into some lillies in the slow water, but its power and my power linked by the line just cut straight though the stems leaving the pad floating away downstream. A few dives later and I had what I knew was a good barbel in the net. As it rested in the water I made the call to Mick to ask for a spot of help taking a photo or two which turned out to be a brilliant decision as my camera phone, although great in day light, was useless in the half light. Luckily Mick brought his camera and I was soon proudly holding up my first double from this new stretch and beaming from behind all ten pounds and seven ounces of it.

In three close sessions this new bit of river has proved exactly how honest it is. By that I mean; it looks like it should contain barbel and chub and it does, it looks healthy and it seems it is and in the right conditions the fish should feed and they do. Which for the Warwickshire Avon, isn't that common from what I've seen in the past. A lot of the time I fished sections of the Avon and thought, this has to be a good area for this or that, and been let down. This place though seems different and I hope my theories about other different sections come to fruition over the autumn and winter. If they do, well, a few more red letter days for other species could be on the horizon.

Getting all Ahab.

'I'm not saying I am exactly like a certain stove-pipe-hat-wearing-wooden-legged sea captain, but I have developed a few fishy obsessions over the years and it's only coincidence that some of those obsessions have been about large white fish'

For three hours I had moved slowly up and down the same thirty feet of heavily wooded bank and in those three hours I had barely made five casts. It was a little more than three hours ago that I gave up trying to fish through the crazy crew. You see, when I had arrived in the spinney and first viewed the water from the top of the path I had seen it was black with carp warming in the afternoon sun, and I was more than a little excited to get going. The first hour was a blur of insatiable feeding on the carps behalf and they never got bored sucking in the morsels of bread I was flicking onto the surface. It was just a pity that I was getting bored. It had only taken about twenty small fish for me to start thinking this is just too easy, as all carp caution was null and void today after a day baking their brains in the sun. 

It was about this time that as I stood beside a very sparse tree a huge pure white head slowly rose from under all the other fish and sucked in a single cube of crust, before sinking back below with a loud slurp. That was it for me, all other fish were forgotten; I had to have this white whale.

It would seem the frenzied sound of the other carp feeding was responsible for drawing the attentions of just about every fish in the lake, but caution kept some of the bigger ones holding back and underneath all of the others, only rising occasionally to engulf a the odd freebie here and there, and always out of range or in a awkward place. This one great white ghost though was betrayed by its colour, and  I could see it under all the other fish circling around. Its mass was unmissable  Not quite a twenty but it had to be close; this fish had graduated from the ranks and was now up there with the biggest of the pool.

The sun had been shining all day, and now it blazed down on me. I had to keep my hoodie on as the cream t-shirt I was wearing had made my presence obvious once already, and I needed to be close as possible to track this ghost as it was swimming so tight to the bank. So I stood sweltering, steaming up my Polaroids in my camo hoodie trying as best as possible to keep still and blend in with the back ground so as not to disturb my quarry.

Eyes and hands now operated totally independently  My hands cast a constant stream of small bread chunks   out onto the water by just flicking my wrist. My eyes though kept tabs on the faint white zeppelin which moved round with intent. It had no set routine to its movements, but after the first hour I had noticed it would feed on two totally different spots. At the tree where I stood there was an undercut it would glide into, then from this undercut its head would appear slowly. If a bit of bread was in the vicinity it would be sucked in for sure. But the problem was that the smaller fish in the melee would grab anything on the top no matter how far they had to travel to get it. This had resulted in me pulling out of many chances just to stop one of these interlopers spooking the ghost.

The other spot was further down the bank in front of a small reed bed. Three feet from the bank was a small clear patch about two feet round in the leaf litter, which I suspect was where someone had been disposing of leftover bait at the end of a sessions. I watched the white fish and a few other larger fish stop over and investigate this patch every so often. In watching this I realised that if I wasn't feeding the mob on the other side of the tree then all the noise they were making did not attract and keep the bigger fish going round in the area. Once the slurping stopped the fish underneath, including the ghost, drifted away with the mob.

Knowing this I began feeding larger amounts of bread onto the surface for a shorter period of time and then slipping down the bank to see if the bigger cautious fish were on the spot. In the next hour they only stopped on the spot twice and then only briefly. Eventually I dropped a free-lined bait onto the edge of the spot where I could see the bread against the dark bottom, then moved as quickly as I dared back round the tree and tossed a liberal amount of preprepared bread onto the surface. I could hear the slurps quickening as I went back and crouched close to the bank and picked up the rod. Then I watched as a small carp boldly swam up and picked up my bait. Hoping to try and dissuade it, I gently tugged the bait back which sent the culprit into a sudden panic, flying out of the swim along with several other fish including the ghost.

After that disaster I began the process of stirring up the mob all over again. I hadn't been at it that long before out of nowhere the ghost went back into the undercut at my feet. This was it! it was in there all I had to do was drop a bit of bread onto the water. All fingers and thumbs, a bit of bread finally got hooked up and gently I lowered it onto the surface only inches from the bank. Then a pair of lips appeared and the bread silently disappeared and I struck. My vintage speedia wailed the finest sound known to man as it bolted out into the lake. Worryingly though it came under control a bit too quickly, and all too soon a small common surfaced. I would never take out my frustrations on a fish but I was mad hell with this one. I managed to steer it away and landed it in a quiet corner unhooking it quickly in the net and dipping it free unable to even enjoy the sight of it.

I walked back slowly thinking I could not face the build up again if another small carp was going to force my hand and spook the ghost off. Kneeling on the floor behind the with my rod under my arm I baited my hook again and as I did I saw the ghost move slowly past me down the bank in the direction of the spot. In a momentary reaction I swung the bait towards the patch spot. How I knew the combined length of my rod plus the same amount of line would reach the spot was anyone's guess. I suppose it just seemed about right.

As I stood slowly behind the tree I could see my bait sinking slowly and the ghosts demeanour change. It had seen it for sure and it was going for it. Its weird that you can sometimes tell when a fish is about to eat your bait, and this one was. It moved steadily towards the now stationery bread with a second fish in tow. Then it slowed and the second fish was now level. Both heads dipped, both mouths sucked, and I hoped that the ghost had won. The bait was gone and I had to strike. I flicked the rod up and at that moment the water made that sound it only makes when something big displaces a large amount of water. The rod buckled over and the pin screamed and it made for deep water. My breaking of the spool with my left hand turned the fish and it kited right. That's when I saw the white shape under the surface seemingly attached to my line.  Back and forth the line went and every now and again a yellowish tail or white mouth broke the surface before it again surged away. Eventually it slowed and began circling close to the bank. The net was dipped already and then it surfaced and the sight knocked me back!

Turns out the ghost had lost out to its companion but the sight that met me was never going to disappoint.  Once on the surface it slipped straight into the net good as gold, and looking down into the net I was transfixed. It was close to ten inches wide across the shoulders and did not have a single scale on its entire body. She was the most beautiful leather carp I have ever seen first hand. She had that big carp look that indicates it could turn into a mighty fish, and from the looks of it had never been caught before. Even though she was still a little way off a mid double she was by far one of the most amazing looking carp I have caught in my entire life.

And it was more than enough to make me forget that white whale!